CALVARY, O CALVARY!

I know that I shall never see
A scene that matches Calvary;
That rocky, barren, skull-shaped hill
Where incensed crowds with hellish will
Driven by hate’s satanic plan
Contrived to crucify God’s Man.

Other scenes of man’s violent age
Have claimed the floodlights of time’s stage
And marked the depths to which he’ll fall
When self and pride rule over all,
Depths that would make ‘blood, sweat and tears’
Flow on like rivers through the years.

Yet, here’s a scene that crowns them all,
And shows how dreadful was that fall
That marked man’s sin against his God,
And cursed forever earth’s dark sod,
Where wickedness the throng did move
To kill that One whose name is LOVE.

Daily “He went about doing good,”
Feeding the crowds with heaven’s food,
Healing the sick and raising the dead;
While starving sheep to green pastures led.
He removed forever the blind man’s night,
llumined his heart with Shekinah light.

He brought the dead to their loved’s embrace.
He thrilled their hearts with His Words of grace.
The degraded He brought to the feast of Heaven,
And wrote ‘gainst their debt: “Paid and forgiven.”
His very steps spoke: “Love, Joy and Peace”
His Way was God’s Way, it would never cease.

Yet, envy, jealousy, malice and pride,
Were lurking and planning with quickening stride,
To make an end to this Heaven-sent Man,
And they would not pause with their hellish plan,
To ponder the power that in Jesus flowed,
That marked Him off as the Son of God.

His Glory, His Grace and His Words of Love,
All spoke of a realm that’s so far above
The pomp and the pride of the ways of men,
Who walk their brief walk ne’er to come again.
Yet, they spilled His blood on that barren hill,
The blood that’s the seal of His Father’s will.

And since that great day countless thousands look,
To that place where the blinded crowds then forsook
The glorious Saviour, the Treasure of Heaven
Who wrote o’er MY debt both ‘PAID’ and ‘FORGIVEN’
Who makes me His child and brings me safe to His shore
To sing of that skull hill for evermore.

Poem written by: A. M. Ross and used with permission

AFRICA: CONTINENT OF A MILLION MEMORIES

O great land of mystery, of sunshine, of song,
O vast land whose histories to sages belong,
O land where the creatures can roam and feel free,
As their wise Creator ordained them to be.

O land of great beauty, where colour is shed
On the plains of the South like a king’s ornate bed.
O land where the deer and their great cousins graze,
Whose scenes turn to gold ‘neath the wealthy sun’s rays.

Then, as day fades to night, the memories come fast,
Each stirring emotion, all drawn from the past;
Some are exciting, some of them sad,
Some uninviting, some of them glad.

Some memories haunt me, mocking wisdom and will.
Some of them daunt me, some bring a chill;
Some filled with sorrow, and even the years,
No comfort can borrow to dry up my tears.

Some fill with laughter, while some make me think,
And these stay long after to  forge a new link.
A link of connection twixt the old and the new,
A link of affection bringing  light to a few.

A link forged by longing, a link forged by love;
A link to a future in heaven above.
O haunting strange vessel, a pilotless hull,
So, laden with memories, and none of them dull.

O sad and dark heart-land, whose sons bear so long
The scourge of the famine, the *mossie’s death song,
The spear of the tyrant, the power of the beast,
The ravage of raiders both greatest and least.

The vanquishing plagues, the offspring of sin,
Where freedoms are lost that your children can’t win.
I hear your quick jest, I hear your slow groan,
I’m left with your enigma and mystery all on my own.

I smile at your laughter, I mourn o’er your tears,
I’m held in your grasp at the close of my years.
O, Africa, Africa, I’m far from your shore,
Yet, your memories enslave me for evermore.

Your unending contrasts drive me often to think
Of your chain to my heart where you’ve forged such a link,
That I must ever pray ’till my last breath is gone,
That the war for your soul will most surely be won.

Poem written by: A. M. Ross and used with permission.
* mossie = colloquial term for mosquito

A NEW YEAR

Lord grant us,

A NEW YEAR, yes, WITH A NEW YEARNING
The old year of failure now spurning
A New Year marked by a new turning,
A turning from self to my God.

A turning from failure and sorrow
A turning to His bright tomorrow
A turning that never will borrow
Its griefs from the year that is gone.

A turning from self with its sinning
A turning from losing to winning
A turning to His new beginning
Never more to live life on my own.

