Joy does not disappear like a season or gifts we give
True Joy is an every-day-all-year Reason to live
My, my, how silverly the wrapping fell off the gift of this new day....
Frost-brushed, a hushed world rouses from beneath a star-frothed
quill
Where God splays on spent ages virgin pages of His will
Holy goodness and mercy in patient Perfection pleads
With broken pieces fashioned by the cry of mankind’s needs
The depth of our dependence does not exceed heaven’s reach
This breadth of Being borrows where sorrow and joy beseech
As rawness of Time’s tumult exults in constant demise
Yet hope unveils its legions in dawn’s silver-gilded prize
The Way that leads to Life or Death is laid beneath our feet
Survival’s breath-by-breath accomplishment is bittersweet
Where our uttermost meek boast ought to be only thus;
The love of God who through his Son grants Living Hope; Jesus
Frost-brushed, a hushed world rises from the ashes of the
Past
Time’s quill touches the pages where soon man’s scribbles
are cast
And would be unintelligible but for God-gifted grace
Where Glory left all Glory to bring hope to human race
© Janet Martin
This Salvation
A manger-bed, a Stranger that His dearly-loved denied
Nowhere to lay his head, upon a cross He bled and died
To save once and for all, mankind, by Heaven’s King of kings
Thus we rejoice because of hope that this salvation brings
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