Zone1 Favorite Poems of Inspiration and Good Will

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He Said 'Come Follow Me' And He Went

Camp three thirty-two, the captain came through; he was wearing insignia bright.
'Men' he declared, 'you must be prepared - to conquer the enemy's fight.'
With a towering glare and a heart without care, he said 'men, I would like you to hear.'
'Soldier,' he said, 'get this into your head - get rid of your cowardly fear.'

So, night after night they prepared for the fight at the feet of the militant man.
'Til the soldiers were ready - their spirits were steady, and ev'ry man's though was 'I can.'

Then the night fin'lly came, and name after name was read for the march of the day.
It was then that they heard the cowardly word - 'The captain is going to stay.'
Well, they left for the trek and were dressed to the neck in attire designed for a fight.
But the hearts of the legion who marched thru' the region were back in the camp in the night.

You see, as they went, they thought of the tent of a cowardly captain who stayed -
who didn't go through what he told them to do - because he was really afraid.
He easily told the men to be bold - to have courage for strength in a fight.
But he was the one, when the battle begun, who hid in the dark of the night.

Then there was the One who walked in the sun of the Galilee country of old.
A teacher was He as He walked by the sea; for His words with His actions were bold.
'Men,' He declared, 'we must be prepared to conquer the enemy's fight.'
Then He went in the power of prayer to the hills, and He prayed for the rest of the night.

It was He long ago who taught men to know, it is far more blessed to give.
Then by His example, the teaching was ample, to show men how better to live.
'Come follow me,' was His conquering plea, 'we must not give up the fight.'
'Thy will, my Father, not Mine be done,' And they follow in spirit and might.

The Master Teacher wasn't a preacher who stayed in a camp in a tent.
He was the one when the battle begun;
Who said 'come, follow me.' - and He went.

---Andrew Reed Morrill--- January 1978

 

[onefour1]

The Tree:

The tree that never had to fight,
for sun and sky, and air and light,
but stood out in the open plain,
and always got its share of rain,
never became a forest king,
but lived and died a scrubby thing.

The man who never had to toil,
to gain and farm his patch of soil,
who never had to win his share,
of sun and sky and light and air,
never became a manly man,
but lived and died as he began.

Good timber does not grow with ease,
the stronger wind, the stronger the trees.
The further sky, the greater length,
the more the storm, the more the strength.

By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
in trees and men good timber grow.

Where thickest lies the forest growth,
we find the patriarchs of them both,
and they hold counsel with the stars,
whose broken branches show the scars,
of many winds and much of strife,
This is the common law of life.

---Author Unknown---

 

[onefour1]

THE RACE

By Dr. D.H. (Dee) Groberg

I

“Quit! Give Up! You’re beaten!”
They shout at me and plead.
“There’s just too much against you now.
This time you can’t succeed.”

And as I start to hang my head
In front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by
The memory of a race.

And hope refills my weakened will
As I recall that scene;
For just the thought of that short race
Rejuvenates my being.

II

A children’s race–young boys, young men–
How I remember well.
Excitement, sure! But also fear;
It wasn’t hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope
Each thought to win that race.
Or tie for first, or if not that,
At least take second place.

And fathers watched from off the side
Each cheering for his son.
And each boy hoped to show his dad
That he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they went
Young hearts and hopes afire.
To win and be the hero there
Was each young boy’s desire.

And one boy in particular
Whose dad was in the crowd
Was running near the lead and thought:
“My dad will be so proud!”

But as they speeded down the field
Across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win
Lost his step and slipped.

Trying hard to catch himself
His hands flew out to brace,
And mid the laughter of the crowd
He fell flat on his face.

So down he fell and with him hope
–He couldn’t win it now–
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished
To disappear somehow.

But as he fell his dad stood up
And showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said,
“Get up and win the race.”

He quickly rose, no damage done,
–Behind a bit, that’s all–
And ran with all his mind and might
To make up for his fall.

So anxious to restore himself
–To catch up and to win–
His mind went faster than his legs:
He slipped and fell again!

He wished then he had quit before
With only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now;
I shouldn’t try to race.”

But in the laughing crowd he searched
And found his father’s face;
That steady look which said again:
“Get up and win the race!”

So up he jumped to try again
–Ten yards behind the last–
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought,
“I’ve got to move real fast.”

Exerting everything he had
He regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead
He slipped and fell again!

