Poetry

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Cowardly, this is me,
   not worthy of most holy eyes.
Trapped in fear, far from free,
   fodder for the Lord of the Flies.

Comfort of soul, my one besetting,
   keeps me from meeting the Right Desire.
In its coolness I am forgetting
   that good and hot most holy fire.

Grant me, please, most Noble Faire,
   a heart for worthy change.
Seal in me a holy air;
   do the good work and rearrange.

I so long the edge of Your sword;
   to know the sharpness of its Truth.
At that line You'll be my Lord;
   practical rightness as the proof.

Grant me this courage, or that death,
   but this courage, borne of love.
Infuse me, Lord, with Your clean breath,
   marked as borne above.

I want to want to know Your ways,
   and see them lived in me.
Then my walk will be one of praise
   with thanks for One so worthy.

Then when that time comes with death
   I will be with Him who's strong.
Praise will continue with my breath,
   for I have worshipped all along.

I will know the Satisfaction
   when His Promise is realized.
It will be met in the Consummation
   when I see His righteous eyes.

© Bob Barra, 9-16-2012

“If you love Me, keep My commandments.” - John 14:15

”For whom the Lord loves He chastens,
And scourges every son whom He receives.” -Hebrews 12:6

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