Open Door Poetry

Many of you know I'm a poetry buff, which makes this very exciting. Borders is doing a new webvideo poetry thing here. Start with billy collins.

The Sacrifice: part 3

the fourth stanza of this post haunts me each year.

Therefore my soul melts, and my heart's dear treasure
Drops blood (the only beads) my words to measure:
O let this cup pass, if it be thy pleasure:
Was ever grief like mine?

These drops being temper'd with a sinner's tears,
A balsam are for both the Hemispheres,
Curing all wounds, but mine; all, but my fears.
Was ever grief like mine?

Yet my Disciples sleep: I cannot gain
One hour of watching; but their drowsy brain
Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine stain:
Was ever grief like mine?

Arise, arise, they come! Look how they run!
Alas! what haste they make to be undone!
How with their lanterns do they seek the sun!
Was ever grief like mine?

The Sacrifice: part 2

Read part 1.

Mine own Apostle, who the bag did bear,
Though he had all I had, did not forebear
To sell me also, and to put me there:
Was ever grief like mine?

For thirty pence he did my death devise,
Who at three hundred did the ointment prize,
Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice:
Was ever grief like mine?

The Sacrifice: part 1

A poem from George Herbert (1593 - 1633) that I ponder every year to prepare my heart for Good Friday and Easter.

The Sacrifice

Oh all ye, who pass by, whose eyes and mind
To worldly things are sharp, but to me blind;
To me, who took eyes that I might you find:
Was ever grief like mine?

The Princes of my people make a head
Against their Maker: they do wish me dead,
Who cannot wish, except I give them bread:
Was ever grief like mine?

Without me each one, who doth now me brave,
Had to this day been an Egyptian slave.
They use that power against me, which I gave:
Was ever grief like mine?

Christmas Song: Come, Thou Lamb of God And Savior

New lyrics for "Come Thou Long Expected Jesus," written for a new sermon series here at Harvest.

Come, Thou Lamb of God and Savior,
Come to take our sins away.
In Thy sacrificial favor
Spare us, heal us, cleanse us, we pray.
We, like sheep, had lost direction;
We could not for our shame atone.
From the altar of Thy perfection
Make Thy blameless life our own.

Come, Thou Way of our redemption,
All our wand'rings rectify;
Truth, but not of our own invention,
Jesus, Word of God, reply.
Life, eternal and resurrected,
Thou to our spiritless framework impart;
And, by Thy love to the Father directed,
Way and Truth and Life Thou art!

(c) 2007 Joshua Westerholm

Poetry: Taylor Mali

Speak With Conviction



Labeling Keys.

Poetry: Billy Collins

Some of you may know that I write some really poor poetry for my church. It's usually done during a holiday season, and I can usually remember the shoes I'm wearing while it's being read . . . because I stare at them the whole time.

Anyways, Steve K. McCoy (the reformissionary) posted some awesome animated poems from a former U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins on his blog. I felt smarter after watching. So will you.

SOME DAYS:



and my favorite, FORGETFULLNESS:

Good Friday Meditation: The Sacrifice

Every year for Good Friday, I prepare my heart by reading this poem, by George Herbert. The spelling is from 1633, but the easily readable. Read these highlights, but click here to get the whole thing.

OH all ye, who passe by, whose eyes and minde
To worldly things are sharp, but to me blinde;
To me, who took eyes that I might you finde:
Was ever grief like mine?

Arise, arise, they come. Look how they runne!
Alas! what haste they make to be undone!
How with their lanterns do they seek the sunne!
Was ever grief like mine?

Judas, dost thou betray me with a kisse?
Canst thou finde hell about my lips? and misse
Of life, just at the gates of life and blisse?
Was ever grief like mine?

See, they lay hold on me, not with the hands
Of faith, but furie: yet at their commands
I suffer binding, who have loos’d their bands
Was ever grief like mine?

Some said, that I the Temple to the floore
In three dayes raz’d, and raised as before.
Why, he that built the world can do much more:
Was ever grief like mine?

Then they condemne me all with that same breath,
Which I do give them daily, unto death.
Thus Adam my first breathing rendereth:
Was ever grief like mine?

Why, Caesar is their onely King, not I:
He clave the stonie rock, when they were drie;
But surely not their hearts, as I well trie:
Was ever grief like mine?

Behold, they spit on me in scornfull wise,
Who by my spittle gave the blinde man eies,
Leaving his blindnesse to my enemies:
Was ever grief like mine?

My face they cover, though it be divine.
As Moses face was vailed, so is mine,
Lest on their double-dark souls either shine:
Was ever grief like mine?

The souldiers also spit upon that face,
Which Angels did desire to have the grace,
And Prophets, once to see, but found no place:
Was ever grief like mine?

O all ye who passe by, behold and see;
Man stole the fruit, but I must climbe the tree;
The tree of life to all, but onely me:
Was ever grief like mine?

Now heal thy self, Physician; now come down.
Alas! I did so, when I left my crown
And fathers smile for you, to feel his frown:
Was ever grief like mine?

In healing not my self, there doth consist
All that salvation, which ye now resist;
Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist:
Was ever grief like mine?

Betwixt two theeves I spend my utmost breath,
As he that for some robberie suffereth.
Alas! what have I stollen from you? Death.
Was ever grief like mine?

They give me vineger mingled with gall,
But more with malice: yet, when they did call,
With Manna, Angels food, I fed them all:
Was ever grief like mine?