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Showing posts from November, 2015

The Wallace's Last Night

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We gave them a run
And St. Andrew was glorified
We gave them a run
Edward's band all a-baying
And men from the hills
And the heather
With heads held high
Thought it was best so
Our call full obeying.
I scarce feel the cuts
In this dungeon
A-humbling
I scarce feel the death
That awaits in the morn
I turn to my Saviour
Who kindly now calms me
One final gasp
Ere the white robe is worn.
And as they the drums
With their rat-tat-tat blaming
Play for the terror
A coward-king needs
Parson reads Psalms
For this sheep in the valley
Gaining the hill-top
For which Scotland bleeds.

Bent Double

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Eighteen years stooped over

Like a bowing fern

No real recollection

Of the cause

Only sunny vistas gone

Her Brother's face

Almost forgot.

Routines doubly daunting.

And a nagging sense

That blame was hers.

Cobblestones became friends

And guides.

The smooth ones to market.

Red ones to synagogue

Overgrown ones to pasture

Where the stream began

And washing of few clothes.

Invisible became strange comfort.

No explanations.

No hopes dashed down.

Just soothing sameness.

From waist level.

But news spread that

The Rabbi had come.

The One with stories

Hope of untarnished Life

And healing hands.

Tempted by novelty

Nothing else

She followed the human flow

To teaching's fount.

He saw her right away

The one most hurting

And knew in an instant

She could in no wise lift herself up.

But He could.

And did, with but a touch.

"Woman…loosed from thine infirmity

Daughter of Abraham

Target of Satan

These eighteen years

Straightened now to the glory of God."

And His face was beaming

And d…

How Does This Grab You?

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This one may ramble a bit. I am up late after a day surgery for removal of a cancerous growth from the back of my head. And subsequent plastic surgery. Excellent treatment with a good spirit from all. I am thankful.
Later this evening in a hodge-podge of reading I continued with Mark's Gospel, and particularly chapter 5.
A demon-tormented young man is now sitting, clothed, clear-thinking and asking Jesus if he might follow and be with Him. The Master smiles and suggests rather that he return from the beach to the village that had scorned him, and speak happily of his deliverance.
A herd of pigs had been used as the exit route for the spirits. They had all died in the waves.
News spreads and people come out to the shore to examine the phenomenon. Busy, healthy, enterprising, seemingly self-sufficient people. Their reaction is shocking! They ask Jesus to depart as soon as possible. They have suffered in pork.
Amazing isn't it? One says “may I be with you Jesus” and kneels.…

Lagrima (Teardrop)

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This guitar piece is focal to the birth of music in young Frankie Presto. Orphaned in the Spanish Civil War in the 1930's he makes his way to North America by a strange succession of circumstances and caregivers. He meets many of the great musical talents of the century and leaves his impact.

This is more gold delivered by popular writer Mitch Albom in The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto. Read it and receive many blessings. Incidentally the story is narrated largely by the Spirit of Music.

Re-Creation (Ezekiel 37)

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The bones are off the tendons
All strewn upon the field
And Israel lies in shambles
Their unbelief, this yield
But I have heard the whisper
Above these graves of men
'Oh Son of Man please tell me
Can these bones live again?
Can these bones clutch the sinew
And flesh as once before
And re-create my warriors
To fight a different war?
Can they again stand hardy
Can breath infuse the cause
Can they again be holy
And faithful to my laws?'
This Son of Man stands baffled
But you God, have no peer
And yours the precious Spirit
To draw each warrior near
So let the breeze indwell them
With new life from the dead
And let this Israel battle
By Gospel love instead.

Silas in the Sixteenth

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Europe

The sound of it

Was so exciting

And Paul my companion

Words in his dream

Still ringing

" Come over

And help us"

The voyage aboard

Carried us on

Prancing

Turquoise steeds

To harbour

And to women praying

And to Lydia's welcome

All seemed good.

But now the dark corridors

And chains

And reproach

And groans of

Unseen hopeless men.

(Not fortuitous apparently

To challenge

Local superstitions.)

Our room is reached

One filthy dripping

Wall lamp

Casts shadows

Not light

And manacles

Bind these arms

Meant to reach out

With the help of Christ.

“Why” is the big question

But my friend

Sits over there

Smiling...

He's smiling!

Our eyes connect

As he begins

The dear old hymn

With all the wind

And joy of a spring morning

I can only join in

And strange melodies

Percolate

From other rooms down

Those corridors.

Next a horrible rumbling.

But Paul continues

The lyrics speaking

Of a God without limits.

Floors buckle

Walls shake and crack

Men howl out their shock

Earthquak…

Manasseh

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I was next to hopeless
Had God just let him go
And all my prayers and holy airs
Just fanned his fires so
His house was full of idols
And licence without shame
And every chance he had
He took to smear Jehovah's name.
But times were turning hostile
An alien force drew near
And stories filled the palace
Of fury and of fear
In time those forces took him
To pace an alien cell
And left alone to grieve his lot
He faced a private hell
Where all the past rebellion
Was shown in cleansing light
And there he prayed another chance
To set the score aright
"Repentance" such a blessed word
And such a simple way
My son is now a brand new man
And serving God today.


http://momentsmidstream.blogspot.ca/2009/10/manasseh-bad-apple.html