A turning to Jesus my Saviour
With change in my thought and behaviour
A cleansing at His blessed laver
The war o’er defilement now won.

A new walk with Christ to Emmaus
Where grief can’t draw near to betray us
With His Word to support and to stay us
A new walk in the Spirit begun.

Lord, write from this day a new story
That will speak of Thy presence and love
Where each sentence will tell of that glory
Awaiting Thy Children above.
Poem by: A. M. Ross

Two little lines I heard one day,
Traveling along life’s busy way;
Bringing conviction to my heart
And from my mind would not depart;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, yes only one,
Soon will its fleeting hours be done;
Then, in ‘that day’ my Lord to meet,
And stand before His Judgement seat;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, the still small voice,
Gently pleads for a better choice
Bidding me selfish aims to leave,
And to God’s holy will to cleave;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, a few brief years,
Each with its burdens, hopes, and fears;
Each with its clays I must fulfil,
Living for self or in His will;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

When this bright world would tempt me sore,
When Satan would a victory score;
When self would seek to have its way,
Then help me Lord with joy to say;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Give me Father, a purpose deep,
In joy or sorrow Thy word to keep;
Faithful and true whate’er the strife,
Pleasing Thee in my daily life;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Oh let my love with fervour burn,
And from the world now let me turn;
Living for Thee, and Thee alone,
Bringing Thee pleasure on Thy throne;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, yes only one,
Now let me say, “Thy will be done”;
And when at last I’ll hear the call,
I know I’ll say “’twas worth it all”;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
And when I am dying, how happy I’ll be,
If the lamp of my life has been burned out for Thee.
Poem by C.T. Studd

HIDDEN TREASURE

Once we were young, supple, strong and carefree.
Endless life stretched before us endlessly.
In that far-off time, we had no idea
Of the challenges facing a senior.

Across our land there are millions of us
Who’ve now reached the age of 70 plus.
We are living on borrowed time it seems.
We are long past our youth and hope-filled dreams.

That we’re transforming’s a fact, you can’t miss.
Superficial changes are obvious –
Snow-capped heads, furrows on the hands and face.
And all systems work at retarded pace.

We can’t rush around as we did before.
We can’t burn the midnight oil as of yore.
We have to know there’s a “facility”
When we travel or venture out for tea.

Many deal with daily difficulties:
Ill health, sore hips and unbending, stiff knees,
Hearing problems cut communication.
No more car, loneliness, isolation.

The nervous system is less efficient.
Strength to face trauma, change, insufficient.
Thoughts of the future can engender fears.
Poignant memories will reduce us to tears.

We find it hard to remember last week,
But of childhood we can easily speak.
We’ve lived through many historic events.
Tales to tell, have older ladies and gents.

We’ve lost our figures as well as our looks.
Lost spectacles spoil enjoyment of books.
As to the teeth – we won’t even go there.
Control of bladder may be a nightmare.

Some have sadly been deprived of spouses.
Many parted from possessions, houses.
Reduced to flatlet or sharing a room.
Do they live their lives in glumness and gloom?

The courage and cheerfulness and a sense of humour
Of seniors, is not idle rumour.
Faced with poor digestion, itching and pain,
They’ll greet with a serene smile once again.

Treatment as has-beens they find unnerving.
They are adults, of respect deserving.
Though forgetful they have their dignity.
Glad, wisdom, life skills to impart – freely.

The young seldom see how accepting, brave,
The aged who in the past much service gave,
But now are restricted, sometimes ignored.
They long to matter still – not be outlawed.

Our world has an undiscovered treasure
In its older folk, who have the leisure
To listen, empathise and wisely share.
Where the younger ones now are, they’ve been there.

Facing hard times, life’s knocks without complaint,
Some exhibit the patience of a saint.
Great role models and source of history,
Let’s cherish those of seniority.

Poem written by Noreen Holmes

A WIFE’S PRAYER

I’m a woman with an eternal destiny,
But how have I lived this life?
Was it Biblically?
This is the crucial question that comes to my mind
As I interrogate the decades left behind.

Did I always have my priorities just right?
Was I really willing to walk in His clear light?
Or was I often following my own agenda –
One that I thought would more satisfaction render?

First in my life, He had to be the only Lord.
That meant living by His Spirit and by His Word,
Without deceiving myself or hypocrisy.
Fact – I know I have not been all that I should be.

