Poetry About Jesus and Salvation 

Martha Snell Nicholson - Page 5

IN OUR STREET

We are a friendly neighborhood,

And if we know more than we should

About our neighbor's business, still,

We like each other, and we feel

What touches one has touched us all.

So when the word went round last fall

That our good neighbor, Mrs. Glenn,

Was making baby clothes again,

We tried to lend a helping hand,

And we would meet, a little band

Of friends, to help her sew,

And chat of things that women know.

She seemed so well, but even so

We felt, and said, that she should go

To see a doctor. She would laugh,

"Having babies isn't half

As hard as people think. We'll wait

And call him on the proper date."

Our street was hushed and sad today.

She was so still. The baby lay

Within her quiet arm. We heard

The preacher read from out the Word

"Oh death, where is thy sting? O grave,

Thy victory? For He doth save

Unto the uttermost all those

Who came to Him, nor shall He lose

His weakest child." We sat there awed --

Our Mrs. Glenn, at home, with God!

And it seemed that heaven's door

For just one moment, stood ajar.

But then our eyes strayed to the row

Of little Glenns, down here below,

Left motherless. We wondered who

Would do the things she used to do,

Would make the bread, and comb their hair,

And care as only mothers care

When children's little worlds go wrong

And then our quartette sang a song.

"Is there trouble anywhere?

Take it to the Lord in prayer!"

And as we looked upon our dead,

Somehow our hearts were comforted.

Tiptoeing awkwardly, our men

Spoke halting words to Mr. Glenn.

This evening, up and down our street,

Whenever wives and husbands meet

About the house, there seems to be

A special tenderness as we

Glimpse for a moment all the grief

Of parting, then a sweet relief

That we were still together. Some

There were among us who had come

To the parting of the ways.

But the shock of these last days

Melted something hard. A man

Will speak at last, as best he can,

And groan, while blinking back a tear,

"Suppose it had been you, my dear!"

So Mrs. Glenn still touches those

Along our street. Perhaps she knows.

"For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now" (Romans 8:22)

TOGETHER

No longer am I a stranger here,

Lost in a desert land;

My Lord prepareth the way for me,

And leadeth me by the hand.

Yea, He holdeth my hand in His right hand

When I am sore afraid,

An He whispers, "Fear thou not, My child,

And be thou not dismayed;"

"Through paths that thou has not known before

I will guide thy stumbling feet,

I will make the darkness light for thee,

And the bitter waters sweet.

"Before thou dost call I will answer thee,

I will break the gates of brass,

I will cut in sunder the iron bars,

And safely we shall pass."

And so, with His hand still leading me,

Together, we shall come

To a door of pearl . . . We shall enter in,

And together, be at home!

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shodow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me"

(Psalms 23:4)

DYING GRACE

Since death is but the opening of a door

Into a larger, fairer room -- nay, more

It is the welocming of His voice, the touch

Of His dear hand on ours at last -- if such

is death, why should we ever be afraid

Or doubt that He will keep the promise made?

Then trust Him, frightened child, for He will give

Us grace to die who gives us grace to live!

Await His time -- do we need dying grace

While we are living? But when, face to face

With that last moment, He will take our hand

To lead us home, and we shall understand

And smile at fear, and smiling, enter, for

Our death will be the opening of His door!

"Behold, I shew 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 trump; for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed" (1 Corinthians 15:51-52)

THE RAPTURE

Long hours drag by,

From this my bed of pain

I scan the sky

Whence He will come again.

A shout, a light!

Then, borne upon the breeze

I take my flight

Above the dimming trees,

Far down the sky

The age -- old planets plod

Their course, but I

Am winging on toward God!

My pulses sing,

My heart a homing bird.

The heavens ring

With music never heard.

The sky, in all

Its blue eternal steeps,

Echoes His call

Wherever starlight sleeps.

Hosts of redeemed

Make glad the listening air,

Rapture long dreamed,

My living Lord is there!

O weary heart,

Let not your faith grow dim.

This still your part;

To work and wait for Him!

"And thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense thee: for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just" (Luke 14:14)

RECOMPENSE

I left the darkened room where pain and I

Kept tryst so long.

A rival wooed me, soft his tender note,

A robin's song.

I was so cold, so tired, as one whose race

Is almost run.

I had forgot how warm in other days

Had shone the sun.

And that there were no bounds to all the arch

Of heaven's blue,

I stared about -- the whole bright world had been

Created new!

But though the sunlight beat so kind and warm

Upon my hair,

I missed the little room I loved because

I found God there!

Perhaps but for those days in darkened room,

A chastened child,

I had not known how deep His grace. . . . I looked

Toward God and smiled!

"And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body" (Romans 8:23)

THE RESURRECTION OF THE BODY

My weary flesh had need of rest,

And now, above my quiet breast,

Daisies blossom in the grass;

Over me the night winds pass.

And softly falls the summer rain.

Earth had received her child again

To her brown breast, and sweet and low

The lullabies she sings. And so

He giveth His beloved sleep.

