Poetry With A Mission



...a thought provoking poetical exercise.

Next
Previous

Prone To Wander

Prone to wander — oh yes, how I am — from the safety of Your arms, Lord,
I can’t understand why I do, for who, such wandering can afford?
Yes, prone to wander, prone to wander, just can’t understand why I do,
And more so, given that soon, Lord, I’m hoping to be home with You.

Hence why I cry aloud, dear Lord, please calm this restlessness within me,
And from the troubling of my soul that often burdens, please set me free.
I don’t want to lose my way, go astray, so please restrain me, I pray,
Yes, hold me back from wandering, lest one sorry day, I Thee betray.

For far too often I lose sight of Thee, lose my grip, and downward slip,
Or at the least, feel I’m only hanging in there via a fingertip.
And midst those distressing times, I feel so lost, so toil and trouble tossed,
Needy of that power and fervour experienced at Pentecost.

Oh yes, prone to wander, Lord, prone to wander — a fool am I, so weak,
For in my inner most soul, it’s not this earth but You, Lord, that I seek.
Yet, from the safety of Your arms, and peace that calms, I so often stray,
And why I amidst my distress, my sin confess, and, “Please save me,” pray.

You know I’m mortal; flesh and bone, wretched, dependant, lost without Thee,
A child who’s far from home, caught between the earthly and the heavenly.
And how I hate that sinking feeling that comes when my eyes aren’t on Thee,
That despair, that hopelessness, that shakes, overtakes, too regularly.

Hence my cry, Lord, please break the pattern, that more consistent I might be,
No more prone to wander, nor tossed about like a cork upon life’s sea.
But rather, safely moored, anchored to the Rock, my burdens cast on Thee,
A true disciple, empowered, renewed, a living testimony.

Yes, prone to wander, but may it be, back to that safety found in Thee,
Never to stray, but rather, there to stay, throughout all eternity.
So hear my prayer, oh Lord, incline Thine ear, and my footsteps homeward steer,
And grant me strength as well, I cry, that I, midst my trials will persevere.

By Lance Landall




Drifting

Oh Lord, spare us from drifting, those good intentions that come to nothing, and that You, Lord, must endlessly weary,
For we’re always meaning to do this or that, but not doing such, when we should’ve been doing such already.
I guess it’s called procrastination, Lord — yes, putting things off until when? — just talking, drifting, talking, drifting;
In other words, never doing anything about it — and oh, when it comes to our sins, how we love to cling.

And so it goes, Lord, day after wasted day, knowing but not doing, though meaning to, hoping to — well, some day,
And who knows when that day will come — perhaps too late for some — for that’s always the risk we take when we choose to play.
I guess that we’re just plain lazy, or is it that we’re undisciplined? — though both seem pretty much the same to me,
And why we continue to drift, I guess — despite the urgency of the hour — groggy with sin, undoubtedly.

Yes, far too often doing what we shouldn’t, and midst such, wandering aimlessly as if under the influence,
All of which is no doubt tied in with our worldliness, our time consuming selfishness, and even affluence.
And so we drift, Lord, behaving as if Your return is many years away, rather than being ready each day,
And forgetting that we’re Your ambassadors, our light barely visible, and yet possibly kneeling to pray:

“Fill me with the Spirit, Lord, empower me!” — as if seeking some magic wand that will bypass our lethargy,
And oh, how You must shake Your head at such, Lord, we hardly surrendered — yes, our walk a charade, effectively.
Hence why I pray, Lord, spare us from drifting, for drifters we shouldn’t be, given all that you did on Calvary,
And given that anything here on Earth, Lord, just pales into insignificance when compared with eternity.

By Lance Landall




May It Be

Oh for revival and reformation in the home as much as in the Church, parents often on their knees,
They leading by example, ridding their home and lives of all that offends Christ, and that precious time can seize.
And midst their drawing from the fountain of living waters, from which they daily quench their spiritual thirst,
They encouraging that very same divine thirst in their children, both they and their children putting God first.

Oh yes, oh for revival and reformation in the home, Christ the head, and holy angels surrounding,
A home where praise and thanks continually rise, where heavenly melodies each member delights to sing.
A home where the will of God is cheerfully sought — His great Law enshrined — a home where peace and harmony reign,
One where the presence of God permeates every room, and where each member’s loath to criticize or complain.

Oh, how such homes Christ longs to see, love its foundation, truth its roof, godly principles and standards its walls,
Heavenly light keeping at bay the powers of darkness, it able to withstand demonic storms and squalls.
Yes, a home that’s a true and stable witness, its doors open wide, its occupants humbly eager to serve,
A home where revival and reformation is a joy to behold, for within, God’s glory they preserve.

By Lance Landall



Next
Previous
Up