No Greater Treasure

Why just a babe in a manger?
Why not a glorious hall,
A marblestone palace with ramparts
And turrets and towers and all?

Why aren't there ladies and lords?
Why just these shepherds and sheep?
Why not the brightest and best
Instead of a dark night so deep?

Why not two parents of royal
Descent, of lineage grand,
A heritage fit for a king,
Instead of this maid and this man?

Why not a royal parade
With cornets and psalteries and harps?
Why just the braying of beasts
In the night, in the cold, in the dark?

This King needs no palace or pomp,
No glitter or glory or gold,
For He is the treasure of Heaven
That cannot be bought or be sold.

What men prize as treasures are cheap,
Hold no weight in the courts of the Lord,
And this stable with oxen and cattle
Is palace enough for our God.

For the treasure itself lies within,
'Tis Jesus, the fairest of fair,
And anything earth could afford
Would be but as dust were it there.

It matters not how poor the setting
If it holds the greatest of gifts;
If Jesus is guest in the hall
There's no greater treasure than this.

The God-Man

Our God enfleshed in Christ has come,
Let royal wisdom strike us dumb;
To save our lost and fallen race
He takes on human form and face.

Who could conceive of such a plan?
'Twas not devised by likes of man;
Only wisdom from above
Could conceive such saving love.

For mortal man had lost it all
From Adam's failure in the fall;
But sinful man can't pay the price
So God becomes the sacrifice.

Man could not atone for sin
Nor could God die, but look within
The stable rude - our God appears
As man, and Calv'ry's moment nears.

For just a while He's with us here,
For these three and thirty years;
He lives the only sinless life
'Midst our sorrow and our strife.

Then in Gethsemane He takes
Our sin and Satan's thralldom breaks,
When on the cross He nails it there
And we escape the fowler's lair.

Let joy come down like falling rain
For love has broken sin's dark chains,
Let every human heart become
The dwelling place of Christ, the Son.

Heaven's Best

Earth cared not for this Son of God,
No place to lay his head,
Offered naught but sheets of straw,
A manger for a bed.

No room, they said, within the inn,
But there's a barn outside;
Soon forgotten in the cold,
They heard not when he cried.

But heaven gave its very best -
A star to guide the way
Of those who came across the wilds
To where the young child lay.

And angels to announce his birth
To shepherds in the field,
And to give to him the name
Above all names revealed.

Look up and lift your eyes from earth
To see his star above,
To hear the wonders of his name
From messengers of love.

Joseph

I think this poem brings Joseph out of the background where he has been hidden for too long and says everything that needs to be said about fathers, what they should be and what they should do.

"Joseph, fear not," said the angel,
"To take to thee Mary thy wife."
It was Joseph who would guard the young child
Through the the soon-coming trouble and strife.

It was to Joseph the angel
Spoke that sweetest Name, all names above,
'Twas Joseph who gave Him that name -
JESUS, the Son of God's love.

It was Joseph who watched over Mary
And cared for the family of God,
Who guided and guarded and took them
To Bethlehem town as they trod.

It was Joseph who asked the innkeeper
If a room perchance he might have,
And 'twas Joseph who readied the manger
'Mong'st the goats and the sheep and the calves.

It was Joseph who watched o'er his family
As shepherds and wise men came there;
It was Joseph who guarded his flock
And kept his small family in prayer.

The angel appeared unto Joseph
In a dream saying "Rise up and go;
Take mother and child into Egypt
And be there 'til I let you know."

For Herod was ranting and raving
And sought the life of the child,
But Joseph, the husband and father,
Kept them from cruel Herod's wiles.

Again, in a dream, did the angel
Tell Joseph 'twas safe to return,
So he took the young child and his mother
Back to Israel where Jesus learned

As he sat at the feet of his father,
And helped at the carpenter's trade,
That fathers are strong and courageous
And good, like the tables he made.

And still today God looks for Josephs,
For husbands and fathers who love,
Who'll guard the great gifts God has given
And be like our Father above.

The Magi's Gifts

What strange gifts for a little child;
Would he not rather have a top, a toy,
That he could play with as a boy?
Why bring these gifts through regions wild?

What stirred within their hearts to bring
Such presents to a peasant's babe?
What sentiments were there portrayed?
Or were they off'rings for a king?

What meant this strange gift of myrrh
Which does not celebrate his birth
But puts the value and the worth
On his dying, as it were?

And why this gift of frankincense?
'Tis used in worship of our God.
And yet this babe on common sod
Is worthy such extravagance.