But let my sleep not be so deep,

Beneath this cool and tranquil sod,

That I forget my dream of God.

My flesh must yet a journey make.

May some least part remain awake

Until I hear the voice of God

Ask tenderly, "Was your sleep good,

And are you rested now? Then come,

My child, today you shall go home!"

"Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise; be thankful unto him, and bless his name" (Psalms 100:4)

THANKSGIVING

We give Thee our griefs, O Father,

We cast our burdens on Thee,

The woes of all Thy children

Are before Thee constantly.

We bring Thee our sins and follies,

We pour our tears at Thy feet.

Help us, O Lord, to remember

That Thy heart might find it sweet

If we brought Thee our joys and pleasures

As well as our sorrow and tears,

Would not the sound of our laughter

Make music in Thine ears?

To the earthly giver we tender

The smile and the grateful word;

How then can we be forgetting

To thank our bountiful Lord?

"In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also" (John 14:2-3)

WHEN HE SHALL CALL ME

When He shall call me, let me go

Not with laggard step and slow,

Not with terror in my heart,

Is it not the better part

To be with Him who loves me so,

And longs for me? Then let me go

With eager heart, with utter trust

That though my flesh return to dust

Yet this my soul will know no death.

My raptured spirit, in a breath,

Shall be with God, at last, at last,

With all earth's weary journey past!

Hark! -- His sweet voice who bore my sin,

"This is thy home My child, come in!"

OPEN SESAME

The pictures on my walls are doors

Which open into wonderlands

For my delight, and bring release

From weary limbs and folded hands.

So every day I merely choose

Which magic door I'll step within,

And only hurry back in time

For lunch tray or for medicine.

Sometimes the white road beckons me --

I steal away, and far beyond

the farthest bend I roam all day,

A happy, care-free vagabond.

Gray days I seek this Mission which

Lies drowsing under sunny skies.

Across the trackless desert sands

I watch the shimmering heat waves rise.

When autumn calls, I panting scale

This hill which towers above the plain.

Here all the winds of heaven blow

For me, and I am free again!

And there is one, the face of Christ . . .

And as I gaze, the very door

Of heaven itself is opened wide

To me! How could I ask for more?

Sometimes my pitying callers say,

"How can you bear it here all day?"

But I have found contentment, for

My every picture is a door!

"If we suffer we shall also reign with Him" (2 Timothy 2:12)

TAUGHT OF GOD

Does your bitter load of grief,

Tears, and pain

Seem too great for you to bear?

Don't complain,

You are only being made

Fit to reign.

Fit to reign with Christ our Lord,

Destiny

Far beyond imagining!

How could He

Ever use as potentates

You and me?

Surely we are all unfit,

All untaught,

And of wise and kingly lore

Knowing naught.

All the gold of Ophire could

Not have bought

Private lessons from a King!

Precious pain,

Used of God to teach His child

How to reign! . . .

Taught by very God Himself --

And we complain!

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified" (Isaiah 61:3)

BEAUTY FOR ASHES

I do not ask for golden mists,

Nor rosy paths to tread.

Nor even that the least small flower

May bloom above my dead!

Nor wealth, nor fame, nor ease nor love

Find place in these my prayers,

Nor brightening of the sober robe

My spent soul ever wears.

I only pray that Thou wilt take

My pain and grief and fear,

And to Thy glory will transmute

My every pang and tear:

I only plead that Thou wilt use

This broken life of mine,

And for my dust and ashes give

The beauty that is Thine!

"Beloved, now are we the sons of God" (1 John 3:2)

NOW AND THEN

"Beloved, now are we the sons of God."

Though thorny was the path my torn feet trod,

What matters pain? I am a child of God!

"It doth not yet appear what we shall be."

Unguessable, God's glorious mystery,

Reserved until that day for you and me!

"And yet we know that when he shall appear

That we shall be like him!" Amazing, clear,

Scarcely believable to human ear!

"For then we shall behold him as He is!"

For eyes which wept too much, rapture like this,

His face throuh ages of unbroken bliss!

"No lion shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it shall not be found there; but the redeemed shall walk there" (Isaiah 35:9)

THE REDEEMED SHALL WALK THERE

Some glad day I shall walk again!

Sometime my eager feet,

Sensing a blessed Presence near,

Shall turn, and run to meet

The One who, dying on a cross,

Redeemed my flesh and soul,

Straightened this twisted spine of mine,

And made me new and whole!

All memory of helplessness,

Of crutch, of iron brace,

Will melt like mist when I behold

The beauty of His face!

And so I wait. On swift wing comes

That blessed moment when

He'll take my hand, and smiling, teach

Me how to walk again!

"Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ" (2 Corinthians 1:4-5)

GOD'S MESSAGE

This is God's message of comfort,

This is His balm for our tears,

"Child, who are war-torn and weary,

Give me thy grief and thy fears.

"Is not My grace all-sufficient?

Trust Me, My arm will sustain.

Look up, -- the morning is breaking

Christ Jesus is coming again!"

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