Christian Poetry

Poetry is one of God's special gifts to Christians, and I for one greatly enjoy reading it. Whether I'm reading one of Charles Wesley's faith-affirming hymns, a heart-warming poem of Gerhard Tersteegen, or the reflections of a modern poet, my heart is often touched by these godly musings. I'm not much of a writer, let alone a poet, and therefore greatly appreciate the efforts rendered in this regard. Are you a poet? Consider submitting one of your poems by sending it to me.

Faith /Trust    In His Presence   Godly Women   The Homeless  Songs of Our Pilgrimage   Dying to Self   Revival   New Year Resolutions   Missions     Sanctification   Longing For Heaven    Ministry


James Ash: James is a friend and medical missionary pilot in Guyana. He and his wife Joy are making an important difference for the people in the villages who lack easy access to medical facilities. His poem—if I can call it that—came after he was robbed of about $3,000 worth of cash and flight equipment. Thought he was tempted to quit, a new and inspiring resolve came that he expressed in beautiful in beautiful words.

Miss Blatchley: She was a missionary with Hudson Taylor's China Inland Mission. Her poetry was often featured in the mission's China's Millions publication.

Toni Doswell: Toni is a friend that lives in Southwest Michigan and attends my church. I consider it a privlege to be her friend. From time to time she sends me her poems and I am always blessed. I believe she has a gift and I hope she will continue writing. I have dedicated a page of this web site to her poetry: Toni Doswell's Poetry. Please read and be blessed.

Francis Ridley Havergal: Francis was a gifted prolific Christian writer who wrote many beautiful poems that have been put to music. Though she accomplished much, including speaking many languages, performing as a concert pianist and writing hundreds of beautiful poems, Francis' great passion in life was the Lord Jesus. and her ardent desire was to honor God in everything she did. She died in her early 40s, but even though she was very sick, she still believed, using her words, that God's will was delicious. Her poem, Take My Life was written at the end of a week during which she had led ten individuals to the Lord Jesus who were living in the same boarding house she was. Later C. T. Studd , the great missionarywho accomplished feats in China, India and Central Africa, used the lines of that hymn to surrender his life to Jesus.

Lance Landall: Lance writes in Wellington, NZ and has a web site devoted to his poetry (http://www.poetrywithamission.co.nz). I know Lance from meeting his daughters at an ASANZ convention in Wellington.

John Newton: He was a the captain of a slave ship until he was converted, and then became a pastor and writer of hymns (Amazing Grace). Famous members of his church included William Wilberforce and William Cowper.

Henry Suso: (1300-1366): He was a German mystic and poet who was born at Uberlingen on the Lake of Constance and died in Ulm. Suso and Johannes Tauler were both students of Meister Eckhart. His devotional works were extrememly popular in the later Middle Ages.

Gerhard Tersteegen: Tersteegen lived in the latter part of the 1600s and was a great blessing in his time and since then. Sometimes referred to as a recluse in demand due to his retiring lifestyle, he was well known none the less, and people came to him from all of Europe to hear him expound on the ways of God. He was also a prolific writer of poems and many of them are known in our day. We even find a few of them in our modern-day hymnals. He was a German Pietists, a group which sought to reform the Lutheran Church in their day, and who believed that genuine Christianity was a matter of the heart, and evidenced in one's actions. Other well known Pietists were Johann Arndt, Philip Spener, and August Franck, all of which wrote books worthy of our attention. You can find a few sermons of Tersteegen on this site as well.

C.P.C.: I don't know anything about this individual except that his poetry appears in "Hymns of Tersteegen, Suso and others" which is a compilation of Pietists hymns.

Charles Wesley: The brother of John Wesley, following his finding assurance for salvation, he began writing on average one new poem every three days.
New Additions

A "Stepping Stone" Resolve

Today I felt the hand of the devil
Try to drag me down
Today I felt darkness and discouragement
Creeping in on every side.
Today I heard the whispered temptation
To quit, to give up, to walk away

But just in case the devil might be reading his Facebook Account this evening… Let me be crystal clear.

I refuse…

I refuse to be discouraged. 
I refuse to slow down the work that I’m doing.
I refuse to ever consider quitting.
I refuse to cower in fear for my safety or the safety of my stuff.
For everything I own already belongs to Jesus.

I’m more confident that ever before that God has called me to work in his harvest
I’m daily struggling forward in the journey of faith.
I’m confident that God will complete what’s He’s begun.
I’ve put my hand to the plough.
And I’m definitely not looking back.

This incident is not a setback but a stepping-stone.
It’s not a sink hole but a launching pad.
Today is a blessing in disguise, and for that I’m eternally thankful.

Tonight I’m turning a corner…

Now is the time to take the struggle to another level.
Now is the moment to pledge total allegiance to Jesus.
Now is the time to accelerate my work as I see that glorious day approaching.
Now is the time to put it all on the line and risk all that I have, or am for the kingdom of heaven.

What about you?—James Ash, A Medical Missionary Pilot in Guyana

Dying to Self
The Potter’s Hand

To the potter's house I went down one day,
And watched him while molding the vessel of clay,
And many a wonderful lesson I drew,
As I noted the process the clay went through.