Defeat! He laid there silently
–A tear dropped from his eye–
“There’s no sense running anymore;
Three strikes: I’m out! Why try!”

The will to rise had disappeared;
All hope had fled away;
So far behind, so error prone;
A loser all the way.

“I’ve lost, so what’s the use,” he thought
“I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But then he thought about his dad
Who soon he’d have to face.

“Get up,” an echo sounded low.
“Get up and take your place;
You were not meant for failure here.
Get up and win the race.”

“With borrowed will get up,” it said,
“You haven’t lost at all.
For winning is no more than this:
To rise each time you fall.”

So up he rose to run once more,
And with a new commit
He resolved that win or lose
At least he wouldn’t quit.

So far behind the others now,
–The most he’d ever been–
Still he gave it all he had
And ran as though to win.

Three times he’d fallen, stumbling;
Three times he rose again;
Too far behind to hope to win
He still ran to the end.

They cheered the winning runner
As he crossed the line first place.
Head high, and proud, and happy;
No falling, no disgrace.

But when the fallen youngster
Crossed the line last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer,
For finishing the race.

And even though he came in last
With head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he’d won the race
To listen to the crowd.

And to his dad he sadly said,
“I didn’t do so well.”
“To me, you won,” his father said.
“You rose each time you fell.”

III

And now when things seem dark and hard
And difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy
Helps me to win my race.

For all of life is like that race,
With ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win,
Is rise each time you fall.

“Quit! Give up! You’re beaten!”
They still shout in my face.
But another voice within me says:
“GET UP AND WIN THE RACE!”

 

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At the Crossroads

He stood at the crossroads all alone,
the sunlight in his face;
He knew nothing of roads unknown
He was set for a manly race.
But the road stretched east and the road stetched west,
and the boy knew not which road was best,
So he turned to the one which would lead him down,
and he lost the race and the victor's crown.
Finally he was caught in an angry snare,
for no one stood at crossroads there
to show him the better way.

Another day in this self same place,
a young boy with high hopes stood,
He too was set for a manly race,
He too was seeking for that which was good.
But one stood there who the roads did know,
and he showed the boy which way to go.
So he turned fromm the road that would lead him down,
and he won the race and the victor's crown.
Today he walks the highway fair,
for someone stood at the crossroads there,
to show him the better way.

 

[onefour1]

The Man in the Glass
When you get what you want in your struggle for self
and the world makes you king for a day
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself
and see what the man has to say.

For it's not your Father, or Mother, or Wife
upon you whose judgement must pass
But the verdict that counts the most in your life
is the one staring back from the glass.

You may think you're Jack Horner and chisel a plum
and think you're a wonderful guy
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
if you can't look him straight in the eye.

He's the one to please never mind all the rest
for he is with you clear to the end
And you've past your most dangerous and difficult test
if the man in the glass is your friend

You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.

 

[onefour1]

The Touch of the Master's Hand
“’Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile:
‘What am I bidden, good folks,’ he cried,
‘Who’ll start the bidding for me?’
‘A dollar, a dollar’; then, ‘Two!’ ‘Only two?
Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?
Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three—’ But no,
From the room, far back, a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As sweet as a caroling angel sings.
“The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said, ‘What am I bid for the old violin?’
And he held it up with the bow.
‘A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?
Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?
Three thousand, once, three thousand, twice,
And going, and gone!’ said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
‘We do not quite understand
What changed its worth.’ Swift came the reply:
‘The touch of a master’s hand.’
“And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.
A ‘mess of pottage,’ a glass of wine;
A game—and he travels on.
He’s ‘going’ once, and ‘going’ twice,
He’s ‘going’ and almost ‘gone.’
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.”

 

[onefour1]

Jesus Loves Us All So Much​

M.S. Lowndes

Jesus loves us all so much
That He would bleed and die
He took upon His beaten back
The cross that saw Him crucified.

Yes, He loved us all so much
that he was scorned and scoffed
He took it all upon Himself
For it was the will of God.

God knew it was the only way,
the final sacrifice.
Jesus Christ, a sinless man,
would need to give His life.

And even in the gift He gave
We still have not yet known
the fullness of His mighty love
and the grace so freely shown.

All He asks is that we all
Repent and follow Him,
for He has made the way for us,
free from hurt and sin.

Yes, God loved us all so much.
And yes, He loves us still.
He longs for us to trust in Him.
And do the Father’s will.