Wednesday, October 29, 2014


If ere there were an empty chalice,
If substance ere were formed of malice,
If will were ill and easy poured,
Then ever shall I pray, “My Lord,
“Never let me be that vessel
“That’s malice filled, but be my trestle
“Across a deep and dark crevasse
“Of hate. . .don’t let me be that glass.

“And never let me harbor that
“Christened ship Resentment at
“My port and dock of future’s dreams.”
(It’s devil’s cargo, so it seems.)
And should thee waltz along the deck
Of Resentment, ye’d best check
For bodies of that ghost ship’s mates
Strewn ‘crossed the deck like empty crates.

“Come walk with me along the path
“Of sweet, self-righteous wrath,”
The devil croons in listening ear,
And such a tempting song to hear.
Black’s the rose of ill repose
That Forever—laughing—chose,
To lay me to rest in that rose garden;
God shan’t offer Holy Pardon.

So naught remains that I might do
If I’m to see His Light shine through
But lay myself at My Savior’s feet
As did Ruth pull back the sheet
Of her redeemer way back then
And ask he take her wholly in.

Jesus, Savior, take my soul
In broken shards and make me whole!
I’d walk with you, and by your hand,
Lead me to The Father’s Land.
If ere I were an empty chalice,
Please fill me with the Holy Ghost;
For all I’d pray, I crave that most. 


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