Christian Verse

First Bible

A little boy's first Bible
Is the greatest thrill he's known;
There's a sweet, unique excitement
In a Bible all his own!
And yet my heart is smitten
As this touching sight I see--
Has his reverence for that Bible
Depended much on me?
As I see him with his Bible,
I bow my head and pray--
May he always love that Bible
The way he does today.
Then I hear a voice within me
Speak in solemn words and true;
How he cherishes that Bible
Will depend a lot on you!
I love my Bible better
Since I've seen the beaming joy
This wonderful possession
Has afforded to my boy.
May I seek to give mine daily
A devotion he can see,
For the love he bears his Bible
Will depend a lot on me.

--United Presbyterian

If Jesus Came To Your House

If Jesus came to your house to spend a day or two--
If He came unexpectedly, I wonder what you'd do.
Oh, I know you'd give your nicest room to such an honoured Guest,
And all the food you'd serve to Him would be the very best,
And you would keep assuring Him you're glad to have Him there--
That serving Him in your home is joy beyond compare.

But--when you saw Him coming, would you meet Him at the door
With arms outstretched in welcome to your heav'nly Visitor?
Or would you have to change your clothes before you let Him in?
Or hide some magazines and put the Bible where they'd been?
Would you turn off the radio and hope He hadn't heard?
And wish you hadn't uttered that last, loud, hasty word?

Would you hide your worldy music and put some hymn books out?
Could you let Jesus walk right in, or would you rush about?
And I wonder--if the Savior spent a day or two with you,
Would you go right on doing the things you always do?
Would you go right on saying the things you always say?
Would life for you continue as it does from day to day?

Would your family converstion keep up its usual pace?
And would you find it hard each meal to say a table grace?
Would you sing the songs you always sing, and read the books you read
And let Him know the things on which your mind and spirit feed?
Would you take Jesus with you everywhere you'd planned to go?
Or would you, maybe, change your plans for just a day or so?

Would you be glad to have Him meet your very closest friends?
Or would you hope they'd stay away until His visit ends?
Would you be glad to have Him stay forever on and on?
Or would you sigh with great relief when He at last was gone?
It might be interesting to know the things that you would do,
If Jesus came in person to spend some time with you.

--Author Unknown.

When father prays

When father prays he doesn't use
The words the preacher does;
There's different things for different days,
But mostly it's for us.

When father prays the house is still,
His voice is slow and deep.
We shut our eyes, the clock ticks loud,
So quiet we must keep.

He prays that we may be good boys,
And later on good men;
And then we squirm, and think we won't
Have any quarrels again.

You'd never think, to look at dad,
He once had tempers, too.
I guess if father needs to pray,
We youngsters surely do.

Sometimes the prayer gets very long
And hard to understand,
And then I wiggle up quite close,
And let him hold my hand.

I can't remember all of it,
I'm little yet, you see;
But one thing I cannot forget,
My father prays for me!

--Author Unknown

Not all the blood of the beasts

Not all the blood of the beasts,
On Jewish altars slain,
Could give the guilty conscience peace,
Or wash away the stain.

But Christ, the heavenly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name,
And richer blood than they.

My faith would lay her hand
On that dear head of Thine,
While like a penitent I stand,
And there confess my sin.

My soul looks back, to see
The burdens Thou didst bear,
When hanging on the cursed tree,
And hopes here guilt was there.

Believing, we rejoice
To see the curse remove;
We bless the Lamb with cheerful voice,
And sing His bleeding love.

-- Isaac Watts, 1674-1748

Resignation

A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleases Thee.

Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He whom most I love to please
Doth listen to my song;
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still He bends to hear me sing.

Thou hast an ear to hear,
A heart to love and bless;
And though my notes were e'er so coarse,
Thou wouldst not hear the less;
Because Thou knowest, as they fall,
That love, sweet love, inspires them all.

My cage confines me round;
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wing is closely bound,
My heart's at liberty.
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom, of the soul.

O, it is good to soar
These bolts and bars above,
To Him whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love;
And in Thy mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom, of the mind.

-- Jeanne Marie de la Motte-Guyon,
1648-1717 (translator unknown)

God is present everywhere

They who seek the throne of grace
Find that throne in every place;
If we live a life of prayer,
God is present everywhere.

In our sickness and our health,
In our want, or in our wealth,
If we look to God in prayer,
God is present everywhere.

When our earthly comforts fail,
When the woes of life prevail,
'Tis the time for earnest prayer;
God is present everywhere.

Then, my soul, in every strait,
To thy Father come, and wait;
He will answer every prayer:
God is present everywhere.

-- Oliver Holden, 1765-1844

Hosanna, Lord!

Hosanna to the living Lord!
Hosanna to th' incarnate Word!
To Christ, Creator, Saviour, King,
Let earth, let heaven, Hosanna sing!

Hosanna, Lord! Thine angels cry;
Hosanna, Lord! Thy saints reply;
Above, beneath us, and around,
The dead and living swell the sound.

O Saviour, with protecting care,
Return to this Thy house of prayer:
Where we Thy parting promise claim:
Assembled in Thy sacred Name.

But, chiefest, in our cleansed breast,
Eternal! bid Thy Spirit rest;
And make our secret soul to be
A temple pure, and worthy Thee.

So in the last and dreadful day,
When earth and heaven shall melt away,
Thy flock, redeemed from sinfull stain,
Shall swell the sound of praise again.

-- Reginald Heber, 1783-1826

End

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