Grace's Poem

The morning spills in trembling thrills

From cradles on the east

Its mystery of what will be

Draws us from slumber’s peace

A gilded choir ignites the spire

Of midnight’s muted hem

In kind embrace of love and grace

A spotless diadem

Dawn’s unmarred scope of virgin hope

Expands its lilting lay

Where avenues of hallowed hues

Herald another day

Past’s ether crypt claims yester’s script

A jot within its sheaf

And soon this day will fall away

Like’s autumn’s drifting leaf

In newborn notes a nocturne floats

From corridors on high

And we are blessed; the gift of rest

Spurs us toward its sky

For we are not some hapless clot

Of dust and dreams and strife

We each are one for which the Son

Of God offered His life

The barrier twixt heav’n and earth

Is farewell’s faint half-breath

Eternity, a mystic sea

Beyond this little death

Now Living Hope unveils the slope

We receive mercy’s gift

From Heaven’s One who gave His Son

To die so we may live

Lift up your hands, His grace expands

To fill another dawn

The glory of His patient love

Splays shadows on the lawn

We touch the sod forefather’s trod

Beneath the self-same trust

In He who holds our stricken molds

Of mortal dust-to-dust

What doom and gloom would fill the tomb

Without the solace of

That sacred Name where guilt and shame

Are washed in perfect love

The darkened grief of unbelief

Would crush in dull despair

The ageless Hope that gilds the slope

And murmured Morning Prayer

This vapor glove of lust and love

Glints briefly on earth’s shoal

Soon we will go where eons flow

In portals of the soul

The vile discord as demons lord

Can never enter where

The Blood of Christ has paid the price

And purchased our fare

The morning spills its newborn thrills

Against the echoed fray

Of failure’s tear and triumph’s cheer

…but that was yesterday

A new day waits; celestial gates

Draw graciously ajar

To fill the cup that we lift up

With mercy’s sweet nectar

Redemption gleams in silver streams

From veins we cannot see

And yet the flood of sacred blood

Still flows for you and me

Grace like a buoy unfurls hope’s joy

But oh, its offering

Cannot extend beyond the bend

Of Time’s short suffering

Dare we ignore that certain shore

For lust’s ephemeral sparks?

And will we scorn Hands that were torn

From which the morn embarks?

Will we decline for tainted wine

The blood that washes clean,

Forgiving us as sin’s dark curse

Dissolves in mercy’s sheen?

This is the day the Lord has made

This is the day of grace

This is the road to the abode

Of our resting place

This is the hour of saving power

This is the dawn of Hope

This is the day the Lord has made

Tinting night’s charcoal slope

How soon the spoil that shapes our toil

Will tumble to the grave

And we will rise to claim the Prize

Of servant or of slave

How long the wail if we should fail

His Life-gift to receive

And cry too late at that Last Gate

Oh my God, I believe

The dawning spills from heaven’s hills

How sweet it is to know

That grace and love pour from the trove

Of morning’s mercy-glow

Eternal life sweetens the strife

Of Time’s temporal test

Where moments prove our dearest love

As we employ their quest

We all are cursed with longing’s thirst

With living’s grief and pain

But by the grace of Love’s embrace

We do not long in vain

And soon the Voice that weighs our Choice

Will draw us from this sod

As face to face we behold Grace

Before the throne of God

The by-and-by beyond the sky

Is not a phantom pith

The ageless goal where eons roll

Is not a fickle myth

This day of grace that we embrace

Holds but one guarantee

That each who tread its gifted thread

Will meet eternity

The morning spills as Time fulfills

Its purpose in the sun

A vapor jot on earth’s blue dot

And life’s brief course is done

But then, oh then the son’s of men

Will see what faith withheld

As Grace reveals what earth conceals

And Heaven is unveiled

© Janet Martin

A dear reader, Grace, invited me to attempt a l-o-o-ng poem; I had no idea that this was going to be a long poem when it began but it is and the title came from the 'invitation'. thank-you Grace. I hope to attempt the 'long poem' still mulling in my mind but it seems I am not in charge of what the pen allows. Sometimes I want to write so badly about a certain thing and it will not come together; and sometimes ink flows beneath a Higher Touch. 

Grace, thank-you again, because as the poem began to take shape I was overcome with awe at the patience and provision of grace. this grace is free to all! and each new day is a gift of grace and grace's invitation. Have you received the gift of grace? 

Eternity depends on it!