Full Atonement

 

Full atonement, can it be?

Every sin-stain washed away

Words seem trite; how can I say

'Thank-you for Your love for me'?

Full atonement, not in part

Ah redemption, Mercy's gift

Satisfies that hopeless rift

 Twixt His Heaven and my heart

Full atonement,diadem

Pressed in thorns upon His head

Holiest of Holy pled

'Oh my Father, forgive them'

Full atonement; God so loves

Everyone. Will we believe

And His wondrous gift recieve

That only the cross would prove?

Full atonement; dare we face

When this little life is done

Judgement day, Father and Son 

Having rejected His grace? 

Full atonement, thank-you Lord

For the sacrifice you made

As sin's awful debt was paid

Through Your blood on Calv'ry poured

 Janet Martin

For God so loved the world

that He gave His only begotten Son

that whosoever believeth in Him

should not perish but have

everlasting life

For God sent not His Son into the world

to condemn the world;

but that the world through Him

might be saved

John 3: 16-17

More Easter Poems here.

Without This Hope

Without This Hope

we symbolize

In pictures

of a cross

Our faith would be

a painted guise

Of damnation

and dross

Without This Hope mortality would suffer without cause

Death would be our destiny without Hope through the cross

Without This Hope in our Lord each touch, each job done well

Would be a steppingstone toward a brink of endless hell

Without this hope

Of saving grace

What comfort

Could there be?

To know there is

No resting-place

For all eternity

Without This Hope

No joy could thrive

How futile

Every plea

If Jesus Christ

Did not forgive

And set the

Sinner free

© Janet Martin

I know I've shared this song before but its one of my all-time favorites.

  

 I tell you this, brothers: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable.  Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed,  in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed.  For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality.  When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:

“Death is swallowed up in victory.” 

 “O death, where is your victory?
    O death, where is your sting?”

 The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.  But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain. 1 Cor. 15: 50-58

This Aching, Breaking Tide

Listening to Celtic Thunder spawns sudden, unexpected poetry...the beginning of this song sparked a sense akin to a tidal wave...

This aching, breaking tide

Dashes against a wall

Of morning-noon-and-night

Heart-wrenching madrigal

Silk silver on a street

Beneath our feet that dance

This aching, breaking tidal-wave

Perplexes thought’s romance

For kisses soon grow cold

And arms can never hold

The surge of moments passing through

Time’s glass of gray and gold

‘Aha, aha’, we say

And clench a foolish fist

This aching, breaking tidal-wave

Dissolves in vapor mist

The night is seldom heard

And where the morning stirred

We dash headlong into its waters

Of hope undeterred

Ere noon soon poises on

Earth’s morning-night divide

Before its little lilt will join

Time’s aching, breaking tide

The sound of silence roars

And pours through bolted doors

While we are busy making plans

And filling hands with chores

A pocket full of dreams

Drains into morn-noon-night

We stuff our cheeks with drops gleaned from

Its aching, breaking tide

© Janet Martin

Easter Poem Meditation...tweaked repost

He could have sent a prophet
A servant, meek and low
To bear the sword of evil
And hatred's cruel blow
He could have sent a king of earth
A pauper or a priest
He had the pow'r to place His worth
Within a mindless beast
He could have sent His angels
Legions to fill the sky
To spare Himself the anguish
Of watching His Son die
He could have, with one uttered word
Declared all man forgiven

 Or from His supreme visage stirred
The rocks to shout salvation
But no, He chose to put on flesh
The Sacred Son of Heaven
Became a servant unto men
In form, lowly and human
Upon a cross He gave Himself
A King and Royal Priest
And not one drop of love withheld
As death’s curse was released
He could have sent an army
To face the fiends of hell
But He loved us so completely
That He sent Himself

Janet

 who, although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. Being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.…Phil.2:6-8

Rocking Baby to Sleep...

