Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Sunday, January 17, 2010

I am a Baptist - Poem


I would rather be a Baptist,
Knowing now I'm saved by Grace,
Than to be doubting Methodist,
Possibly saved at the end of the race

I would rather be a Baptist,
So-called narrow doctrines hold,
Than to be a Presbyterian
And be formal, stiff and cold.

I would rather be a Baptist,
'Humbly with my Saviour go,
Than to be an Episcopalian,
Having all his pomp and show.

I would rather be a Baptist,
Following Christ by faith and hope,
Than to be a Roman Catholic,
And be subject to the Pope.


I would rather be a Baptist,
Knowing from God's Word I'm right,
Than depending on the water,
And be called a Campbellite.

I'm a Baptist now while living ,
And I will be till I die,
Now and evermore a Baptist,
And can tell the reason why.

(The above poem was written by T.O. Reese, a Southern Baptist pastor and evangelist in Alabama. The poem appeared in the "News and Truths" in December, 1924. This weekly Baptist paper was published by the First Baptist Church of Murray, Kentucky under the editorship of their pastor, H. Boyce Taylor.)

Monday, January 11, 2010

Sweet Will of God





The shortest way is not always right, nor the smoothest the safest.
Therefore, be not surprised if the Lord chooses the farthest and roughest, but be sure of this - He will choose the best.

My stubborn will at last hath yielded;
I would be Thine, and Thine alone;
But this the prayer my lips are bringing,
“Lord, let in me thy will be done.”

Shut in with Thee, O Lord, forever,
My wayward feet no more to roam;
What pow’r from Thee my soul can sever?
The center of God’s will my home.

Sweet will of God, still fold me closer,
Till I am wholly lost in Thee;
Sweet will of God, still fold me closer,
Till I am wholly lost in Thee.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Sermons We See



I'd rather see a sermon than hear one any day;
I'd rather one should walk with me than merely tell the way.

The eye's a better pupil, more willing than the ear;
Fine counsel is confusing, but example's always clear,

And the best of all the preachers are the men who live their creeds,
For to see good put in action is what everybody needs.


I can soon learn how to do it if you will let me see it done;
I can watch your hands in action, but your tongue too fast may run.

The lectures you deliver may be very wise and true,
But I'd rather get my lesson by observing what you do.

For I may misunderstand you and the high advice you give,
But there is no misunderstanding how you act and how you live.



copied from Western Messenger Aug. 88

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

A lion met a tiger

A Favorite Poem of Mr. R.G. LeToureau

A lion met a tiger
As they drew beside a pool
Said the tiger, “Tell me why
You’re roaring like a fool.”

“That’s not foolish”, said the lion
With a twinkle in his eyes.
“They call me king of all beast
Because I advertise.”

A rabbit heard them talking
And ran home like a streak
He Thought he’d try the lion’s plan
But his roar was just a squeak.

A fox came to investigate -
Had luncheon in the woods,
So when you advertise, my friend,
Be sure you’ve go the goods.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

VOICES AT CHRISTMAS


I planned a lavish modern home

Where wealthy friends could call,
But then I heard an orphan say,
“I have no home at all.”


I planned to buy a bedroom suite
So exquisite with charm
But then I heard a mother pray,
“Lord, keep my baby warm.”


I wanted then a freezer
To store my fancy food,
For mine was now old-fashioned
and not the kind that stood.


Just then across the ocean
Came this bitter, plaintive cry:
“But I don’t have a bite of food…
Please help me or I die.”



I bought a car for Christmas
It was for my loved ones dear,
But then I heard an orphan cry,
“I have no loved ones here.”


I spent a lot of money
for friends at Christmastime,
But when it came to missions,
I didn’t give a dime.


When Christmas was all over,
I reckoned what I’d spent.
It was so vast and large a sum
I could not but repent.


For it just seemed I heard that morn
A far-off mother say,
“How long ago was Jesus born
To take our sins away?”


Her words began to haunt my heart
For it had grown so cold
My children had the gospel light
But hers were still untold.


I vowed that day that I would give
And work with all my might
to win a lost and dying world
From sin and heathen night.

copied

Monday, June 22, 2009

COULD THIS BE ME???


I’ve taught a class for many years:
Borne many burdens- toiled through tears;
But folks don’t notice me a bit:
I’m discouraged - I’ll just quit.


Sometime ago, I joined the choir;
That many souls I might inspire;
But folks don’t seem to move a bit,
And I won’t stand it - I’ll just quit.


I’ve led young people day and night,
And sacrificed to lead them right,
But folks won’t help me out a bit,
And I’m so tired - I think I’ll quit.


Christ’s cause is hindered everywhere,
And folks are dying in despair,
The reason why? Just think a bit;
The Church is full of FOLKS WHO QUIT!!



Western Messenger Sept. 1986
Editor by the late - Dennis J. Brown DD

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

The Modernist Preacher - Entering Hell

From my inbox this morning. jnh


by Oscar C. Eliason

He was an ordained minister, but modern in his views.
He preached his twisted doctrines to people in the pews.
He would not hurt their feelings, whate'er the cost would be,
But for their smiles and friendship and compliments sought he.
His church was filled with wicked souls that should be saved from sin,
But never once he showed the way or tried a soul to win.
He preached about the lovely birds that twitter in the trees,
The babl'ing of the running brooks, the murm'ring of the seas.


