Villages in the Wilderness

On earth where only few have trod,

Where ancients once possessed,

Remains the remnant of their lot

Lost in the wilderness.

Their footprints pack the dusty road

Where not a car distressed,

Upon their backs they bear their load,

Lost in the wilderness.

The sunshine knows their sweat-bathed brow,

Though others gaily dress,

To make their meat they humbly plow,

Lost in the wilderness.

They live a meager entity

With sacred faithfulness,

Devoted to their deities,

Lost in the wilderness.

And one by one they cease to be,

Unknown by righteousness,

Their souls for which no man will plea,

Lost in the wilderness.

Will you not heed the sounding cry

To light their deep darkness,

And go unto those forlorn souls

Lost in the wilderness?

Proclaim to them the glorious Word

Of hope and great forgiveness,

That they may praise the One True Lord,
Even in the wilderness.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

See her touch so tenderly

Like never others can,

See the care within her eyes

As she holds her infant’s hand,

See her gently stroke the brow

That’s wrinkled with his fear,

See her kindly wipe away

The saddened, trickling tear.

Precious is the one whose hands

Nurtured the babe that purled,

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

Though it aches her kindly heart

She spares not but doth chastise,

In love she would train up the child

So his God he’ll not despise.

Her gentle guidance, firm reproof,

And gracious instruction

Are as the chisel that mold his block

To Godliness perfection.

For this she ought to strive and labor,

Though Satan’s darts are hurled,

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

 Is character by naught, achieved?

Does prudence come by wind?

Or comes integrity by birth;

And wisdom dwell within?

Nay, e’er must be the influence

Of righteous dignity,

Exemplified in every way

In her authority.

So requisite her influence

In a land where Truth is furled,

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

Though feminine is her delight

And gracious is her touch,

Yet comes a strength unquenchable,

 Though still she dons her ruche,

For though her lot may never be

To wear laurels of fame,

Or conquer nations, rule the throne,

And live with highest name,

Her influence in sons she bore

Lives on, though ages whirled,

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

     

O Mother, do not fain despise

Your calling in this place,

Though weariness and struggles come;

God gives His daily grace.

Your tender touch and patient care

Is molding men of great,

The generation next to come

Who’ll bear the nation’s fate.

 Remember as you kiss your babe

And hold his fingers curled,

That the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015

Termites

Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall. 1 Corinthians 10:12

Hundreds of thousands of homes each year

Are met with devastating fate,

Destruction is rampant as an avid foe

Sneaks in—so much is at stake.

More damage is caused than all the effort

Of fire and storms combined,

The greatest are falling, though sturdy they seemed,

The smallest are, too, undermined.

Though, if from a distance you gazed upon

The towers standing tall,

They might brave the storms or be fireproof,

But what is it that makes them fall?

It’s not the foundation, for that is quite firm;

This doom does not happen to stone,

But into the wood which has no protection

A tiny foe slips in—unknown.

It tunnels along, so hidden from sight,

Consuming the internal strength,

Then, finally, when all is eaten away

The shell crumbles down at length.

Mourning, we see those great towers fall;

Despairing, we wonder, “why?”

Their foundations were sure; they braved fire and storm.

“What happened?” we sorrowfully cry.

Time and again, to home after home

This tiny foe was not new.

And, long before the great structure fell,

It ate away—hidden from view.

Such mass devastation is come in our land,

Strong homes being eaten away,

Towers looked up to, men we admire

Are crumbling down every day.

Though strong the foundation they stood upon,

And tho’ fire and storm they could brave,

Inside of their hearts where nobody sees

They were slowly being eaten away.

The termites of lust and wickedness

Are slipping in unperceived,

What starts out so small and innocent

Leaves them and their families deceived.

In a day of such great devastation

We simply cannot afford

To lose our homes, great or small,

While termites of sin we ignore.

So, let him that thinks he stands take heed

And guard every window and wall

From the tiny foe which so quickly slips in
And causes the greatest to fall.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015

Draw Me to You, Daddy!

‘Twas just a simple sketch—

Nothing very grand,

But pictured in the drawing

The boy was with his dad.

The innocent display

Of what his young heart treasured

Portrayed a daddy’s love

That nothing e’er could sever.

The call of great adventure,

Of conquering the wild;

He longed to be like daddy,

Though he was just a child.

His pencil drew the figures,

His heart burst with desire—

On stallions with his daddy

Is what his dream inspired.

The cry within his soul

Didn’t ask for pomp or gold,

“Just draw me to you, Daddy!”

Was the massage that he told.

* * *

Another simple sketch—

‘Twas nothing very grand,

But pictured in the drawing,

The boy was with his dad.

The innocent display

Of what his young heart treasured

Portrayed his daddy’s love

That nothing e’er could sever.

The memory filled his heart

As his pencil sketched away,

With deepest joy expressed

He remembered yesterday.

The sun was shining brightly,

To the river they had gone,

They got two boats—for him and dad,

And brother came along.

He, still, could smell the water

As he drew his dad and him,

The fondness of that treasure

Was cherished deep within.

“Thank you, Papa” were the words

He wrote with gratitude,

And in his heart, continued on—

“For drawing me to you!”

"My Son, give me thine heart, and 

let thine eyes observe my ways."

~Proverbs 23:26~

Written by Elisabeth, Dedicated to Caleb and Papa

Be Strong and of Good Courage!

The wise, old leader looked about

The young and fledgling nation,

The people he had led would soon

Embark on a great mission.

This leader knew his days on earth

Were numbered, quickly fleeting,

He knew the battles they would face—

Temptations of retreating.

The realization of their hopes

And dreams spread out before them,

But such would not be theirs without

A struggle and invasion.

