Candle in the Window

Candle in the window
Softly glowing on the snow,
Dancing flame reflecting
From the pane with gentle glow.

Flickers warmly marching
Out into the chilly night,
With their golden shadows
Chasing off the child's fright.

Candle in the window
Whispers through the frosty glaze,
To the worn and weary
Beckons hope and brighter days.

Tender light reminding
Of the Greater Light Above,
Who, through simple little windows,
Shines His peace, His joy, His Love.
Copyright © Elisabeth Radfar 2016


Christ, My Prince

Oh, the longing, how it pines
For a prince so charming!
While my peers do find their bliss
I am still but wondering.

The tender ache oft' overwhelms
As love sends forth her blossom,
Yet, as it calls it doth remind
How God is truly awesome!

My heart doth long for a knight
Whose armor--it is shining,
A man who'd slay a dragon fierce
To spare his maid from dying.

Christ, my Savior, He's a Knight
Whose armor--it is gleaming.
The chains of sin and death He broke,
In love His Bride redeeming.

Oft' times I sit and think how nice
'Would be to have a prince
Who'd send me flowers and notes of love,
Then come and whisk me hence.

Ah! Jesus, He's the Prince of Peace,
His love for me is great.
Flowers and letters He hath given
And He'll take me thru' Heaven's gate.

Oh, how I'm longing for a man
Who'll carry my burdens heavy,
A strong arm, a hand to hold,
To guide me in the way we're heading.

My precious Lord is such a One,
He bears my heavy load,
He offers me His Own strong arm
And leads me in the Way to go.

Oft' times I dream of that sweet day
When with my love I'll walk,
And share with him all of my heart,
In sweet commune we'll talk.

The Rose of Sharon has promised that
He'll never leave my side.
He bids me pour out my heart to Him,
In wisdom He'll tender reply.

O Christ, You are my heart's desire,
I give my all to You,
For You alone can satisfy,
You always will be true.

And if, someday, You place my hand
In that of noble knight,
May our relationship display
All that is pure and right.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016
*Psalm 73:23-28 


Servant Forever

Through the treetops, o’re the hills
Flooding lowest vale,
There rang a message loud and clear
And reached each servant’s trail.

The year of Jubilee had come
Releasing every slave,
Each man was free to claim the world,
Wherever he could brave.

Yet, as the masses bid farewell
With eager thirst for power,
A faithful servant looked abroad
And gazed beyond the tower.

The vast adventure lay before,
So beckoning to all,
Parading trophies, flaunting dreams,
Alluring in its call.

But glamour would not charm this heart,
Nor pomp persuade his eye,
As one devoted servant turned
With but one noble cry,

“Peirce my ear, my dearest Lord,
Take me to your door;
I’ll serve no other king but Thee,
My life is only Yours.”
Her tiny feet so tender yet,
Her steps so small with joy,
Not even words of eloquence
Could her own lips employ.

But slipping softly from her seat
Upon a parlor couch,
She sweetly made her way beyond
Till father’s feet she touched,

The fame and pleasure of the world
Were of but worthless charm;
As here a little girl’s desire
Was but her daddy’s arm.

Though greatest depths of intellect
She could not fathom all,
Such purest heart, so innocent,
Rejoiced to heed his call.

Surrendered to his strength and will,
She sought not for her own,
The longing in her softened heart—
To kneel but at his throne.

For her father’s throne, so humble here,
Reflected her father’s King,
Of Whom she had been gently taught
And now desired to sing.

Then, turning round’ she beckoned all
The noble and esteemed
To come and gather round the throne
And lift a voice redeemed:

*“Pierce my ear, O Lord my God,
Take me to Your door this day,
I will serve no other god,
Lord, I’m here to stay.

“For You have paid the price for me,
With Your blood You ransomed me.
I will serve You eternally;
A free man I’ll never be.”*

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016
*Final two stanzas by Author Unknown

Family devotions brought us to the story in the Bible of God telling the children of Israel about how they were to handle a servant that desired to remain in his master's house for the rest of his life. Following the Scripture reading and the expounding of our father, we learned a new song which our mother taught us. The description of the little girl is of my 1 1/2-year old little sister who quite encouraged our hearts. 


