The Little Christian

This is one of my longer poems. The rhyme scheme is not consistent, and there are certain lines that do not exactly enhance the poem. However, this is a simple little story that I would like to share with all of my fellow Christians who are in service. In the midst of our labors, may we learn from the experience of this little Christian.

There was a little Christian
Who’s working for the Lord.
He strived for pure perfection,
Gave all he could afford.

He worked from day to evening,
From nighttime until dawn.
He never stopped for resting,
But labored on and on.

His pray’rs were short and blurry;
His family’s in discord,
But what could come ‘fore duty?
He’s working for the Lord.

Then came the day when Christian,
So tired without, within,
Was tempted by a trifle,
The tiniest of sins.

“It wouldn’t hurt me deeply,”
He mused within himself,
“Just grant this ‘musement to me,
I’ll shun everything else.”

So Christian tried his ‘musement
And liked it more and more
Until in sounded decent
To try it to the core.

One sin followed another,
And soon he couldn’t stop
Each time he would say, “Never,”
Each time his strength would drop.

Poor Christian lived in anguish,
Hypocrisy and tears.
He clearly knew God’s wishes,
But sin was still too dear.

Until the day when Jesus,
In anger and in love
Reminded him the reasons
To turn to God above.

God loves His little children
And turns them from their sins
If they set eyes on heaven
And trust their lives to Him.

Poor Christian cried so sadly,
Repented then and there.
Then tenderly and gladly,
He prayed his little pray’r.

“Lord, wrongly have I served You,
And wrongly have I lived.
My eyes please turn towards You,
My sins please now forgive.”

Today that little Christian
Is working for the Lord.
Now with but one intention—
That Gods’ name be adored.

Quiet Time Reflections

Each time I sit down upon my desk, longing to enter the presence of God, I feel an impulse to write of my personal relationship with Him. Sometimes, those reflections result in simple verses that reflect simple desires for an awesome God.


June 25, 2006
Today's Your day, O Lord, my King,
For You alone my soul does sing;
Your mercy lasts from dawn to dawn
With lovingkindness fresh as spring.
Forgive my sins, and cleanse me now,
Fill up my heart and show me how
To live for You from day to day
That I before Your throne may bow.


July 9, 2006
O Father God, I come into
Your holy house of praise today.
Please consecrate my heart for You,
Forgive my grievous sins, I pray.
You are Almighty, King of kings,
And yet a child You make of me;
To You will my whole spirit sing,
To You must my devotion be.
You loved me first 'fore I loved You,
So help me love with love as true.


August 6, 2006
O Lord, my God, You are the King,
The song my heart and soul do sing;
The wonders of the earth proclaim
The glamour of Your holy name.
O Father God, may my life be
A testimony all can see,
A written page by Your own hand,
A beacon leading safe to land.


August 13, 2006
My Heavenly Father, here I stand,
Before You once again;
Please guide me with Your tender hand
To shine before all men.
Please cleanse my heart and make it true
As worshipping I come;
Please turn my courses back to You,
My audience of One.


September 17, 2006
My Father, God, I come to Thee
Impure, unrighteous, worn, and ill;
Again I've wandered from Thy will
To seek what only pleases me.
Please cleanse me, Lord, this is my pray'r,
I beg Thy mercy to descend;
I ask another chance, True Friend,
To be Thy servant ev'rywhere.

Job's Answer

At the end of his suffering, Job was confronted by Almighty God. God hurled question after question at Job, asking him about the inexplicable wonders of creation. At the conclusion of their discourse, Job could only utter a humble confession, acknowledging the sovereignty and wisdom of the Lord above anything man's mind could conceive. The following is a versification of Job 42:2-6.

I know that You can do all things,
Your purposes prove true.
Though I declared things I knew not,
Those things were known to You.
Instruct me, Lord, this is my pray’r,
Speak now, and I will hear.
For though I’d heard of You before,
My eyes now see You near.
So I retract what I pronounced,
In ashes I repent,
For no soul living on this earth
Can know Your great intent.