Mothers have many a memory to keep

Kiss-cradle-hug-a-bye-hold-and-release

But the memory of rocking my babies to sleep

Returns now and then in bittersweet peace

‘Rock-a-bye baby in the tree top’

‘Hush little baby, don’t say a word’

Sleep, baby, sleep’ and ‘the weasel goes pop’

‘Neath little star its sweet echo is stirred

Soft on the bosom of mothers they sleep

Warm in the arms that are holding the world

Yes, Mothers have many a memory to keep

But none like the rocking of wee boy or girl

‘Lullaby, goodnight and close your wee eyes’

Soon the bright morning will steal you away

Lullaby, goodnight, my, my how time flies

Let me hold heaven as long as I may…

© Janet Martin

Recently the little guy I babysit needed a little extra rocking due to being sick with colds etc…it stirred many a beautiful memory as I sang the old familiar lullabies to him long after he fell asleep.

These little guys also reminded me of a poem I memorized as a girl because I thought it suited my little brothers at the time.

Lullaby

Bedtime come fo' little boys
Po' little lamb.
Too tiahed out to make a noise,
Po' little lamb.
You gwine t' have to-morrer sho'?
Yes, you tole me dat befo',
Don't you fool me, chile, no mo',
Po' little lamb.

You been bad de livelong day,
Po' little lamb.
Th'owin' stones an' runnin' 'way,
Po' little lamb.
My, but you 's a-runnin' wil',
Look jes' lak some po' folks chile;
Mam' gwine whup you atter while,
Po' little lamb.

Come hyeah! you mos' tiahed to def,
Po' little lamb.
Played yo'se'f clean out o' bref,
Po' little lamb.
See dem han's now--sich a sight!
Would you evah b'lieve dey's white?
Stan' still twell I wash 'em right,
Po' little lamb.

Jes' cain't hol' yo' haid up straight,
Po' little lamb.
Had n't oughter played so late,
Po' little lamb.
Mammy do' know whut she 'd do,
Ef de chillun's all lak you;
You 's a caution now fu' true,
Po' little lamb.

Lay yo' haid down in my lap,
Po' little lamb.
Y' ought to have a right good slap,
Po' little lamb.
You been runnin' roun' a heap.
Shet dem eyes an' don't you peep,
Dah now, dah now, go to sleep,
Po' little lamb.

Paul Laurence Dunbar :

Marching Orders...

Morning spills and fills a sea

With hope’s golden melody

Blue night-shadows seep away

Grace bestows another day

None can know its mystery

What will shape its legacy?

Touch its tide with faith, for oh

By the grace of God we go

Soon the night wind fills earth’s sigh

Today’s hello and good-bye

Writes its verse of love and life

Kiss of laughter, sting of strife

Beg the Lord for mercy, then

Off we go and try again

Surely in return for rest

We owe God our very best

© Janet Martin

For some reason getting up was hard this morning…but the last two lines suddenly jolted me out of bed.

Downton Abbey-hearts

PAD challenge day 17: write a pop-culture poem

Tea sipped from fine china will not take us there

Yet we curl up in England from our easy chairs

With servants, gowns and hats though liberation

Sneers now at stiffness of such tradition

We become Mary, Anna, Cora,  Lady Grantham

Because somewhere within us we understand them

We are not familiar with much of the ado

But ah, we know a Miss O’Brien or two

And the snobbery of royalty still thrives

Lust, love, greed, grief; these are life

And we, blue jean princesses could well wear their names

Because human emotion is ever the same

 

So we sip our tea, love our ‘Bransons’ and ‘Bates’

Call our castles home, search for soul-mates

For we are all Crawleys; rich, poor, in-between

Tested with love and loss on living’s green

Centuries pass; old fashions seem strange

Yet, those things of the heart never really change

© Janet Martin

Epiphany

In that one moment

Every cruelty,

Slight and jab

Climaxed,

Erupting

In blind,

Supreme

Hatred

…and she knew in that one moments every evil

in its darkest, violent sin-cursed potential...o-o-o-h!

In that one moment

She knew

Every 

kindness,

Grace and 

Mercy

Breathed,

Is a gift

Of God’s

Forgiveness 

and

Supreme   

Love

© Janet Martin

 For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.
Matt. 6:14