Poetry and songs

Poetry and songs 

Among all earth's creatures, poetry is a uniquely human gift. The following poems are included in this Web page:

In addition to poetry, following are some songs and a video:

Aborticide Is Homicide

by Harlan Brown, July 31, 2011

This poem is dedicated to God, the Giver of Life, to the hundreds of millions, perhaps billions, of tiny boys and girls who have been victims of the Holocaust of Preborn Persons, and to mothers who have had this violence forced upon them and their children. In the past 40 years in the United States alone, more than 50 million innocent human lives have been deliberately cut short before birth.

Aborticide is homicide and sometimes also genocide,
So come on now and look inside a heart made of stone.
Now doctors should save lives and all, but some just don't do that at all,
And what they do does us appall. Now that is my bone.

The tiny ones are persons too, and killing them should be taboo.
Their moms may end up feeling blue. And what of the child?
The innocent are being killed, some moms coerced and some self-willed.
With indignation we are filled. It's time to get riled.

So let's stand up for human life, stay firm amid the swirling strife
And apathy when sin is rife. Stand up for the weak.
Each boy and girl has personhood regardless of their age. We should
Now advocate to do what's good for those who can't speak.

An Answer

by Neela Redford, Oct. 13, 2000

        What do people do
   when they have nowhere to turn?
        What do people do
 when there's always something to learn?
        What do people do
    when they can't find their way?
        What do people do
when they can't find the right words to say?
     Perhaps there is an answer;
      It's really not hard to find.
       Give your heart to God
 And he'll give you his heart and mind.

Are You Fresh for Everything?

by Harlan Brown in January 2016

Inspiration for this poem (which can be sung as a song) came while I was reading the January 20-23 devotionals in My Utmost for His Highest: An Updated Edition in Today's Language by Oswald Chambers, edited by James Reimann.

Are you fresh for everything? Recall what God remembers.
Is the fire burning bright, or are you left with embers?
Being born of the Spirit keeps us truly fresh.
If you are in love with God, His life and yours will mesh.

Am I looking first to God, transformed by beholding?
Is his purpose for my life with wondrous joy unfolding?
If we're not transformed as mirrors, our ideals are flawed.
Trials and difficulties vanish when we look to God.

Are You Willing to Be Poured Out as an Offering?

by Harlan Brown, Feb. 4, 2016

Inspiration for this poem came while I was reading the February 3-6 devotionals in My Utmost for His Highest: An Updated Edition in Today's Language by Oswald Chambers, edited by James Reimann.

Are you willing to be poured out as an offering?
Will you sacrifice yourself for the good of others?
Are you willing to be a doormat when you service bring?
Is it beneath your dignity to humbly serve your brothers?

Are you willing to be poured out as an offering?
Tell God you are ready to be a sacrifice to Him.
Accept what consequences come when you serve the King.
Base your actions firmly on commitment not a whim.

Are you willing to become the refuse of the world?
Think not strange the fiery trial that is going to try you.
Be prepared to reveal the Son when trials at you are hurled.
Open your heart to the offenders; don't let trials fry you.

Are you telling others of the love of Jesus glorious?
Are you totally surrendered Christ's love to confess?
God will lead you through life's trials and help you be victorious.
After fiery trials naught can trouble or depress.

Called by God

by Harlan Brown in January 2016

Inspiration for this poem (which can be sung as a song) came while I was reading the January 14-17 devotionals in My Utmost for His Highest: An Updated Edition in Today's Language by Oswald Chambers, edited by James Reimann.

Called by God, will you hear and go?
Called by God, do you walk in white?
When you're called, God directs the show.
Your sanctification is His delight.

The voice of the nature of God
Shines the nature of God above all.
The call of the natural life
Leads to service by each God does call.

Character Is the Key

by Harlan Brown in early 1995

The screen flickers softly as fingers meet keys.
The words shuffle by like dry leaves in a breeze.
A mind filled with knowledge directs today's task,
But what is the motive, one may rightly ask.
No pain no gain, garbage in garbage out.
Purpose and effort is what it's about.
Some are marauders, some humanitarian.
What they are doing is quite unagrarian.
The hardware and software are state of the art,
Reliable, trustworthy, doing their part.
But the foremost integrity anyone sees
Is that of the one who is pressing the keys.


by Harlan Brown, Nov. 10, 2000

He polished the metal.  The whole thing he oiled.
Grown up in the suburbs, he was a bit spoiled.
He had his own laptop, a room of his own,
His own CD player, his own telephone.

