ONLY JESUS

No one lived as Jesus lived

For He never once demurred

When He knew the Father's will;

Since His joy was to fulfil

All the details of God's word

No one lived as Jesus lived.

No one died as Jesus died

Since, despite the public shame,

He was shown to be God's Son;

And because His work was done

While He glorified God's name

No one died as Jesus died.

No one rose as Jesus rose

Since the glory of God's might

Brought Him scatheless from the grave;

Since He came with power to save

And emerged through His own right

No one rose as Jesus rose.

No one saves as Jesus saves,

For eternity and time,

To the uttermost extent;

Since in graciousness He went

To atone for every crime

No one saves as Jesus saves.

No one loves as Jesus loves

For He laid down His own life,

And He shed His blood for me;

Since He would not go out free

For His Master, children, wife

No one loves as Jesus loves.

OCTET FOR ROSIE

Today it was your hands I thought about:

How constantly they work for me - and ours.

As birds form nests they delicately work out

The home where we can share our pleasant hours.

That delicacy, and artistic skill,

Make backgrounds to the home that others view;

Their care, selflessness, comforts they instil

All make them perfect metaphors for you.

BY CONISTON WATER

By Coniston Water

The wind blew towards us.

Lake water

Surged in, wave after wave.

It was not the sea’s wildness, but

Inexorably it sounded.

We were embraced in a power,

Love, greater than ourselves.

SONNET EIGHTEEN

Let me contrast you with the month of June,

It is less gorgeous and more boisterous;

Your plantlets flourish in your constant noon

And, by God’s grace, always you are with us.

Your beauty never gives excessive heat

And clouds can never shroud your lovely face;

The flavour of your love remains as sweet

While fate or time do not reduce your grace.

But June will pass, its fruit will suffer harm,

And all its memory will drift away;

Life will regret the wasting of its charms

Since it must dwindle to its final day.

While air fills peoples’ lungs, and sun their sights,

This verse will tell of you and your delights.

A little joke: 

ANOTHER SONNET

If I should die you need not think of me

(Having a better Man to think about)

But if you must then think, “He did love me,

Fumblingly, wildly - but without a doubt.

He loved his children and he loved the home

My love created. In a different chord

Loved friends, and words, and chime; he loved to roam.

Fumblingly, hopefully, he loved his Lord”.

I do not wish to die. I wish to see

My Saviour’s face. His coming is my dream -

The dream which will come true which quickens me.

Yet it will break the bond which I esteem

More than all earth. But, stood before Christ’s face

Better I’ll view our partnership in grace.

SONNET

Perhaps some loves will drink the April light

And die before the summer’s sun has shone;

Perhaps some loves may mushroom in a night,

Flourish a few bright moments, and be gone.

Some loves will bed like saplings in good soil

Yet soon be stricken by the lightning’s stroke,

Leaving their monument of grief and toil

In the scarred forking of the wood which broke.

Our love has grown like a maturing tree

Producing year by year green urgent shoots;

Deep in its soil we feel but cannot see

The broadening and grasping of its roots;

Each day I find in you, and you in me,

The suppleness and richness of its fruits.

TO ROSEMARY

I rarely write you poems now

Unlike our first mad days

When verses tumbled from my pen.

Our love was wild and foolish then

And rhymes appeared, I don’t know how,

While both of us went in a daze.

But like a landscape carved by time

Our love has softened now

Into a place in which to live,

Not jagged crags and clefts to give

A view apparently sublime,

Impossible for seed or plough.

Now like two staunch adventurers

We can explore our land

Which none but us has ventured to

Since we together journeyed through

The tails whose deviousness deters

The rest, who cannot understand

Our journey here was clear and straight.

Thus thoughts of you provoke

Idyllic images which yet

Are not mere dreams, for we are set,

Plodding our steady happy rate,

Under on equal easy yoke.

MORE EXCELLENT

As I have Rosie in my arms

I think, is any bliss -

Are any eyes, or lips, or charms -

More excellent than this?

There is a face I have not seen,

A voice I have not heard,

A gracious dignity and mien,

Which are to be preferred.

While still, blest Spirit, sight and touch

Hold me, help I implore

To daily love my Rose as much

And love my Jesus more.

It's her birthday today, and a month to our 36th wedding anniversary;

so I'll do a little celebrating this week.