Trampled and broken, down-trodden and rolled,
To render it plastic and fit for the mould;
How like to clay that is human, I thought,
When in heavenly hands to perfection 'tis brought!

For self must be cast as the dust at His feet,
Before it is ready for service, made meet;
And pride must be broken; self-will must be lost—
All laid on the altar, whatever the cost.

But lo! by and by a delicate vase,
Of wonderful beauty and exquisite grace.
Was it once the vile clay? Ah, yes, yet how strange
The potter has wrought so marvelous a change!

Not a trace of the earth, nor mark of the clay;
The fires of the furnace have burned them away.
Wondrous skill of the potter—the praise is his due,
In whose hands to perfection and beauty it grew.

Thus to souls lying still, content in God's hand,
That do not his power of working withstand,
They are molded and fitted, a treasure to hold:
Vile clay now transformed into purest of gold.—M. T. Clarkson


I asked the Lord, that I might grow
In faith, and love, and every grace;
Might more of His salvation know;
And seek more earnestly His face.

Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust has answered prayer;
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair!

I hoped that in some favored hour,
At once He’d answer my request;
And by His love’s constraining power,
Subdue my sins—and give me rest!

Instead of this, He made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart;
And let the angry powers of hell
Assault my soul in every part!

Yes more, with His own hand He seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe!
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds—and laid me low!

“Lord, why is this!” I trembling cried,
“Will you pursue your worm to death?”
“This is the way,” the Lord replied,
“I answer prayer for grace and faith.”

“These inward trials I employ,
From self and pride to set you free;
And break your schemes of earthly joy,
That you may seek your all in Me!” -- John Newton

Faith and Trust

Like A River Glorious

Like a river glorious, is God’s perfect peace,
Over all victorious, in its bright increase;
Perfect, yet it floweth, fuller every day,
Perfect, yet it groweth, deeper all the way.

Stayed upon Jehovah, hearts are fully blest
Finding, as He promised, perfect peace and rest.

Hidden in the hollow of His blessed hand,
Never foe can follow, never traitor stand;
Not a surge of worry, not a shade of care,
Not a blast of hurry touch the spirit there.

Every joy or trial falleth from above,
Traced upon our dial by the Sun of Love;
We may trust Him fully all for us to do.
They who trust Him wholly find Him wholly true. —

Francis Ridly Havergal



“Then trust Him for today


As thine unfailing Friend,


And let Him lead thee all the way


Who loveth to the end.


And let the morrow rest


In His beloved hand,


His good is better than our best,


As we shall understand;


If, trusting Him who faileth never,


We rest on Him today, for ever.

Francis Havergal, Starlight Through the Shadows

Cast Your Burden On God...

I bring my sins to thee,
The sins I cannot count,
That I may cleansed be
In thy once opened fount.
I bring them, Saviour, all to thee;
The burden is too great for me.

My heart to thee I bring,
The heart I cannot read;
A faithless, wandering thing,
An evil heart indeed.
I bring it, Saviour, now to thee
That fixed and faithful it may be.

To thee I bring my care,
The care I cannot flee;
Thou wilt not only share,
But bear it all for me.
O loving Saviour, now to thee
I bring the load that wearies me.

I bring my grief to thee,
The grief I cannot tell;
No words shall needed be,
Thou knowest all so well.
I bring the sorrow laid on me,
O suffering Saviour, now to thee.

My joys to thee I bring,
The joys thy love has given,
That each may be a wing
To lift me nearer Heaven.
I bring them, Saviour, all to thee;
For thou hast purchased all for me.

My life I bring to thee,
I would not be my own;
O Saviour, let me be
Thine ever, thine alone.
My heart, my life, my all I bring
To thee, my Saviour and my King. 
The Thorn in the Flesh

"My grace is sufficient for thee."—2 Cor. xii. 9.

Charles A. Fox


A Voice, a vision through the haze

Of Time's long vista greets me now,

Saints down the ages turn and gaze—

'Tis—"My grace is sufficient for thee."


With thorn-pierced flesh and trembling knees,

Mighty Apostle is it thou

Whoso faint brow craves no mortal breeze?

List! “My grace is sufficient for thee."


But look again! O prayer-rent sky!

O deathless breeze! O lighted brow!

Now welcome Pain's dark mystery!

Since “My grace is sufficient for thee."


Thrice wrestling with the self-same plea,

Thrice did the mighty suppliant bow;

Saints still have their Gethsemane,

Still “My grace is sufficient for thee."


Ye struggling souls that cannot rise,

Encumbered with blind Whence and How,

Here's a new promise from the skies,

God's “My grace is sufficient for thee."


Heaven's bright new promise flashing far

Hangs beckoning on Truth's lowest bough!

Thorns henceforth have their own bright star.

'Tis “My grace is sufficient for thee."


That single thorn, dropt from the Crown

Of thorns that wreathed the Master's brow,

Still triumph to torn saints brings down,

Still “My grace is sufficient for thee."


Five victor wounds the Christ still bears,

Five porches for sick souls, I trow,

Whose thorns for palms He grandly wears,

While “My grace is sufficient for thee."


Here gloriously to faith are met

Man's boundless need, God's boundless Now,

Each to each other tuned and set,

In “My grace is sufficient for thee."


