Dawn-song

Hail the glad dawn and adore its Creator

Light of the morning caresses the sod

Over a planet of August-gold tempest

Glimmers the gossamer scepter of God

From the bronze fret-work of corn-field and stubble

From earth’s wee porch to vast windows of hope

We lift our gaze above life’s toil and trouble

As we list to the wakening of breeze-calliope

Over the earth in a molten-fire river

Flows the glad morning rekindling the day

From the kind, out-stretched Hand of Life’s Giver

Night’s purple slumber is slipping away

Oh hail the glad dawn, for its awesome Creator

Does not leave us helpless in our greatest need

Surely His goodness and mercy will succor

He does not give to sustain our greed

See how the darkness has waned from night’s portal

See how the Light over-powers its girth

His grace sufficient for every mortal

Pouring in radiance over the earth

God, on this day let us never disdain You

By fretting or pining over what is not

Nor let us bear our moments without You

But give You the glory for all You allot

© Janet Martin

The Rush of You

Not with brush of eager fingers

Nor caress against my face

No sense of cooling body lingers

No across-the-room embrace

Not the rush of two lips meeting

Or the warmth of skin on skin

Oh darling, there is no competing

Flesh on flesh cannot begin

To satisfy me like the knowing

That no matter where we are

Miles are merely spaces flowing

You are never very far

Janet Martin~

Thoughts from a Shore...

We are rowing as it were

Ever closer to a Shore

Where Time; a spark, will be no more

Gray mists of the unknown

Hang twixt us and One

But we do not row alone

His way man can’t discern

We trust, we pray, we learn

Until our ‘no return’

..and then, from earthen slope

Through Time’s mist-veil we grope

To touch the Hand of Hope

We are rowing to a Shore

Time is a transient Door

To forever-ever-more

But for The Victory through His blood

I would tremble at this thought

Grace, sweet grace; the gift of God

© Janet Martin

Shadows of Eden

So I return

There

To that place

Where

It all began…

For somehow

In the pruning,

The plucking and picking

I sense a greater plan

And somehow in the hurt

The heat and the dirt

Of simple

Sun-kissed sod

There is a feeling

Of beautiful healing
Alone

In a garden

With God

…and we behold life with renewed eyes

For a garden is earth’s humble paradise

© Janet Martin

Ah, Yes...

I cannot name it

But I must

This sense of loss

And complete trust

Sadness, gladness

Healing, hurt

Longing filled

With humble worth

Asking, answering

With our eyes

Joy and sorrow

Synchronized

Dancing, drowning

Jubilee

Wanting, haunting

Pondering plea

Urging, surging

Ebb and flow

Of having, holding

Letting go

Rushing, raging

Raw release

Pouring into

Perfect peace

Passion-pure

Beneath, above

I must name it…

…ah, yes,

Love

© Janet Martin

Through Night's Charcoal Awning

It seeps through the night's charcoal awning 

From heaven’s tender-hearted embrace

Unwrapped in a merciful dawning

Another day of grace

He does not withhold His compassion

But unfurls His love from the deeps

In His infinite grace without ration

As through night’s charcoal awning it seeps

And though mortal heartache and sorrow

May yet trouble this sin-cursed sod

We lift our hearts and we borrow

New strength from a most gracious God

…for through midnight’s charcoal awning

His wonder and glory seep

Fading the dark from day’s dawning

And spilling His grace from the deep

© Janet Martin

I was heading to the garden to pick our corn…the sunrise breathed a new day of grace and hope into my soul as my heart leaped with praise for His loving kindness.

Yesterday's cares, failures, triumphs are there...in yesterday! this is a brand new day waiting to be experienced for Him!

Beautiful Wonder...

It’s a funny thing that happens

When I see those swirls and lines

Arranged in perfect order

Unmistakably defined

Into a palpitation

Pressing hard against my thought

As I trace each curve

Each pulse, each nerve

Each heart-lurch in each jot

And I feel it softly brush me

With a tender-whispered smile

As I let its beauty crush me

For a splendid little while

And I murmur warm endearments

Into an ethereal frame

As I trace the curls and jots and swirls

Spelling with love…your name

Janet Martin~

For This is Love...

He does not give for our gain

His gifts are not to keep

But to be shared again, again

To let His goodness leap

From hand to hand, from heart to heart

We fill Time’s mortal glove

With gifted gifts that He imparts

…for this is love

© Janet Martin