What the Little do

Jan Bagwell

16 mins · 

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What the Little do

A teeny ant thought he was great.

He watched those other ants.

Atop a tiny blade of grass

he bragged in tiny chants.

A tiny toad thought he was best,

believing others bad.

And there he sat day after day,

atop a lillypad.

A little bird thought he was best

above another nine.

And chirped, he proudly, ev'ry day

perched on a twisted vine.

And then a big ol' grizzly bear

shook earth while running by.

The ant, the toad and little bird

were scared! They thought they'd die!

So off in fear, they scattered fast.

I laughed at all of them.

Their attitudes and downright pride

were things I would condemn.

Then as I looked around me too,

my wand'ring eyes did search.

Did I see other hypocrites

inside my little church?

A teeny, tiny, little man

was sitting in my pride.

And there I stayed day after day

and could have 'til I died.

But humbled was, when Jesus knocked

at my heart's wicked door.

His nail-scarred hands reached out to me

as I dropped to the floor.

Behind my blurry, tearfilled eyes

I knew I wasn't strong.

This teeny, tiny, little man

knew I was very wrong.

The ant, the toad and little bird

had learned their lesson too.

Don't think so highly of yourself.

That's what the little do.Share

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THE DEVIL HAS COME DOWN

Yesterday our lives were bursting with plans
Today they were abruptly ripped from our hands

A terror hidden from everyone’s sight
Twisted sunny days into a dark, dreary night

From out of the abyss this evil befell
Plotted and sanctioned in the depths of hell

Enraged from knowing his time grows short
Satan seeks revenge for facing God’s court

But we will not yield, nor will we flee
We know Christ Jesus will answer our plea

Faith sustains us amidst demonic afflictions
Forewarned, we’re armed by Christ’s predictions

Nothing the accuser plots for release
Shall cause us to succumb, or diminish our peace

So, whether we live, or if we should die
Our mansion is readied in God’s eternal sky

No Storm Is Too Great

No storm is too great that our God cannot still
No trial too painful all men cannot bear
No path to walk in where He does not will
No faith is alive without labour in prayer

No task is impossible God cannot do
No work He began He will not complete
No word He has spoken will never be true
No power will live on He cannot defeat

No wisdom of God that He hides man can know
No knowledge of God not revealed can be told
No grace without truth He on man shall bestow
No deed of true courage without making man bold

No strength will bear testing without His own strength
No ability given He does not employ
No patience the longer exceeds His own length
No suffering will be without His promised joy

No love will be greater than His deep compassion
No tenderness sweeter than His wide embrace
No praising without heart finds truest expression
No candle lit shines forth when God hides His face

No promise but God’s presence is our delight
No assurance is deeper in times of such need
No doubting shall shadow our unclouded sight
No darkness prevails against His chosen seed

No hope can be found unless God will impart
No pain we endure He never will feel
No trouble we meet does not touch Him at heart
No comfort He gives is more soothing and real

No tear that is shed for God He will not treasure
No labour of love for Him He shall not see
No heart can serve Him but for His sole pleasure
No service more precious than Him rendered be

No heaven can be should our God be not there
No glory is greater than His is alone
No salvation is given His cross does not bear
No journey to paradise He has not gone

No mercy is shown our God did not create
No goodness is done He did not inspire
No justice upheld without evil to hate
No judgment to pass but with testing of fire

No war shall be won without God at the helm
No battle finds vict’ry that He did not give
No gift of peace but His dominion and realm
No kingdom established where no men believe

My Secret Mountain

There is a secret mountain in a recess of my mind;
A place that no one would believe and no one else could find --
A godlike and transcendent place that no one else can see,
Or even try to comprehend -- no one, not even me.

For reasons that are absolutely unbeknownst to me
I'm able to transport myself where no one else can be.
I don't know how, or why this gift has found its way to me
I only know that this is real and in this place I'm free --

I'm free to savor air which is ethereal and pure;
Which seems to cleanse my very soul; of this I'm amply sure:
When I am on this holy mountain I become transformed;
And feel the presence of my God who caused me to be formed.

The hills are undulating, lush with flowered plants and trees;
The bubbling brooks are sparkling bright and ripple in the breeze.
A thousand birds on every hill take flight, as if on cue
Displaying, flaunting brilliant plumes of every shade and hue.

The animals indwelling on this sacred mountainside
All live at peace, their inner calm reflecting they abide
Together, in a common bond as in a family,
Fulfilling God's omniscient plan from all eternity.

I think my God's divulged to me a glimpse of His design
For all the world to live with Him at peace with a benign
And joyful acquiescence to His will that we may be
Engulfed in love, embraced by Him for all eternity!

OLD MANSION

Somewhere in your town
On some high hill
Survives an old mansion
Shuttered and still

Symbol of prestige
Symbol of power
Who now remembers,
Its finest hour?

Wooden shingles in tatters
No longer shelter a storm
Floors of the ballroom
Are sagging and worn

Where is the man
Who owned this splendor?
Hard was the heart
He refused to surrender

Of what value his name,
He so proudly wore?
Gone is the applause
He’ll hear it no more

A grave so deep
With a monument so tall
Wealth now worthless
Even the proud must fall!

When the trumpet sounds
And he awakens from the grave
Will he inherit a new mansion,
or forever be Satan’s slave?

Gethsemane

The Lord is in the garden, weeping --
prostrate, anguished -- all alone.
Not far away His friends are sleeping,
using pillows made of stone.

There in the darkness, time is fleeting --
racing toward His destiny.
His weary voice is heard repeating,
Father, take this cup from Me.

More fervently the Lord is pleading --
mouthing words without a sound.
From sorrow, He has started bleeding
crimson droplets on the ground.

Disciples -- one by one -- awaken.
Jesus tells them as they stand,
The Son of Man will soon be taken.
Rise, the hour is at hand.

Bright torches in the distance -- nearing;
shouts and voices pierce the night.
Then Judas walks into the clearing --
soldiers to his left and right.

To Judas and the crowd behind him
Jesus asks, Whom do you seek?
All eyes await the sign to bind Him --
Judas kisses Jesus’ cheek.

A glint of steel -- a blade is wheeling --
Peter cuts off someone’s ear.
A call for peace -- a touch of healing,
Jesus’ friends run off in fear.

Surrounded by the priests and soldiers --
centered in His Father’s will.
The world’s weight upon His shoulders --
stretched out on Golgotha's hill.

The Very Last Time

Could I be like mother?
Do I have the time?
She seemed so angelic
and seemed so sublime.

We all have to work
for days at a time.
A difficult struggle
and very hard climb.

I labored and slaved
through years of hard time.
I scratched for - and saved it,
but it was a crime.

And focused on God? No.
I lost it in time.
His will, not my purpose,
but dollar and dime.

I now live for Jesus.
I give Him my time.
My life of enjoyment,
completed in rhyme.

But now I see mom for
the very last time.
I turn from her casket
...and hear the bell chime.