He quoted fancy poetry that tickled list'ning ears
When sorrow came to some, he tried to laugh away their tears.
His smooth and slipp'ry sermons made the people slide to hell.
The harm he did by preaching goes beyond what we can tell.
He took our Holy Bible, and preached it full of holes,
The Virgin Birth, said he can't be believed by honest souls,
The miracles of Jesus and the resurrection tale
For educated ones like us, today, cannot avail.
We're living in an age, said he, when wisdom rules and reigns,
When man's intelligence is great and superstition wanes.


He said, we're all God's children who live upon this earth,
No message of salvation, no need of second birth.
His coat was bought with money that he had wrongly gained,
For through his twisted sermons his wealth he had obtained.
He was just like the Roman soldiers that watched at Jesus' grave,
For money in abundance, to them, the people gave;
It all was theirs by telling what was a sinful lie -
A resurrected Savior, they, too, were to deny.


The day at last had come for the minister to die,
When to his congregation, he had to say good-bye.
His form lay cold and lifeless, his ministry was past,
His tongue with all its poison was hushed and stilled at last.
His funeral was grand; he was lauded to the skies-
They preached him into heaven where there are no good-byes.
Upon the lonely hill, underneath the shady trees,
His form was laid to rest in the whisp'ring of the breeze.


A tombstone was erected with words: "He is at rest,
He's gone to heaven's glories to live among the blest."
His body now is lifeless, but Ah! His soul lives on,
He failed to enter in where they thought that he had gone.
The letters on the tombstone or that sermon some had heard,
Could not decide his destiny, 'twas not the final word.
He still had God to deal with, the one who knows the heart;
While others entered heaven, he heard the word, "Depart."


He pauses for a moment upon the brink of hell;
He stares into a depth where he evermore will dwell.
He hears the cries and groanings of souls he had misled,
He recognizes faces among the screaming dead.
He sees departed deacons which he had highly praised.
Their fingers pointing at him as they their voices raised:
"You stood behind the pulpit, and lived in awful sin,
We took you for a saint, but a liar you have been."
Accusing cries! He hears them, "Ah! You have been to blame,
You led us into darkness when you were seeking fame."


"You preached your deadly doctrine, we thought you knew the way.
We fed you and we clothed you, we even raised your pay.
You've robbed us of a home where no tear-drops ever flow,
Where days are always fair and the heav'nly breezes blow.
Where living streams are flowing, and saints and Angels sing,
Where every one is happy, and Hallelujahs ring.
We're in this place of torment, from which no soul returns;
We hear the cry of lost ones, we feel the sizzling burns;
Give us a drop of water, we're tortured in this flame;
You failed to preach salvation to us through Jesus' Name."


The preacher turns in horror, he tries to leave the scene,
He knows the awful future for every soul unclean,
But there he meets the devil, whom he has served so well,
He feels the demon powers as they drag him into hell.
Throughout eternal ages, his groans, too, must be heard-
He, too, must suffer torment-he failed to heed God's Word.
He feels God's wrath upon him, he hears the hot flames roar,
His doctrine now is different, he ridicules no more.


By Oscar C. Eliason, c1960

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Sweet Will of God

The shortest way is not always right, nor the smoothest the safest. Therefore, be not surprised if the Lord chooses the farthest and roughest, but be sure of this - He will choose the best.

My stubborn will at last hath yielded;
I would be Thine, and Thine alone;
But this the prayer my lips are bringing,
“Lord, let in me Thy will be done.”

Shut in with Thee, O Lord, forever,
My wayward feet no more to roam;
What pow’r from Thee my soul can sever?
The center of God’s will my home.

Sweet will of God, still hold me closer,
Till I am wholly lost in Thee;
Sweet will of God, still hold me closer,
Till I am wholly lost in Thee.

copied

Saturday, January 3, 2009

HELL ! the prison house ...


HELL! the prison house of despair,

Here are some things that won't be there:

No flowers will bloom on the banks of Hell,

No beauties of nature we love so well;

No comforts of home, music and song,

No friendship of joy will be found in that throng;

No children to brighten the long, weary night,

No love nor peace, nor one ray of light;

No blood washed soul with face beaming bright,

No loving smile in that region of night;

No mercy, no pity, pardon nor grace,

No water; O God, what a terrible place!

The pangs of the lost no human can tell,

Not one moment's peace - there is no rest in HELL.



HELL! the prison house of despair,

Here are some things that will be there:

Fire and brimstone are there, we know,

For God in His Word hath told us so;

Memory, remorse, suffering and pain,

Weeping and wailing, but all in vain;

Blasphemers, swearers, haters of God,

Christ-rejectors while here on earth trod;

Murderers, gamblers, drunkards and liars,

Will have their part in the lake of fire;

The filthy, the vile, the cruel and mean,

What a horrible mob in Hell will be seen!

Yes, more than humans on earth can tell,

Are torments and woes of eternal HELL!


-Catherine Dangell