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#christianscience

Hail Father Mother.

In fullness

Ever with us

Ever Blessing man.

With the Christ.

Ever present

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poems

#christianscience #poem

I just wrote this:

Back and forth with branches swaying,
A breeze it sweeps upon the leaves,
Bringing man to stations higher,
Than at first he did believe.

Touching first the ruffled feather,
Of rested birds within their nests,
Then stripping through the thickened treetops.
Bringing leaves, autumnal rest.

Gently stirring garden blossoms.
Harshly pulling tidal seas,
Taking man to places heavenly,
Than he could e’er first believe.

Rampant storms with winds much stronger,
Bring fragile systems to their knees,
And mankinds spirit shines much stronger.
Than e’er he could first believe.

poems

#sundaymorning #poem

Broken dreams and heartfelt sorrows,
Always help mankind to grow.

For deep beneath the ground is stirring,
Tiny buds beneath the snow.

Pushing through the glasslike ices,
Pulling down the water earned.

Comes a bloom of lovely colour.
For which the man has long since yearned.

When words of friends and foes despise you.
Give a thought to budding spring.

For far beneath your pain and sorrow,
A bird ls waiting to take wing.

poems

A strain upon a lyre harp #poem #christian

A strain upon a lyre harp
sweeps a sound so low
That only those who gather round
Can catch its sweetness flow,

A strain which speaks of suffering
A woman’s heart is torn
As she watches martyrdom
For her son she mourns

A strain of sadness at the tomb
She searches for her dead
An angel pointing to the skies
Which dawns a crimson red

A strain upon twelve tender hearts
Who sit in upper rooms
And still the strain plays out its tune
From sadness of the tomb

A strain upon a sepelchre
A white robed body lay
The saviour rises, then appears
The rock is rolled away

A strain it sweeps his Mother’s heart
With gladness, faith and joy
And plays its tune eternally
For all who will enjoy

The strain is never ending
Through time and space it plays
The bloodied fingers of our saints
Keep it playing today.

poems

strain upon a lyre harp
sweeps a sound so low
That only those who gather round
Can catch its sweetness flow,

A strain which speaks of suffering
A woman’s heart is torn
As she watches martyrdom
For her son she mourns

A strain of sadness at the tomb
She searches for her dead
An angel pointing to the skies
Which dawns a crimson red

A strain upon twelve tender hearts
Who sit in upper rooms
And still the strain plays out its tune
From sadness of the tomb

A strain upon a sepelchre
A white robed body lay
The saviour rises, then appears
The rock is rolled away

A strain it sweeps his Mother’s heart
With gladness, faith and joy
And plays its tune eternally
For all who will enjoy

The strain is never ending
Through time and space it plays
The bloodied fingers of our saints
Keep it playing today.