His mom was a chemist, his dad a programmer,
And he was a geek and a freak and a spammer.
They worked very hard but had time for their guy
Except on the days with names ending in "y."

His sis didn't live in the house of the geek's.
A D&C got her just after 12 weeks.
His brother though older was also quite dead
From a Metzenbaum scissors in the back of his head.

His grandmother Ruth and his gramps Anastasia
Departed this world through a brief euthanasia.
And now their young grandson did sigh out his breath.
His thoughts were enmeshed in the culture of death.

The nasty school bullies for taunts and for jeers
Were going to get things beyond their worst fears.
Their mouths full of venom, their bites they did give.
Now a thirty-aught-six would soon make them a sieve.

As darkness was 'bout to engulf a teen mind,
A glimmer of hope seemed to come from behind.
His new friends at school didn't sneer, didn't mock,
Were faithful and true like an accurate clock.

He knew with them he'd ne'er be left in the lurch,
Especially by Sam, who had brought him to church.
They treated him friendly--he didn't know why--
And made him to feel like a regular guy.

He'd heard the fine messages, heard the good talk,
But now he had friends who he'd seen walk the walk.
He pondered the meaning of amazing grace.
The thirty-aught-six he put back in its case.

The Cost of Sanctification

by Harlan Brown, Feb. 10, 2016

Inspiration for this poem came while I was reading the February 7-10 devotionals in My Utmost for His Highest: An Updated Edition in Today's Language by Oswald Chambers, edited by James Reimann.

The cost of sanctification
Is restriction of earthly concerns
And extensive, deep cultivation
Of godliness. That's what one learns.

Stay away from spiritual dejection.
It stems from spiritual lust.
The purpose of prayer is to get hold of God,
Not to get the answer or bust.

Are you spiritually exhausted?
God neither faints nor is weary.
If you fail to replenish your faith,
Life can become very dreary.

Lift up your eyes on high,
And see who created these things.
If pow'r to see God has been blinded,
Look to God; the Lord vision brings.

A Columbine Dad's Reflections

by Darrell Scott

Technology can be a blessing or a curse, depending on how it is used.

This poem (I added the title) was written by Darrell Scott, the father of two victims of the shooting on April 20, 1999, at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado. On May 27, 1999, he testified before the Subcommittee on Crime of the House Judiciary Committee in the United States House of Representatives. He said, "I wrote a poem just four nights ago that expresses my feelings best. This was written way before I knew I would be speaking here today."

Your laws ignore our deepest needs.
Your words are empty air.
You've stripped away our heritage.
You've outlawed simple prayer.

Now gunshots fill our classrooms,
And precious children die.
You seek for answers everywhere
And ask the question "WHY?"

You regulate restrictive laws
Through legislative creed,
And yet you fail to understand
That God is what we need!

Farmer Brown's Garden

by Harlan Brown, some time before 1995, date unknown

Corn has ears, but it cannot hear.
    Kernels line the cob.
Potatoes have eyes, but they cnanot see.
    Digging is a tiring job.
Cabbage has a head, but it cannot think.
    It grows green and round.
A rake has teeth, but it cannot chew.
    It is good for working the ground.

A Gardener and His Seeds

by Harlan Brown, Dec. 9, 1995, based on Matthew 13:1-23

A gardener gardened in four kinds of soil.
With four clear results from his gardening toil.
A ditch, on the rocks, among thorns, and good ground
Were places where seeds from the gard'ner were found.

The seeds on the wayside by birds were devoured.
The seedlings on rocks were soon scorched, never flowered.
The seeds among weeds found thorns smothering 'round,
But on the fine loam a great crop did abound.

The ditchers by Satan are snatched all away.
The rockies in trouble find faith does decay.
The weedies are choked by the cares of the world.
The loamers bear fruit like a banner unfurled.

So don't be a seed out alone in a ditch,
And don't dwell on trouble when spiritually rich,
But care more for Jesus than physical things,
And you'll find the good life that faith in Christ brings.

