Rain???

I looked outside, and what did I see?

Storm clouds gathering,
Waiting to drop their blessing,
On the deserving
And the undeserving.

Wind is melancholy,
Blowing through,
House is open,
See through.

Waiting, waiting, waiting,
Patiently for God’s awesome blessings
Upon us.

The Legend of the Spider and the Silken Strand held in God’s Hand

This poem is included in Loving Thoughts by Helen Steiner Rice, and is a book that we picked up ages ago in one of our op-shopping expeditions, and I have just recently begun re-reading it. I love the moral message that is hidden inside this poem, and there are many more delightful poems in this book, one of which is:~

The Legend of the Spider and the Silken Strand held in God’s Hand

There’s an old Danish legend

with a lesson for us all

Of an ambitious spider

and his rise and his fall,

Who wove his sheer web

with intricate care

As it hung suspended

somewhere in midair,

Then in soft, idle luxury

he feasted each day

On the small, foolish insects

he enticed as his prey.

Growing ever more arrogant

and smug all the while

He lived like a ‘king’

in self-satisfied style -

And gazing one day

at the sheer strand suspended,

He said, ‘I don’t need this,’

so he recklessly rended

The strand that had held

his web in its place

And with sudden swiftness

the web crumpled in space -

And that was the end

of the spider who grew

So arrogantly proud

that he no longer knew

That it was the strand

that reached down from above

Like the cord of God’s grace

and His infinite love

That links our lives

to the great unknown,

For man cannot live

or exist on his own -

And this old legend

with simplicity told

Is a moral as true

as the legend of old -

Don’t sever the ‘lifeline’

that links you to

THE FATHER IN HEAVEN

WHO CARES FOR YOU.

High Places by Dorothea MacKellar

A Treasury of Favourite Australian Poems by Lloyd O’Neil is a book that we recently bought during one of our op-shopping expeditions, and there are some real gems in it, such as High Places by Dorothea MacKellar. No doubt many of you have heard of Dorothea MacKellar for her rendition of My Country, but I love this poem, and yet, probably few people have heard of this wonderful poem – I love the visual imagery that it provokes.

High Places

My heart turns to the mountains
That I so long have missed,
The blue hills on the sky-line,
Bird-haunted, sunshine kissed;
For in my soul I see them,
The gullies golden-green
Where from the hop-vine tangle
The bellbird chimes unseen.

And higher yet and higher
I want to climb, until
The trees give place to bushes
Wind-shorn and struggling still
For foothold on the corries
Steep-sloping to the sky,
I want to reach the summit
And watch the clouds race by

The clouds that go so quickly
The whole hill seems to lean
I want to breathe in deeply
The cool air, thin and keen.
My heart turns to high places
All men have long adored -
The proud and lonely mountains,
The Altars of the Lord.

Dorothea MacKellar

The Touch of the Masters Hand

The Touch of the Masters Hand

‘Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile;
“What am I bidden, good folk?” he cried,
“Who’ll start the bidding for me?
A dollar – one dollar – two, only two –
Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?
Going for three” – but no -
From the room, far back, a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As a carolling angel sings.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said, “Now, what am I bid for the old violin?”
And he held it up with the bow;
“A thousand dollars – and who’ll make it two?
Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?
Three thousand once – three thousand twice -
and going – and gone,” cried he!
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
“We do not quite understand;
What changed its worth?” Quick came the reply,
“The touch of the Master’s hand.”

And many a man with life out of tune,
and battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin;
A mess of pottage – a glass of wine,
A game – and he travels on;
He’s going once – and going twice -
He’s going – and almost gone!
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul, and the change that’s wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.

Myra Brooks Welch

This poem is one that we had for LLATL, and my daughter has managed to remember it word for word. I love this poem, and how true it is, for the change that’s been wrought in many people by “The touch of the Master’s hand” is nothing short of a miracle.

Your Life is Jesus to Someone