Anthem of Praise

 This 'song' sort of wrote itself as the Mete-r of Mercy Renewed

mesmerizes man once more...

Oh, thrill of hope’s favour as dawn rends yon shore

Where wonder is waiting to wow us once more

As Mercy, a treasure God’s love so decreed

Will grant us the measure of grace that we need

Oh, blessed assurance for all who believe

This race of endurance bids all to receive

The prize of the promise that none can annul

Salvation through Jesus; sin’s debt paid in full

Then do not despair in the care that must be

But rather prepare for the day that will be

While we, dream-prone dancers oft vexed by faith’s foe

Are emptied of answers to explain our woe

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak

The sky is not spilling explanations we seek

Its blossom unfetters soft parchment of pink

In awesome love-letters, not written in ink

Then, oh, how hope quivers to witness day’s birth

Love rushes like rivers from heaven to earth

As Light fells the dark, ancient ways still amaze

Joy swells wonder’s spark into anthems of praise

© Janet Martin

Yesterday afternoon as wonder wowed words speechless I thought of this song...
How Beautiful Heaven must Be

...because the beauties of earth are but faint glimpses only

of what eye has not seen nor ear heard...

But as it is written: “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, 

Nor have entered into the heart of man 

The things which God has prepared for those who love Him.”

1 Cor.2:9

Isaiah 65:17
For behold, I will create new heavens and a new earth. 

The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind.
(So don't bother trying to keep a why-list to ask God;
you'll never remember them anymore!!😇)

James 1:12
Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, 

because when he has stood the test, 

he will receive the crown of life 

that God has promised to those who love Him.

Prayer For Pure Perspective

 Learn to do right; seek justice and correct the oppressor.

 Defend the fatherless and plead the case of the widow.”

“Come now, let us reason together,” says the LORD. 

 “Though your sins are like scarlet, they will be as white as snow; 

though they are as red as crimson, they will become like wool.

If you are willing and obedient, you will eat the best of the land.…

Isa. 1:17-19 

"Oh God, make us willing and obedient"

For ears to hear and eyes to see

For souls that pant, my Lord, for Thee

Lest deaf and blind and starved we grope

In vain to find Your Living Hope

For longing keened by your commands

For faith to trust Your nail-scarred hands

For love to take the tender lead

Lest we follow lust, pride or greed

For diligence when dreams distract

Or logic seems to challenge fact

Lord, shine through us, pure and devout

Beyond a shadow of a doubt

Protect us from the evil one

Comfort us with ‘Thy will be done’

For You have washed our sins away

Thank-you. In Jesus’ name we pray

Amen

© Janet Martin

While Looking Forward To...

My friend and I agreed this morning that we love living 

in Canada, where each season fulfills its expectation!

but sometimes 'dreams' can catch us off-guard...

remember this?!

This morning I thought of a dew, oops a few things I'm looking forward to...

To climb a long hill wild with blooms

To lie beneath heaths, summer-blue

Where green has made everything new

After winter’s weathered white plumes

To soak in pools spun by sun-beams

To revel in freshly-tilled dirt

While bright, laundry-laden lines flirt

With warm zephyrs, sassy with dreams

To linger with nary a chill

As the first, faint fingers of light

Tickle silver stars out of sight

With God’s quintessential quill

To rise and shine earlier then

When cold winter’s quarry is freed

To leap like sheared sheep in yon mead

And feel so much younger again

To reach for the stars in bare feet

To sit on the banks of a stream

And reckon that living the dream

Has never tasted quite so sweet

But then I say nay, my dear, nay

I’ll cherish the beautiful now

In every way I know how

Be glad for the gift of today

I’ll climb weathered hills of white plumes

I’ll pause beneath heaths, winter-gray

Where white is soon whispered away

By summer’s fresh sally of blooms

© Janet Martin

Then We Should Pause And Think A Bit...

 The drip-drip-drip of this...

created this!

With the tick-tick-tick of this...

 ...what are we creating?

Sometimes when in the thick of it

We overlook the quick of it

Betaken by the kick of it

The cuddle, push and tug

Sometimes the thrill and ache of it

The learn-laugh-love-sleep-wake of it

Startles the give and take of it

With a big, bear-like hug

The hold and letting go of it

The high-low grin-and-groan of it

The crash-croon-dash-stand-sit a bit

Is quite a symphony

Then we should pause and think a bit

Where the permanent ink of it

Sketches with subtle wink-like flit

An endless legacy

…thus we should make the most of it

The trouble, test and toast of it

And not bother to boast a bit

But bear this thought in mind

That after time’s quick round of it

We all will give account for it

Forever freed or bound by it

…the life we left behind

© Janet Martin

Romans 14:12

So then, each of us will give an account of ourselves to God.

Storm-stoked...

 When I started writing this poem the snow was still held at bay,

but the winds have escalated and begin to add substance 

to the forecast of a big storm today.

The sky hangs low with unshed snow

The wailing wind begins to blow

Into each crevice, crease and nook

The vines that drape the boist’rous brook

Rattle; summer’s skeletal trace

Like scattered spools of tangled lace

Or ink-stains from a stoppered sea

That spilled vague strains of poetry

Still waiting to be recognized

By brittle frond and sprig disguised

The grumbling gale bullies the bush

And rakes the woodland’s solemn hush

A hoodlum looking for a fight

Harassing everything in sight

It storms the streets and marketplace

A hunter eager to give chase

To any unsuspecting prey

Not battened down or tucked away

So hang onto your hat, my friend

Or you may not see it again

The wind-chill seeps through walls it seems

And wakens simple fireside dreams

It makes the courtier of books

Content in modest, nested nooks

Where wanderlust’s tug is assuaged

Twixt sips of tea and turn of page

And everywhere we wish to roam

Does not compare to home, sweet home

Where paper ships on paper seas

Transport us anywhere we please

So, let the weight of lowered height

Burst through barred gates in white o’er white

White petals and white butterflies

White diamond-studded stars and sighs

White whispers on a white-washed path

White garnish on white aftermath

Unbroken save the curlicue

That spirals from the chimney flue

Or here and there a little bird

By ruffled feathers undeterred

© Janet Martin