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POETRY              

Sister Joan Ewing - one of Pentecost's great treasures, author of my favorite poem, "Now I Know" (http://t.co/6IR2FOkY) http://t.co/IdaK05BL


THE ANVIL OF GOD'S WORD ... Last eve I passed beside a blacksmith's door, And heard the anvil ring the vesper chime; 1/6

When looking in, I saw upon the floor, Old hammers worn with beating years of time. 2/6

"How many anvils have you had," said I, "To wear and batter these hammers so?" 3/6

"Just one," said he; then with a twinkling eye, "The anvil wears the hammers out, you know." 4/6

And so, I thought, the anvil of God's Word, For ages, skeptics blows have beat upon; 5/6

Yet, though the noise of falling blows was heard, The anvil is unharmed - the hammers gone. ~ John Clifford 6/6


UTTERMOST The Maker of the Universe, As Man for man was made a curse. The demands of Law which He had made, Unto the uttermost He paid.

Hs holy fngers mde th bough, Whch grw th thorns tht crowned Hs brow. Th nails tht pierced Hs hnds wer mined, In secrt places He designed.

He made th forest whence there sprung, The tree on which His body hung. He died upon a cross of wood, Yet made th hill on which it stood.

Th sky tht darkened o'er His head, By Him above th earth was spread. Th sun tht hid from Him its face, By His decree was poised in space.

Th spear wch spilled Hs precious blood, Ws temprd by th fires of God. Th grave n wch Hs form ws laid, Ws hewn frm rocks Hs hands hd made.

The throne on which He now appears, Was His from everlasting years. And now new glory crowns His brow, And every knee to Him shall bow!

Last six Tweets from "Unto The Uttermost" (poem by A. Brandon Bonar), quoted by Rev. Lee Stoneking at CCC in the message, "They Said Of Him"


I never knew there were so many verses to this poem by Rev. Guy Smith, first set to a traditional melody & recorded by Roy Acuff in 1936. >

< It's based on Jeremiah 12:9 - "Mine heritage is unto me as a speckled bird, the birds round about are against her." / Thankful 4 heritage!


What a beautiful thought I am thinking, Concerning a great speckled bird. Remember her name is recorded, On the pages of God's Holy Word.

Th others R flocking around her, & she is despised by th squad. Bt th great speckled bird in th Bible, Is one w/ th great church of God.

All the other churches are against her, They envy her glory & fame. They hate her because she is chosen, And has not denied Jesus' name.

Desiring 2 lower her standrd, They watch every move tht she makes. They long 2 find fault w/ her teaching, Bt really they fnd no mistake.

She's spreading her wings 4 a journey, She's going 2 leave by&by. When th trumpet shall sound in th morning, She'll rise &go up in th sky.

In th presence of all her despisers, W/ a song never uttered before, She'll rise & be gone in a moment, Till th great tribulation is o'er.

I'm glad I hve learned of her meekness, I'm proud tht my name's in her book, 4 I wnt 2 B 1 never fearing, On th face of my Savior 2 look.

Whn He cometh descnding frm heavn, On a cloud as He writes in His Word. I'll B joyfuly caried 2 mt Him, On/t wngs of/t grt speckled bird. 

      

(01) THE TWEET BEFORE CHRISTMAS (apologies 2 Clement Clarke Moore, apologies 2 serial-tweet haters, thanks 2 @EatThisBook for inspiration)

(02) ‘Twas the night before Christmas and all across Twitter, Nimble digits did type, iPhone screens were a-glitter.

(03) The tweets they were flying with speed and delight, As each one made plans for a great winter's night.

(04) "I'm traveling," "I'm eating," “Winding up odds and ends,” "I just wrapped the presents,” “I'm visiting friends."

(05) When all of a sudden, to collective dismay, Every screen froze like ice. Twitter wouldn’t display!

(06) One horrible moment silenced all of the chatter; I rebooted three times, then saw what was the matter.

(07) Away to their website I flew like a geek, Punched the URL in, then I started to shriek.

