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CHRISTIAN
POETRY
Righteousness exalteth a nation: but
sin is a reproach to any people.
Proverbs 14:34
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This reading room is dedicated to God, He Who has taught me
to smile in my heart even in times of trouble and trials, for He
keeps me in the palm of His hand. A collection of my Christian,
inspirational, religious poems.
Righteousness Exalteth a Nation
(Proverbs 14:34)
A mighty nation has arisen
From the ashes of history past,
From generations of immorality,
Into great darkness cast;
Founding principles set forth
By God's embodied Word
Comprised its constitution,
At this new nation?s birth;
Equality of states,
With liberty for all;
God's Commandments taught in schools
Lest a precious child should fall;
Strong and mighty it emerged,
God's Word its sound foundation,
For the founding fathers knew
That righteousness exalteth a nation:
But gradually God was set aside
By wicked unbelievers,
Prayer was taken from the schools
By well intentioned leaders;
Future champions were aborted,
Falling prey to Satan's plan,
The Church lie quietly sleeping
While the devil raped the land;
Praise Hymns replaced by rousing beat,
Sermonettes and new age song;
The glory is departing?
I wonder what went wrong.
Joyce Guy
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GOD
IS GOD
God
is God and we are not,
And
neither is the devil;
So
how does it happen that we ascribe
So
many things to evil?
In
the book of Job we read
Where
Satan gives account
For
all God’s children he attacks,
And
even the amount
He
is not allowed to do his will
In
the place of mighty God
For
Jesus bought the lock and key
To
hell with His own blood.
And
who is this “Mother Nature”?
Is
she the wife of God;
Or
a wicked wile of Satan
Born
in corrupt sod?
Nature
too is in God’s hand
To
do what God says do
Our
Father is not unaware
Of
what nature teaches you.
And
are you strong, can you resist
Your
creator’s mighty will;
When
He desires to change your life
Do
you just sit there still?
There
is naught on earth that we must fear,
Neither
in the skies,
For
our Father made and controls it all,
Uses
it to make us wise.
If
storm or trials or illness come
We
must trust His grace,
And
thank Him for the seeming wrong
That
fills a needful place.
For
He does love His children
And
keeps them safe from harm;
But
trains them up for heaven,
They
need feel no alarm.
Yes,
He is God and we are not;
And
neither angel form nor devil
Can
subvert or undermine His plans;
Thought
they attribute them all to evil.
Joyce
Guy
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JOB’S
SACRIFICE OF PRAISE
Amid
the ashes God’s servant sat,
Dejected
and alone;
His
family dead, his body suffering,
And
all his riches gone.
“Curse
God,” the devil said to him,
smiting
Job with boils,
“Curse
God and die,” came from his wife,
“be
done with earthly toils.”
“What
more could a servant suffer?”
asked
his three best friends,
“Even
God has turned His back,
and
left you in the end.”
But
Job gave no thought for his self pity,
As
he stirred there in the dust,
But
praise came from within his heart,
Where
God, the King, reigned, just.
“Curse
God,” you say, you foolish ones,
“and
just lie down and die?”
Deny
my God His right as King;
Believe
the devil’s lie?
And
who am I to defy my God,
who
owns this lump of clay?
But
praise comes forth, my thanks to Him
That
I have seen this day.
For
He is God and I am not…
To
chose how I shall live;
I
gladly offer up to Him
All
He would have me give.
No,
I’ll not curse His name,
But
praise His name instead;
Acknowledge
Him who has the right
To
be my Lord, my head.
For
life has no other meaning
Than
that I should shun my every whim;
Lay
down my life, offer up my praise,
Submit
myself to Him.
For
He plans are only good for me.
Throughout
my whole life through;
If
I but bow and praise His name
For
all that He resolves to do.
Joyce
Guy |
The God-Man
by Joyce Guy
The blood of God the Son
was shed
On Calvary's cruel tree;
His form was marred beyond belief
For all the world to see;
He was mocked by wicked men,
In utmost degradation,
Who rejected, slandered, conspired
and lied
To malign his reputation.
A crown of thorns caused blood
to course
In streams upon his face
And mingled with the sweat and
tears
Shed for depraved human race.
His flesh was torn and mangled
In furrowed bloody strips;
His visage robbed of human
form
By barbaric torturous whips.
He could have summoned all
heavens power
To put the travesty to an
end;
Exhault Him on His rightful
throne,
Leaving mankind dead in sin.
But as the Lamb He bore the sin
Of all the souls of man
To satisfy the Holiness of
the Father
In His eternal plan.
He saw the travail of His soul
And He was satisfied
with His redemption of mankind,
As on the cross He died.
But in three days, from
borrowed grave,
He rose in victory;
For He met the foe at home
in Hell
And dispossessed him of his key.
He overcame Satan, death and
the grave
To reconcile God and man;
For He alone was worthy,
Son of God and son of man
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Handicapped Parking Space
by Joyce
Guy
We expose our inner person
by the action that we do;
which actions speak to all the
world
of the deep down basic "you".
