Body, Brain, Soul

The human body, strong, yet surprisingly fragile, lives a God-designated period of time on earth and dies. The brain which the body hosted also dies, sometimes with, sometimes before the body disintegrates. The soul, by most solemn contrast, never dies. These three arguably began their existence at the same time, but when the first two have a terminal point on earth the soul moves beyond this “partnership” to live forever outside earth’s limited borders.

– eab, 4/6/17

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Body, Brain, SOUL

The human body is a fantastically complicated “machine” (millions of parts, moving and non-moving, all alive) which “houses” as part of it, and in some ways separate from it, the brain. The brain is host to the mind which is capable of approaching a nearly unlimited imagination. And the body/brain duo (compatible and yet somewhat incomparable) mysteriously “harbors” the deathless, developing, divinely-linked “item” we call the SOUL. All God’s creation!

– eab, 4/8/17

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Body, Brain, Soul

Your body which once skipped and ran,

Has slowed down now to a walk

Your brain which once surged with ideas

Has leveled to more reasonable talk.

But your Soul, once your last concern,

Has grown, ah, has learned to discern

Between the mere chaff,

(Good for a moment’s laugh)

And that which souls need to eat

The true substance, True wheat.

– eab, 3/1/17

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John Hart Stockton – death, Mar. 25, 1877

“Only Trust Him”

 

Come, every soul by sin oppressed;
There’s mercy with the Lord,
And He will surely give you rest
By trusting in His Word.

Refrain

Only trust Him, only trust Him,
Only trust Him now;
He will save you, He will save you,
He will save you now.

2.

For Jesus shed His precious blood
Rich blessings to bestow;
Plunge now into the crimson flood
That washes white as snow.

3.

Yes, Jesus is the truth, the way,
That leads you into rest;
Believe in Him without delay
And you are fully blessed.

4.

Come, then, and join this holy band,
And on to glory go
To dwell in that celestial land
Where joys immortal flow.

5.

O Jesus, blessèd Jesus, dear,
I’m coming now to Thee;
Since Thou hast made the way so clear
And full salvation free.

 

John Hart Stockton died (3/25/1877) in Philadelphia, PA.  He was a converted to Christ at a Methodist Camp Meeting and became a Methodist.  He also wrote the music to : “Down at the Cross” (aka “Glory to His Name”) and “The Great Physician.”    

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Government of God

Behind the king is a far greater King.

          Behind the prince, the Prince.

God allows governments, though,

          The anarchist is hard to convince.

Be subject soul to the higher powers,

          No power but God ordains.

A king that is good. gives God pleasures,

          But the bad ones “give him” pains. –eab, 3/21/07

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – birth, Feb. 27, 1807

“A Psalm of Life”

 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
        Life is but an empty dream ! —
   For the soul is dead that slumbers,
        And things are not what they seem.

 

    Life is real !   Life is earnest!
        And the grave is not its goal ;
    Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
        Was not spoken of the soul.

 

    Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
        Is our destined end or way ;
    But to act, that each to-morrow
        Find us farther than to-day.

 

    Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
        And our hearts, though stout and brave,
    Still, like muffled drums, are beating
        Funeral marches to the grave.

 

    In the world’s broad field of battle,
        In the bivouac of Life,
    Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
        Be a hero in the strife !

 

    Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant !
        Let the dead Past bury its dead !
    Act,— act in the living Present !
        Heart within, and God o’erhead !

 

    Lives of great men all remind us
        We can make our lives sublime,
    And, departing, leave behind us
        Footprints on the sands of time ;

 

    Footprints, that perhaps another,
        Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
    A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
        Seeing, shall take heart again.

 

    Let us, then, be up and doing,
        With a heart for any fate ;
    Still achieving, still pursuing,
        Learn to labor and to wait.

 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born this date (2/27/1807) in Port­land, Maine.

He was one of the greatest poets of America.  See also his “Oh, How Blest Are Ye Whose Toils Are Ended” And his well known Christmas Carol “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.”  He died 3/24/1882.

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Love Power

Is your patience ever thinning?

Almost, if not actually, sinning?

Has grouchiness replaced your happy song?

Do your neighbors really try you,

‘Specially the ones too nigh you?

Frankly, you wish they’d just “move along.”

 

Do you see you are “justly” proud,

(Though hesitant to say it too loud)

Of your clever, cool, and cunningly big brain?

Proud of how smart you really are,

(Smarter than your family – by far,

Being ‘round them has become a big drain.)

 

Do you find your soul quite jealous,

Of your brother-n-law who’s zealous

In his sales, and has made “a nice big pile”?

Does bile fill your carnal liver,

When he shows you his new “flivver,”

And you both know yours is a forced smile?

 

Has old carnal anger got you,

To the verge of murder now brought you? 

Oh! If you could just this once commit it.

You won’t shed a tear when they die,

To say you’re sad would be a lie,

Anger’s got you ─ will you admit it?

 

Your are “nice” – if you have your way.

(“They should listen to all that I say.”)

But to be stubborn you would not lay claim.

You solemnly, sensibly fight,

(Everyone should know this is right.)

“Right” and your opinion are the same.

 

God can remove the carnal traits,

Love can replace the long list of hates.

Love is the most universal power. 

You may have a trait or just two,

Which flare and show readily through,

But behind them, all traits now cower.

 

Although “the order” seems so tall, 

The Holy Ghost can remove them all,

Pull them, like you remove unwanted weeds.

(Weeds that ruin your garden’s art)

God like-wise can “de-weed” your heart,

Cleaning out evil motives and deeds.

 

Confess the whole, cruel, carnal host,

Now allow the blessed Holy Ghost,

To remove Adam’s fully bad, sad “crew.”

God can then fill that empty place,

With such abundant loving grace,

His ancient love will make your heart new.

 

Come, Friend, accept His promised love.

It is why He came from heaven above;

Love’s what brought the Lord Jesus way down here.

Freely become His holy child;

You’ll fine His ways both meek and mild.

And Love’s the sole way to go up there!  – eab, 2/8/06 (revised 2/23/06)

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They’re Gathering

There’s a crowd gathering on another shore,

The group’s grower larger every day.

They are gathering in from all directions,

Yet all came there by God’s narrow way.

 

That crowd had skins of different shades,

Spoke languages to each other quite unknown,

But they are connected by one Royal Blood,

For Christ firmly owns them for His own.

 

That crowd landed where they planned to land.

They found their long sought heavenly goal.

They weathered all life’s threatening storms,

Insisting on “saving” (at all cost) their soul.

 

Soon, Friend, you may be gathered with them,

Soon I may join the celestial number,

Where the Son is the light for all the day,

(And where we’ll need no night for slumber.)

 

Let us then be Faithful with a capitol “F,” 

To the Lord who rules that group, that shore,

And gather with the enumerable saints, young and old.

Gather to Christ, and gather to part nevermore.        – eab, 8/25/08  

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Not “Blue”

Bible: to be Read, when you are “Blue,”

          to keep your soul White.  – eab, 12/83

 

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James L Nicholson – death, Nov.6, 1876

“Whiter Than Snow”  (stanza 1)

Lord Jesus, I long to be perfectly whole;
I want Thee forever to live in my soul.
Break down every idol, cast out every foe;
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

This was song was written by James Nicholson, a native of Ireland.  He made America his adopted land.  James died this day in Washington DC but was buried back in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania where he had worked for the Post Office.

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