(08) The dreaded “Fail Whale” that appeared on my laptop, Made my blood pressure soar and my heart do a flip-flop.

(09) I felt my pulse quicken, my complexion turned grey; If I can’t read some tweets, it will ruin Christmas Day!

(10) I can’t live with my source of quotations in shambles, Can’t survive without jokes or those cynical rambles.

(11) But that’s not the worst! Now this tech-savvy pastor, Can’t find sermon thoughts – a colossal disaster!

(12) No @TFTenney! No @JerryLDean! No @joelurshan! No @LukeLevine! No @clloydmitchell! No @jimmytoney! No @terryshock! No @pauldmooney!

(13) Their tweets had all vanished and that made me nervous; In just a short while we’d start Christmas Eve service!

(14) I was counting on wisdom in tweets that inspire, But when Twitter goes down I profusely perspire.

(15) And then in a twinkling it all became clear, And I felt holy boldness instead of my fear.

(16) With a swift revelation I knew what to do: I would simply preach Jesus, from Luke chapter two.

(17) How He took upon flesh and was born in a stable, To redeem and invite us to mercy’s grand table.

(18) A burden of sin was placed on his back, The earth it did quake, and the Heavens turned black.

(19) When at Calvary, this baby who now was a man, Cried out, “It is finished!” and sin’s gulf did span.

(20) Then just three days later some empty graveclothes, And a rolled-away stone made it clear - He arose!

(21) As God’s Word became new, this confessed Apostolic, Realized with a jolt, “I’m a Twitter-aholic!”

(22) I can let it distract me from something far better – Spending quality time with my Savior’s Love Letter.

(23) No more will God’s Book sit unused on a shelf, While I tweet one more quote from my ingenious self.

(24) Just then Twitter came up, what a beautiful sight! But my fingers held back, and the silence felt right.

(25) For our hope’s not in websites, or Twitter, or things, But in Jesus, Emmanuel, King of all Kings.

(26) By the glow of my phone, like a dim winter moon, I just tweeted one time to say, “I’ll be back soon.”

(27) Then I gathered my family and we started to leave, To be on time for church on this quiet Christmas Eve.

(28) But I turned my phone off, ‘ere we drove out of sight – Merry Christmas to all! I’ll skip Twitter tonight. :-)

 

If you don't like SERIAL TWEETERS, ignore me for the next dozen … but these are an inspiring read from the profound pen of Sis. Joan Ewing …

NOW I KNOW. He left his father’s land, boyhood dreams were in the past; He held his son, God’s promise, what more would his Friend ask? >

“To yonder’s mountain Abram, take the fire & take the wood.” So trusting still they climbed the hill, knowing what came would come 4 good. >

When the altar was all finished and the wood was all in place, He looked with love and sadness into his young son’s face. >

“God has asked this of me, Isaac, there’s no less that I can do; I have withheld nothing from Him – I never dreamed He’d ask for you.” >

And then the wind blew softly, God leaned close and whispered low, “If I ever wondered how you loved Me, now I know.” >

I had left this world behind me and my dreams were in the past. But I held a few choice treasures – what more would my Friend ask? >

“Go to yonder’s mountain, take the fire and take the wood.” So trusting still I climbed the hill, knowing what came would come for good. >

When my altar was all finished and the wood was all in place, I looked with fear and trembling into … my own face! >

“God, what are You asking? There’s no less that I will do. I’m yours for whatever – all I have belongs to You.” >

And then the wind blew softly, and my Best Friend whispered low, “If I ever wondered how you loved Me, now I know.” >

The mansions were all finished and the gold was all in place. I looked in awe and wonder into the Lamb’s dear face. >

And then I cast my crown before Him and I bowed myself down low. If I had ever wondered how He loved me … now I know. (by Joan Ewing)

 

In "poetry mode" today. :-) This one comes with apologies to the author of a more poignant original, but here goes … BUTTPRINTS IN THE SAND

1 night I had a wondrous dream, 1 set of footprints there was seen, The footprints of my precious Lord, But mine were not along the shore

Bt then some stranger prints appeard, I askd the Lrd "What have we here? These prints R large & round & neat, Bt Lrd they R 2 big 4 feet"

