From my book A Craftsman at Play in Creation
What is this lesson that we’ve been taught
In the miracles God has wrought
In bringing blessings to this Earth
Coming from a child’s birth
Isaac born to Sarah when she was old
And Jacob to Rebekah with her ring of gold
And Joseph, the man who saw in dreams,
Born to Rachel of Laban’s schemes
Moses drawn from the Nile’s water
Even by the Pharoah’s daughter
Samson born when an angel came
In a field to a woman never named
Samuel, the son of the silent prayer
Of Hannah, his mother, in her despair
And John the Baptist who leapt for joy
When still in the womb Elizabeth carried her boy
And Mary’s Son Who sacrificed
For us Himself: Jesus Christ
Blog
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From a Child’s Birth
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The Sun and the Sea
From my book A Craftsman at Play in Creation
I sit in the shade beneath the tree
In the summertime beside the tree
And watch the sparkles on the bay
Where sun and sea together play
I am the sun and you are the sea
Come and sit in the shade with me
And together sparkle like the bay
When sun and sea together play -
Saint Cuthman at Penfold’s Field
From my book A Craftsman at Play in Creation
“Laugh man, weep Heaven,”
Said aloud the saint,
When at a widow’s sorrow,
They laughed without restraint
The sorrow of widows and the poor
They scorned and made their sport,
Those in Penfold’s Field who mowed,
And feared not Heaven’s court
But their laughter quickly faded
When from a sky of blue
Torrents of rain descended
To ruin the crop that grew
The bounty they had expected
All suddenly was gone
While the poor man who had spoken
Drew the widow on
The widow who was his mother
And crippled, no more could walk,
And her son who was a poor man
Pulled her handcart while they talked
Of the glories of their Maker,
And the blessings from their God,
Even while in poverty
A lonely road they trod
For he who was a poor man
Also was a saint
And bore the crosses he’d been given
In joy without complaint
And always filled with love for God,
And the beauties of creation,
Given freely as a gift,
As was his own salvation
Saint Cuthman in the village Steyning
built a church with his own hands
A shepherd who the sheep obeyed
When he gave to them commands
And at the words of this saint
The rains from Heaven fell
The laughter of the haughty
In their spoiled fields to quell
That in West Sussex men might learn
Wherein to place their joy
Not in the riches of the Earth
The moth might still destroy
But in those things eternal
For which Heaven laughs or cries
The things which are unchanging,
Unlike our earthly skies
And still unto this very day
When Penfold’s Field is mown
Rain descends like tears upon
Land cruel laughter once had sown -
John Winthrop’s Flour
From my book A Craftsman at Play in Creation
The oven held one loaf of bread
The last that he would eat
For fast away their flour sped
While waiting on the fleet
From England’s green and fertile shores
From whence their grain would come
At last that they might fill their stores
And the pains of hunger numb
But no ships sailed into the bay
And each day they saw pass
Their flour ran on swift away
As sands through an hourglass
When history was written down
Would Boston see its name
One day remembered with Jamestown
For ships that never came
And The Starving Time that followed
When people died in scores
And their land with pits was hollowed
For graves along its shores
The future then he could not know
When he peered into his jar
And saw the flour drawn down low
And felt England then afar
But the Shining City Upon the Hill
Must shine for men to see
If as a spark in passing, still
A light eternally
What flour he had remaining
John Winthrop gave away
Thus through his want sustaining
His brother another day
Then the hand of God they knew
For that very hour
They spied upon the ocean blue
Sails as white as flour -
At Harvest Time
from my book A Craftsman at Play in Creation
At harvest time we gather in,
And gathering remember when
The seeds were planted long ago,
And thank the Lord Who made them grow -
Cling You Ever Tighter
From my book Wings Upon the Unseen Gust
Hear the roaring of the sea
And the howling winds that call
A message unto you and me:
“Know that man is small,”
“So cling you ever tighter,”
“In this world of crashing waves,”
“Where raves the mad heel-biter,”
“To The Cross that saves.” -
The Russet Leaves of Autumn Maize
From my book The Lone Knight of Kemsing
The russet leaves of Autumn maize
Mark the start of Autumn days
For red when first the Fall is born
Is painted on the leaves of corn
For so it is with Nature’s way
From sunrise at the start of day,
Unto a babe’s first breath on Earth,
The red of blood is part of birth
So, too, when Jesus ushered in
The New World after Adam’s sin
And saved us men, made of mud,
By the shedding of His blood -
The Golden Spike
from my book Wings Upon the Unseen Gust
At Promontory Point
Two pieces made a whole
And joined a nation’s land
And joined a nation’s soul
With a dream that all could share
And a hope that all could hold
That the people marked together
There with The Spike of Gold
And upon The Golden Spike
Their prayer they had inscribed
That spelled in words of gold
The dream for which they strived:
Let this railroad here unite,
From sea to shining sea,
All this land, under God,
In love and unity -
In This Pennsylvania Field
by Jake Frost
In this Pennsylvania field
Our heroes have their rest
Those who were our sword and shield
Our bravest and our best
The ones who gave the greatest gift
That man can ever give
That their fellow countrymen
Through their sacrifice might live
That day on Flight Ninety-Three
When evil stole the sky
And they fought against the enemy
So that no more would die
In the war that good must always win
Each shoed the mettle of his soul
As into war they entered in
With the battle cry, “Let’s roll!”
Like angels in the sky they fought
Against the wicked foe
And like the victory Saint Michael wrought
They cast the evil low
And here their shining wings came down
Here their battle was finally done
And they made this into hallowed ground
With the victory they won
Here their dust mingles in the earth
Here their sacred dust still lies
And will until the world’s rebirth
When against the darkened skies
Bright like the dawn Saint Michael stands
Astride the sea and shore
With the trumpet in his hands
At the final end of war
The world’s foundations then shall shake
At his might trumpet blast
And all God’s saints he shall awake
To rise again at last
When on that day the stars all fall
The angels who guard this ground
To our heroes as they rise shall call,
“The Master beckons with a crown!”
And gather all that holy band
And give each a shining stole
And lead them into Glory Land
With their angel’s cry, “Let’s roll!”From my book Wings Upon the Unseen Gust
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Samson’s Redemption
A poem from my book Wings Upon the Unseen Gust
When the sieve is shaken
Then the husk appears
When Samson’s strength is taken
By Delilah’s sharpened shears
To be in bondage led away
At the grinding wheel to toil,
Even on that bitter day,
The son of Adam royal,
Even still after his fall,
Even amid the pagan waste,
On the temple columns tall
May find his hands yet placed
And then the sieve once shaken
Once more may be and then
The thing that once was taken
Given once more again
