Poetry by Sean Morris (Elder)
"Painful Love"
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee;
how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not!" (Luke 13:34)
"And when he was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it, Saying,
If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace!
but now they are hid from thine eyes." (Luke 19:41-42)
So many deceived, how can I be consoled (Rom. 9:2-3)?
Strangers, the world, and my dearest adamic friends… the alarm is bold.
Going through life, many works I multitask,
but the breath of God does show the monotony as a mask.
Time slips away in a perpetual bask as I am confronted by a ceaseless task (Mark 16:15),
That by some endeavor, and before the END, pleading and preaching might eternity unmask (2 Cor. 4:18).
My heart breaks in unrest; I am moved and distressed…
Oh to gather the condemned from vanity!
To bring them nigh to Christ, even to His chest,
That they would be the Chiclets under His wing and upon His breast (Luke 13:34),
That they would cease from pleasure and smiling (2 Tim. 3:4), and know what is best.
"The wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek after God:
God is not in all his thoughts." (Psalm 10:4)
Stadiums of souls circle to behold,
Sports and fame, and for the world they’re sold...
Their hearts are dead and cold; they know not the rest of the Saviors fold.
Of His face they are unaware, the joy of His Kingdom they do not share,
though nothing on this earth could nearly compare (2 Cor. 3:17-18).
Happy merry-making and pleasure without God (Psalm 147:10),
these rags of menstrual blood they do applaud (Isa. 64:6).
Oh such love that seizes upon my soul (2 cor. 5:14),
it is like a wound, a pain, a breaking, Christ-life role (Gal. 2:20).
My mind does meditate what I might do, seeking salvation for this one or two.
I imagine suffering a thousand crucifixions just for you,
that for you these blessed words might be true…
“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34).
To me, in Him, a thousand deaths do seem small (Php. 1:8),
I earnestly hurt that you would hear the gospel call.
Oh, I wish a sinner could behold it all (2 Cor. 4:4)…
"Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree,
that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness:
by whose stripes ye were healed." (1 Peter 2:24)
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee;
how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not!" (Luke 13:34)
"And when he was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it, Saying,
If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace!
but now they are hid from thine eyes." (Luke 19:41-42)
So many deceived, how can I be consoled (Rom. 9:2-3)?
Strangers, the world, and my dearest adamic friends… the alarm is bold.
Going through life, many works I multitask,
but the breath of God does show the monotony as a mask.
Time slips away in a perpetual bask as I am confronted by a ceaseless task (Mark 16:15),
That by some endeavor, and before the END, pleading and preaching might eternity unmask (2 Cor. 4:18).
My heart breaks in unrest; I am moved and distressed…
Oh to gather the condemned from vanity!
To bring them nigh to Christ, even to His chest,
That they would be the Chiclets under His wing and upon His breast (Luke 13:34),
That they would cease from pleasure and smiling (2 Tim. 3:4), and know what is best.
"The wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek after God:
God is not in all his thoughts." (Psalm 10:4)
Stadiums of souls circle to behold,
Sports and fame, and for the world they’re sold...
Their hearts are dead and cold; they know not the rest of the Saviors fold.
Of His face they are unaware, the joy of His Kingdom they do not share,
though nothing on this earth could nearly compare (2 Cor. 3:17-18).
Happy merry-making and pleasure without God (Psalm 147:10),
these rags of menstrual blood they do applaud (Isa. 64:6).
Oh such love that seizes upon my soul (2 cor. 5:14),
it is like a wound, a pain, a breaking, Christ-life role (Gal. 2:20).
My mind does meditate what I might do, seeking salvation for this one or two.
I imagine suffering a thousand crucifixions just for you,
that for you these blessed words might be true…
“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34).
To me, in Him, a thousand deaths do seem small (Php. 1:8),
I earnestly hurt that you would hear the gospel call.
Oh, I wish a sinner could behold it all (2 Cor. 4:4)…
"Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree,
that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness:
by whose stripes ye were healed." (1 Peter 2:24)