Tuesday, 26 March 2019


Luke 7

At His feet
- Which had borne Him from home comfort -
His myrrh-and-tear anointer
Learned forgiveness of sins.

Luke 8

At His feet
- Which carried Him to where need was -
The man whom mankind could not tame
Sat, clothed and sensible.

Luke 10

At His feet
- Which trod as the Father directed -
Mary chose the good part,

Luke 17

At His feet
- Which were bearing Him on to the cross -
The cleansed, leprous, Samaritan, grateful man
Fell on his face.

Tuesday, 19 March 2019


Here His grace
Is complete:
On my face
At His feet.


I doubt if I'll manage to get shorter than that!

Saturday, 16 March 2019


There's nothing like the cross;
Its rigours cut across
The wisdom and the pride
In which men would confide.

There's nothing like the grave:
If Jesus were to save
The rigour of its clasp
Must hold Him in its grasp.

There's nothing like the place
Before the Father's face,
Beyond all grief and loss
Since Christ endured the cross.

There's nothing like the throne
He'll sit on with His own
For whom He faced the grave
And rose with power to save.


Wednesday, 13 March 2019


Hi, folk,

Just to mention that one of my poems has been posted to "Poems for Ephesians" at

Poems for Ephesians

Do have a look!

Saturday, 9 March 2019


Since Jesus is my Master
My heart is an
Emplacement for Him.

For my defence
He is my Rock, my Fortress
And my bartizan.

Expanding my border
He is my Partisan
Amid Satan's reich.

How great a Person
To condescend
To be an artisan.


Friday, 1 March 2019


Come to York Station I observed the folk
Who waited there:
Some read their papers; others heard or spoke
In huddles; some scanned mobiles, half-aware
Of life around them; all ignored the ads,
Shabbily over them; staffed propped a wall
Or barrow, dandered off, and paused again;
Some youths exemplified the latest fads
Of speech or clothing.  If asked they would all
Have said that they were waiting for a train.

The platform opposite seemed empty - till
The train moved out:
A camera-wielding huddle seemed to fill
The platform end; and no lens gazed about,
But all aimed up the track; and soon I saw
An ancient locomotive panting near,
Weaving its shawl of steam and smoke behind;
The power that drove her speed had power to draw
From papers, phones, homes, wives, and trade and gear
That waiting crowd, all of one view and mind.

My friend, you're waiting for the Lord to come
To catch away
His saints before His bright imperium
When every tongue accepts that He holds sway.
But are you waiting on the platform's length,
Distracted from the coming of the Lord?
Or are you at the platforms edge, no clog
Disturbing when He comes in grace and strength?
Come, friend: He's coming to be faith's reward,
And let us gaze towards Him, each heart agog.

Kingdom Poets (a blog by D.S. Martin): George Moses Horton

Kingdom Poets (a blog by D.S. Martin): George Moses Horton: George Moses Horton (1797—1884) is a North Carolina poet who was a slave. He was born on the plantation of William Horton, where he taught h...

Fascinating story!