For gold depicts divinity indeed,
And so the wise men, not beguiled,
Knew that Jesus, Holy Child,
Was Christ the Son, the Royal Seed.

O Jesus, Jesus, stir my heart
To bring Thee gifts of precious worth
As frankincense and gold and myrrh
That I might know Thee as Thou art.

But We See Jesus (Hebrews 2:9)

We see not all things conquered now
And put beneath His feet;
The victory we long for so
Seems not to be complete.

But we see Jesus, made like us,
In God's great glorious plan,
To suffer, bleed and die, to taste
Of death for every man.


We see not self subject to Him,
But consumed with sin and lust,
So very far from being here
What is true and right and just.

But we see Jesus, Son of God,
Who bore all of our sin,
That we by God's surpassing grace
Might one day be like Him.


We see not evil brought to bay
But rampant, running free;
A bleeding, dying world knows not
How things could one day be.

But we see Jesus, Son of Man,
Made like sinful flesh,
To raise us from our lost estate
By His life and by His death.

Another Comforter

This poem expresses something I have been wanting to say for a while now - that the Holy Spirit is more than just celestial leftovers or a flashlight in Jesus' hands; He is the Spirit of Christ, the manifest Presence of God within us, the same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead. The poem places the reader in the place of one of the disciples to consider what it must have been like to actually know Jesus and be with Him, and then hear that He was going away. Then Jesus said "it is expedient for you that I go away" and that He would send another Comforter to be with them forever. That must not have made any sense to them - that it was good that this wonderful, unique Son of God would leave them - until the Holy Spirit came and they knew - they knew - that He had come to them again.

Imagine if you’d walked with the disciples of the Lord
And been one of the twelve, and heard his every word;
He’d spoke to you and said “Now, come and follow me;”
You’d dropped your nets and left, knowing not what was to be.

Because you felt in him such promise and such truth,
You’d give him all you had – your strength, your love, your youth.
You’d heard that awesome voice that created everything
And created within you the strength to love and serve this king.

His words were right and true and you could count on what he said;
His words could calm the sea, heal the sick, and raise the dead.
His voice was like the sound of many waters’ flow,
Like an eagle on the wing, like the morning breezes blow.

You’d looked into those eyes with their penetrating gaze
That looked into your soul and saw all of your days,
Eyes not to condemn, but that brimmed with friendship’s trust,
Eyes that spoke of things that were pure and true and just.

And you had felt the touch of his hand upon your arm
To guide you and protect you and to keep you safe from harm;
With his arm around your shoulders as you journeyed and you trod,
As he walked along beside you, you felt the touch of God.

You didn’t understand all the things that he had said –
How he’d die upon a cross and then rise up from the dead;
But you kept them in your heart for you knew that they could be,
For anything could happen with this man from Galilee.

He believed in you when no one else would do the same;
He spoke of things above, not of fortune or of fame.
The Kingdom of the Lord was his one recurring theme,
And you believed it come, or could – or so it seemed

Until one day he told you that he’d have to go away;
Your world fell all apart – you felt a castaway.
For he was your best friend – no one else could take his place –
No one else held such a promise, or such glory, or such grace.

But he said that he would send another Comforter,
One just like the first; he’d be with you, as it were.
For the Spirit that would come would be in every sense the same;
He was going to the Father and would send Him in His name.


But when it came to pass – when they nailed him to the tree –
You had fled like all the rest; it seemed such irony
That such promise and such truth could be cut down so soon,
That the bright star of the morning could be darkened before noon.

Then he arose and for a while it was just as it had been –
You were back, you band of brothers; could it be that way again?
But when he had ascended you again were left alone,
But you waited as he told you, with a hope more than your own.

And on the day of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit came
Just as he had promised, with sound of wind and fire of flame.
And the Christ that walked beside you now lived in you and you knew
He’d come back to you forever, he’d not abandoned you.

And you could tell the world of this lovely Son of God,
For he was with you and was in you, and with every step you trod
His words, his strength, his power flowed like blood within your veins;
The Christ was your companion and you conquered in his name.

And so it is today for every blood-bought child of God - You’re not abandoned, not alone, as you dwell on common sod,
For the Christ who called and claimed you and who gave you life anew
In this blessed Holy Spirit again lives his life in you.

It’s him! It’s not another; you’re not orphaned, not alone!
His Spirit lives within and he has made your heart his home.
Fling wide the gates and ope’ the doors and let the Spirit flow.
He’s come to you forever – let the winds of heaven blow.

