Wait

"All you seek, I could give, and pleased you would be.
You would have what you want--
But you wouldn't know Me.
You'd not know the depth of My love for each saint;
You'd not know the power I give to the faint;

"You'd not learn to see through the clouds of despair;
You'd not learn to trust just by knowing I'm there;
You'd not know the joy of resting in Me;
When darkness and silence were all you could see.

"You'd never experience that fullness of love
As the peace of My Spirit descends like a dove;
You'd know that I give and I save, for a start,
But you'd not know the depth of the beat of My heart."

(I don't know the author for this...)

There's more to the poem here: (and possibly the author's name) http://heezrizzen.tripod.com/Wait.html

Submission

"Hear me, my God, and if my lip hath dared
To murmur 'neath Thy Hand, oh, teach me now
To feel each inmost thought before Thee bared,
And this rebellious will in faith to bow.
Though I wept wildly o'er the ruined shrine,
Where earthly idols held Thy place alone,
Now purify and make this temple Thine,
And teach me, Lord, to say,'Thy will be done!"

"What can I bring to offer that is mine?
A youth of sorrow, and a life of sin.
What can I lay upon Thy hallowed shrine,
One hope of pardon for the past to win?
While thus a suppliant at Thy feet I bow,
Still dare I lift to Thee my tearful eyes,
I plead the promise of Thy word, that Thou
A broken, contrite heart will not despise.

"What shall I bring? A bruised spirit, Lord,
Worn with the contest, pining now for rest,
And yearning for Thy peace, as some poor bird,
'Mid the wild tempest, seeks its mother's breast,
My sacrifice, the Lamb who died for me;
I plead the merits of Thy sinless Son;
I bring Thy promises; I trust in Thee;
In love Thou smitest; Lord,' Thy will be done!'"

~From "Prevailing Prayer" by D.L. Moody

I wait

I wait
Dear Lord, Thy ways
Are past finding out,
Thy love too high.
O hold me still
Beneath Thy shadow.
It is enough that Thou
Lift up the light
Of Thy countenance.
I wait--
Because I am commanded
So to do. My mind
Is filled with wonderings.
My soul asks "Why?"
But then the quiet word,
"Wait thou only
Upon God."
And so, not even for the light
To show a step ahead,
But for Thee, dear Lord,
I wait.

~Elizabeth Elliot

Have you ever had the queer feeling that you wrote something someone else wrote? That is how it is for me with this...

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

Rudyard Kipling

Carry On!

You MUST read this one out loud. Seriously, do it. Right now. And do it right!! :D
__________________________________________________________

It’s easy to fight when everything’s right,
And you’re mad with thrill and the glory;
It’s easy to cheer when victory’s near,
And wallow in fields that are gory.
It’s a different song when everything’s wrong,
When you’re feeling infernally mortal;
When it’s ten against one, and hope there is none,
Buck up, little soldier, and chortle:

Carry on! Carry on!
There isn’t much punch in your blow.
You are glaring and staring and hitting out blind;
You are muddy and bloody, but never you mind.
Carry on! Carry on!
You haven’t the ghost of a show.
It’s looking like death, but while you’ve a breath,
Carry on, my son! Carry on!

And so in the strife of the battle of life
It’s easy to fight when you’re winning;
It’s easy to slave, and starve and be brave,
When the dawn of success is beginning.
But the man who can meet despair and defeat
With a cheer, there’s the man of God’s choosing;
The man who can fight to Heaven’s own height
Is the man who can fight when he’s losing.

Carry on! Carry on!
Thing never were looming so black.
But show that you haven’t a cowardly streak,
And though you’re unlucky you never are weak.
Carry on! Carry on!
Brace up for another attack.
It’s looking like hell, but – you never tell.
Carry on, old man! Carry on!

There are some who drift out in the desert of doubt
And some who in brutishness wallow;
There are others, I know, who in piety go
Because of a Heaven to follow.
But to labor with zest, and to give of your best,
For the sweetness and joy of the giving;
To help folks along with a hand and a song;
Why, there’s the real sunshine of living.

Carry on! Carry on!
Fight the good fight and true;
Believe in your mission, greet life with a cheer;
There’s big work to do, and that’s why you are here.
Carry on! Carry on!
Let the world be the better for you;
And at last when you die, let this be your cry!
Carry on, my soul! Carry on!

By Robert Service

Little Drops of Water

Little drops of water,
little grains of sand,
make the mighty ocean
and the beauteous land.

And the little moments,
humble though they may be,
make the mighty ages
of eternity.

Little deeds of kindness,
little words of love,
make our earth an Eden,
like the heaven above.

So our little errors
lead the soul away,
from the paths of virtue
into sin to stray.

Little seeds of mercy
sown by youthful hands,
grow to bless the nations
far in heathen lands.

Glory then for ever
be to God on high,
beautiful and loving,
to eternity.--Julia Carney

The Song of the Bee

Buzz! buzz! buzz!
This is the song of the bee.
His legs are of yellow;
A jolly, good fellow,
And yet what a great worker is he.

In days that are sunny
He’s getting his honey,
In days that are cloudy
He’s making his wax:
On pinks and on lilies,
And gay daffodillies,
And columbine blossoms,
He levies a tax!

Buzz! buzz! buzz!
The sweet-smelling clover,
He, humming, hangs over;
The scent of the roses
Makes fragrant his wings:
He never gets lazy;
From thistle and daisy,
And weeds of the meadow,
Some treasure he brings.

Buzz! buzz! buzz!
From morning’s first light
Till the coming of night,
He’s singing and toiling
The summer day through.
Oh! We may get weary,
And think work is dreary;
‘Tis harder by far
To have nothing to do.


Our family can say this poem together from memory. :)

The Blue Bowl

By Blanche Bane Kuder

All day I did the little things,
The little things that do not show;
I brought the kindling for the fire
I set the candles in a row,
I filled a bowl with marigolds,
The shallow bowl you love the best-
And made the house a pleasant place
Where weariness might take its rest.


The hours sped on, my eager feet
Could not keep pace with my desire.
So much to do, so little time!
I could not let my body tire;
Yet, when the coming of the night
Blotted the garden from my sight,
And on the narrow, graveled walks
Between the guarding flower stalks
I heard your step: I was not through


You came into the quiet room
That glowed enchanted with the bloom
Of yellow flame. I saw your face,
Illumined by the firelit space,
Slowly grow still and comforted-
"It's good to be at home," you said.

The Sin of Omission

By Margaret E. Sangster

It isn’t the thing you do, dear

It’s the thing you leave undone

That gives you a bit of heartache

At the setting of the sun.

The tender work forgotten,

The letter you did not write,

The flowers you did not send, dear,

Are your haunting ghosts at night.

The stone you might have lifted

Out of a brother’s way;

The bit of heart-some counsel

You were hurried too much to say;

The loving touch of the hand, dear,

The gentle, winning tone

Which you had no time nor thought for

With troubles enough of your own.

Those little acts of kindness

So easily out of mind,

Those chances to be angels

Which we poor mortals find–

They come in night and silence,

Each sad, reproachful wraith,

When hope is faint and flagging,

And a chill has fallen on faith.

For life is all too short, dear,

And sorrow is all too great,

To suffer our slow compassion

That tarries until too late:

And it isn’t the thing you do, dear,

It’s the thing you leave undone

That gives you a bit of heartache

At the setting of the sun.