For All Eternity

This is a set of lyrics I wrote several years ago. All this time, none of my composing partners have been able to come up with a complete tune for it. Even so, however, I still hold them close to my heart. Although they may have their imperfections, I love these lyrics for their universal message. God sent His Son to save us, and now we may live in Him for all eternity.

I once believed in all the things the people taught to me.
I thought there couldn’t be a God that no one ever sees.
I thought there wasn’t such a thing as true eternity,
But should the road just end one day, what would become of me?

I heard the story of a man who died on Calvary
Who loved the world so much that He would die to set men free.
I couldn’t help but wonder why he died so willingly,
And should the road just end today, will He be there for me?

Chorus:
O Jesus, Christ, the Prince of Peace, You gave Your all for me.
You brought me everlasting life by death on Calvary.
There is no other person who will be as dear to me.
I offer up to You my life for all eternity.

The day arrived when I picked up a book I used to see,
An aged book I never thought could be a part of me.
As I read on I realized it’s teaching me to be
A child of God much better than the sinner found in me.

Today I love above the world the man on Calvary.
I know He lives within my heart where I can’t touch or see.
I know He is perfecting me to last eternity,
And should my road just end today, He will be there for me.

I Often Hope That I Might Be

I composed this poem on my seventeenth birthday. I have been a dreamer all of my life, and my fantasies have often brought me to glamour, romance, and thrill beyond compare. Consequently, there would be times when I would feel envious of the characters in my dreams. Why could I not be like them?

I often hope that I might be
A poet of the best degree,
Whose pen employed ten thousand words,
Whose verses spanned eternity.

I often hope that I might be
A princess fair for all to see,
Whose portraits spread to lands unheard,
Whose favor men gave all to plea.

I often hope that I might be
A painter of life’s memories,
Whose brushes moved the land astir,
Whose works adorned the galleries.

I often hope that I might be
Like this, like that, like he, or she,
But I know God could not have erred,
But made me just for being me.

The Christian's Praise

This is one of my earliest poems. After struggling with meter and style during my preteen years, I finally managed to complete this poem for our church bulletin. I had rejoiced over the fact that Jesus' life was set against places all with three-sylable names, and I quickly used that observation for a poem. I personally love this poem for its pure, simple, but glorious theme. There are no doubts, no shadows, and no grievances. This poem was written out of childlike faith, celebrating the wonder of Christ's life.

Long, long ago, in Bethlehem,
There lay a child in heav’nly peace
The angels sang of His dear birth,
The hosts declared of sorrows ceased.

Long, long ago, in Nazareth,
There grew a boy so pure and kind.
The people praised His tender heart,
The teachers marveled at His mind.

Long, long ago in Galilee,
There stayed a man with wisdom true.
The people gathered unto him,
The blind and lame He healed anew.

Long, long ago, on Calvary,
There died a King by God’s design.
The crowds demanded for His death,
The loyal friends’ sworn faith declined.

Three long days passed, then suddenly,
The buried man returned to life.
Redemption was completed then,
Man’s souls were ever freed from strife.

Today and onwards, up in heav’n,
Lord Jesus reigns by God’s right hand.
The righteous stand in reverence,
The Christians praise throughout the land.

Poetry, Poetry

This poem came to me unexpected. I had been experiencing a writing draught during the time of its writing. For months and months, I had been unable to produce even the most simple rhymes or short stories. As I sat at my desk that evening, laden with insomnia, staring at the blank sheets, frustration almost overwhelmed me. With my tired hand, I helplessly scribbled, "Poetry, poetry, please come to me." Then the poem did come.

Poetry, poetry, please come to me,
Under this pen that I offer to thee.

Thou art the fairest in literature’s realm;
Thou art the master of literature’s themes.

Thou art the dirge of all humankind’s tears;
Thou art the cry of all humankind’s fears.

Thou art the tune of all humankind’s joys;
Thou art the song which all nature employs.

Thou art the painter of history’s scenes;
Thou art the lantern of youth’s highest dreams.

Thou art the comfort when days roll in pain;
Thou art the minstrel when peace is regained.

Poetry, poetry, precious to me,
Come to me under this pen giv’n to thee.