Wants are but empty vessels, Lord,

For Thee to fill, Faith asks not how,

But fearless waits Thy sovereign word,

Heaven's “My grace is sufficient for thee."



As seabirds haunt on snowy wings

The fretted cliff's dark riven brow,

Grace builds in Nature's wants and sings

Her “My grace is sufficient for thee."


Ah, white-winged Grace that wandering came

O'er Time's wild sea,—Thou, only Thou

Couldst Sin's dark clefts of sorrow claim.

With “My grace is sufficient for thee."


All-conquering Grace, Thee, Thee I own,

Enough for all, enough for now,

Weakness Thy workshop, thorns Thy throne,

For “My grace is sufficient for thee."


O haunting voice of Christ my Lord!

Through foes and fears and faithless vow

I'll hew my way with this one sword,

Truth's “My grace is sufficient for thee."


O haunting voice for ever near,

Ring out mid din of sword and plough,

Through Faith's keen frosty air ring clear

Love's “My grace is sufficient for thee."—Charles Fox

"One billow passed--another rolls to meet thee
    Across thine onward track;
On every side new trials seem to greet thee,
    As if  to turn thee back.
Until thy soul, o'erwhelmed, in darkness sinking,
    Can raise submissive eyes;
Yield to His Will, and, while thy flesh is shrinking,
    His purpose recognize."—Selected


Desperately, helplessly, longingly, I cried:
Quietly, patiently, lovingly God replied.
I pled and I wept for a clue to my fate,
And the Master so gently said, "Child, you must wait."

"Wait? You say, wait!" my indignant reply.
"Lord, I need answers, I need to know why!
Is your hand shortened? Or have you not heard?
By faith, I have asked, and am claiming your Word.

My future and all to which I can relate
hangs in the balance, and YOU tell me to WAIT?
I'm needing a 'yes', go-ahead and sign,
or even a 'no' to which I can resign.

And Lord, You promised that if we believe
we need but to ask, and we shall receive.
And Lord, I've been asking, and this is my cry:
I'm weary of asking! I need a reply!

Then quietly, softly, I learned of my fate
As my Master replied once again, "You must wait."
So I slumped in my chair, defeated and fraught
and grumbling to God, "So, I'm waiting... for what?"

He seemed, then, to kneel, and His eyes wept with mine,
And he tenderly said, "I could give you a sign.
I could shake the heavens, and darken the sun.
I could raise the dead, and cause mountains to run.

All you seek, I could give, and pleased you would be.
You would have what you want--But, you wouldn't know Me.

You'd not know the depth of My love for each saint;
You'd not know the power that I give to the faint;
You'd not learn to see through the clouds of despair;
You'd not learn to trust just by knowing I'm there;

You'd not know the joy of resting in Me
When darkness and silence were all you could see.

You'd never experience that fullness of love
As the peace of My Spirit descends like a dove;
You'd know that I give and I save... (for a start),
But you'd not know the depth of the beat of My heart.

The glow of My comfort late into the night,
The faith that I give when you walk without sight,
The depth that's beyond getting just what you asked
Of the infinite God, who makes what you have LAST.

You'd never know, should your pain quickly flee,
What it means that "My grace is sufficient for Thee."
Yes, your dreams for your loved one overnight would come true,
But, Oh, the Loss! If I lost what I'm doing in you!

So, be silent, My Child, and in time you will see
That the greatest of gifts is to get to know Me.
And though oft' My answers seem terribly late,
My most precious answer is still, "WAIT."—Annonymous

Experiencing His Presence
I Bring My Sins to The

I bring my sins to thee,
The sins I cannot count,
That I may cleansed be
In thy once opened fount.
I bring them, Saviour, all to thee;
The burden is too great for me.

My heart to thee I bring,
The heart I cannot read;
A faithless, wandering thing,
An evil heart indeed.
I bring it, Saviour, now to thee
That fixed and faithful it may be.

To thee I bring my care,
The care I cannot flee;
Thou wilt not only share,
But bear it all for me.
O loving Saviour, now to thee
I bring the load that wearies me.

I bring my grief to thee,
The grief I cannot tell;
No words shall needed be,
Thou knowest all so well.
I bring the sorrow laid on me,
O suffering Saviour, now to thee.

My joys to thee I bring,
The joys thy love has given,
That each may be a wing
To lift me nearer Heaven.
I bring them, Saviour, all to thee;
For thou hast purchased all for me.

My life I bring to thee,
I would not be my own;
O Saviour, let me be
Thine ever, thine alone.
My heart, my life, my all I bring
To thee, my Saviour and my King.

Frances Ridley Howergal (1836-79)

Reposing in Thee

Thou hidden love of God, whose height,
Whose depth unfathomed, no man knows,
I see from far Thy beauteous light,
And inly sigh for Thy repose;
My heart is pained, nor can it be
At rest till it finds rest in Thee.

What is there more that hinders me
From ent’ring to Thy promised rest
Abiding there substantially,
And being permanently blest?
O Love, my inmost soul expose,
And every hindrance now disclose!

Is there a thing beneath the sun,
That strives with Thee my heart to share?
Ah, tear it thence, and reign alone,
The Lord of every motion there!
Then shall my heart from earth be free,
When it hath found repose in Thee.

