Oh God, Forgive Me When I Whine
Author Unknown
Today, upon a bus, I saw a girl with golden hair.
I envied her, she seemed so gay, and wished I was as fair.
When suddenly she rose to leave, I saw her hobbled down the aisle.
She had one leg and wore a crutch.
But as she passed, a smile.
Oh God, forgive me when I whine.
I have 2 legs, the world is mine
I stopped to buy some candy. The lad who sold it had such charm.
I talked with him, he seemed so glad.
If I were late, it'd do no harm.
And as I left, he said to me, "I thank you, you've been so kind.
It's nice to talk with folks like you. You see," he said,
"I'm blind."
Oh God, forgive me when I whine.
I have 2 eyes, the world is mine.
Later while walking down the street,
I saw a child with eyes of blue.
He stood and watched the others play.
He did not know what to do.
I stopped a moment and then I said,
"Why don't you join the others, dear?"
He looked ahead without a word. And then I knew,
he couldn't hear.
Oh God, forgive me when I whine.
I have 2 ears, the world is mine.
With feet to take me where I'd go.
With eyes to see the sunset's glow.
With ears to hear what I'd know.
Oh God, forgive me when I whine.
I've been blessed indeed, the world is mine.
Surprise! Surprise!
Author Unknown
I dreamt death came the other night
And heaven's gate swung wide;
With kindly grace an angel came
To usher me inside.
Yet there to my astonishment
Stood folks I'd known on earth,
Some I had judged as quite unfit
Or of but little worth.
Indignant words rose to my lips
But never were set free;
For every face showed stunned surprise
NO ONE expected me!
The Vessel
Author Unknown
The Master was searching for a vessel to use;
On the shelf there were many - which one would He choose?
"Take me", cried the gold one, "I'm shiny and bright,
I'm of great value and I do things just right.
My beauty and lustre will outshine the rest
And for someone like You, Master, gold would be the best!"
The Master passed on with no word at all;
He looked at a silver urn, narrow and tall;
"I'll serve You, dear Master, I'll pour out Your wine
And I'll be at Your table whenever You dine,
My lines are so graceful, my carvings so true,
And my silver will always compliment You."
Unheeding the Master passed on to the brass,
It was widemouthed and shallow, and polished like glass.
"Here! Here!" cried the vessel, "I know I will do,
Place me on Your table for all men to view."
"Look at me", called the goblet of crystal so clear,
"My transparency shows my contents so dear,
Though fragile am I, I will serve You with pride,
And I'm sure I'll be happy in Your house to abide."
The Master came next to a vessel of wood,
Polished and carved, it solidly stood.
"You may use me, dear Master", the wooden bowl said,
"But I'd rather You used me for fruit, not for bread!"
Then the Master looked down and saw a vessel of clay.
Empty and broken it helplessly lay.
No hope had the vessel that the Master might choose,
To cleanse and make whole, to fill and to use.
"Ah! This is the vessel I've been hoping to find,
I will mend and use it and make it all Mine."
"I need not the vessel with pride of its self;
Nor the one who is narrow to sit on the shelf;
Nor the one who is bigmouthed and shallow and loud;
Nor one who displays his contents so proud;
Not the one who thinks he can do all things just right;
But this plain earthy vessel filled with My power and might."
Then gently He lifted the vessel of clay.
Mended and cleansed it and filled it that day.
Spoke to it kindly. "There's work you must do,
Just pour out to others as I pour into you."
The Weaver
Author Unknown
My life is but a weaving,
between my God and me,
I do not choose the colors,
He worketh steadily.
Ofttimes he weaveth sorrow,
and I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper,
and I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent,
and the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas,
and explain the reasons why
The dark threads are as needful
in the skillful weaver's hand
As threads of gold and silver
in the pattern He has planned.
You Never Can Tell
Author Unknown
You never can tell when you send a word
Like an arrow shot from a bow
By an archer blind, be it cruel or kind,
Just where it may chance to go.
It may pierce the breast of your dearest friend,
Tipped with its poison or balm,
To a stranger's heart in life's great mart
It may carry its pain or its calm.
You never can tell when you do an act
Just what the result will be,
But with every deed you are sowing a seed,
Though the harvest you may not see.
Each kindly act is an acorn dropped
In God's productive soil;
You may not know, but the tree shall grow
With shelter for those who toil.
You can never tell what your thoughts will do
In bringing you hate or love,
For thoughts are things, and their airy wings
Are swifter than carrier doves.
They follow the law of the universe,
Each thing must create its kind,
And they speed o'er the track to bring you back
Whatever went out from your mind.
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