The Holy Alphabet

by Cindy Blackamore

Although things are not perfect
Because of trial or pain
Continue in thanksgiving
Do not begin to blame
Even when the times are hard
Fierce winds are bound to blow
God is forever able
Hold on to what you know
Imagine life without His love
Joy would cease to be
Keep thanking Him for all the things
Love imparts to thee
Move out of "Camp Complaining"
No weapon that is known
On earth can yield the power
Praise can do alone
Quit looking at the future
Redeem the time at hand
Start every day with worship
To "thank" is a command
Until we see Him coming
Victorious in the sky
We'll run the race with gratitude
Xalting God most high
Yes, there'll be good times and yes some will be bad, but...
Zion waits in glory...where none are ever sad!

The shortest distance between a problem and a solution is the distance between your knees and the floor. The one who kneels to the Lord can stand up to anything.

How Could Someone So Persecute Jesus!

by Harlan Brown, Jan. 28, 2016

Inspiration for this poem came while I was reading the January 28 and 29 devotionals in My Utmost for His Highest: An Updated Edition in Today's Language by Oswald Chambers, edited by James Reimann.

How could someone so persecute Jesus!
How could someone so ignorant be!
Self-will and stubbornness always stab Jesus.
Is God's Word forceful and piercing in me?

How could someone so persecute Jesus!
As you serve, take note what your spirit is.
We show our ignorance in how we serve Him
If we are serving in our way not His.

I'm Drinking from My Saucer

by an unknown author

I've never made a fortune,
And I'll never make one now.
It really doesn't matter,
'Cause I'm happy anyhow.
I go along life's journey,
Reaping better than I sowed.
I'm drinking from my saucer,
'Cause my cup has overflowed. 

I've not a lot of riches,
And sometimes the going's tough,
But I have kids who love me,
And that makes me rich enough.

I thank God for His blessings
And the mercies He's bestowed.
I'm drinking from my saucer,
'Cause my cup has overflowed. 

I recall when things went wrong,
And my faith wore somewhat thin,
But all at once dark clouds broke,
And the sun peeped through again.

Lord, help me keep from griping
About tough rows that I've hoed.
I'm drinking from my saucer,
'Cause my cup has overflowed.

God gives me strength and courage
When the way grows steep and rough.
I'll not ask for more blessings;
I'm already blessed enough.

And may I never be too busy
To help another bear his load.
Then I'll keep drinking from my saucer,
Because my cup has overflowed.


by Douglas W. Comin

A baby cries
amid the straw, fresh-born into a world so strange;
Could this be God,
the eternal Son,
glorious throne for flesh exchanged?
How can this be?
What mind can grasp the untold splendor of this thing?
Almighty God,
The Lord of Hosts
in infant-form to mother clings!

Majestic One,
whose blazing beauty shineth forth to shame the dawn.
Now without form
or comeliness
that any should to him be drawn.
Creator God,
Who made and owns the cattle on a thousand hills;
Now humble, poor,
A stable floor
For solace 'gainst harsh winter chills.

Perfect Spirit,
Unhindered by the bonds of Adam's flesh-bound race,
conceived and born
in mankind's form,
with limits all of time and space.
When once He dwelt
in Heaven high, He was untouched by worldly woe.
Yet willingly
He condescends,
consents the scourge of pain to know.

And not mere pain,
but death itself, and not mere death, but cursed cross,
the Suffering Servant
stoops to bear
to purge away man's sinful dross.
Was this for me?
Did Glory stoop so low to grace this wretched orb
To set me free,
and for my sin
did He God's righteous wrath absorb?

'Tis said
in order to secure the ransom price I could not pay,
He took my form,
and bore the storm
of God's just punishment that Day.
The Lord of Glory
took my place before the unleashed wrath of God!
Like grapes His blood
beneath the feet
of His Almighty Father trod!

And had He not
consented thus, the confines of the flesh to know,
then I would face
eternal chains
to pay the penalty I owe.
What glorious grace!
The Risen Son, enthroned once more at God's right hand
has conquered death
through sacrifice
and put to shame hell's raging band!

'Come to Me,
all you who bend beneath the crushing weight of sin,'
says He,
'and I will give you rest.'
Eternal life is found in Him!

Irene, Good-night and Good-bye, Nonperson

by Harlan Brown, Aug. 27, 2011, the date that Hurricane Irene came ashore in North Carolina and began moving northward up the East Coast

Is Irene a she? Is Irene an it?
This storm led me to think a bit.
Perhaps it's not so bad to try
Hurricanes to personify.

