Christian Poems of THE CROSS

(Various authors)

"Twas by a path of sorrows drear, Christ entered into Rest; and shall I look for roses here, or think that earth is blessed? Heaven's whitest lilies blow from earth's sharp crown of woe: who here his cross can meekly bear, shall wear the kingly purple there." --Anonymous

"Out of the presses of pain, cometh the soul's best wine; - And the eyes that have shed no rain, can shed but little shine!" -A.B.Simpson

"I know thy sorrow, child; I know it well, thou needst not try with broken voice to tell. Just let me lay thy head here on My breast, and find here sweetest comfort, perfect rest; Thou needst not bear the burden, child, thyself, I yearn to take it all upon Myself; Then trust it all to me today -- tomorrow, yes, e'en forever; for I know thy sorrow.

"Long years ago I planned it all for thee; prepared it that thou mightst find need of Me. Without it, child, thou wouldst not come to find this place of comfort in this Love of Mine. Hadst thou no cross like this for Me to bear, thou wouldst not feel the need of My strong care; But in thy weakness thou didst come to Me, and through this plan I have won thee!

"I know thy sorrow and I love thee more, because for such as thee I came and bore the wrong, the shame, the pain of Calvary, that I might comfort give to such as thee. So, resting here, My child, thy hand in Mine, thy sorrow to My care today resign; Dread not that some new care will come tomorrow -- What does it matter? I know all thy sorrow!

"And I will gladly take it all for thee, if only thou wilt trust it all to Me, thou needest not stir, but in My love lie still, and learn the sweetness of they Father's will -- That will has only planned for the best; So, knowing this, lie still and sweetly rest. Trust Me. The future shall not bring to thee but what will bring thee closer still to Me!" --Anonomous

There is a foe whose hidden power,

The Christian well may fear;

More subtle far than inbred sin,

And to the heart more dear.

It is the power of selfishness;

It is the willful I.

And ere my Lord can rule in me,

My very self must die.

Oh, save me from self-will, dear Lord,

Which claims Thy sacred throne.

Oh, let my will be lost in Thine,

And let Thy will be done.

Oh, save me from self-confidence,

And self-sufficiency.

Let me exchange my strength for Thine,

And lean alone on Thee.

Save me from self-indulgence, Lord;

Let me not be my own,

A living sacrifice I come,

Keep me for Thine alone.

From proud self-glory save me, Lord,

From pride and praise, and fame,

To Christ be all the honour given,

All glory to His Name,

Oh, Jesus, slay the self in me,

That all the world may see.

So shall it be no longer I,

But Christ that dwells in me.

-- Author Unknown.

"I take this pain, Lord Jesus, from Thine own hand; the strength to bear it bravely Thou wilt command. I am too weak for effort, so let me rest in hush of sweet submission on Thine own breast.

"I take this pain, Lord Jesus, as proof indeed that Thou art watching closely my truest need; that Thou, my Good Physician, art working still; that all Thine own good pleasure Thou wilt fulfill.

"Tis Thy dear hand, O Saviour!, that presseth sore; the hand that bears the nailprints forevermore. And now beneath its shadow, hidden by Thee, the pressure only tells me - Thou lovest me." --Anonymous, 1879 (i2-26)

"Once I heard a song of sweetness, as it cleft the morning air, sounding in its blest completeness, like a tender, pleading prayer; and I sought to find the singer, whence the wondrous song was bourne; and I found a bird, sore wounded, pinioned by a cruel thorn.

"I have seen a soul in sadness, while its wings with pain were furl'd, giving hope, and cheer and gladness that should bless a weeping world; and I knew that life of sweetness, was of pain and sorrow borne; and a stricken soul was singing, with its heart against a thorn.

"Ye are told of One who loved you, of a Saviour crucified; ye are told of nails that pinioned, and a spear that pierced His side; ye are told of cruel scourging, of a Saviour bearing scorn, and He died for your Salvation, with His brow against a thorn.

"Ye 'are not above the Master.' Will you breathe a sweet refrain? And His grace will be sufficient, when your heart is pierced with pain. Will you live to bless His loved ones, tho' your life be bruised and torn, like the bird that sang so sweetly, with its heart against a thorn?" --Anonymous

(IS His grace 'sufficient for you'??)

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee! E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me, Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee.

Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down, Darkness be over me, my rest a stone. Yet in my dreams I’d be nearer, my God to Thee.

There let the way appear, steps unto heav’n; All that Thou sendest me, in mercy given; Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee.

Then, with my waking thoughts bright with Thy praise, Out of my stony griefs Bethel I’ll raise; So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee.

Or, if on joyful wing cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I’ll fly, Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee.

There in my Father’s home, safe and at rest, There in my Savior’s love, perfectly blest; Age after age to be, nearer my God to Thee.

Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!

I am crucified with Jesus, and the cross has set me free;

"I have ris'n again with Jesus, and He lives and reigns in me.

"This is the story of the Master, through the cross He reached the Throne;

"and like Him our path to glory, ever leads through death alone." --A B Simpson (n3-23) (see Lk 9:23 "daily")

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