A Single Eye

The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thiine eye is single, thy whole body also is full of light. (Jesus - Luke 11:34a)

To have this single eye
Is my heart's only goal,
To fix my gaze upon
The lover of my soul.

To see not circumstance
Nor the storm around me rage,
Content with fixéd gaze
As a dove within its cage

Sees nought but love's desire,
The object of its heart,
So I would look to Thee
From the very start.

One window in the side
Of Noah's diluvial ark
Serves as an outward sign
To which my soul would hark.

And I will have this eye
That sees but things above,
That sees celestial scenes
And the object of its love.

Jacob, Was It Jesus?

Jacob, did you wrestle with a man that night alone?
Did you wrestle in the darkness 'til the breaking of the dawn?
Was it God with whom you wrestled, of whom you'd not let go?
Tell me, Jacob, was it Jesus, and with us can it be so?

Can we touch him and compel him not to leave us, not to go?
Can we hold him through the night until the morning light doth show?
Will he touch us as he touched you in the hollow of your thigh?
Will he take away our strength? Will we halt as we walk by?

Will he speak as he spoke to you when he asked of you your name?
Will he give to us a new one that we never be the same?
I think I know the answer but must ask of you again -
O, Jacob, was it Jesus? Can we go where you have been?

Oh, Grace of God in Christ

My poetry sounds like something from an earlier age. That makes sense because a lot of my reading is of earlier writers; I find their focus is different than much of what is out in our day and time. It seems to me that those who went before us were centered more on knowing God Himself rather than knowing about Him and what He can do for us. I'm sure that all of what gets written today is valid and worth knowing; it's just that my heart has been made captive to the One who died and rose again for me and I gravitate to those things that echo my attraction to Him.

So if my verse sounds like its lifted from an old hymnal, its because that language is what I've fed my spirit with, and that's what comes out. Actually, I prefer it this way; earlier writings were more weighty, more impacting. So if thou art ready, read on.

Oh, grace of God in Christ,
I raise my paen to Thee,
That ope'd my eyes, revived my soul,
And set my spirit free.

Thou many-hymned bequest of God,
How much to Thee I owe;
My eyes were closed to all above,
But not to here below,

For my delight in sensual usts
Did leap and bound apace;
I'd have no sense of things above
'Twere not for sovereign grace.

You snatched me from the miry clay,
From the very jaws of hell,
And set me firm upon the Rock,
And this I know full well.

For grace has set before me now
A land so vast, so fair,
And Eden of Thy pleasures, Lord,
And I am happy there.

THE WELL BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD

I turned off one day from the much-beaten path
And there I did find an old well,
It was nearly half-hid by the side of the road
In a quaint little countryside dell

At the edge of a forest quite dark and quite deep
By the side of the old, dusty road,
Where the leaves grew so thick and the shadows they creeped,
And I stopped there and laid down my load.

A much-hurried traveler would never have seen
This place that by chance I had found,
But I was so weary and needed to rest,
So I stopped and laid my burden down.

Some grass grew around the side of the well;
I could tell it was not worn with wear
As it might have been if a multitude
Of others had often been there.

The stones were quite cool and damp to the touch,
In the shade of the green forest trees,
And I was refreshed just by being there
And caressed by a soft, gentle breeze.

I took off my hat and I laid down my staff,
Moved the planks from the mouth of the well;
Then I turned the crank and let down the wood pail
To bring water up from the well.

Never before had I drunk such as this -
'Twas so cool and so sweet and so pure;
It refreshed me throughout and I knew I had found
What I had been long searching for.

'Twas the water of life, for the well it was Christ,
And I felt I had met there with God.
And to think that I almost - I could have passed by
The well by the side of the road.

CLOTHED IN LIGHT

The swaddling clothes of infancy
Envelop Him no more;
The manger could not hold Him
Nor the things that once He wore.

He took a towel and girt Himself
And washed disciples' feet;
He wore it in humility
And would make us as meek.

The purple robe that mocked Him
Lies crumpled on the floor;
They could not mar His majesty,
Of kings the King, of lords the Lord.

He seamless robe, the symbol
Of perfected humanity,
Lies underneath the cross,
His gift to you and me.

A vesture dipped in blood He wore
Who is Faithful, Who is True,
In righteousness to judge and war
And make creation new.

The tomb is dark and empty,
Save the linen cloth He wore
In death, for He is risen
And lives forevermore.