There were times when I have feared to die,
Wanting the easy way;
Not self-will to deny;
Dismayed at the thought of personal suffering,
If I should be faithful to my rightful King.

Second in my life, I promised to love and obey
A man, who after God, was to be first in every way.
Did I pray much for him, as I should?
So that he could be holy and honest and good.

As he faced life’s pressures, temptations and trials
Was I there with affirmation, kind words and smiles?
When I failed to give him respect that was his due,
Did it hurt him, demean and devalue him too?

Did I consider him and his comfort each day?
Love and appreciation through my actions convey?
Did he return to a warm and relaxing home
Where he was welcomed when his stressful day was done?

I don’t think I meant to be a “contentious wife”,
But could I have unintentionally caused some strife?
I should “do him good, not evil all my days”
Is what Proverbs chapter thirty-one verse twelve says.

Forgive me, dear Lord, for the failures of the past.
Help me to be the kind of wife you planned, at last.
Enable me to put his interests before mine.
So that for Your glory our two lives may combine.

God is kind. I experienced fulfilment and joy
When I became the mother of a girl and a boy –
Such precious babies, such lively kids and daring teens.
In training and teaching, did I use the right means?

In guiding them was it to God’s will that I bowed?
Did I fail them in what I forbade or allowed?
I know that I loved them and tried to encourage them too.
But can’t help feeling there was more that I could do.

While they were growing, life seemed to fly by so fast,
That before I knew it their childhood had gone past.
Were there opportunities missed and books unread?
I was busy but too soon forming years had fled.

However I may question the years that have gone,
The truth is that there is nothing that can be done
To change one single imperfect part of my life –
Wherever I look back the shortcomings are rife.

Yet, I’m also encouraged by my history;
Because God has been at work – great mystery.
The God of grace will perfect that which concerns me.
The past is forgiven. The best is yet to be.

Poem by: Noreen Holmes

_________________________________________________________

THE HEART

Walking miracle, treasure chest of immense value –
This is the human body, mostly hidden from view.
Indispensable to each co-ordinated part,
At the centre of action is the pulsating heart.

On the surface it’s merely a reliable pump.
Yet without it, we can neither breathe, nor think, nor jump.
I can live without one kidney, or a leg or arm;
But no heartbeat – and there’s a fatal, final alarm!

The mean, muscular machine that is your rhythmic heart,
Has an electrical system that sets it apart.
Combined with vessels, valves, ventricles and atria,
It’s a more complex unit than would at first appear.

This central, essential part of ourselves, physically,
Beating from birth to death, night and day, continuously –
A marvel no human mind could conceive or design,
Leads to this conclusion – the Engineer is Divine.

The heart, part of English language, figuratively –
Used to express our deep feelings emotionally.
Love and the heart are joined together like Siamese twins.
The heart is filled with grief at loss, yet glad when one wins.

Throughout literature – both in poetry and through prose –
This symbolic organ illumines our highs and lows.
It is such a big part of idiomatic speech,
Clarifying ideas, otherwise beyond our reach.

In the Bible the heart is perceived spiritually,
Expressing that inmost part that we can’t touch or see.
Every individual’s heart is seen negatively –
As rebellious, self-willed, failing terminally.

But God offers a possible spiritual transplant –
A new heart – unselfish, pure – that He alone can grant.
The Great Heart Surgeon prepared for this operation
From way back in eternity, before Creation.

God’s heart’s filled with overwhelming compassion and love.
He sent a Heart Donor – His only Son from above –
Who fulfilled the plan, dying in our place on the Cross.
Jesus’ heart was pierced in a sad time of pain and loss.

On the third day, living, out of the tomb He arose –
Conqueror of evil and death, our relentless foes.
Since then He knocks on our hearts’ doors, wanting to come in,
And transform our hearts, heal our past and forgive our sin.

Poem written by: Noreen Holmes

I WANT MERCY NOT SACRIFICE

“I want mercy, not sacrifice.”
How profound is the depth of this word
From the kind lips of a holy Lord –
Not thinking that religious duty
Precedes giving love in its beauty;
Not God’s law, rigid in the letter
But kept in the spirit – much better;
Not emphasizing Sabbath keeping
At the cost of compassion weeping.

