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Posts Tagged ‘the grave’

 

GRAVE

Hurrying toward the grave,

Whether mad master or sad slave,

Whether honest knight or sneaky knave,

Whether cringing coward or “bad” brave,

Whether home is dry castle or damp cave,

Whether silly Sally or somber, silent Dave,

Whether hurrying on earth or on wild wave,

Whether the one who took or the one who gave,

Only CHRIST can save

From what is beyond the grave!

 – eab, 3/12/09

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The GRAVE

Hurrying toward the grave,

Whether mad master or sad slave,

Whether honest knight or sneaky knave,

Whether cringing coward of “bad” brave,

Whether home is dry castle or damp cave,

Whether silly Sally or somber, silent Dave,

Whether hurrying on earth or on wild wave,

Whether the one who took or the one who gave,

Only Christ can save

From what is beyond the grave!

                – eab, 3/12/09

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“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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If you could create your own Jesus,

To suit your political taste,

You might have Him born “like a king,”

And not in a manger, near waste.

 

You might have His step-dad a merchant,

Perhaps owning part of the bank,

So Jesus could have lots of funds,

And thus dress a little more swank.

 

You might change the scene at the temple,

(At twelve He confounded the docs.)

Pretend that He birds made on wing,

By merrily tossing up rocks.

 

You might have Him coddling the preachers,

Intent on their legalist brew,

(But He called them hypocrites – Wow,

No wonder they “bit nails in two.”)                   

 

Your special “new Jesus,” your dream one,

Might skip all Golgotha’s cold loss, 

He’d be a warm “pattern,” and teach,

Avoiding the grave and the cross.

 

A Christ so political saves none.

All sinners would die in their sin.

Thank God for His Son, who is real,

Not something created by men.

 

The real Christ died once for all sinners,

Arose He then, Victor, not dead.

He’s coming again, now to rule.

It’s just like they* said that He said.

                      ~  o  ~

Amen and Amen, once again!  – eab, 12/12/‘03

Written while in Phoenix, Arizona


*  The Bible writers

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