And now He clothes Himself with light,
With honor and majesty,
The mighty God, the Holy One,
Forever exalted, He.

SMITE THE ROCK

Moses smote the rock and
God reprimanded him;
He was only to have spoken -
It was a grievous sin.

Yet the Rock Himself was smitten
For sinners, we are told;
And we who once were broken
In Him are now made whole.

THERE WAS A STONE

There was a stone that covered the grave
Where the crucified Savior was lain,
After they mocked Him and shamed Him to scorn
And whipped Him and beat Him again.

After they put on His sweet the thorns
And the blood covered Him like the tide,
After they pierced Him with nails in His hands
And His feet and then hung Him to die.

There was a stone that said "Herein is death,
I have conquered the Author of Life,"
A stone that was strong as the forces of hell,
A stone that men thought would suffice.

There was a Rock that lay inside the grave
Behind the terrible stone,
A Rock that arose like the dawn when the sun
First appeared, and, oh, how it shone!

And the Rock rolled the stone away from the grave
And came forth like a lionly king,
And the grave, which was death, and hell, like the stone,
Would never more triumph again.

Is there a stone that covers the grave
Where your hopes and your dreams have been lain?
Let the Rock, which is Christ, rise within like the dawn
And you'll never know sorrow again.

For He'll roll the stone away from your life
And your heart will be wonderfully free;
For Jesus, the Rock, is the Author of Life
And together forever you'll be.

THERE WAS A STONE

There was a stone that covered the grave
Where the crucified Savior was lain,
After they mocked Him and shamed Him to scorn
And whipped Him and beat Him again.

After they put on His sweet the thorns
And the blood covered Him like the tide,
After they pierced Him with nails in His hands
And His feet and then hung Him to die.

There was a stone that said "Herein is death,
I have conquered the Author of Life,"
A stone that was strong as the forces of hell,
A stone that men thought would suffice.

There was a Rock that lay inside the grave
Behind the terrible stone,
A Rock that arose like the dawn when the sun
First appeared, and, oh, how it shone!

And the Rock rolled the stone away from the grave
And came forth like a lionly king,
And the grave, which was death, and hell, like the stone,
Would never more triumph again.

Is there a stone that covers the grave
Where your hopes and your dreams have been lain?
Let the Rock, which is Christ, rise within like the dawn
And you'll never know sorrow again.

For He'll roll the stone away from your life
And your heart will be wonderfully free;
For Jesus, the Rock, is the Author of Life
And together forever you'll be.

BETRAYED WITH A KISS

A line from a Michael Card song has stayed with me for a long time: "Only a friend can betray a friend." How must Jesus have felt when one of the twelve betrayed Him with a kiss? It was the violence of the crucifixion that killed Him, but was the tenderness of the betrayal any less violent? If He is betrayed so softly, could I, who would never dream of doing Him violence, do the same?

Peter, who had been so zealous (don't we get zealous and quote "The zeal of the Lord has eaten me up?") denied Him not once, but three times. After that we read that "All his disciples forsook him and fled."

His disciples all forsook Him but the dying thief confessed Him for who He really is. Maybe we don't really know what we'll do; maybe all we can do is ask "Lord, is it I?" It wasn't until after they received the Holy Spirit that the disciples had any kind of spiritual grit; oh, how we need that same Holy Spirit to make us into that people that will be always true to Him.


Betrayed with a kiss in the garden
By one who had long walked with Thee,
By one who had sat at Thy table,
By a disciple who knew Thee; 'twas he

Who for just thirty pieces of silver
Sold Thee to sinners to die.
'Twas not by an enemy hardened
But a friend who had known Thee, so nigh.

Denied by another disicple
Three times, saying he knew Thee not,
Forsaken by all of Thy fellows,
By Thy friends; such was Thy lot.

And I, in the hour of trial,
Will I sell Thee out? Will I lie?
Will I be the one to betray Thee
Again? O Lord, is it I?

May I then be one who is stedfast
To suffer and walk by Thy side,
To confess it is I who doth know Thee,
And to know that I never have lied

About Jesus, the true Friend of Sinners,
Who confessed to the Father my name,
Who never, no never, betrayed me;
O Lord, may I do the same.

MEA CULPA

Are we not prone to look down on those who participated in Jesus' death and consider them more guilty than we? The truth is that we are more guilty than them all put together for it was for our sins that He died. Judas, Pilate, Barnabas, and the Roman soldiers were only the instruments used to crucify the Son of God; we were the guilty ones, the reason that He died, and our guilt piles up to the heavens and beyond, like thunder clouds, far exceeding theirs.

