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Those who glory in the heavens
Often overlook their goal.
While gazing at the tiny glimmers,
They fail to see the Son’s true light.
They gaze upon the enchanted dome
While bathing in Diana’s soothing rays;
Perhaps they’ll watch for falling stars,
Or fix upon some glowing sphere.
Before you see those elusive orbs,
Beware the maker of that myth.
The Image Maker projects his lies
Upon the retinas of men’s minds.
The Image Maker takes no thought
For those who wish to follow truth.
He’s the wolf who comes to kill and steal
The feeble members of the flock.
Our God is not a God of fear;
Nor does He travel in a ship.
Our God pervades the air we breathe;
His feet have tread upon the clouds.
All eyes shall see Him in the air;
His sheep will know Him by His voice.
Copyright ©1985 Joseph G. Merrell III
Beside a peaceful river,
I saw a pile of broken stones
That had fallen from a wall
As a worker hammered away.
He was rebuilding a mighty sheepfold
Made for goats, not sheep.
Young Luke might wander here,
Were he alive today;
His father would not join him,
For debauchery he despised.
Perhaps the lad would wander home,
Not knowing where he had been.
The Father, with opened arms,
Awaits His long lost son.
Copyright ©1985 Joseph G. Merrell III
“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?”1
Two young robins sat in a tree,
Trying to decide what their dinner might be.
“I’d like a worm,” said one to his mate.
“For that would please my tiny young pate.”
“You don’t want a spider?” the other replied.
“Oh no, I despise them,” he said to his bride.
Before she could speak she looked o’er his head
To see three old ravens, all tattered and red.
At first the husband of the bride
Decided that the two should hide;
But before they could fly into their nest,
They were greeted by a most loathsome guest.
“What have we here, my winged bard?
You would not make a Roman guard,
But I’ve not come to bring you doom;
I’m bearing news of a distant tomb.
“I have the corpse beneath some twigs
I wished to save it from the pigs.
I thought that you might like a bite;
The corpse is yours if the price is right.”
“What kind of creature do you seek?
Am I a bird that’s soft and sleek?
Am I to buy a worthless meal?
Please state the price; describe your deal.”
“I wish to trade my tasty treat
For one small clump of hay and peat.
I had to scavenge for that sumptuous pest,
While you were lounging in your nest.
“I wish to offer you this prize;
It has no worms, maggots, or flies.
It is a juicy, tender rump;
I found it in the city dump.”
The robin glanced across the field
Toward a boy, who stopped and kneeled.
The robin turned toward his guest,
And said to him, “I’ll keep the nest.”
Before the raven could reply,
He heard a tiny pellet fly.
Then spoke the leader of the crew:
“It’s time for us to bid adieu.”
The robins waited; then they rose.
They looked about for their friendly foes;
The fiends had flown to a distant lair,
Nevermore to tease this pair.
1Matt. 10:29 (NIV)
Copyright ©1985 Joseph G. Merrell III
She was born for higher aims
Than wiping lips and cleaning stains.
She refused to play those children’s games,
Which opened her pores and enlarged her veins.
She worked too hard to settle down;
She wanted to please her wealthy friends.
To raise a brat would make them frown;
How could she stray from current trends?
She did not wish to bear a fool,
Nor did she want to raise a king;
For fools are apt to break each rule,
And kings their wrath and judgment bring.
She did not envy Joseph’s wife,
Whose innocent child would hang on a tree,
For she abhorred the pain and strife
That besets those men who set men free.
She worked real hard to please her boss,
Who mocked and teased and started fights.
When she retired he said, “’tis no loss;
I’ll find me a lass who’ll do things right.”
She spends her days inside her room,
Wiping sweat from her wrinkled brow.
She’s reading a book about a bride and groom;
She longs to hold that fellow now,
But she was born for higher aims
Than wiping lips and cleaning stains.
She refused to play those children’s games,
Which opened her pores and enlarged her veins.
Copyright ©1985 Joseph G. Merrell III
I am a self-made man,
But I don’t remember where I bought the parts.
I am a self-made man;
I even have two hearts.
I give to charity,
To parity, disparity,
Sometimes it even hurts to give.
I own ten large sedans,
Five thousand Krugerrands,
But only three hotels.
I am a self-made man;
I have no need for God.
I have credit on demand,
And I carry a handsome wad.
God only helps those
Who help themselves,
But sometimes I pitch in.
I’m not concerned for others’ pain;
I only feel my own.
I’ve learned to get out of the rain;
We reap the seeds we’ve sown.
I am a self-made man,
And you can be one too.
If you want to be a self-made man,
I’ll tell you what to do.
Develop discipline,
Provoke your adrenaline,
Stop brooding on your sin.
I am a self-made man,
But I hear a tiny voice:
“My son I don’t understand
Your bold irrational choice.
“I put you on this earth
To fellowship with me.
What is all this mirth?
Someone’s eating from My tree.
“You say you’ve built a fort
’cause life’s too short,
And your funds are under attack.
“You say ‘the skies are gray,’
So you will play
Inside all by yourself.
“I want you to enjoy
My choicest meat and drink,
But please do not destroy
Our great eternal link.
“I do not ask too much;
I died to set you free.
Don’t you feel My tender touch?
Please share the gifts with Me.”
Copyright ©1985 Joseph G. Merrell III
“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life.”1
I know
That I don’t know
Your sadness.
I don’t show
That I want to show
My gladness.
I’m not glad
That you are sad.
Satan’s sting
Never causes me to sing.
I see
That you haven’t seen
Christ’s bleeding.
I hear
That you haven’t heard
His pleading.
The saying’s true:
He’s calling you.
1 John 3:16 (NASB)
Copyright ©1985 Joseph G. Merrell III
Adam lay bound beneath the tree,
Eating an apple in luxury;
Eve lay peaceful beneath his arm,
Resting free from fear and harm.
Satan lay swollen beside his prey,
Content to observe our Savior’s dismay.
Oh brave young mortals, know yea this:
God designed not this mournful bliss.
Copyright ©1985 Joseph G. Merrell III
As I passed by a field,
I felt God’s spirit moving.
Distant trees swayed;
Amber leaves fluttered to the ground.
I heard a man muttering.
Furrows of arid earth had been plowed in his brow.
At first I couldn’t understand a word
His speech was scattered by the breeze.
Then he turned toward me,
And beckoning, he said:
“I hear that God is sleeping;
Some even say he’s dead.”
Suddenly he shouted
Toward the open sky,
“My God, am I forsaken,
As an orphan In an alley?”
“0 Lord,
Do you sit in chains?
0 God,
You anchored this mountain;
Then you walked away.”
My heart was filled with pity;
I knew not what to say.
God had always had a reason
For leaving that mountain in place.
All at once He spoke to me:
“0 man of little faith,
Why do you wish the mountain moved?
Will it obstruct your way?
“Through all those paths of mud and rock,
Across those streams with the slippery stones,
Between the trees and over the roots,
Through prickly weeds and stubborn thorns,
“Have you been forced to walk alone?
Where did you get that ax?
Whose compass do you hold?
Are you not well prepared?”
The man was standing still;
Each syllable was clear:
The Lord had spoken to me
And to him.
Copyright ©1985 Joseph G. Merrell III
A droplet falls into the sea
And loses its identity.
A lily blooms beside a rose;
Throughout the day each splendor shows.
Copyright ©1985 Joseph G. Merrell III
You at the back stretch,
Thinking about your false starts;
You were almost home.
Copyright ©2010 Joseph G. Merrell III
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