Poetry

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What is my Bible to me?

At first my Bible seemed a pane of glass unmarred;

A glimpse into the mind of God unveiled - so high, so far.

Majestic and exalted, far-flung eternity,

I could as well have touched its awesome mores as reach a star.

With time and growth more grace it did o'erflow;

Now I find here a friend familial, a kinsman near.

(And like any kin or friend, it is one of a kind, unique and dear.)

This friend to me comes gifts a-bearing: the saints of old.

Their slumbering thoughts arise, are given voice,

When simple marks on paper meet my eyes.

Treasures and wisdom I discover cached within its pages,

In it's bosom truth comes to me down the ages.

Whether dazzling, lofty, imposing, and grand -

Or imminent, intimate, close at hand:

My Bible I know I can trust as God's true word.

In times of trial He does with strength me gird,

Or will unvarnished to me speak resounding,

Or tender as a mother whisper love abounding.

In severity the Word can cut: sharp as twin-edged sword:

But clean the cut and kind; the wound will knit,

Bring healing, healing from the Lord.

Thank you God for my friend, my Bible.

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