For now you dress in poverty;
The freedom to do as you please.
Be rich, be poor, be rebellious.
Live your choice with ease.
Constraint will show its lovely face,
And all the world will mourn.
Provoking God, they’d dressed themselves,
With mocking crowns, their heads adorned.
What choice is then, given to men?
Neither rich or poor will be.
But all will bow with stench of fear,
Giving Glory, for Glory is he.
By His Grace
God is the maker of your soul.
He wants it back under his control.
To curb your hands with which you stole,
His righteousness and joy.
By His Grace
The promise of God, it’s deep and it’s sure;
Lasting forever and ever.
To forfeit our standing for smallest of pleasure,
What horrible loss do we suffer.
The power of prayer is cut to the quick.
Our confidence: shattered in place.
All for the sake of a runaway smile;
On a downcast and darkened face.
Our Lord for the sake of the joy set before him,
Endured the cross, scorning its shame.
While man, for the sake of a joy set before him,
Disgraces His Holy Great Name.
Who can speak of reward such behavior does strip?
Who has understood what’s ahead?
The echoes of promise lay shattered and torn,
While our heart is filled up with regret.
Isn’t there something to which you can reach,
Inciting a love for your God?
Avoiding the places that rip you away;
Restraining your feet from the “broad”.
There’s a man who will stand on that Great Holy Day,
And his standing depends on you.
The choices you make for that hope far away,
He’s depending on what you now do.
By His Grace
What creature will we become?
It is not given to man to know.
To be like the Angels;
Our appearance to Glow.
Or to be the fulfillment
Of our bodies “below”.
Strive to find out,
With all you possess.
Break from tradition of sin.
What will you give,
Come that moment unveiled,
That new “body” to win?
“If it is hard for the righteous to be saved, what will become of the ungodly and the sinner?” (1 Peter 4:18)
There you are, my long lost friend! I thought perhaps you’d gone. Your Father has shown in the noonday light, so too his beautiful Son.
But you’ve hidden yourself, as if embarrassed. A speck in the great sea of men. Through darkness I looked and could not find, your shining example within.
But here through my windows I see you arise. And a hope springs afresh with great joy. Teach me by doing, and lighten my path. Let me see His great works, o’holy envoy.
By His Grace
Open, wanton, sick and twisted;
Is the box of flesh your soul resides in.
Closed, Holy, Life and straight;
Is the path of life we’re given from Him.
Say you are able to find the way Home,
And your tongue will make you a liar.
The only way Home to a wayward soul,
Is consumed by The Holy Fire.
How can the flesh endure His great thrashing?
What strength does it have to remain?
The soul either emulates all that is passing,
Or submits itself to be tamed.
By His Grace
We: Live, Die, Face Judgment. Jesus or die twice.
My new buddy
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