But on the flip side, realize
Sometimes our words depersonalize.
In slave days, slaves were said to be
Animals, parasites, and property.

Today as culture 'round us worsens,
Some human beings are deemed nonpersons.
Preborns are considered to be
Potentials, garbage, and property.

Onesies, triplets, quads, or twins,
Personhood starts when life begins. 
Yet tiny persons are called, to wit,
Not "he" or "she" but merely "it."

Is a Culture of Death society
A safe place for anyone to be?
Eldercide, infirmicide, debilicide too--
Are aborticide and genocide still taboo?

When people rebel against God undaunted,
They may end up killed for being unwanted.
As Irene's winds fade and no more worsen,
Remember that each human is a person.

Look Again and Consecrate

by Harlan Brown, Jan. 26, 2016

Inspiration for this poem (which can be sung as a song) came while I was reading the January 26 and 27 devotionals in My Utmost for His Highest: An Updated Edition in Today's Language by Oswald Chambers, edited by James Reimann.

Look again and consecrate. Look again and think.
Look again and separate. Focus and rethink.
Separate from everything but what God wants you to do.
Obey and rightly relate to Him, and He'll watch over you.

Look again. Oh, look again. Don't worry about your life.
Worldly cares and guileful wealth and lust for things are rife.
Jesus knows our circumstances better than we do.
Our relationship with God comes first. To Him be always true.


by Marilou Morgan, Oct. 10, 1976, while she was a missionary in South America

Lord, we are so very happy today
As we think of Thy blessings sent our way.
Thank You so much for all You have done,
For the valleys low and the victories won.

Thank you for loving us and caring so much,
For the little pricks and the gentle touch,
For the lessons learned, the grace bestowed
As we yield to Thee our heavy load.

Closer, yes, closer, to Thee may we grow
Till with Thy love our hearts overflow
That others may see what has happened to us
Since in Thee, our Savior, we put our trust.

A Mother's Love

by Douglas W. Comin

That snowy cold December morn
our first and only child was born.
And as the snowflakes fell to earth
a greater beauty had its birth:
a beauty sent from up above,
the wonder of a mother's love.

Into this world of woe and sorrow
he sprang to see his first tomorrow.
Tiny fists were clenched so tight,
eyes adjusting to the light,
when suddenly his gaze met thine;
a face so lovely, so divine;
a look as gentle as a dove,
the wonder of a mother's love.

And as his eyes began to range
across this face so new, so strange
he had no words that might describe
the joy that swept in like the tide,
nor could she speak; so filled with wonder,
swelled with awe like gentle thunder.
Two smiles broke forth
and then both wept,
and later, as the baby slept
he felt contentment like a glove,
the wonder of a mother's love.

These early days I call to mind
and in their memory I find
a confirmation true and clear
that God's good grace is surely near.
His blessings here are plain to see:
my Lord, my home, my family;
my treasured bride, a prize so rare
that richest gold could not compare;
a son, so blessed, the object of
the wonder of a mother's love.

Pray While You Work

by Harlan Brown, March 9, 2013

Pray while you work;
Pray while you play.
Give thanks to God;
That is the way.

Sing praise to God
With all your might.
Things done by God
Are all done right.

A Slack Hand Causes Poverty

by Harlan Brown

A slack hand causes poverty,
But the hand of the diligent makes rich.
A slack hand causes poverty,
But the hand of the diligent makes rich.

Being so lazy is really quite crazy,
For diligence helps lead to true success.
A slack hand causes poverty,
But the hand of the diligent makes rich.
A slack hand causes poverty,
But the hand of the diligent makes rich.

Go to the ant, O sluggard; go to the ant today.
Go to the ant, O sluggard, and carefully consider her way.
Having no chief or ruler, she works in summer heat,
Gathering food for winter; then she has plenty to eat.
How long will you, O sluggard, lie there and oversleep?
Do you not know, O sluggard, what you sow is what you will reap?
Lying in idle slumber, you fold your hands to rest.
Poverty soon attacks you; laziness will not be bless'd.
Wake now, O sleeping worker, awaken from your sleep!
Wake now, O sleeping worker, and you'll find a harvest to reap!

A slack hand causes poverty,
But the hand of the diligent makes rich.