We are afraid that others
will observe our life and feel
that we are in the making,
still, on the potter's wheel.
We like to portray the vessel
as finished, fired and whole;
completed in one simple step
of faith so sure and bold.
But we confess by our behavior
what we sought to hide
by the generous coat of whitewash
applied to our life in pride.
When we let our guard down,
and show through the coat of paint,
our life speaks more of "sinner"
and quite a bit less of "saint".
God's plan revealed in scripture
shows he molds us o'er and o'er
through a lifelong process,
`til we reach that golden shore.
When we cover our humanity
in the struggle to follow our Lord
we place a stumbling block before
those newborns feeding on the Word.
They see our life presented
as the best of the human race
but they see us by our actions
parked in the handicapped
parking-space.
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Justified
by Joyce
Guy
He was born to a woman
Who had never known a man,
Just as if He were God,
Fulfilling a divine plan.
He walked on the earth,
The throne room of Satan,
Just as if He were man,
Authority retaken.
He died on the cross
Where I deserved death,
Just as if He were me,
from the Father bereft.
He rose from the grave,
Possessing Hell's key,
Just as if He were Lord,
Setting me free.
I stand in God's presence
In full victory,
Accepted, a son,
Just as if I were He.
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Transition Way
by Joyce
Guy
There is victory in every step
Through a world of filth and slime,
On a special path marked out by
God,
And metered throughout time.
Each of His redeemed,
Must traverse its fields of mines,
With satan's myrid schemes
To waylay, maime and blind.
Crucificition lies in wait,
With pain and degredation,
To slay the mortal waif,
And form a spiritual creation.
This path is called Transition
Way,
Where, as faith lays hold on
truth,
Sinful flesh is casualty,
The spirit succored and nenewed.
Sustained by God the Father,
Equiped by God the Son,
God the Spirit as defender
At death the victory won.
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Tribulation
by Joyce
Guy
Tribulation, though painful,
And troublesome to bear,
Is the means to our perfection
By eradicating worldly care.
When puissant storm
clouds gather,
And calamity fills the air
We are driven to our maker
In effectual, fervent prayer;
For we disdain to seek Him
When all is bright and fair;
But strive for carnal blessings,
Searching everywhere.
`Tis only as we unite
with Him,
And in His suffering share,
That we can fit for Heaven be,
When He calls us home up there.
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Living Sacrifice
by Joyce Guy
Self upon the alter,
A living sacrifice,
Rendered unto ashes,
Committed to the price;
Take Thou me.
The fragile earthen vessel
Filled with oil from Thee,
Must needs be broken
To set the fragrance free;
Break Thou Me.
A vessel unto honor
From a lump of clay;
Upon the wheel of life
Molded day by day;
Make Thou me.
Conscious of Thy beauty,
All things new to see
When my eyes feast on heaven
And unhindered look on Thee;
Awake Thou me.
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The Potters Wheel
by Joyce
Guy
Marred, in the hands of the
potter lay
The dull ungainly lump of clay;
Failure evident everywhere;
Self efforts ending in
despair.< b>
But
the potter begins with vision clear
To fashion a vessel ever more dear;
As He kneads and turns, shapes and
molds,
Keeping it gently under His
control;
The
vessel evolves full of grace,
But still no beauty on its face
As it spins on the wheel and takes
on form,
Through His loving touch is
pressure born.
When the
Master Potter can look with pride,
And with the form be satisfied,
He begins His work with color and
glaze
To finish each vessel in unique
ways.
With
individual beauty and appeal
Each comes forth from the Master's
wheel:
With a special touch He leaves His
mark,
Perfected in love from the
Father's heart.
Conformed
to the image of Jesus the Son
Presented faultless befor His
throne
The Potter looks and is satisfied
With His only begotten and
perfected bride.
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Death For Life
by Joyce
Guy
He did not die instead of me,
but rather in my stead;
for He was pure, but as for me,
sin had slain me dead.
I had no hope, but was undone,
with heart as black as night;
`til God the Holy Spirit came
and shed convicting light.
I should have died and gone to
Hell
to spend eternity
with Satan, demons and other souls,
who were rebels just like me.
But bless His name, my Savior
came
and took my guilty plea
to mighty God, the judge on high,
and died to set me free;
So I could be a child of God
and walk where Jesus led:
He did not die instead of me,
But rather in my stead.
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Rod Of
Correction 
by
Joyce Guy
Satan is but a tool of God
Allowed to roam upon the earth,
To every evil giving birth,
But in the hand of God a rod.
A rod to discipline His child,
Who measures others by himself,
Selfishly obtaining wealth,
In rebellion running wild.
By God's Spirit it is applied
In firm but careful strokes
Until the strong self-will is
broke,
And fleshly lust has died.
Though Satan tries to master be
God uses him to train the
sheep
Until the day in death they sleep
And rise from sin set free.
Though Satan seeks to run the
show
God uses him to groom His own;
Prepare them for the eternal throne
Where Satan cannot go.
The Child of God survives,
rewarded
With eternal life in Christ,
Who paid the sacrificial price,
And the useless rod will be
discarded.
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