I was Judas, who with a kiss,
Betrayed Him in the garden; this
Was my doing on that day,
As all my sins on Him were laid.

My sinful acts were like the lash
That opened every wound and gash;
Every deed that I had done
Brought this horror to the Son.

'Twas my iniquities adorned
His head just as the crown of thorns;
My each and every evil deed
Caused the precious Lamb to bleed.

I, the Pilate, who decreed
That the Lamb of God must bleed;
'Twas my hypocrisy that day
That made them carry Him away.

No Roman soldier more than I
Caused the Son of God to die.
It was my sins that nailed Him there,
Lord Jesus Christ, so sweet, so fair.

Three nails impaled Him on the tree -
My passions, lust, and cruelty;
The things I did, and said and thought
All this cruel torture wrought.

The spear that pierced my Savior's side
Was my pride I cannot hide,
That made the blood and water flow,
These were the things that hurt Him so.

The lightning flashed, the thunder rolled,
And I the Barnabas who sold
The Son of God to bleed and die
And buy for me eternal life.

Man of Sorrows (Isaiah 53)

He hath no form nor comeliness
That he should be desired,
No beauty to be seen in him
That he should be admired.

He is rejected and despised,
An man of sorrows, he,
With grief acquainted, and we hid
Our faces, nor esteemed

Him who all our griefs hath borne,
Our sorrows carried, too.
We did esteem him stricken and
Smitten and afflicted who

For our transgressions wounded was,
For our iniquities was bruised;
For ou peace he was chastised,
Him who we refused.

With his many stripes we're healed,
Like sheep we've gone astray;
On him the Lord our sins has laid,
Who turned to our own way.

Afflicted and oppressed he was,
Taken in his youth,
A slaughtered lamb, a shearéd sheep,
But opened not his mouth.

Ye it pleased the Lord to bruise him there,
And put to grief and die;
Yet he shall see of his travial
And shall be satisfied.

THE UNDIVIDED HEART

I want to praise you, Lord,
With an undivided heart,
Unrent, untorn, unriven,
The whole, and not the part.

An undivided heart
That knows no other God,
That keeps no darling lust,
That gives not sin a nod.

As Israel was divided,
So, too, my heart has been,
And I have had two kingdoms -
One for Thee and one for sin.

But now I crown Thee King,
Like David, o'er the whole,
To rule my heart and will,
Spirit, body, soul.

Heavenly Fire

As flames rise upward, Lord, I rise
And seek my God to know.
As Thy Spirit my flame doth blow
I soar to upper skies.

As the flame consumes the wood
So my soul, so parched and dry,
Is subsumed as in Thee I die;
In Thee I live to seek Thy good.

The ashes only there remain,
My soul, bound up in the bundle of life
With Thee, is released from death.
I find that all my loss is gain.

I was dead but now I live;
A living flame I rise with Thee.
A captive once, I now am free,
Lost in Thy life, my praise I give.

The Quest

If I could but draw near to Thee
Again, as I have so 'oft before;
If I could hear Thy gentle voice
And see Thy face once more.

Thou'rt constantly upon my mind
Yet my spirit wanders far away
From Thee. O Lord, where is that place
Where I may dwell alway?

Like David, chased from vale to glen,
I hide in caves and wilderness.
I seek but Thee, my Lord, to know,
I seek but, Lord, Thy face.

My heart pants after Thee, O Christ,
My soul pursueth Thee, and hard.
Hear Thou my plea and come to me
My Savior, and my God.

For in Thy Presence sheer delight
And light and life I find;
I learn that in Thee all is well,
I learn that Thou art kind.

Fire By Night

Oh night, thou hidest my God from me;
In thy dark shades I cannot see.
Where can I run from thee to'escape?
Where e'er I run I find but thee.

Slumber doth my eyelids lade
And memories of my Savior fade.
And nowhere in thy dark estate
Is there a peaceful glen or glade.

But when is most extreme my plight
Then Lo! I see a flick'ring light!
My Savior God at last appears,
And darkness then must take it's flight.

For my God in darkness dwells,
All the world His Kingdom tells.
The light becomes a pillar of fire,
E'en at night, then, all is well.

New Every Day

Fit me for the battle, Lord,
Each morn anew, when I arise
To things around me, good and bad,
Give me to see, Lord, ope' my eyes.

Dulled by sleep and night's dark shades,
My spirit cannot pray aright
'Til Thou dost quicken with Thy breath
And bring anew Thy love and light.