A Spring Night Outside Our House

by Harlan Brown, May 19, 2010

The crickets chirp in our back yard.
A pale moon glistens in the sky,
And in the ditch and nearby creek
A frog choir sings a lullaby.

Like upright, silent sentinels
Tall maples, oaks, and sweet gums stand.
Across the road a street light glares.
Tree shadows stretch across the land.

The grass is damp from recent rain.
The croaking creatures now rejoice,
And mankind hears their glad refrain,
The sound of nature's nighttime voice.

Thank You, God

by Harlan Brown, August 4, 2017

Thank You, God, for the gift of life.
Thank You, God, for my lovely wife.
Thank You, God, for Your holy Son.
Thank You, God, for the things He's done.

Thank You, God, for the rights He waived.
Thank You, God. By His life we're saved.
Thank You, God, for the death He died.
Thanks. By faith we are sanctified.

Thank You, God. By His wounds we're healed.
Thank You, God, for the truth revealed.
Thank You, God, for the love You bring.
Thank You, God, for our coming King.

Thank You, God, for the Spirit's sword.
Thank You, God, for our glorious Lord.
Most of all, God, please help us love
By the power that's from above.

Train to Somewhere

by Harlan Brown, August 11, 2001

I hear the whistle blowing
O'er the pine trees in the park.
The engine's chugging smoothly.
It will soon be getting dark.

The locomotive started
At a station far away.
It traveled 'cross the country
'fore it made it here today.

I wonder where it's going,
Where it's heading to tonight.
Where will it be tomorrow
When the sunrise brings new light?

Do you know where you're going--
You, your 50 billion cells?
If you don't know where you're going
You may end up somewhere else.

Two Ways

by Harlan Brown

(a song for the young and for the young at heart)

Two ways of life, there are two ways of living.
One way is getting, the other is giving.
Two ways of life, there are two ways to live.
Happiness comes when we learn how to give.

The Way to Permanent Faith

by Harlan Brown, Apr. 4, 2016

Inspiration for this poem came while I was reading the April 4 devotional in My Utmost for His Highest: An Updated Edition in Today's Language by Oswald Chambers, edited by James Reimann.

After we to God relate
The Holy Spirit sets us straight.
Our faith must then be exercised,
In daily life be realized.

A faith that temporary is
Seeks only after blessings His.
At first we find our faith sustained
By feelings and by blessings gained.

But then come dark times God allows;
With faith that's lasting He endows.
To climb to faith's enduring peak
It's God Himeelf that we must seek.

We Praise

by Harlan Brown in 2002

We praise our great Father in heaven on high,
Who gave us His Son and sent Him here to die.
He loves us so much. His desire is to give.
And all who believe shall eternally live.

We worship our Saviour called Jesus, the Son.
He came down from heaven. The vict'ry He won.
He died for our sins and then rose from the dead.
By His godly teachings we daily are led.

We cherish God's Spirit of truth and of love,
Who dwells now inside us from heaven above.
He counsels and comforts our hearts to embrace
And flows in and out like a river of grace.

What Musical Instrument Does God Never Play?

by Harlan Brown on March 8, 2008

God made all and does what He decides.
He rules all; in Heaven He resides.
He can play a clarinet or flute,
Or a lively trumpet he can toot.
But one instrument He never plays,
Doesn't play it ever all His days.
What's the answer to this puzzling riddle?
What God never plays is second fiddle.

When will it end?


This is a poem from the 1940s during World War II. I got the poem from my granduncle many years ago. The title has been added.

Absolute knowledge I have none,
But my niece's washerwoman's son
Heard a policeman on his beat
Say to a laborer in the street
That he had a letter last week
Written in the finest Greek
From a Chinese coolie in Timbuctoo,
Who said the natives in Cuba knew
A sun-burned man in a Texas town
Who got it straight from a circus clown
That a man in the Klondike heard the news
From a detective who had some clues
Who heard of a society woman of late
Whose mother-in-law will undertake
To prove that her husband's sister knows,
As stated in a printed piece,
That she has a son who has a friend
Who knows when the war is going to end.

Work While You Work

This poem was published in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries in McGuffey's Primer. It is also included in The Book of Virtues by William Bennett, a book that I highly recommend.

Work while you work, play while you play;
One thing each time, that is the way.
All that you do, do with your might;
Things done by halves are not done right.

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