SHEPHERD

 

Struggling through the biting winds
He visited
Those about to perish.

Through harsh thorns and clogging mud
He sought
That which was strayed away.

In chilling nights and cracking rain
He healed the wounded,
Fed the sound.

He is the worthy shepherd
That does not leave his flock.

(Compare Zechariah 11:16)

A Trip to the South West

The Firth of Clyde and the Isle of Arran. 

SARAH

 

You had some husband ‑ dragging you
From civilization and comfort to dwell,
Season after season, in a tent. Neither
Sand deterred nor fertility halted:
Always he loved his vision ‑ which you,
With a wife's common sense, laughed at.
Did long miles and years drain your strength,
Perils of the wayside and in king's palaces
Fray your nerves? Finally, with nothing
But faith to cling to, you found strength
Nature could not provide. With Abraham
You saw Isaac ‑ Christ's day;
And insisted that he alone remain.

If feet still trudged arid or arable
Heart had its peace ‑ its sought country.

Craigmillar Castle in Edinburgh:

associated with Mary Queen of Scots

ABRAHAM

You had felt the land's tilth
Ooze lushly, the land's desert
Sand your feet, its barren rocks
Graze and bruise. You tent's pegs
Had beaten into arid and arable
Ground of your promised land. Never
Had your share dug deep. Although
All was your own your only possession
A grave plot. But there was the possession
Gained from earth, dust and stone
On the hardened feet of you, the wanderer.

And possession of faith. Not human hope against hope
Nor the dull grasping of the disturbed thought through the crust
Of scepticism. But the certainty of trust in the Lord Almighty
‑ The admirable demonstration of bold credulity.
You, like God, saw the things that are not as existing.

Nomadic, but still a builder,
You cast earth, heaped rocks,
Not forms of grand appearance
But created from the textures you knew ‑
Altars. Rough but vital
They stand as milestones on your pilgrimage
Marking, guiding, smoking:
Each altar drew you nearer,
Higher, to become friend of God,
Ready approacher ‑ a priest's service.

Glencorse Reservoir in the Pentland Hills

WATER

Straiton Pond in the Spring

Egypt’s water - the first we knew -

Turned to blood

At the twirl of a staff.

Glad were we when the Red Sea’s water

Left the Egyptian shore

Irretrievably cut off.

Bitter were we till Marah’s drink

Was transformed for us

By cast wood.

Fertility greeted us,

Seventy palm trees,

At the twelve springs of Elim.

We murmured, but it was the Rock

Which was smitten; the Rock

Which gave water.

And the Rock was willing

To follow; to serve water

At the lawgiver’s request.

After our wandering years

At last we could wield staves

To dig the well.

The last water, Jordan, dashed

Hopes; till the ark

Championed our passage.

We have been brought to a good land,

A land of waterbrooks, of springs,

And of deep waters,

That gush forth in the valleys and hills.

Kingdom Poets (a blog by D.S. Martin): Hester Pulter

Kingdom Poets (a blog by D.S. Martin): Hester Pulter: Hester Pulter (1605–1678) is a writer of poetry and prose who was completely unknown, prior to the discovery of her manuscript at Brotherton...

THOUGHTS

More of the East Lothian Coast

The Upholder of the universe 

Held

A little child in His arms.

The One whose blood cleanses from sins

Washed 

The feet of fishermen.

The Holy One of God

Handled

A poor leper.

The Lord of glory was 

Nailed 

To a wooden cross.

The Originator of life

Lay

In another man’s tomb.

The Man of the Father’s choice 

Looks

On you and me in grace.

THE ROCK

Free to be bound for where I willed

I tramped; by-ways, cross-paths, bent

My footsteps; what turned my campaign?

What stumbling-block hampered me;

What damped? No end appeared,

However long my feet stamped

Or my muscles struggled. With no lamp

To lead, nothing in which to confide,

What tampered with my will? Justice, that Rock,

Broke me, blocked me, drove me from my own way.

But where to hide? Where I ventured

Storms mock and shafts of lightning

Deride meagre strivings. That Sinai

Cannot provide a shelter. Yet truth

Is my only Rock and Refuge:

Oh grace and truth deploys

The cleft in which, safe, I abide;

Mercy was guide up to this haven.

Blood poured, a saving tide

From the stricken side of the Son of God.

After these ways and such protection

Rescued by mercy and by God's grace,

Saved, sustained and nobly elevated.

From being cock of my own dunghill,

Set among nobles, one stone

In its place; with a princely people.

These feet once grazed now prancing,

Hinds feet, firm on the Rock.

What power to convey a lofty degree:

Co  heirs with the pre  eminent Man!

From my new stance, seeking sweetness

For enhancement of fresh modes of love,

Joy to my countenance, power to make me

Dance, where should I go? The Rock,

Sublime answer to each circumstance,

Seemed to unlock   the honey poured.

No time or chance will now meet me

For which there is no solution: Christ   

For me to gather, His undeviance,

His loveliness, my model, my way of advance.

So long deplored, the old structure

Lies shattered, not to be restored

Nor rebuilt. Where can I Build? The Rock

Rejected once, now adored, constitutes

The only Foundation. Here God has worked   

This sure place. Knock and chisel

The stones till their curbed forms afford

Virtue of the bed-rock; ignore no fault

But relish quality, a good hoard

In each exploring consonances of Christ.

Fruits flourish; the tree sprouts

By the pure spring whose attributes derive

From its source, the struck Rock; psalms

Erupt from hearts; bruiting with joy

Clear compositions. The Spirit's flow

Contributes the music. By still waters

The bright flock, rested in safety,

Imbibes what distributes health,

Fresh responses. Through water free

From pollution or harm the purity wells.

Oil exudes; sucking from the Rock

Let us exploit what God provides

From It to employ our hearts in praise

As anointed servants; let light shine

From us who walk in the Spirit's power

To express God's goodness in voice

And ways. Employ priests lips,

Priest's members in all our days.

From our Rock towards our God loose

Rejoicing, admiration, adoration, love!

(29 February 1992)                                           

  

On the East Lothian coastline, Scotland

MY SERVANTS ...

                 (Isaiah 65: 13) 

His servants shall eat abundance of store

The lamb and the quails and the manna and more;

For Christ suits their savour and makes them replete:

Abundantly furnished "my servants shall eat".

His servants shall drink from heavenly springs

The water of life and the joy that it brings;

More taste and refreshment than this world can think

Refreshes their spirits: "my servants shall drink".

His servants shall sing for gladness of heart

For glory has entered which shall not depart;

The Father, the Son and the Spirit all bring

Such bountiful blessing, "my servants shall sing".

(Dundee 03/11/2024)

Around Loanhead (where I live)