Little did I know when the Lord told me He would show me His people through His eyes that I was one of those people, that I would be shown not only by seeing as an observer but as partaker as well. And He too is a partaker of the sufferings of His people. “I am hurting, I am hurting!” He said to me. I know too well the pain, the death and hell we must all face, the iniquity we must be shown in ourselves and be purged of by fires. I have identified and do identify with His people. I just did not think, though I surely believed I was His, that I was, by nature, a partaker of all the sins and vanities of His people and therefore a partaker of the fruits of them as well.
When the Lord shows one something, He shows him not by mere observation but subjection. Only then do we know and understand and relate.
One day while praying quite dignified, I was forced to be relieved,
And in an old cabin the Lord signified what in me He had conceived.
I will show you My people by My eyes, their suffering and sorrow you’ll see;
They live in weeping and gnashing and cries but proclaim that they are free.
In their stoves burns no fire to give them heat, the wind blows through the walls;
From broken glasses and plates they eat, and off its hinges the front door falls.
Their power is void while idols abound; vain professions are on their tongue;
No floor ‘neath their feet covers the ground, their possessions are no more than dung.
These are His people the Lord lets me see, people for whom He does hurt;
His desire for them is that they be free, raised up to the sky from the dirt.
“A critic you are,” said one man to me; I didn’t like the thought,
But now a critic I know I must be though for this I have not sought.
Truth I desire in my innermost being, not only for me but for others,
But Satan comes and keeps them from seeing and life in their hearts he smothers.
Yet one day will come when all evil will fail from this world in Christ;
The righteous will be the head, not the tail, when they’ve come to their sacred tryst.
Prince Albert, 1976
I have known fear, perhaps not as some have known it but many know fear one way or another, at one time or another, to such an extent that it cripples, paralyzes the soul. We think we have security in this world until one day we are rudely awakened from our pipe-dream. Security in this world is but an illusion. When our disillusionment comes, its comrade-in-arms is often fear. But that disillusionment needn’t be our enemy. In truth, it can be a friend in disguise. Nor do we need to fear as though there is no such thing as true and sure security, for then we would be prey to a lie, to our own destruction. There IS a sure security for those who will avail themselves of it. My fear rides me like a stern rider Rides his horse. Unless I run his pace, His spurs dig deep my sides. I think blood flows at times…I’m sure of it. I scarcely dare to think, to pause For fear I have a rider Who will not show me mercy Who will not grant me pardon Who will not make a move To relent, to ease my pain. “Run!” he says. I run. “Faster!” says he. I go faster. “Faster isn’t good enough! You’ve had it!” I think that if I drop, I have sweet release. He whips me as I fall. Fear is not afraid to beat a dead horse. He seems to relish it, delight in it. The compassion of fear is tyranny, His patience only scorn. He takes the meat and feeds it to minks, And then I think, “Aha! There is rest in the mouths of minks, Fear has no torment there!” Until I find that my rider Is possess...
English - Chinese Flattery and beauty are very powerful assets at her disposal and the harlot uses them well. Not only young fools but many a strong and wise man has been rendered completely captive to her seductive powers. Even Solomon yielded his life to her for her promised benefits. But these benefits are very shallow and only temporary, as intense as they at times become, and leave one an empty shell, deluded into thinking he is alive and a chosen servant of the Lord Jesus Christ. In reality he is a whoremonger, at one with the harlot and an express enemy of Jesus Christ. Her powers are awesome her countenance spellbinding she touches the stones gently caressing their response is instant they grow excited they move and enlarge themselves she takes hold gently but firmly bestowing a pleasure almost impossible to resist "Service me and I'll give pleasure forever - refuse me and I'll crush you" an offer hard to refuse "It is heaven," they say she plays them they ejaculate in all directions their substance to the earth her fame they spread abroad they tell the news and become the bearers of death and destruction spending themselves and loving it so. Moon River, February 15, 1991
We are all in need of help. But is it the noun or the verb we need? Woe is me! How can this be? Where is that help I have sought? Nothing but wretched know-it-alls Come to disturb my thought - and my peace. Peace? What peace? What am I saying? Who am I trying to kid? If this is peace then give me war And I shall rest and sleep and snore. Time passed on and matters grew worse. I soon lost all that I had. My friends had gone their merry old ways, My family too was gone. My business failed, uncertainty prevailed; I slowly began to wrestle with myself For a change. What's this? A knock? A tiny knock? I haven't had a knock since that beggar came by! I wonder who it might be? Eh? A whimper? A sniffing? A sobbing? More trouble! Add fuel to the fire! Is there no rest for the wicked?! I opened the door and there stood a boy, One hand over his eyes and one on his knee, From where trickled blood to my doorstep! Sir! the lad cried with tear-stained face, I stumbled and fell just in front of your place. I have nobody to help me. Are you a doctor or someone to bind my wound? Angered at first at the gory mess, I nearly chased him away. But though I knew I was only a laborer, He had flattered me with his question. Fancy me a doctor!? “Lad, you have saved your knee,” I thought. “Oh, very well, come in, come in. We'll see what to do with your wound.” I bound up his leg and sent him away, Not...