Tell me, O God! if aught there be
Of self, that wills not Thy control;
Reveal whate’er impurity
May still be lurking in my soul!
To reach Thy rest and share Thy throne,
Mine eye must look to Thee alone.

O love Thy sovereign aid impart,
To save me from low-thoughted care;
Chase this self-will from all my heart,
From all its hidden mazes there;
Make me Thy duteous child, that I
Ceaseless may, ‘Abba Father,’ cry.

Ah no! I would not backward turn;
Thine wholly, Thine alone I am!
Thrice happy he, who views with scorn
Earth’s toys, for Thee his constant flame!
O keep, that I may never move,
From the blest footsteps of Thy love!

Each moment draw from earth away,
My heart, that lowly waits Thy call;
Speak to my inmost soul, and say,
‘I am thy Love, thy God, thy All!’
To feel Thy power, to hear Thy voice,
To taste Thy love, be all my choice.—
Within the Veil

God is present with us—Let us fall and worship,
    Holy is the place;
God is in the midst, our souls are silent,
    Bowed before His face.
Lord, we kneel before Thee,
    Awed by love Divine,
We of Thee unworthy
    Own that we are Thine.

Gladly cast before Thee all delights and pleasures,
    All our hoarded store—
Lord, behold our hearts, our souls, and bodies,
    Thine, and ours no more.
        We O God, Thine only,
            Nevermore our own—
        Thine the praise and honour,
            Thine, and thine alone.

Thou Who fillest all things, in Thee, living, moving,
    Evermore are we;
Shoreless sea unsounded, mystery and wonder,
        Sinks my soul in thee—
            I in thee—no longer
                Bound in self's dark prison,
            And the life that moves me,
                Fills me, Christ arisen.

Thou the Light that fillest all the endless heavens,
    Shinest on my face,
As the tender flowers joyfull unfolding
    In their silent grace,
        Whilst the Sun beholds them—
            Thus my soul is still
        Thine the glorious power,
            Thine the mighty will.

Mine but to be simple; in the fields of heaven
    All my sweet employ,
Loving and delighting, as a child that singeth
      With unbidden joy—
           As an eagle soaring
                Up the radiant skies,
            Even now to find Thee
                In Thy Paradise.

Yes, I saw Jesus today, walking close beside someone,
Their clothes looked tatty, their hair dishevelled — the kind some shun.
He was smiling and chatting, offering a helping hand,
Taking an interest in them — while for others — His eyes scanned.

I saw my Saviour today, He was comforting someone,
Someone with tears in their eyes, that had far from just begun.
He had His arm around them, and had tears in His eyes too,
And I’m sure I heard Him say, “I understand, I’ve been hurt too.”

Yes, I saw Jesus today, carrying a bag or two,
They were laden down with food, other necessities too.
He approached a run-down house, clutching His wallet as well,
And I saw Him empty it, before He rang the door bell.

I saw my Saviour today, wounded sparrow in His hand,
It was holding up a wing, damaged as it tried to land.
There was sadness on His face, as He held it delicately,
And I saw Him take it home, tending it most lovingly.

Yes, I saw Jesus today, in a smile that came my way,
In words of encouragement, some kindly soul sought to say.
In a gentle touch, a warm embrace, in a little gift,
That acted like healing balm, saw my sagging spirits lift.

I saw my Saviour today, dicing with death and a bus,
Attempting to save someone — such, reminding me of us.
I thought of how we wander from the straight and narrow way,
And how Christ tries to save us, from forces that seek to slay.

Yes, I saw Jesus today, helping, caring, saving too,
Working via humanity — for such, He’s chosen to do.
That way, we become like Him — a reflection — Christ on view,
Thus, was it Jesus I saw, lovingly working through you?—
Godly Women
A Father's Loving Plea
My precious darling daughter, there is much I need to say,
Regarding many dangers, that could see you led astray.
But there's one important thing, that now, I wish to mention,
And if happiness you want, please give this full attention.

This world's not the way it was, not that it has been fault-free,
But now, because it has worsened, more wrong about you'll see.
Some things can look attractive, that in actual fact just hide,
That which given half a chance, could see you taken for a ride.

Such it is with certain men, who'll try to ply one's daughter,
With nice gifts and hollow words, as they pretend to court her.
It takes a man to know one, thus the need to say to you,
Many a man's intentions, aren't honorable or true.

So many steps are taken, by some men who prise consent,
That in time soon proves to you, that they were not Heaven-sent.
Though they will try and fool you, that you don't have need for fear,
An error here could soon see, these words ringing in your ear.

The man who'll truly love you, will never want to hurt you,
There'll be no selfish focus, in the things he'll say and do.
However, it can happen, that like this a man will seem,
When in fact he's fooling you, as that is how some men scheme.

If a man's not genuine, caution here should find that out,
For in such matters of the heart, you can't afford a doubt.
Many inexperienced, and caught up in emotions,
Have suffered miserably, due to, unsound young devotions.

Men who focus on the body, will not be right for you,
So watch your presentation, lest you get a man you'll rue.
They'll treat you like an object, could you wonder that they do,
Should sexual attraction, be written all over you.