“I want mercy, not sacrifice.”
Terrifying – I must die to “me”,
Living for the struggling ones I see;
To have mercy on those who are weak;
Not despising but helping them seek.
Enabling to find God’s solution,
Those whose lives are dark with pollution;
Having a heart for the one who’s poor
When adversity knocks them once more.

“I want mercy, not sacrifice.”
This emphasizes priorities –
Respecting oppressed minorities;
Visiting the child who is ailing
And the old man whose mind is failing;
Empathy and comfort for the sad;
Rememb’ring prisoners, said to be bad.
Considering my own sinfulness,
I cannot judge those who’ve made a mess.

“I want mercy, not sacrifice.”
I of all people should understand –
I’ve received mercy at God’s hand.
Now He wants me mercy to extend
And acceptance, patience with no end.
Easier to offer sacrifice
Than to pay mercy’s demanding price.
But He who showed us this diff’rent way
Provides the love to pass on each day.

Poem written by: Noreen Holmes

TOO BUSY

Lord, forgive me,
I’ve been so busy.
I just said, “Thank you”
“Thank You for a few minutes
To fit You in”.
How could I?
As though time with You
Should not be top priority.
As though You should not be first.

Lord, forgive me,
“Thou shalt have no other gods beside Me.”
I put the cleaning of the house,
The tidying, the breakfast,
My husband, the children –
Everything before You
And now – I’m fitting You in.
Forgive me, Lord, for this great sin –
Other things before You,
And just fitting You in.

Poem written by: Noreen Holmes

HE CAME AND THEY WERE BLESSED

Unto us a child was born, unto us a Son was given;
Yes, unto us that glorious morn, such news was sent from highest heaven!
Unto us God’s holy Lamb appeared in lowly guise,
While shepherds watched beside their flocks, Heaven’s praises filled those skies.

“Unto us,” What can this mean, that such a one should come,
And in a stable crude be seen, a King without a home?
Unto us heaven’s message came – “Glad tidings of great joy!” –
This Holy One, with glorious Name, could be no earth-bound boy.

And so with wonder, awe and bliss, the wise and humble sought
For One unique, who planning this, our great salvation brought.
Yes, unto us such gifts He gave, as Light and Life and Love,
And took us from a sinner’s grave, to dwell with Him above.

Let’s sing His praise throughout our days, and worship Him forever,
Extolling all His glorious ways, this blessed heavenly Giver.

Poem written by: A. M. Ross

A NEW YEAR

Lord grant us,

A NEW YEAR, yes, WITH A NEW YEARNING
The old year of failure now spurning
A New Year marked by a new turning,
A turning from self to my God.

A turning from failure and sorrow
A turning to His bright tomorrow
A turning that never will borrow
Its griefs from the year that is gone.

A turning from self with its sinning
A turning from losing to winning
A turning to His new beginning
Never more to live life on my own.

A turning to Jesus my Saviour
With change in my thought and behaviour
A cleansing at His blessed laver
The war o’er defilement now won.

A new walk with Christ to Emmaus
Where grief can’t draw near to betray us
With His Word to support and to stay us
A new walk in the Spirit begun.

Lord, write from this day a new story
That will speak of Thy presence and love
Where each sentence will tell of that glory
Awaiting Thy Children above.

Poem written by: A. M. Ross

THE UNGODLY

They hate our Lord and spurn the truth,
They set their traps to snare our youth.
They lie, deceive and cast their spell,
They herd our young to death and Hell,
“Free sex!” they cry, “Enjoy! Have fun!”
“No power can stop what we’ve begun!”
Fired with passion, their sulphur breath,
Mocks at restraint and laughs at death,
Pours out its fury with hellish pride,
Laughs as its victims to terror slide.

Racing down the glacier slope,
Straight for the pit and bereft of hope,
Straight for the chambers of the lost,
When once that fatal line they’ve crossed,
Straight to the realm of unending grief,
Robbed of all good by a mocking thief,
Robbed of all joy as one born to die,
They’ve given their ear to the devil’s lie.
They sneered at God’s Word, and they would not heed;
They’ve broken their rein, like a runaway steed.

O who, tell me who, will stop their mad course,
And rescue their souls from unending remorse?
O God, give me grace to hear their pained cry,
To yearn over souls whose judgment draws nigh,
To pray and to plead that the victory be won,
Where the lost are the found, made alive in The Son.

Poem written by: A. M. Ross