Much was uncertain in the thought

Of conquering their strangers,

And in what little they did know

Left sense of ominous danger.

This trusted leader knew that he

Would not be going with them,

Instead, the baton he must pass

To one whom God had chosen.

His young successor, Joshua,

Was next to take the lead.

With courage and a father’s care,

He charged him valiantly:

“Be strong and of good courage—“

The words echoed in his ear,

“The Lord thy God will go with you;

Be not dismayed, nor fear.”

Many battles fought and won

By Joshua’s army,

Were by their courage in the Lord—

They fought so valiantly.

Courage is not the absence of

All sorts of dread and fear;

Courage comes from a focus on

What’s greater than your fear.

Another solder, Joshua,

Once stood upon a hill,

Amidst a heated battle—

The foe he could not still.

To him the charge was given,

“Whatever you may do,

‘Give your life before the hill,’

“Don’t let them get through you.”

Five times the foe charged up the hill

Attempting their attack,

But every time, his fighting troops

Sent them repelling back.

Now his troops were almost out

Of all their ammunition,

And of three hundred, eighty men

Were left to keep the mission.

They huddled low behind the rocks,

Desiring reinforcement,

But no help came, despite his plea

To aid his regiment.

Just when they felt their very weakest,

The foe was lining up

With even more than all before…

But Joshua stood up.

His weary men looked up at him,

Waiting for instruction,

His thoughts raced with pounding heart

As he pondered his direction.

He couldn’t retreat {“…Give your life first…”}

This was the higher ground,

{“What’er you do, don’t lose the hill.”}

He heard the battle sound.

Perhaps, the whole entire war

Depended on his call;

If he should lose, the ones behind

Most certainly would fall.

The enemy ran up the hill

For one final attack,

“I might die now.” He thought, “But not

With a bullet in my back.”

“Fix bayonets! And do it now!”

He urged with courageous surge,

With his sword drawn he led his men,

“Charge! Charge! CHARGE!”

The enemy, confused, reeled back,

Threw down their weapons, fled.

This one man’s courage, with his men,

Great victory had led.

Is there a challenge in your life,

A mountain you must keep?

Are there “giants in the land”

That make you feel so weak?

Has the enemy advanced, though

You’re low on ammunition?

Do you feel you’re losing ground

In a dreadful situation?

Though uncertain you may be

Of coming future days,

And fear the hard decisions

That you may have to face.

Be strong and of good courage,

Fear not, nor be afraid;

The Lord thy God is with you,

The vict’ry He has made.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015

Related Articles (From which this poem was inspired): 

{Have Courage, My Son!}    {Col. Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain}   

The Follow-Through

The air was quiet as the young man

---Faced His opponent.

Glancing down he took his stance,

Preparing for the moment.

Lifting it above his shoulder,

He boldly faced his challenge,

Holding tightly to his tool—

Prepared to swing with courage.

Then, here it came! With everything

He thought he could spare,

He swung…but heard the cry, “FOUL BALL!”

‘Twas more than he could bear.

Strike two, already! His heart sank,

His concentration shaking,

But in his ear he heard the charge

His gentle coach was saying,

“Follow-through, boy! Follow-through!

Don’t pull back on your swing,

Watch the ball into the bat…

Remember this one thing!”

His heart was pounding as he watched

The pitcher winding up,

“Relax…breath…eye on the ball…”

Nothing would make him stop.

One last, smooth breath…Here it came,

The swing he stepped into,

The act was smooth, he felt impact…

“Swing through, boy! Follow-through!”

He swung the bat right through the mark,

Then took off for first base,

Slid safe at second, then looked into

His father’s smiling face.

When one is focused just “to hit”,

It hinders effort due,

But when one swings “through the ball”

It is the follow-through.

Many, many years ago

A young boy took his stance,

To “hitter’s plate” he stepped right up

With not a fearful glance.

The king and warriors standing by

Would have this quest denied,

But, “Is there not a cause?!” The

Living God this foe defied!

In the name of God, the Lord of hosts,

With just a stone and sling,

He ran right to that giant foe—

He “stepped into the swing”

 The act was smooth, he made impact

And hit the mark right on.

What victory! What great story!

We sing the victory song.

But don’t stop here; what if “foul ball?”

The story is not done.

The foe might rise, the army’s there,

The battle’s not yet won.

Young David ran and took the sword

And cut the giant’s head;

A follow-through was taken to

Ensure his foe was dead.

Then pulling through the thorough swing

He chased the enemy,

Not stopping till he knew He’d won

Completed victory.

The follow-through! The follow-through!

Keep focused on the goal,

Don’t stop short with just mere “hits”,

But follow through with soul.

Don’t put the fire out and then

Walk away too soon,

For “hotspots “ could ignite that were

Hidden from your view.

Are there things within your life

That keep you quite in bondage?

Sins that you have tried to hit

That still return with more rage?

Has your ball been “fouling off”?

Have fires reappeared?

Has the “conquered” enemy

Returned the way you feared?

Follow-through! Follow-through!

Don’t pull back on your swing,

Don’t stop with just a “hit”;

Remember, now, your King.

Don’t water-down your fire to just

A size “controllable”,

But seek FULL purity in Christ,

Put out the flame in full.

Complete the battle in your life

Against that sinful shame,

Beseech the Lord to cleanse your heart,

To glorify His name.

Are you a sinner, guilty now

Before a righteous Lord?

Ask God to cleanse and wash you in

His blood and Holy Word.

Don’t seek to just believe in Him,

But live entirely—

With heart and spirit, for our King—

Live it vibrantly.

Keep your eyes upon the goal,

Don’t stop for men’s applaud,

Follow-through, hand-in-hand with

The real and LIVING God.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015