This world is obsessed with sex, and should we be surprised,
When selfish gratification, appears more to be prized.
No wonder many men today, with what they're being fed,
When it comes down to women, now think more in terms of bed.

Men should love you for yourself, and should seek just you to please,
But this, of course, is something, that only the right man sees.
A permanent relationship, should be built on solid ground,
And as this is so pivotal, don't marry one who'll play around.

For many it's like shopping, they will try and then discard,
Unconcerned their philandering, can hit some rejected, hard.
Sadly, many women too, also play this foolish game,
Compounding such behaviour, and thus sharing shame and blame.

Some men may be good at heart, but sexually addicted,
Though not meaning harm to you, it can surely be predicted.
Bear in mind that any child, that might grow up like that dad,
Could also bring you sadness, and just to your problems add.

All these things are said in love, and are a father's duty,
That you might avoid a man, who'll rob your life of beauty.
Save yourself for just one man, whose love you'll always treasure,
Because of its unselfishness, that will not weigh or measure.—

The Blessed Journey

"Thus saith the LORD,
which maketh a way in the sea,
and a path in the mighty waters.
 Isa. 43:16

Let Him lead thee blindfold onwards,
Love needs not to know;
Children whom the Father leadeth
Ask not where they go.
Though the path be all unknown
Over moors and mountains lone.

Give no ear to reason’s questions;
Let the blind man hold
That the sun is but a fable
Men believed of old.
At the breast the babe will grow;
Whence the milk he need not know.”
The River of God



From the Rock that God has riven


Flows the sacred river,


Through the wastes of barren ages,


Ever and for ever.



Still on this side and on that side,


Grow the healing trees-


Bearing fruit for all the hunger


Leaves for all Disease.



From the everlasting fountains


Still it flows along,


Making glad the holy city


Of eternal song.




From the throne of Christ in glory,


Rock that God has riven,


Onward still the crystal river


Bears the life of Heaven.



Sheep lie yet in quiet pastures


By the waters still,


Lilies grow in God’s green meadows,


Cedars on His hill.



Still to drink the living waters


Come the souls athirst,


Eyes behold the Face of Jesus


Even as at first.



Clad in white there walk beside Him


Still the blessed throng-


Through the ages sound unsilenced


Psaltery and song.



Onwards weary generations


Pass through deserts dread.


Void and silent skies above them,


Under them the dead.



Whilst unseen the Lord’s fair garden


Round about them glows,


And the barren wilderness


Blossom as the rose.



Whilst beside them unimagined


Glide the waters fair-


Whilst around, the psalms ascending


Tell that Christ is there.




 —From Hymns of Tersteegen, Suso and Others




Deut. xxxi. 8

On, O beloved children,
The evening is at hand,
And desolate and fearful
The solitary land.
Take heart! the rest eternal
Awaits our weary feet;
From strength to strength press onwards,
The end, how passing sweet!

Lo, we can tread rejoicing
The narrow pilgrim road;
We know the voice that calls us,
We know our faithful God.
Come, children, on to glory!
With every face set fast
Towards the golden towers
Where we shall rest at last.

It was with voice of singing
We left the land of night,
To pass in glorious music
Far onward out of sight.
O children, was it sorrow?
Though thousand worlds be lost,
Our eyes have looked on Jesus,
And thus we count the cost.

The praising and the blaming,
The storehouse and the mart,
The mourning and the feasting,
The glory and the art,
The wisdom and the cunning,
Left far amid the gloom;
We may not look behind us,
For we are going home.

Across the will of nature
Leads on the path of God;
Not where the flesh delighteth
The feet of Jesus trod.
O bliss to leave behind us
The fetters of the slave,
To leave ourselves behind us,
The grave-clothes and the grave!

To speed, unburdened pilgrims,
Glad, empty-handed, free;
To cross the trackless deserts,
And walk upon the sea;
As strangers among strangers,
No home beneath the sun;
How soon the wanderings ended,
The endless rest begun!

We pass the children playing,
For evening shades fall fast;
We pass the wayside flowers-
God’s Paradise at last!
If now the path be narrow
And steep and rough and lone,
If crags and tangles cross it,
Praise God! we will go on.

We follow in His footsteps;
What if our feet be torn?
Where He has marked the pathway
All hail the briar and thorn!
Scarce seen, scarce heard, unreckoned,
Despised, defamed, unknown,
Or heard but by our singing,
On, children! ever on!—

Something's Amiss
Lance Landall

When, love is often talked about but not so seldom seen,
When purses are healthy but the offering bags are lean,
When quantity’s viewed as more important than quality,
Or when truth is sacrificed for the sake of unity.
Something’s amiss…

When, the noise inside the church sounds the same as that outside,
When one’s cries have gone unheard and the backdoor’s open wide,
When preaching delivers what’s liked rather than what’s needed,
Or when biblical instruction’s ignored rather than heeded.
Something’s amiss…

When, one’s music and the world’s are difficult to tell apart,
When one’s walk is more in the head and lesser in the heart,
When what’s on TV is studied more than what’s in God’s Word,
Or when one’s busily repeating what they’ve overheard.
Something’s amiss…

Read all of
Something's Amiss
Lance Landall

Dying To Self
To learn, and yet to learn, whilst life goes by,
so pass the student's days;
And thus be great, and to do great things,
and die, and lie embalmed with praise.

