My Knowledge

Author Unknown

Though men confront the living God
With wisdom than his Word more wise
And leaving paths apostles trod
Their own devise:
I would forsake, and flee,
O Christ, the living Way, to Thee!

I know not what the schools may teach,
Nor yet how far from truth depart;
One lesson is within my reach-
The Truth Thou art;
And learning this, I learn each day
To cast all other lore away.

I cannot solve mysterious things,
That fill the schoolmen's thoughts with strife;
But oh! What peace this knowledge brings-
Thou art the Life!
Hid in Thy everlasting deeps
The silent God His secret keeps.

The Way, the Truth, the Life, Thou art!
This, I know; to this I cleave;
The sweet, new language of my heart-
"Lord, I believe."
I have no doubt to bring to Thee;
My doubt has fled, my faith is free!

More

By Andrew Peterson

This is not the end here at this grave
This is just a hole that someone made
Every hole was made to fill
And every heart can feel it still--
Our nature hates a vacuum

This is not the hardest part of all
This is just the seed that has to fall
All our lives we till the ground
Until we lay our sorrows down
And watch the sky for rain

There is more
More than all this pain
More than all the falling down
And the getting up again
There is more
More than we can see
From our tiny vantage point
In this vast eternity
There is more

A thing resounds when it rings true
Ringing all the bells inside of you
Like a golden sky on a summer eve
Your heart is tugging at your sleeve
And you cannot say why
There must be more

There is more
More than we can stand
Standing in the glory
Of a love that never ends
There is more
More than we can guess
More and more, forever more
And not a second less

There is more than what the naked eye can see
Clothing all our days with mystery
Watching over everything
Wilder than our wildest dreams
Could ever dream to be
There is more

They

by Wendell Berry

I see you down there, white-haired
among the green leaves,
picking the ripe raspberries,
and I think, “Forty-two years!”
We are the you and I who were
they whom we remember.

Truth

And I've collected all these thoughts
And I'm dying just to lose them
And if your words are true or not
I'll die trying to prove them
But I'll just have to accept
That my mind is so inept
And the only thing that's left
For me to do is to trust you
-Matthew Thiessen

A True Hymn

MY Joy, my Life, my Crown !
My heart was meaning all the day,
Somewhat it fain would say,
And still it runneth muttering up and down
With only this, My Joy, my Life, my Crown !

Yet slight not those few words ;
If truly said, they may take part
Among the best in art :
The fineness which a hymn or psalm affords
Is, when the soul unto the lines accord.

He who craves all the mind,
And all the soul, and strength, and time,
If the words only rhyme,
Justly complains that somewhat is behind
To make His verse, or write a hymn in kind.

Whereas if the heart be moved,
Although the verse be somewhat scant,
God doth supply the want ;
As when the heart says, sighing to be approved,
“O, could I love !” and stops, God writeth, “Loved.”

-George Herbert

Your Love

Your blood.
Are the tears that run down my face,
When I am completely lost and feel out of place.
Your arms.
Are the comfort that wraps around me,
When all I want to do is scream.
Your beauty.
Is the one thing that makes me beautiful,
When I swallow the lies the media pulls.
Your kindness.
Is how I don't lose sight of why I am living.
When I feel the pressure the world is giving.
Your love.
Is why I haven't died.
Is why instead I've cried.
Is the only thing that fills me up inside.
When I just want to hide.
-Becki Perez

Thanksgiving Hymn

This poem was written during the first world war to honor the young men of great Britain who had given their lives.

For the Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
-Laurence Binyon