Of Faith and Sky

The lathe that shapes from Time, Today

Grants faith-footholds of pink-gold-gray

The sky, Hope’s my-oh-my unfolds

God knows each unknown that it holds

The stir that fells the night expands

A yellow bell tolls from God’s hands

And hangs upon dawn’s yawning air

A ladder to His throne, called prayer

The magnitude of days gone by

Cannot dim mercy’s faithful eye

But hews from rock and plain a place

Where we can name His Name in praise

The glory of the Lord is love

The earth and its fullness thereof

Belongs to Him who from on high

Masters the lathe of faith and sky

© Janet Martin

 But the Lord is faithful, and He will strengthen and protect you from the evil one.

2 Thess. 3:3

...if we are faithless, he remains faithful, for he cannot disown himself.

 

2 Tim.2:13

For Mr. February

 February days ebbed and flowed between sun-rain-snow

His coat is ragged burlap and his cap is thatch, gray-gold

He lumbers over hinterland and hill; a vagabond

From pockets feather-flowers fall and blue shadows unfold

Where brusque against dusk’s pastel west the fir tree waves its wand

He never shows his face, and he seems older than his days

A lonely sort of fellow, no fanfare to hail his storm

He scuffles by where summer-dreamers sigh for turquoise bays

While stark against infringing dark the pine tree flaunts its form 

He musters brooding blusters, quick-tempered, misunderstood 

He broadens daylight's dome and gleans a hip-hooray or two

Then scatters silver mirrors and flatters the frosted wood 

His sky stays pinker longer when the day is almost through

‘Dear forlorn Mr. February, wherefore wilt thou go

And who waitest to meet thee as thou fadest from the land?’

Methinks I hear a tear but it is tossed and lost in snow

Where cold against the eventide the frigid poplars stand

© Janet Martin

Blessed Assurance

Sometimes the ebb and flow of come and go and low and high

Where nothing is quite like it used to be in days gone by

Can make us long for joy and song where wars of wrong and right

Make pitfalls out of fortune and stumbling blocks out of sight

Until we flee to He whose law and love are undeterred

Securing us with calmness to the anchor of His word

Sometimes the sapphire awning of mid-morning in July

Is not enough and even love can drain our laughter dry

When second miles are long and hard and smiles dissolve in tears

And worldly explanations blab but cannot assuage fears

Until with hunger groaning for more than babble absurd

He quiets us with wonder in the fullness of His word

Sometimes the cruelty of tongue can steal ones breath away

With such an utter sadness that we don’t know what to say

The brokenness of humankind would lead to gross despair

Without hope’s ageless promises greater than loss or care

As we, with earnest yearning find the grace that leaves us stirred

And overcome with gladness at the pureness of His word

Sometimes the heart breaks, smarts and aches and takes more than hug-kiss

To heal the sorrows of the soul that touch of skin can miss

For we will always need more than the pomp and pride of boast

To fill the howling void that gapes within our uttermost

Where nothing will appease with peace until our will is spurred

To seek soul-saving comfort in the sureness of His word

© Janet Martin

 Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth.

John 17:17

Of Bedrocks, Beauty and Belief

We hone, with common skin and bone

Life-lessons we are taught

And sharpen on time’s silk and stone

The ilk that cradles thought

The beauty of the earth, it seems

Is immune to man’s quirks

But lays its best beneath our dreams

In nature’s faultless works

As we, mindful or not, of God

Glimpse hints of heaven-dust

And trample with feet mercy-shod

Its stomping ground of trust

What hope we hold in human hearts

If we are not deceived

For Hope is that which God imparts

To we who have believed

Lord, be the hope in us this day

The bedrock of each thought

Lest we be tricked by heathen sway

And live this life for naught

Temptation does not change its tone

In spite of changing views

Where we, with common skin and bone

Worship the God we choose

© Janet Martin