My work is but to lose and to forget,
thus small, despised to be;
All to unlearn—this task before me set;
Unlearn all else but Thee."—Gerhard Tersteegen

O For a Heart to Praise My God

O for a heart to praise my God,
A heart from sin set free,
A heart that always feels Thy blood
So freely shed for me.

A heart resigned, submissive, meek,
My great Redeemer’s throne,
Where only Christ is heard to speak,
Where Jesus reigns alone.

A humble, lowly, contrite, heart,
Believing, true and clean,
Which neither life nor death can part
From Christ who dwells within.

A heart in every thought renewed
And full of love divine,
Perfect and right and pure and good,
A copy, Lord, of Thine.

Thy tender heart is still the same,
And melts at human woe:
Jesus, for thee distressed I am,
I want Thy love to know.

My heart, Thou know’st, can never rest
Till Thou create my peace;
Till of mine Eden repossest,
From self, and sin, I cease.

Fruit of Thy gracious lips, on me
Bestow that peace unknown,
The hidden manna, and the tree
Of life, and the white stone.

Thy nature, gracious Lord, impart;
Come quickly from above;
Write Thy new name upon my heart,
Thy new, best name of Love.—
Charles Wesley

(Rev. 2:17 -- may He give us ears to hear as we let Him overcome!)


Give Me Rest!

I asked the Lord, that I might grow
In faith, and love, and every grace;
Might more of His salvation know;
And seek more earnestly His face.

Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust has answered prayer;
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair!

I hoped that in some favored hour,
At once He’d answer my request;
And by His love’s constraining power,
Subdue my sins—and give me rest!

Instead of this, He made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart;
And let the angry powers of hell
Assault my soul in every part!

Yes more, with His own hand He seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe!
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds—and laid me low!

“Lord, why is this!” I trembling cried,
“Will you pursue your worm to death?”
“This is the way,” the Lord replied,
“I answer prayer for grace and faith.”

“These inward trials I employ,
From self and pride to set you free;
And break your schemes of earthly joy,
That you may seek your all in Me!” --


John Newton




The Knight of God

“For I will show him how many things he must suffer for My name’s sake.” Acts ix. 16

As the song of him who singeth,
Playing on a harp of gold,
So to me was Christ’s evangel
In the days of old.

Thus across the lake of Constance
Went I forth to preach His Word,
And beside me sat the squire
Of a noble Lord.

None in all the ship so knightly,
None so bravely dight as he-
“Tell me,” I besought, “thine errand
Yonder o’er the sea.”

“I go forth,” he said, “to gather
Many a knight and noble bold;
They shall tilt at joust and tourney,
Whilst fair eyes behold.

“And the bravest and the noblest
He shall win a glorious prize,
Smiles to boot, and courtly favour
In the ladies’ eyes.”

“Tell me what shall be the guerdon?”
“Lo, the fairest in the land
Sets a gold ring on his finger
With her lily hand.”

“Tell me how the knight may win it?”
“Scars and bruises must he boast,
For the knight shall be the winner
Who endures the most.”

“Tell me, if when first assaulted,
He in knightly guise shall stand,
Shall he win the golden guerdon
From his lady’s hand?”

“Nay, right on, till all is over,
Must a worthy knight hold on;
Bear the brunt, and stand a conqueror
When the fight is done.”

“And if he be wounded sorely,
Will he weep and will he mourn?”
“Nay, in place of winning honour,
He would win but scorn.”

Then my spirit sank within me,
And within my heart I spake-
“O my Lord, thus fight the knightly
For their honour’s sake.

“Small the prize, and stern the battle,
Worthless gain, and weary fight-
Lord, a ring of stones most precious
Hast thou for Thy knight!

“Oh, to be the knight of Jesus!
Scorning pain, and shame, and loss;
There the crown, the joy, the glory,
Here, O Lord, Thy Cross.”

Then I wept, with bitter longing
Thus the knight of God to be;
And the Lord, who saw me weeping,
Gave the cross to me.

Bitter pain, and shame, and sorrow
Came upon me as a flood-
I forgot it was the tourney
Of the knights of God.

And again I wept, beseeching,
“Take the Cross, O Lord, from me!”
Till a light broke like the morning
Over the wild sea.

Then there spake the Voice beloved,
Still and sweet my heart within-
“is it thus, O knight of Jesus,
Thou the prize wilt win?”

“O my Lord, the fight is weary-
Weary, and my heart is sore!”
“And,” he answered, “fair the guerdon,
And for evermore.”

“I have shamed Thee, craven-hearted,
I have been Thy recreant knight-
Own me yet, O Lord, albeit
Weeping whilst I fight.”

“Nay,” He said; “yet wilt thou shame Me
Wilt thou shame thy knightly guise?
I would have My angels wonde
At thy gladsome eyes.

“Need’st thou pity, knight of Jesus?-
Pity for thy glorious hest?
On! let God and men and angels
See that thou art blest!




Henry Suso from Hymns of Tersteegen, Suso and Others






The Mat


“From the sole of the foot even to the head, there is no soundness in it, but wounds and bruises and putrefying sores; they have not been closed or bound up, or soothed with ointment.” Is. l. 6


It was on a winter’s morning

In the days of old,

In his cell sat Father Henry,

Sorrowful and cold.


