Psalm 97:10 – A Classical Ode by Debbie Harris

07 Sunday Jun 2026

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From the Poet

Dear Reader,

In a world that whispers “just a little compromise,” Psalm 97:10 rings like a clarion call from heaven: “You who love the Lord, hate evil!” This ode is my humble attempt to clothe that divine command in classical dress — rich with the thunder and lightning of the Psalm itself, the unyielding cedar of conviction, and the certain dawn of the coming King.

May these lines strengthen your heart to stand unmoved. Hate what God hates. Love what He loves. Refuse every gilded truce with darkness. The King is returning in glory, and righteousness shall dawn.

With prayer and holy resolve,

The Poet

Psalm 97:10

KJV

Ye that love the LORD, hate evil: he preserveth the souls of his saints; he delivereth them out of the hand of the wicked.

ESV

O you who love the LORD, hate evil! He preserves the lives of his saints; he delivers them from the hand of the wicked.

AMP

You who love the LORD, hate evil; He protects the souls of His godly ones (believers), He rescues them from the hand of the wicked.

NIV

Let those who love the LORD hate evil, for he guards the lives of his faithful ones and delivers them from the hand of the wicked.

O ye who love the Eternal Flame, whose breast

Doth throb with holy fire unquenched by night,

Hate evil as the serpent’s venomous crest

That poisons Eden’s bowers with subtle blight!

Let not thy foot in compromise be led

Where shadows weave their silken, treacherous thread;

Nor let thy hand in friendship’s false embrace

Clasp hands that bear the mark of darkness’ race.

Behold the throne where Righteousness and Truth

Like twin seraphim guard the sapphire height!

Clouds mantle Him in majesty uncouth

To mortal gaze, yet blaze with living light.

Lightning leaps forth—His arrows swift and keen—

And mountains melt like wax where sin hath been.

The heavens declare His glory, earth obeys,

And every idol crashes in the blaze.

Thou, saint of God, preserved amid the flood

Of raging wickedness that swells and roars,

Shalt stand unmoved, a cedar in the wood

When tempests howl and lesser branches fall.

No compromise with Belial’s gilded lies,

No truce with Mammon’s lustful, hungry eyes;

Thy convictions, forged in heaven’s anvil bright,

Shall shine as adamant against the night.

Let evil’s hosts in purple pomp advance,

With crowns of fading laurel on their brow;

Thy soul shall spurn their revels and their dance,

And turn to Zion’s hill with steadfast vow.

For He who loves thee guards thy life with care—

From wicked hands He snatches thee from snare.

The oil of joy upon thy head is poured;

Thy path is lit by His unfailing Word.

Thus sing, O heart that loves the Lord alone:

“Hate evil! Cling to good with iron will!”

Though darkness rage and tempters slyly drone,

The upright soul shall climb the holy hill.

No compromise, though empires tempt and fall;

Thy King returns in glory—Righteousness shall dawn!

The Silent Tragedy: When the Word Sin Is Eradicated from a Culture by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

From the poet:

In an age that has quietly erased the word sin from its vocabulary, I offer this poem not as condemnation, but as a solemn reminder and an urgent invitation. Once we lose the honest naming of our rebellion against God and His good order, we also lose the path to true forgiveness and restoration.

May these lines stir the conscience, awaken the heart, and turn every soul toward the only One who can save us from our sins—Jesus Christ our Lord.

Will you and I be among those who still dare to call sin sin, and thereby point a broken world to the Savior?

In elder days when thunder voiced the Law

And prophets walked the flinty roads of old,

The word sin rang as iron on the soul—

A blade that clove the heart, a bell of gold

That tolled repentance ere the grave grew cold.

Now from the common tongue the word is fled,

Like some archaic curse no longer named.

The pulpits soften, courts declare it dead,

And schools instruct the young: “No soul is blamed.”

All acts are neutral flowers, self-blessed, untamed.

O tragic void! Where once the pilgrim knelt

Beneath the weight of wrong and cried for grace,

Now mirrors only flatter, conscience melts

Into a mist of “feelings,” “choice,” and “space.”

No fall remains; thus no redemption waits.

The ancient bards knew better. Homer sang

Of wrath that spoiled the host and felled the brave;

Virgil beheld the guilty shades who clang

Their chains in Tartarus, unshriven, save

By memory of trespass and the grave.

Dante, fierce Florentine, with measured tread

Descended hell’s nine circles, naming each

By sin’s true name—fraud, lust, pride, the dread

Of treason’s frozen lake. No gentle speech

Could blunt the horror; truth alone could teach.

Milton, blind but seeing, raised his song

To justify the ways of God to men,

And showed how one transgression, vast and strong,

Brought death and all our woe. Yet even then

The greater arc of mercy rose again.

