On a road bound to nowhere
with pain carried in my heart,
A journey where I compare
and I finish where I start.
On a road bound for anguish
with pride always to the fore,
A journey where I languish
and hope hurries for the door…
On a road bound for glory
with my Jesus there to guide,
A journey of our story
and how shame and grace collide.
On a road filled with meaning
with His Spirit within me,
A journey of His leaning
and where He's, my guarantee
by Dave Mudford © 2024
Can a penny buy a morsel of some dried unleavened bread?
Can a nickel have some meaning to apologies unsaid?
Can a dime hide a confession that we want to keep inside?
Can a quarter take the place of the regrets when we have lied?
Can a dollar buy a drop of love from someone we have pained?
Can a ten buy us full freedom, though it's we ourselves we've chained?
Can a hundred cover up our sins so we can't be enslaved?
Can a Million pay for all our sins so that we can then be saved?
Can a Billion buy a sliver from the cross where Jesus died?
Can a Trillion buy a seat in Heav'n so we can't be denied?
ALL the money in the world can't buy one SPECK of space
in Heaven where the God of Love bestows sufficient grace.
It's loving dedication and full faithfulness we owe.
Our money is so worthless - yet we idolize it so.
We are a spoiled people in our air conditioned cars.
We're over-entertained by our most fav'rite superstars.
We are a prideful people and we're such a stubborn lot -
but owe to Jesus EVERYTHING and EVERYTHING we've got.
by louis gander © 2022
http://www.ganderpoems.org
Gliding o'er life's fitful waters,
Heavy surges sometimes roll;
And we sigh for yonder haven,
For the homeland of the soul.
Blessed homeland, ever fair!
Sin can never enter there;
But the soul, to life awaking,
Everlasting bloom shall wear.
Oft we catch a faint reflection,
Of its bright and vernal hills;
And, though distant, how we hail it!
How each heart with rapture thrills!
To our Father, and our Savior,
To the Spirit, Three in One,
We shall sing glad songs of triumph
When our harvest work is done.
'Tis the weary pilgrim's homeland,
Where each throbbing care shall cease,
And our longings and our yearnings,
Like a wave, be hushed to peace.
—Fanny Crosby
The child ran into the sea
but ran back from the waves, because
the child did not know the sea
on the horizon, is not the same sea
ravishing the shore.
What every child wants is always
in the distance; like the sea
on the horizon. While, on the shore
nearby, at the feet of every child
shallow water, eating the edges
of islands and continents does little more,
little more than foam like spittle
at the corners of the inarticulate mouth
of some other child who wants to run
into the sea, into the horizon.
- Martin Carter
A Shifting Tide The world, a canvas, ever-changing hue, A masterpiece where landscapes come and go. But in this dance of change, my heart ...
