I Don’t Care to Be Rich

 

I Don’t Care to Be Rich

 

Oh, I ain’t never been that rich,

I don’t have the “money making” itch.

There’s some things money just can’t buy

But some folks are determined to try!

It can’t ever buy happiness

But it sure can get folks in a mess

It make get you “friends” while it last

But when it’s gone their friendship’s past

It might get you a brand new car

Trav’ling in luxury near and far

But it sprouts wings and flies away

It can come and go all in a day

But I’ll tell you what I’d prefer

To live without maids and a chauffer

Give me a good man and some land

I’ll happily live the way God planned.

 

H.R

12/13/2023

 

A Poet's Take

 

 

A Poet’s Take

 

Have you ever wondered why some write poetry?

Here’s a poet’s take, and why she writes you’ll see;

Poetry is more than ending a line in rhyme

And using different verbs and nouns every time,

It’s a way to convey one’s conviction and thought

And to challenge the reader to the same plot.

 

For most writers poetry takes time to ponder,

Some thought you mean to last a little longer,

And poetry calms the mind and focuses it

And draws and bids us to meditate a bit,

It speaks to the heart with its symmetry and flow

It’s a gift from God, this I’m convinced is so.

.

H.R Jan 7^th, 2021

 

Mother's Prayer

Mother’s Prayer

I was but a youth and thoughtless, as youths are apt to be;
Though I had a Christian mother who had taught me carefully.

There came a time when pleasure of the world came to allure,
And I no more sought guidance of her love so good and pure.

Her tender admonitions fell but lightly on my ear,
And for the gentle warnings, I felt an inward sneer.

But mother would not yield her boy to Satan’s sinful sway,
And though I spurned her counsel, she knew a better way.

She made my room an altar, a place of secret prayer,
And there she took her burden and left it in His care.

And morning, noon and evening by that humble bedside low,
She sought the aid of Him who understands a mother’s woe.

I went my way unheeding, careless of the life I led,
Until one day I noticed prints of elbows on my bed.

I saw that she had been there, praying for her wayward boy,
Who for love of worldly pleasure would her peace of mind destroy.

Long the conflict raged within me,  sin against my mother’s prayers,
Sin must yield – for Mother never , while she daily met Him there.

And her constant love and patience were like coals upon my head,
Together with the imprints of her elbows on my bed.

And so at last the fight was won, and I to Christ was led,
And mother’s prayers were answered
By her elbows on my bed.

Author unknown

A Builder Or a Wrecker

As I watched them tear a building down
A gang of men in a busy town
With a ho-heave-ho, and a lusty yell
They swung a beam and the side wall fell

I asked the foreman, “Are these men skilled,
And the men you’d hire if you wanted to build?”
He gave a laugh and said, “No, indeed,
Just common labor is all I need.”

“I can easily wreck in a day or two,
What builders have taken years to do.”
And I thought to myself, as I went my way
Which of these roles have I tried to play'

Am I a builder who works with care,
Measuring life by rule and square?
Am I shaping my work to a well-made plan
Patiently doing the best I can'

Or am I a wrecker who walks to town
Content with the labor of tearing down?
“O Lord let my life and my labors be
That which will build for eternity!”

Author Charles Franklin Benvegar

 

I’m Pleading for You

 I’m pleading for you at the throne of grace,
I whisper your name in the holy place,
I know that my Father is list’ning there,
E’en now as I’m lifting my heart in pray’r.

Refrain:
I’m pleading for you,
I’m pleading for you,
Oh, will you not come while
I’m pleading for you?

2 Each pray’r is recorded and kept on high,
For God taketh note of the feeblest cry,
And what we have asked in His will He’ll do,
Then come to Him now while we pray for you. [Refrain]

3 My pray’rs will be joined to your mother’s pray’rs,
She poured out, with tears, all her griefs and cares,
‘Tis long, long ago since you heard her pray,
Her pray’rs may be answered for you today. [Refrain]

4 We’ll see when the answer at last has come,
The light on your face and the joy at home;
And when of Christ’s love you can gladly tell,
For some needy ones you will pray as well. [Refrain]

 Ada Haberson

Freedom Isn't Free

Freedom Isn't Free

I watched the flag pass by one day, It fluttered in the breeze; A young Marine saluted it, And then he stood at ease. I looked at him in uniform, So young, so tall, so proud; With hair cut square and eyes alert, He’d stand out in any crowd. I thought . . . how many men like him Had fallen through the years? How many died on foreign soil? How many mothers’ tears? How many pilots’ planes shot down How many died at sea How many foxholes were soldiers’ graves No, Freedom is not Free. I heard the sound of Taps one night, When everything was still; I listened to the bugler play, And felt a sudden chill; I wondered just how many times That Taps had meant "Amen" When a flag had draped a coffin Of a brother or a friend; I thought of all the children, Of the mothers and the wives, Of fathers, sons and husbands. With interrupted lives. I thought about a graveyard At the bottom of the sea, Of unmarked graves in Arlington. No. Freedom is not Free! Kelly Strong

Death! 'Tis a Melancholy Day

Death! 'Tis a Melancholy Day

Death! 'tis a melancholy day,
To those that have no God,
When the poor soul is forced away,
To seek her last abode.

In vain to Heav'n she lifts her eyes,
But guilt, a heavy chain,
Still drags her downward from the skies,
To darkness, fire, and pain.

Awake and mourn, ye heirs of hell,
Let stubborn sinners fear;
You must be driv'n from earth, and dwell
A long forever there.

See how the pit gapes wide for you,
And flashes in your face;
And thou, my soul, look downward too,
And sing recovering grace.

He is a God of sovereign love,
That promised Heav'n to me,
And taught my thoughts to soar above,
Where happy spirits be.

Prepare me, Lord, for Thy right hand,
Then come the joyful day;
Come, death, and some celestial band,
To bear my soul away.

Words: Isaac Watts, 1707-09. Music: Hans Nageli.

Am I My Brother's Keeper

Am I My Brother’s Keeper

Am I my brothers keeper?

Asked the troubled voice of Cain

And sometimes it makes us wonder

If we ask it still in vain.

What do we owe to others

As we travel on through life?

Do we owe them love and friendship

And pay it off in hate and strife?

Do we thank God for His blessings

And proclaim ourselves as saints

Then sit around in comfort

While our neighbor toils and faints?

Do we comfort one another

In every way we can,

Or just say we love the Master

While we hate our fellow man?

Yes, we are our brothers’ keeper

God has always willed it thus.

We must love and help each other

Because the good Lord still loves us.

If we would be our Maker’s image,

Let’s heed the sage of Galilee,

“As you have done it unto others

You have done it unto Me.”

John Moore

Quote for the Day

“Men may rob you of all your earthly possessions, but they cannot take from you your testimony.”---Heather Rausch.

I'm Glad God Gave Us Animals

I’m Glad God Gave Us Animals

I’m glad God gave us animals

To cheer us on dreary days

He gave them each unique senses

To help us in diverse ways.

The horse to carry his rider

His curved back is shaped just right.

He listens to us through his mouth

With reins to control his might.

Then there’s our loyal companions-

The dog: man’s best four-legged friend.

He strives hard to please his master,

By serving him to the end.

The cat, to keep us on our toes.

They purr curled up in our laps.

And we can’t help but laugh out loud,

At their hilarious mishaps.

The birds aloft up in the trees.

Their chorus always in tune.

Their songs are happy and vibrant.

Singing softly as they croon.

God made many more than all these.

With varying talents and gifts.

Each one He made for a purpose.

And with them our souls uplifts.

Heather Rausch.