But strip away the word and what remains?

A culture sleek with self, where every vice

Is rechristened “lifestyle,” “identity,” or “gains.”

No prodigal returns; no broken cries

Ascend. The temple stands, but God’s house lies

In ruins of the tongue. The heart grows coarse,

Untroubled by the stain it will not see.

Ambition swells to empire without remorse,

And cruelty wears the mask of liberty.

The final darkness falls—yet no one flees.

Restore the word, sharp as a surgeon’s knife,

That cuts the canker out before it kills.

Let sin once more awaken mortal strife

Between the soul and its rebellious will,

Till humbled knees recall the ancient skill

Of seeking pardon. Only then may rise

The triumph of the Cross that ends all pain:

Forgiveness purchased at Redemption’s price,

Where sin confessed is washed in crimson rain,

And man, once fallen, stands upright again.

Will you and I be those who call sin sin,

Thereby pointing all to the Savior strong—

Who saves lost souls from every stain within

Through Jesus Christ our Lord, the endless song

Of grace that makes the broken whole, restored.

The Christ-Centered Poet’s Heart: A Warrior’s Blazing Golden Heart Clothed in Velvet Victory and Resurrection Fire by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

If these lines have reached your eyes, know this: the heart that wrote them is no delicate bloom trembling in the wind. It is a warrior’s heart—hammered on the anvil of Calvary, refined in resurrection fire, and clothed in the velvet of Christ’s own compassion.

I do not write to impress the world, but to remind every soul who battles in secret that strength and tenderness are not opposites. They are twin flames kindled by the same nail-pierced hand. The Lion of Judah roars, yet the Lamb still weeps with you. In Him, your fiercest wounds become weapons, your deepest sorrows become songs, and your broken places become banners of victory.

Rise, beloved. Charge with poems as swords. The gates of hell cannot stand. Glory awaits, and the King who calls you “more than conqueror” rides at your side.

With triumphant love and velvet fire,

The Poet

Beneath the breastplate forged in heaven’s blaze,

A golden heart of warrior’s blazing ore

Pulses with resurrection thunder raised,

Victorious, yet wrapped in velvet’s core.

No fragile glass to fracture at a sigh—

But royal velvet, dyed in crimson flood,

Where nail-scarred hands have woven mercy high

And crowned the storm with banners soaked in blood.

This poet’s soul, a sword of flame unsheathed,

Wields poems like lightning against the dragon’s night;

It charges through the gates of hell, victorious,

Roaring triumph in the fiercest fight.

For Christ the Lion-Lamb has loosed the roar

That turns the fiercest heart to velvet’s golden shore—

A trumpet blast of glory evermore!

The Demonic Subversion of Liberty: The Enemy’s Cunning Use of Church-State Separation to Expel the Almighty and Sacred Scripture from the Nation’s Public Squares by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Jun 2026

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

In this darkening hour, when the public square lies desolate and the voices of faith are driven into whispered corners, I set forth this poem not as mere verse, but as a prophetic lament and a clarion call. The enemy of souls has long wielded the noble phrase “separation of church and state” as a demonic sword—twisting its original intent to shield the church from tyranny into a weapon to exile Almighty God and His Holy Bible from the very lifeblood of the nation.

What began as a safeguard for liberty has been forged in hell’s own furnace into a barrier against the Light itself. Schools no longer echo with the fear of the Lord. Courtrooms stand stripped of the Ten Commandments. Public squares, once alive with prayer and sacred song, now bow before the cold idols of secularism, pride, and fleshly license. This is no accident of history, but a calculated subversion—a great deception designed to unmoor a people from their Maker and prepare the ground for darker principalities.

Yet the Word of God cannot be chained. The same Scriptures that kindled the hearts of our Founders still burn with unquenchable fire. This poem is offered in the spirit of the ancient prophets: to expose the serpent’s cunning, to mourn what has been lost, and to stir the remnant to holy boldness. Church and state may rightly walk in parallel paths, but no wall forged by man—or devil—can separate the living God from those who seek Him.

May these lines awaken slumbering consciences, rebuke the powers of darkness, and kindle again the holy flame that once made this land a beacon. Return, O nation, to the Rock from which you were hewn. The King of kings yet reigns, and His Word shall have the final victory.

In solemn hope and unyielding faith,

The Poet

In shadowed halls where once the Light held sway,

The ancient serpent coils with cunning art,

And whispers lies that twist the founding day,

To rend the sacred from the nation’s heart.

“Separation!” cries the demonic host,

A wall of stone where none was meant to rise,

To bar the Throne of Grace from coast to coast,

And quench the Lamp that lit the Founders’ eyes.

