Ever been angry at God? Did you get over it? Here’s a key:
I told God I was angry;
I thought He’d be surprised.
I thought I’d kept hostility
quite cleverly disguised.
I told the Lord I hate Him;
I told Him that I hurt.
I told Him that He isn’t fair,
He treated me like dirt.
I told God I was angry,
but I’m the one surprised.
“What I’ve known all along,” He said,
“you’ve finally realized.
“At last you have admitted
what’s really in your heart;
Dishonesty, not anger,
was keeping us apart.
“Even when you hate Me,
I don’t stop loving you.
Before you can receive that love,
you must confess what’s true.
“In telling Me the anger
you genuinely feel,
it loses power over you
permitting you to heal.”
I told God I was sorry,
and He’s forgiven me.
The truth that I was angry
had finally set me free.
Tags: anger, forgiveness, poetry
“The boneless tongue, so small and weak,
can crush and kill,” declared the Greek.
The Persian proverb wisely saith,
“A lengthy tongue, an early death.”
Sometimes it takes this form instead:
“Don’t let your tongue cut off your head.”
While Arab sages this impart:
“The tongue’s great storehouse is the heart.”
From Hebrew wit, the maxim’s sprung:
“Though feet should slip, don’t let the tongue.”
A verse from scripture crowns the whole:
“Who keeps the tongue does keep his soul.”
In any language it is clear that “Whoever guards his mouth and tongue keeps his soul from troubles” (Proverbs 21:23).
Tags: poetry, tongue, words
A little seed lay on the ground
and soon began to sprout.
“Now, which of all the flowers around,”
It mused, “shall I come out?
The lily’s face is fair and proud,
But just a trifle cold;
The rose, I think, is rather loud.
And then it’s fashion’s old,
The violet is all very well,
But not a flower I’d choose;
Nor yet the Canterbury Bell —
I never cared for blues.”
So it criticized each flower,
This supercilious seed,
Until it woke one Summer hour
To find itself a Weed!!
Tags: criticism, flower, poetry, seed
A church bulletin had a clever poem about criticism that began:
A little seed lay in the ground
And soon began to sprout;
“Now, which of all the flowers around,
Shall I,” it mused, “come out?”
The seed could then be heard saying, “I don’t care to be a rose. It has thorns. I have no desire to be a lily. It’s too colorless. And I certainly wouldn’t want to be a violet. It’s too small, and it grows too close to the ground.”
The poem concludes with this verse about the faultfinding seed:
And so it criticized each flower,
That supercilious seed,
Until it woke one summer hour
And found itself a weed!
Do you agree that the root of all criticism is pride? Are there exceptions?
Tags: criticism, poetry, seed
First, somebody told it,
Then the room couldn’t hold it,
So the busy tongues rolled it
Till they got it outside.
Then the crowd came across it,
And never once lost it,
But tossed it and tossed it,
Till it grew long and wide.
This lie brought forth others,
Dark sisters and brothers,
And fathers and mothers —
A terrible crew.
And while headlong they hurried,
The people they flurried,
And troubled and worried,
As lies always do.
And so evil-bodied,
This monster lay goaded,
Till at last it exploded
In smoke and in shame.
Then from mud and from mire,
The pieces flew higher,
And hit the sad victim
And killed a good name.
Tags: deception, poetry
I have an insurance policy
Written in the blood of the Lamb,
Sealed by the Cross of Jesus,
Redeemable wherever I am!
The company will never go bankrupt,
It is bonded by God’s promises true;
It will keep every word of its contract,
Exactly what it says it will do.
I don’t have to die to collect it,
No premiums do I have to pay;
All I do is to keep God’s promise
And walk in His holy way.
No collector will ever come calling,
It was paid on Calvary’s tree;
It insures me for living and dying
And for all eternity.
-H. H. Hover
Tags: insurance, poetry