Sunday Poem | The Violinist With One String

violin

He shambled awkward on the stage, the while
Across the waiting audience swept a smile,
With clumsy touch, when first he drew the bow
He snapped a string. The audience tittered low.
Another stroke! Off flies another string!
With laughter now the galleries ring.
Once more! The third string breaks its quivering strands,
And hisses greet the player as he stands.
He stands – while his genius, unbereft,
Is calm – one string and Paganini left.
He plays. The one string’s daring notes uprise
Against the storm as if they sought the skies.
A silence falls; then awe; the people bow,
And they who erst had hissed are weeping now;
And when the last note, trembling, died away,
Some shouted, “Bravo!” some had learned to pray.

–Author Unknown

May we as Christians be like that one string in the hands of our Master:
The Lord Jesus Christ.

Sunday Poem | Ol’ Clothes

garbage bags

The Junk Man passed the house today
And gave his call in his plaintive way,
“ol clothes!
Ol’ clothes!
Ol’ Clothes!
Any ol’ clothes to throw away?
Any ol’ dishes…any ol’ plates,
Any ol’ pants or hats or skates,
Any ol’ kettles or pots or pans,
Any ol’ bottles or ol’ tin cans,
Any ol’ dresses or any ol’ shoes,
Any ol’ things that you can’t use?
ol clothes!
Ol’ clothes!
Ol’ Clothes!”

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Sunday Poem | We Two

home in fog

I cannot do it alone;
The waves run fast and high
And the fogs close chill around,
And the light goes out in the sky;
But I know that We Two shall win –in the end:
– Jesus and I.

I cannot row it myself –
The boat on the raging sea –
But beside me sits Another,
Who pulls or steers — with me;
And I know that We Two shall come safe into port,
–His child and He.

Coward and wayward and weak,
I change with the changing sky;
Today, so eager and brave,
Tomorrow, not caring to try;
But He never gives in; so We Two shall win!
– Jesus and I.

Strong and tender and true,
Crucified once for me;
Ne’er will He change, I know,
Whatever I may be.
But all He says I must do–
Ever from sin to keep free;
We shall finish our course, and reach Home at last!
– His child and He.

Author Unknown

Sunday Poem | Easter

empty tomb

The Lord is risen, the resurrection morning
Has dawned, and from my troubled heart has fled
The fear of death, and now in place of mourning
Joy, sweetest joy and peace are mine instead.

The Lord is risen, the reign of sin has ended,
He holds the key of death, and from its sway
My soul is freed, for now in Him ascended
Life, everlasting life is mine today.

The Lord is risen, He Satan’s power has broken,
And from the foe, my ransomed soul is free;
The Lord is risen, and by His wondrous token
I too shall rise His glorious face to see.

by Marion E.C. Netherton

I Have Found Such Joy | Sunday Poem

plants in window

I have found such joy in simple things;
A plain, clean room, a nut-brown loaf of bread,
A cup of milk, a kettle as it sings,
The shelter of a roof above my head,
And in a leaf-laced square along the floor,
Where yellow sunlight glimmers through a door.

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