“O my Lord, I am aweary,”

In his heart he spake,

“For my brethren scorn and hate me

For Thy blessed sake.


“If I had but one to love me

That were joyful cheer-

One small word to make me sunshine

Through the darksome year!


“But they mock me and despise me

Till my heart is stung-

Then my words are wild and bitter,

Tameless is my tongue.”


Then the Lord said, “I am with thee;

Trust thyself to Me;

Open thou thy little casement,

Mark what thou shalt see.”


Then a piteous look and wistful

Father Henry cast

Out into the dim old cloister

And the wintry blast.


Was it that a friend was coming

By some Angel led?

No! a great hound wild and savage

Round the cloister sped.


Some old mat that lay forgotten

Seized he on his way-

Tore it, tossed it, dragged it wildly

Round the cloister gray.


“Lo, the hound is like thy brethren,”

Spake the Voice he knew;

“If thou are the mat, beloved,

What hast thou to do?”


Meekly then went Father Henry,

And the mat he bare

To his little cell to store it

As a jewel rare.


Many a winter and a summer

Through those cloisters dim,

Did he thenceforth walk rejoicing,

And the Lord with him.


And when bitter words would sting him,

Turned he to his cell,

Took his mat, and looked upon it,

Saying, “All is well.


“He who is the least and lowest

Needs but low to lie;

Lord, I thank Thee and I praise Thee

That the mat am I.”


“On the cold and footworn pavement

Lies it still and flat,

Raves not if men trample on it,

For it is a mat.”


Then he wept, for in the stillness

His Beloved spake,

“Thus was Ithe least and lowest,

Gladly, for thy sake.


“Lo, My face to shame and spitting

Did I turn for thee;

If thou art the least and lowest,

Then remember Me.”

Henry Suso

, from Hymns of Tersteegen, Suso and Others



The Night Watch


“My soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning—yes, more than those who watch for the morning.” Ps. cxxx. 6


Oh when shall the fair day break, and the hour of gladness come,

When I to my heart’s Beloved, to Thee, O my Lord, go home?

O Lord, the ages are long, and weary my heart for Thee,

For Thee, O my one Beloved, whose Voice shall call for me.

I would see Thee face to face, Thou Light of my weary eyes,

I wait and I watch till morning shall open the gate of the skies;

The morn when I rise aloft, to my one, my only bliss,

To know the smile of Thy welcome, the mystery of Thy kiss.

For here hath my foot no rest, and mine eye sees all things fair

As a dream of a land enchanted, for my heart’s love is not there;

And amidst the thronging of men I am lonelier than alone,

For my eye seeketh One I find not, my heart craveth only One.

Henry Suso


, from Hymns of Tersteegen, Suso and Others



The Meeting


“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?” Rom. viii. 35


To Thee, Lord, my heart unfoldeth,

As the rose to the golden sun-

To Thee, Lord, mine arms are clinging,

The eternal joy begun.

For ever, through endless ages,

Thy cross and Thy sorrow shall be

The glory, the song, and the sweetness

That make heaven heaven to me.

Let one in his innocence glory,

Another in works he has done-

Thy Blood is my claim and my title,

Beside it, O Lord, I have none.

The Scorned, the Despised, the Rejected,

Thou hast won Thee this heart of mine

In Thy robes of eternal glory

Thou welcomest me to Thine.

Henry Suso


 from Hymns of Tersteegen, Suso and Others 



The Thirst of God


“A woman of Samaria came to draw water.
Jesus said to her, ‘Give Me a drink.’”
John iv. 7


The hart panteth after the waters,

The dying for life that departs;

The Lord in His glory for sinners,

For the love of rebellious hearts.

Call back all the days of the ages,

All snow-flakes come down from above;

All flowers of summers departed,

But think not to measure His love.


Behold Him, O soul, where He told it,

Pale, bleeding, and bearing thy sin;

He knocketh, saith, “Open, beloved,

I pray thee to let Me come in.

Behold, I have borne all the judgment,

Thy sins, O beloved, are gone;

Forgotten, forgotten for ever,

God seeketh, but findeth not one.


“Behold, with what labour I won thee,

Behold in My hands and My feet,

The tale of my measureless sorrow-

Of love that made sorrow so sweet.

A flax-thread in oceans of fire

How soon swallowed up would it be!

Yet sooner in oceans of mercy

The sinner that cometh to Me.”

Henry Suso, from Hymns of Tersteegen, Suso and Others


The Marks of the Lord Jesus


“That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death.” Phil. iii. 10


I would bear in my body the dying

Of Him who has died for me-

Here share, O my Lord, Thy rejection

Ere I sit on Thy throne with Thee.

I see Thee alone, broken-hearted,

Of comforters findest Thou none;

Yet Thine was the gladness of Heaven,

The love and the glory Thine own.


The gall and the vinegar only,

The thirst of Thine agony stills;

Yet Thine were the streams
and the fountains Of Thine everlasting hills.

In sorrow, in want, in dishonour,

How dear are Thy footsteps to me;

The fountain is sweet to the thirsty,

But sweeter is thirsting with Thee.