Just a Little Crabby

Two small crabs were once confined
Within a narrow space,
The one said to the other,
“Let us flee this dreary place.”

The one stepped foot upon the wall
To make his brave escape,
And, also, did his fellow who
Disdained the crabs’ estate.

Yet, never could they get so far
For just a simple slack;
 As one would try to climb above
His friend would pull him back.

 Oft’ times we tend to be the same,
Trapped in some dreary place,
Perhaps the gloom of crabby drab
Has left a sullen face.

 To flee the pit of pity, yea,
We do indeed desire,
But hindered by the crabs around
We all too soon retire.

Let not another pull you down
From finding joy and peace,
Press onward till you’ve reached the heights,
And share the love and grace.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016



The Book was worn and tattered,
Its pages stained and torn,
The binding that had held it tight
By time and use was shorn.
For many years the Truth it told
With e’er a ready voice,
To warm a heart or feed a soul,
Or guide one with a choice.
Its presence beckoned sinners
To repent of wicked ways,
Its message offered hope and drew
Them to the Throne of Grace.
Now stained with marks and tears,
The faithful Bible lay
Alone and nigh forgotten where
The fragile treasures stay.
But then one day the faded dust
Was gently brushed away,
And caring hands reached down and took
The old Book, weak and frayed.
With tenderest touch and loving hand
The master craftsman worked,
Until a new and shining prize
Sat fresh without one quirk.
Each age-old page was crisp and strong,
Each scar was polished through,
The cover that had seen the years
Appeared as though brand new.

His body weak and feeble,
His life bore marks of time,
The grey-haired man who’d preached the Word
Now to the end drew nigh.
For years gone by he’d labored
To share the Truth and Light,
In warning of destruction and
Proclaiming good and right.
To many sick and hurting
He’d given hope and cheer,
Always ready day and night
To lift one fallen here.
Now stained with marks and tears,
The faithful preacher lay
Alone and nigh forgotten where
The fragile treasures stay.
But then, one day, the faded dust
Was gently brushed away,
And caring hands reached down and took
The old man, weak and frayed.
With tenderest touch and loving hand
The Master Craftsman changed
The old into a shining prize
That sang in Heavenly range.
Each age-old part now crisp and strong,
Each scar now polished through,
The body that had seen the years
Stands now as though brand new.

Transformed, re-bound, made beautiful—
The Bible and the man,
Just by the gentle, skillful touch
Of the Master Craftsman’s hand.
Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016

Click Here to view the old, rebound Bible


Token of Love

(II Thessalonians 1:3-5)

A token, just a token,
Yet no man can fain replace;
A small symbol of things celestial,
That we ought but to embrace.

As a ring of gold with pureness told
Is a token of our love,
His sacrifice and our faithfulness
Portrays the greatest love.

Adorned and holy matrimony
On earth does represent
Christ and His Bride--so beautified,
A love that's Heaven-sent.

As new love blooms like a flower in spring,
And bursts forth bright and fresh,
So true love lasts like the evergreen,
Still glows when days are harsh.

Such faithfulness and tender grace
'Neath skies of billowed storms,
So gently heals and safely seals 
The soul that's scared by thorns.

In tribulations, persecutions
Our love for Him endures;
No separation from salvation--
Our souls He doth secure.

His love for us--what sacrifice!
His grace so rich abounds.
Our simple faith and patient wait
Will hear His trumpet sound.

A token, just a token,
We share with human race,
A small symbol of things celestial
Reflects His love and grace.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016


Trojan Horse

The fortress stood strong, the city secure,
Its bulwarks and gates anchored fast.
Through years of battle and endless war,
No victory had any foe grasped.

With effort that only proved vain and fruitless,
The enemy pried for a door,
But never a moment were they rewarded—
The gain would require a lure.

Making a vessel through which they could enter,
They stealthily slipped out of view,
Leaving a “gift” that contained their destruction
Of a carefully chosen few.

Quietly, patiently, the army awaited
The city to welcome their gift.
And, soon, to their pleasure, the people accepted
The trap that inflicted their rift.

A grand celebration was held in the streets;
Who else had received such a joy?
Yet, after the last light was snuffed out in the dark,
The foe began working their ploy.

