Archive for November 25th, 2009

Holiness had no beginning –


            it was:  


Always in the heart


            Always a part of God.  


– eab, 9/06

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Give me the plain, the natural, the free;

The natural nature of earth, sky, and sea.

Give me the true, the honest, the pure,

In this age that trusts in imitation’s “secure.”


Relieve me of pretense and falseness and such,

As I see causing hustle and bustle, and rush.

It is flash, and fancy, and funny faces,

That lack the grace, of the ageless graces.


I see the hollow objects of plastic and tin,

And the hollow lives showing ever so thin,

That fail to ring true to the stroke of time.

A base metal, perhaps? in these “chaps of chime.”


I hear flicker, and snap, zing, and click.

Rescue me sure and rescue me quick.

And give me in one last line I implore,

The real, unostentatious, now and evermore!

                – eab, 11/25/68

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Good is the Lord, the heav’nly King,
Who makes the earth His care;
Visits the pastures every spring,
And bids the grass appear.
The clouds, like rivers, raised on high
Pour out at Thy command
Their watery blessings from the sky,
To cheer the thirsty land.

The softened ridges of the field
Permit the corn to spring;
The valleys rich provision yield,
And the poor laborers sing.
The little hills, on every side,
Rejoice at falling showers;
The meadows, dressed in all their pride,
Perfume the air with flowers.

The barren clods, refreshed with rain,
Promise a joyful crop;
The parching grounds look green again,
And raise the reaper’s hope.
The various months Thy goodness crowns;
How bounteous Thy ways!
The bleating flocks spread o’er the downs,
And shepherds shout Thy praise.

 *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Is this the kind return,
And these the thanks we owe,
Thus to abuse eternal love,
Whence all our blessings flow?

To what a stubborn frame
Has sin reduced our mind!
What strange rebellious wretches we,
And God as strangely kind!

On us He bids the sun
Shed his reviving rays;
For us the skies their circles run,
To lengthen out our days.

The brutes obey their God,
And bow their necks to men;
But we, more base, more brutish things,
Reject His easy reign.

Turn, turn us, mighty God,
And mold our souls afresh;
Break, sov’reign grace, these hearts of stone,
And give us hearts of flesh.

Let old ingratitude
Provoke our weeping eyes,
And hourly as new mercies fall
Let hourly thanks arise.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

What shall I render to my God
For all His kindness shown?
My feet shall visit Thine abode,
My songs address Thy throne.

Among the saints that fill Thine house
My off’rings shall be paid;
There shall my zeal perform the vows
My soul in anguish made.

How much is mercy Thy delight,
Thou ever blessèd God!
How dear Thy servants in Thy sight!
How precious is their blood!

How happy all Thy servants are!
How great Thy grace to me!
My life, which thou hast made Thy care,
Lord, I devote to Thee.

Now I am Thine, forever Thine,
Nor shall my purpose move
Thy hand hath loosed my bonds of pain,
And bound me with Thy love.

Here in Thy courts I leave my vow,
And Thy rich grace record;
Witness, ye saints, who hear me now,
If I forsake the Lord.


Isaac Watts died this date, 11/25/1748, at Stoke New­ing­ton, Eng­land.  (In case you had not noticed it only takes six letters to spell his whole name – the third letter is repeated in each.)  Watts who is widely respected in both evangelical and holiness circles is still sung by congregations who have not abandoned their hymnal.  He is NOT as well known as a writer of Thanksgiving poetry but here are THREE from his pen. He was born 7/1771674, at South­amp­ton, Eng­land and never married.

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