Sunday, April 17, 2016

Comfort of the Soul

 Therefore we ought to give the more earnest heed to the things which we have heard, 
lest at any time we should let them slip.

Our times are in God’s hands
Sweet Comfort of the soul
In spite of man’s heathen demands
This whisper can console

Time’s mortal stint on sod
Commands utmost respect
For soon death’s rod transports to God
What no one should neglect

There is no most or least
With God, his love full-free
He spreads on morning skies a feast
Of opportunity

And pours into time’s Call
A new measure of grace
Where no care is too big or small
To lay before His face

With day to week to year
Time’s Awesome Wick grows dim
That none but God can commandeer
On our way back to him

© Janet Martin

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Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!