That which was hidden within the grand prize,
Disguised as a offering of peace,
Embraced as a great entertainment of thrill,
Was that which their fate would release.

Into the darkness, as silent as stars,
The hook immerged from the bait,
From the square of the city they quietly marched
And opened the fortress’ gate.

Invaded at once, the city was won
By that which had seemed innocent,
Conquered from deep within its own heart—
The treasure proved fatally sent.

In patriot pride we boldly proclaim,
“These walls will refuse to come down!
Our gates will remain shut with every bolt latched,
We’ll fight to preserve regal crown!”

Yet, as the walls crumble before our own eyes,
And gates swing wide open to death, 
We cry out in anguish, “What e’re went awry?
Did not we hold strong with each breath?”

The city’s not taken by force or by storm,
But by that which was welcomed inside;
Our own fate was destined while we full embraced
The ploy of the enemy’s tide.

The old Trojan Horse, so charming it be,
Portraying sweet, pleasure so free,
Capturing swift the gullible soul,
Entertaining the heart without plea.

Patiently waiting for us to embrace
Its present of poison in bread,
Never flashing a sword or firing a shot,
It enters to bring on our dread.

Then, all in the stillness of darkness and night,
When the wise and alert have retired,
The stealthy foe slips out from within
And brings the destruction required.

When he who once watched o’re the towering walls
And stood by the gate-doors on guard,
When he who’d protected, sat down to enjoy
The thrill of a trophy that’s marred.

Aye! Fellow friends, what are we embracing
To swallow within our gates,
But troublesome foe, and terrible doom?
We call it upon our own pates!

 Our country falls not by political deeds
Or by the call of some man,
But by we the people who blindly drink in
The lure from an enemy hand.

Awake, you who are sleeping! Kindle the light;
The Trojan Horse is within!
Not rifle or sword, nor political power,
But the pleasure of evil and sin.

Hidden inside the sweetness and charm
Of humor, romance, and might,
Mingled amidst the innocent thrill,
Excused by, “…this one is alright.”

Are we so callused as to comfortably sit
And watch the Trophy roll in,
And share in the party while “it won’t affect me”?
This tactic is not for pretend!

We march on the walls of religious freedom,
Yet upon worldly doctrine we feast,
We defiantly shout to the world our beliefs,
But, we can’t live without our TVs.

What have we come to, that we would embrace
What we ourselves would not do—
It’s not any wonder why honor and truth,
And purity have vanished from view!

A battle is raging, we must surely stand,
Yet look past the smoke-screens so broad,
See Trojan Horse being lead through the gate—
Awake to the foe on your sod!

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016


A Faithful Heart

Though Your way I may not always see,
Though the path may be unclear,
Though Your time I do not understand,
And Your voice I cannot hear,

When shadows cast their dark’ning gloom,
When the tempest rages ‘round,
When the silence seems to break my soul,
And no answer can be found—

A faithful heart, a faithful heart,
Free from bitterness and fear, I ask of Thee.
A quiet trust, a yielded will,
Lord, I pray, a faithful heart You give to me.

In the wilderness or fruitful plains,
On the mountain or in vale,
Through the weariness and pain of life,
Or beside the springing well,

Fix within my soul Your steadfast hope
That nought on earth can weaken,
Consume my passions, pride, and pity;
 Your face alone I’m seeking.

A faithful heart, a faithful heart,
Free from bitterness and fear, I ask of Thee.
A quiet trust, a yielded will,
Lord, I pray, a faithful heart You give to me.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016


That Member

 I have a little member
That often brings me grief,
But if I use it tender,
It also brings relief.

It digs a hole so deep
I cannot quite escape,
Then builds a mountain steep
That none can overtake.

To bridle such I’ve tried,
Too often I have failed,
For, like a lion’s pride,
It will not be withheld.

This member is a sword
That pierces hearts and souls,
Yet also gives a word
Which strengthens and upholds.

A double-sided book,
A swing—first to, then fro—
A teeter-totter crook
That knows not how to go,

A walking-staff at first,
And then a javelin,
A blessing, then a curse—
Oh, who will ever win?

Out of the heart proceeds
The fruits of human speech,
“Lord, plant your holy seeds,
My little member teach.”

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016