Thus to show to the world that rejects Thee,
To show to the Angels above,

How blessed Thy yoke and Thy burden,

To him who has tasted Thy love.

The maiden who gathereth roses,

Another, another would find;

So sweet are the tracks of Thy sorrow

To him who would follow behind.


Thus would I press on to the glory,

A knight in the army of God,

Whose march will be onward and forward

Because of the foes on the road.

Above me the stars in the heavens,

Stars countless, so many they be;

So glorious, albeit so countless

The sorrows I suffer for Thee.

Henry Suso




, from Hymns of Tersteegen, Suso and Others


The New Song


“But one says, Where is God my Maker, who gives songs in the night.” Job xxxv. 10


O Lord, in my songs I have praised Thee

For all that was sweet and was fair;

And now a new song would I sing Thee,

A song that is wondrous and rare.


A song of the heart that is broken,

A song of the sighs and the tears,

The sickness, the want, and the sadness

Of the days of our pilgrimage years.


A song of the widows and orphans,

Of the weary and hungry and sad-

Loud praise of the will Thou has broken,

The will of the young and the glad.


A song of the outcasts and martyrs,

A song of the scorned and despised-

The lonely, dishonoured, forsaken,

Who knew the rejection of Christ.


Sweet sings the great choir of sorrow

The song of the gladness untold,

To Him on the Throne of His glory,

Who wept in the days of old.

Henry Suso from Hymns of Tersteegen, Suso and Others




The Missionary Call

My soul is not at rest. There comes a strange and secret whisper to my spirit like a dream of night that tells me I am on enchanted ground. The voice of my departed Lord comes on the night air and awakes my ear, “Go, teach all nations!”.

Why do I stay here? The vows of God are on me and I may not stop to play with shadows or pluck earthly flowers, until my work is done and I have rendered up account.

So I will go. I may no longer doubt giving up friends, idle hopes, and every tie that binds my heart to my country. Henceforth then it matters not if storm or sunshine be my earthly lot, bitter or sweet my cup,

I only pray, ‘God make me holy and my spirit brave for the unyielding hour of strife.’ And when one for whom Satan has struggled has gained at last that blessed shore, oh how this heart will glow with gratitude and love!

Throughout all of eternity my spirit never shall repent that toil and suffering once were mine below.—Quoted in Hudson Taylor's book Retrospect

Stir Me

Stir me, O stir me, Lord, I care not how,
But stir my heart in passion for the world!
Stir me to give, to go, but most to pray;
Stir, till the blood-red banner be unfurl’d
O’er lands that still in heathen darkness lie,
O’er deserts where no cross is lifted high.

Stir me, O stir me, Lord, till all my heart
Is filled with strong compassion for these souls;
Till thy compelling Word drives me to pray;
Till thy constraining Love reach to the poles
Far north and south, in burning, deep desire,
Till east and west are caught in love’s great fire

Stir me, O stir me, Lord, Thy heart was stirred
By love’s intensest fire, till Thou didst give
Thine only Son, Thy best beloved ONE
E’en to the dreadful cross, that I might live.
Stir me to give myself back to Thee
That Thou canst give Thyself again through me.

Stir me, O stir me, Lord, for I can see
Thy glorious triumph-day begin to break!
The dawn already gilds the eastern sky:
Church of Christ, arise! awake! awake!
O stir us, Lord, as heralds of that day,
For night is past, our King is on His way!
                     Mrs. Albert Head

From Miss Blatchley (China Inland Mission)

I used to write for mere self-satisfaction; for
My heart heaved with its weight of unshar’d thoughts,
And hence my sole escape-valve was to write.
But since I found my rest in Jesus’ arms,
And living sympathy in Jesus’ heart,
I need not my own thoughts for company;
And if I write a little, now and then,
It’s not because my house is empty still,
That I should seek the mirror for a friend.

Let my words die for ever: Lord, henceforth,
I would there were no Mine; I would be dumb,
Save as Thy breath blows through me; like a reed,
Which has no voice but what the Master gives.

First, “I delight to do Thy will,” and then,
“I have not hid Thy righteousness and truth,”
Were Jesus’ words. We, looking unto Him,
May not keep total silence when our hearts
Are bubbling up* with matters of the King,—
His tender love and gentle governance.
Perhaps some weary one, in traversing
These same dry paths, may hear the grateful sound,
And trace it to the Fountain, drink and live.

And “Praise is comely.” Let me write but praise.
Oh, that our writing-whether shaped in song
Beside still waters and the dewy mead—
Or traced in anguish with the heart’s own blood,
And blur’d with burning tears,—may all, All, ALL,
Be to the praise of Jesus and His love.
*Marginal reading of Psalm xlv. I.

Taken from China’s Millions, October 1876.

Ministry Poems
Ministerial Deportment
" If the Lord called in on earth, took a sermon in your church, Would He jest from the pulpit, jovially prance and lurch? Would He shout into the mike, paining parishioner’s ears, Would He wear designer clothes, would He seek admiring stares?

No, of course our Lord wouldn’t, such belongs with showmanship, With actors and comedians, not spiritual leadership. Yes, such belongs on the stage, where ego and pride are stroked, But not in Holy worship, lest God’s anger be provoked." —Lance Landall Here is where you can find the rest of "Preaching."