Probably one of my all-time favorite poets is Martha Snell Nicholson. She is able to speak plainly about her Christian faith, and is able to capture many of my feelings/fears accurately on paper, when I am so often unable to do so. Some blog I was reading lately informed me that April is Poetry Month...or something to that effect, so I thought that I should at least post some of my very favorite poems. So I hope you enjoy!
My Advocate (I performed this poem for my church one Sunday evening, as a dramatic monologue.)
I sinned. And straightway, post-haste, Satan flew
Before the presence of the Most High God,
And made a railing accusation there.
He said, "This soul, this thing of clay and sod
Has sinned. 'Tis true that he has named Thy name,
But I demand his death, for Thou hast said,
'The soul that sinneth, it shall die.' Shall not
Thy sentence be fulfilled? Is justice dead?
Send now this wretched sinner to his doom.
What other thing can righteous Ruler do?"
And thus he did accuse me day and night,
And every word he spoke, O God, was true!
Then quickly One rose up from God's right hand,
Before Whose glory angels veiled their eyes.
He spoke, "Each jot and tittle of the law
Must be fulfilled: the guilty sinner dies.
But wait.......Suppose this guilt were all transferred
To ME and that I paid his penalty.
Behold My hands, My side, My feet. One day
I was made sin for him, and died that he
Might be presented faultless, at Thy throne."
And Satan fled away. Full well he knew
That he could not prevail against such love,
For every word my dear Lord spoke was true!
One by one He took them from me,
All the things I valued most,
Until I was empty-handed;
Every glittering toy was lost.
And I walked earth's highways, grieving.
In my rags and poverty.
Till I heard His voice inviting,
"Lift your empty hands to Me!"
So I held my hands toward heaven,
And He filled them with a store
Of His own transcendent riches,
Till they could contain no more.
And at last I comprehended
With my stupid mind and dull,
That God COULD not pour His riches
Into hands already full!
His Plan for Me
When I stand at the judgment seat of Christ
And He shows me His plan for me,
The Plan of my life as it might have been
Had He had His way, and I see
How I blocked Him here,
and I checked Him there,
And I would not yield my will --
Will there be grief in my Savior's eyes,
Grief, though He loves me still?
He would have me rich,
and I stand there poor,
Stripped of all but His grace,
While memory runs like a hunted thing
Down the paths I cannot retrace.
Then my desolate heart will well-nigh break
With the tears that I cannot shed;
I shall cover my face with my empty hands,
I shall bow my uncrowned head...
Lord of the years that are left to me,
I give them to Thy hand;
Take me and break me,
mould me to The pattern Thou hast planned!
These poems are definitely how I feel. I long for Christ to mold me into His Pattern. I want His Will for my life! As the speaker said this morning in chapel, "I just want MORE of Him!s" that is so true for me! I just want more of Him.