My spirit is so cold and dull,
It lacks the impulses to move
It needs to feel Thy touch of fire,
It needs to know that Thou art love.

Like the sun, which every morn
Doth run the race, it's course doth take,
So may I rise and look above
My soul to fill, my thirst to slake.

Some spice, some balm, some precious word
Give to me as to make my way
From this dull lowland where I dwell
To heights above, new every day.

Fields Of Diamonds

I am like a man who walks in fields of diamonds and cares for nothing more than his clothes, his house, his bread. With riches all around me, I continue blindly, pursing stones and pebbles while diamonds turn to dust. The blessings of the Lord are mine at every moment, his love, his life, his law, and I have but to look. I have but to stop and eat this living bread, I have but to drink from this life-giving stream.

And so I look to Jesus, the fairest of ten thousand, and find there all I need and more than I can hold. His riches far exceed all of this world's empty treasures, his wonders far surpass all I ever had before. His beauty is unmeasured and his grace knows of no limits, his love is like a fountain ever flowing without end, a vast uncharted ocean and I am in its center, my life caught up in his, and I am whole again.

The Open Sea

Set sail, my heart, upon the open sea,
Redeeming love's vast immensity.
Strike the sails and weigh the anchor fast;
The unknown way calls out and beckons thee.

There is a call from deep to deep today,
It stirs my blood and calls me on this way.
Though seas shall roll and skies be overcast
We'll undertake this journey come what may.

Fear not for dangers that may there be found
For we have heard love's joyful, swelling sound
Of peace and joy and love and light to last;
We'll go where such as these are to be found.

The Book shall be our compass and our guide,
The Spirit fill our sails upon the tide.
Our sail is faith, love becomes the mast;
Our rigging, hope, to cross the ocean wide.

THE CHRIST OF EVERY WAY

I get so immersed in the holidays that when they're over it's a shock to my system. This little piece came out of that experience this year.

THE CHRIST OF EVERY WAY
When Christmas was all put away …

When the decorations were returned once again to their place in the attic and the Christmas cookies had all been eaten, when the tree was sitting out at the curb waiting for the trash man, leaving a trail of tinsel down the driveway, when the presents were no longer sitting on the living room coffee table but had found homes in dressers, closets and shelves, when the Christmas Carol CD’s were back in their cases and returned to their places next to Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennet, Brahms, Beethoven and Mozart, when January 2 dawned cold and rainy and the family all had to go back to school and work …

That’s when I heard Jesus say
“I am the Christ for every day,
I am the Christ of every way.”

Not just for times and seasons gay …

Not just for the special days and seasons when we sense the wonder of His incarnation, the impact of His crucifixion, and the power of His resurrection; not just for the times that come already marked on our calendars, not just for occasions at church deserving choirs and cantatas and costumed plays, not just for those recurring occasions that stir our memories of childhood and times past …

If we listen we can hear Him say
“I am the Christ for every day,
I am the Christ of every way.”

He is there for those very ordinary days …

For those days for which nothing is written on our calendars, for those days when we wake up with a headache and get through our routines by sheer force of will, for those days that are as bland as dry toast and flat as pancakes, for those days of rushing to the emergency room with our heart in our throat, for those days when failure and frustration hang over our heads like a black cloud …


That’s when we can hear Him say
“I am the Christ for every day,
I am the Christ of every way.”

Not just for Bethlehem but for Nazareth as well.

Not just for the Mount of Transfiguration, but for the valley of the shadow.

Not just for the empty tomb, but for the empty heart …

He is the Christ for every day,
He is the Christ of every way.

The Magi's Gifts

What strange gifts for a little child.
Would he not rather have a top, a toy,
That he could play with as a boy?
Why bring these gifts through regions wild?

What stirred within their hearts to bring
Such presents for a peasant's babe?
What sentiments were there portrayed?
Or were they off'rings to a king?

What meaneth this strange gift of myrrh
Which does not celebrate his birth,
But puts the value and the worth
On his dying, as it were?

And why this gift of frankincense?
'Tis used in worship of our God.
And yet this babe on common sod
Is worthy such extravagance.

For gold depicts divinity, indeed;
And so the wise men, not beguiled,
Knew that Jesus, Holy Child,
Was Christ the Son, the Royal Seed.

O Jesus, Jesus, stir my heart
To bring thee gifts of precious worth
As frankincense and gold and myrrh
That I might know Thee as Thou art.