LIFE ABOVE SIN

Thank You Lord,

For Thy salvation plan,

The glorious privilege,

You have given man

To live above sin.

 

The privilege of moving

Forever out,

Of the quicksand traps

Of fear and doubt,

That man was born in.

          – eab, 7/76

Written while pastoring in East Tennessee, Blount Co, Friendsville

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Simple

To be a simple soul, with simple taste,

To love frugality while hating waste,

To love a lot, but require a lot less.

Is to make a life that will always bless.

A timely space on life’s path of haste.

 

The simple soul does not bespeak,

A simple minded, blinded freak.

The simple mind is dead to decisions,

The simple soul is one of precisions.

Pursuing the best, in a picture that is bleak.

 

The simple soul, whose demands are few,

Isn’t charmed by the magic words “modern” and “new.”

It’s the timeless values, centuries old and holding,

Bright and fresh, clear and never molding,

That interest him and truly satisfy too.

 

The simple is convenient, complete, and free.

The simple is open for all looking to see.

The simple is permanent, that is, nearly so,

And the simple is now, and always for me.

                        – eab, 6/15/75

Written while pastoring in East Tennessee just weeks before buying the campus in Friendsville, Blount Co.

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Why Spring?

The grand Lord knew, after the white and the blue,

Of the cold, crisp fortnights of chill,

After stark star lights and short day sights,

And iced-over bridges at the bottoms of the hill,

After sleet’s solid rain and the snow flakes again,

And the humdrum of life in confinement;

That man needed to sing – he needed spring –

The Lord’s annual perfection of refinement.   -eab, 3/29/80

Penned in Friendsville, Tennessee, located in western Blount Co.

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Let Me Know

I must live in the place, where Thy glorious face,

Is seen from day to day.

Where the eternal essence, of Thine only presence,

Doth not fade away.

 

Let me sense, let me know, while still here below,

Heaven in my unworthy soul.

Place Gilead’s healing balm, replace storm with Thy calm

And make me every-wit whole!           – eab, 9/81

 

Written while pastoring and teaching in Blount Co., Tennessee       

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Lasting Worth

People come, and people go,

And people are forgotten.

Pride is such a fleeting thing,

And fame – it is half rotten.

The Lord rules, and the Lord reigns,

The Lord, He is forever.

The only place of lasting worth,

Is in His holy favor.  – eab, 8/84

 

Penned in Blount Co., in East Tennessee

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Spirit of Christmas

Pick up the loose holly leaves,

Sweep the carpet and then,

Pack the wreath away to stay,

In the Christmas-stuff, storage bin.

Untwine the silver ribbons,

From chandelier so thin,

Slow down the pace of this place,

For Christmas is over again.

 

Chop the tree into firewood,

Place used boxes away.

The train for lad (and Dad),

Crate up for the next special day.

Candles and fancy paper,

In the seat by “the bay,”

Right beside the gowns that hide,

The shepherds in each Christmas play.

 

Does the Spirit of Christmas

Likewise, find Itself packed

And, with the pear tree, to be

In the far away attic stacked?

Oh – It will be used next year,

No luster will be lacked;

Unless abuse or disuse,

Find It broken or sadly cracked.

 

May the Spirit of Christmas be left intact.

Leave It, please leave It, unpacked!

The more that you choose It,

And prayerfully use It,

The less likely It is to be cracked.  – eab, 12/14/81

Penned in the Quaker-founded villege of Friendsville, TN (that is in East Tennessee, Blount Co.)

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A Misrepresented Christ

A carpenter’s Son!  No, no, not that One.

Though of Joseph’s wife He was born.

Though a chisel He knew,

And when He used it chips flew,

He was to more than lumber adorn.

 

Nazareth, you say!  The answer is nay!

Though He lived there as a mere boy,

Though His sandals and feet,

Left their prints in its street.

Bethlehem was the city of first joy.

 

Joses’ Brother!  No, He’s some Other.

Though that is how it’s made to seem,

Though they had common blood,

One’s dad came from Adam’s “mud,”

The Other’s Father from beyond stars’ gleam.

 

An unlearned Rebel!  Nay, He was able

(Though He never sat in their schools

Though from doctor He’d not,

Learned their tittle and their jot)

He, time after time, corrected their rules.

 

Trials and a slur, contributions were,

Though Christ’s life had a constant tone,

Though anguished in His soul,

He held to His only goal,

And let false opinions die on their own.  –eab, 12/78

 

Written when I was working with Christ College and Christ Academy in Blount Co., TN.

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