Why do poets off themselves
Five times more than others do?
Besides the fact that no one reads
Their work, though every soul approves?
To their own self they seek to be true.
On praise alone no poet feeds.

With finer gauge his brain is wired
(Though his is not a greater heart),
With words he seeks to order the world;
In lines and meter is he inspired
To repair what sin has torn apart,
To smooth the Fall that left him gnarled.

What hopeless task! His words lack force
For such a work — No man can win! —
This power can God alone provide.
What poet will seek in God his source?
With spoken light will he begin?
No wonder he choses suicide!

The longer on earth a saint remains,
The stronger grows desire for heaven;
The body feels its aging pains,
And more to God’s own side he’s driven.

The heavier load of life directs
The sight of faith to things above;
To Jesus’ cross my trial connects,
To service the Holy Spirit drove.

Oh, Lord Messiah, come for me!
Break open the clouds with angels’ shout!
The humble soul would soon see
The end of Satan’s and saints’ dispute!


Describe how your difficulties have increased your desire for eternal things.

Look up toward the sky. Who created everything you see? The Lord causes the stars to come out at night one by one. He calls out each one of them by name. His power and strength are great. So none of the stars is missing, Isa 40.26 NIrV.

The universe is larger than we thought —
Three times the stars! The map we bought
Was much too small for such a creative Mind.
Each day more signs of Him we find!

Matthew 26.6-13

In leper Simon’s house, a woman came
To anoint the Lord, ignoring taunts of shame.
She gladly broke her alabastar jar
To pour on his head perfume that came from afar.
“What waste!” the Savior’s men complained, indignant.
“The poor have need!” They saw her gift a repugnant
Act of useless emotion. But Jesus saw
Her heart of love and the reason for their ire.
She knew he’d pay the heavy debt she owed.
“She poured this oil on my body to prepare
For burial. She can see the Servant’s path,
The pain of the cross, the overwhelming bath.
So leave her alone! In every place the News
Is preached, her deed will be told — she rose
To the occasion — the world will hear her story.
Oh, God, may her brave act be also my glory!

The powers of earth are weak, despite their noise,
Little can they do against the saints;
They cannot make the dead arise from the grave,
Or reach into the Beyond to steal the soul.

They’ve power to kill the body, but that is all —
God alone can destroy, or alone can save.
Success is sure for those whom God anoints;
His mighty arm gives Christians cause to rejoice.

Where, O God, is the man or woman who seeks
your name, who desires above all things the kingdom?
Where walks the faithful heart in full obedience?

Let me be one of these rare souls, with fire
consuming, zeal igniting, working to save
by pointing the way to eternal life in Christ.

Begin with me, O Lord, this very day,
in this place, that I might bear the cross
and in hope of life, bear much fruit that remains.