"My child," He said in somber tones, "For miles I carried you alone. I challenged you to walk in faith, But you refused and made me wait"

"You disobeyed, you would not grow, The walk of faith U would not know, So I got tired, I got fed up, And there I dropped U on your butt"

"Because in life there cms a time, When 1 mst fight & 1 mst climb, When 1 mst rise & take a stand, Or leave their buttprints in the sand"

 

James Kindall is a writer in Long Island, NY. His power is still out after Hurricane Irene. Here is my slight adaptation of his poetry …

We lost it when Irene blew through; Wi-Fi, laptop, iPad, too; On my Kindle, no bars found; Oh Lord, the Internet is down.

My Facebook friends no longer poke; I cannot tweet a single joke; And iTunes offers not a sound; Oh Lord, the Internet is down.

Library's packed, and Starbucks too; I need my fix. Can I sit here too? Is Wi-Fi in another town? Oh Lord, the Internet is down.

I finally find some time for prayer; Clean my office, comb my hair; And then I visit folks in town; Oh Lord, the Internet is down.

U know this thing could change my life; That woman? It seems she's my wife; I wondered why she hung around; Oh Lord, the Internet is down

I have a daughter! Son! It's true! A family. Job. Good grief, who knew? I feel better, my mind is sound; Oh Lord, the Internet is down.

I'll search my house & find a nook; To finally read Your Holy Book; My thoughts are clear, my soul unbound; Oh Lord, the Internet is down

I'll get to church, take up guitar; I'll search for wisdom near & far; To Wi-Fi's death, I raise my cup; Oh, never mind. It came back up.

 

WARNING: 20 TWEETS coming at you in rapid succession. Heard Paul Mooney read this; too good not to share. A POEM IN DEFENCE OF FENCES. :-)

A FENCE OR AN AMBULANCE by Joseph Malins ‘Twas a dangerous cliff, as they freely confessed, Though to walk near its crest was so pleasant

But over its terrible edge there had slipped A duke and full many a peasant. So the people said something would have to be done,

But their projects did not at all tally; Some said, “Put a fence round the edge of the cliff,” Some, “An ambulance down in the valley.”

But the cry for the ambulance carried the day, For it spread through the neighboring city; A fence may be useful or not, it is true,

But each heart became brimful of pity For those who slipped o'er the dangerous cliff; And the dwellers in highway and alley

Gave pounds or gave pence not 2 put up a fence But an ambulance down in the valley. "For a cliff is all right if you’re careful" they said

“And if folks even slip and are dropping, It isn’t the slipping that hurts them so much, As the shock down below when they’re stopping.”

So day after day, as these mishaps occurred, Quick forth would these rescuers sally To pick up the victims who fell off the cliff,

With the ambulance down in the valley. Then an old sage remarked: “It’s a marvel to me That people give far more attention

2 repairing results than 2 stopping the cause When we’d much better aim @ prevention. Let us stop @ its source all this mischief” cried he

“Come, neighbors and friends, let us rally; If the cliff we will fence we might almost dispense With the ambulance down in the valley.”

"Oh, he’s a fanatic,” the others rejoined, “Dispense with the ambulance? Never! He’d dispense with all charities, too, if he could;

No! No! We’ll support them forever. Aren’t we picking up folks just as fast as they fall? And shall this man dictate to us? Shall he?

Why should people of sense stop to put up a fence, While the ambulance works in the valley?” But a sensible few, who are practical too,

Will not bear with such nonsense much longer; They believe that prevention is better than cure, And their party will soon be the stronger.

Encourage them then with your purse, voice & pen And while other philanthropists dally They will scorn all pretense & put up a stout fence

On the cliff that hangs over the valley. Better guide well the young than reclaim them when old, For the voice of true wisdom is calling,

“To rescue the fallen is good, but ‘tis best To prevent other people from falling.” Better close up the source of temptation and crime

Than deliver from dungeon or galley; Better put a strong fence round the top of the cliff, Not an ambulance down in the valley.

 

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