Wednesday, January 23, 2013


The dawn is drenched in grace un-quenched
As oceans of His mercy swell
From eons of immortal love
In shades that tongue can never tell

Now we lift up our fragile cup
Oh, what is man that God should fill
Our wayward wants while heaven flaunts
But whispers of His wondrous will?

Though sorrow-streams and broken dreams
Have laid their grief upon our brow
And though we strain beneath life’s pain
Humbly beneath His touch we bow

For this is He who died for me
That rends the dark with molten sun
We cannot know His thought, and so
We whisper, not my will be done

The dawn is drenched in hope unclenched
God is not dead, not does he sleep
Unfathomed vaults His Hand exalts
As morning spills across its deep

© Janet Martin

‘Mom, your boots are squeaking’, laughs Victoria, as we watch His wonder unfold in 22 below temps.

Now an hour later...


  1. Those sunrise views you have never cease to amaze me...What a gift! God knew that was a detail you'd appreciate I think:)


Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!