With guile he cloaks his malice in the law,

As if the Lord were foe to liberty;

Yet Jefferson’s pen, in wisdom’s awe,

Spoke church from state, not God from you and me.

Now courts profane decree the Bible banned,

From schoolhouse walls where children once were taught

The fear of Him who made both sea and land,

And moral law that tyrants’ schemes have wrought.

The enemy exults in empty squares,

Where crosses fall and carols fade to dust;

No Ten Commands to guide the judge’s cares,

No prayer to pierce the halls of power’s lust.

He sows division, calls it tolerance high,

While altars crumble ’neath the secular throne;

The public square, once open to the sky,

Now bows to idols carved of flesh and stone.

O blinded age, that deems the Gospel chain,

When freedom’s root in Scripture deep was set!

The enemy hath used this twisted rein

To loose the beast and bind the saints in debt.

Yet Heaven laughs at schemes of mortal spite—

The Word of God no edict can confine;

Though veiled in courts of false enlightened night,

It burns eternal in the heart of man divine.

Arise, ye faithful, rend the serpent’s guise!

Let truth reclaim the square where once it shone;

For church and state may walk in parallel skies,

But God above shall never be dethroned.

The Bible’s light no darkness can eclipse—

It calls through time, a trumpet loud and clear:

Return, O land, from error’s dark eclipse,

And crown the King whom angels all revere.

The Victorious Call – A Soul Beholds Its Sin, Weeps on Hallowed Ground, and Rises Clothed in Triumph by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Jun 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, salvation, Spiritual Warfare, Triumphant

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A Note to the Reader from the Poet

Dear Reader,

If you have ever stood where this soul stands—eyes flooded with the weight of your own sin, heart aching with the truth that you are vile—know this: you are not alone, and you are not without hope. These verses were written for the moment your tears fall on holy ground. That weeping is not the end; it is the doorway.

The robe is real. The blood still speaks. The Lamb still calls. Come just as you are. Let the hallowed ground of honest confession become the place where heaven clothes you in victory.

With joy in the triumph of grace,

The Poet

Job 40:4

NIV

I am unworthy—how can I reply to you? I put my hand over my mouth.

ESV

Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth.

AMP

Behold, I am of little importance and contemptible; what can I reply to You? I lay my hand on my mouth.

KJV

Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer thee? I will lay mine hand upon my mouth.

They stand before the throne, once clad in tattered rags,

A soul that suddenly beholds its every crimson stain;

Great rivers of repentance flow, hot tears that carve deep tracks,

And every memory, laid bare, falls prostrate in the rain.

This is the hallowed ground where broken sinners meet their God—

Where weeping eyes see sin as black as midnight’s deepest pit,

Where trembling hands can grasp no rope, no ladder, no façade—

Yet here the gift of all gifts waits: pure mercy, richly fit.

Like Job they rise from ashen dust in thunderous, tear-stained praise,

Like Isaiah cleansed beneath the altar’s searing, holy blaze,

Like Paul, once chief of sinners, now ablaze with ransomed days—

Grace thundered, swept their guilt into forgetful, endless praise!

No sin now holds this champion from the fight they’ve won at last,

They cast their darkness down as conquered, trampled, helpless foe;

The night that tried to quench the Eternal Light has fled, outclassed,

Now bows its head where crimson rivers of redemption flow!

No frantic hands, no futile will were needed in the fray—

The blood of heaven stormed the gulf and triumphed in its flood!

The ledger’s debt forever cancelled, blotted, swept away,

The iron chains lie shattered, gleaming shards in crimson mud!

“Come now!” the voice rings out in trumpet might and trumpet song,

“Not for the righteous— but the lost made bold by tears alone!”

They lift their eyes, aflame with holy, weeping, wondrous dawn,

The Cross their banner, blazing bright, and their new story known!

Just as they are, with sin’s last shadow slain in weeping light,

With every chain dissolved in radiant, unstoppable grace,

They march triumphant through the open plain of endless height—

The Lamb receives the vilest soul and crowns them in His place!

Behold the robe! A robe of blazing righteousness descends,

Woven in heaven’s loom with threads of everlasting gold,

White as untrodden snow on peaks where morning never ends,

Embroidered deep with scars of love and mercy manifold.

It wraps the weeping soul in glory words cannot contain—

No longer rags of shame, but splendor flashing like the sun;

The tears that fell like jewels now sparkle in its radiant train,

And hallowed ground becomes the threshold where the vict’ry’s won!

The ragged cloak lies trampled, buried in the dust of grace;

A robe of blazing righteousness is worn in triumph bright!

Though dawn once found them broken, weeping, bound in sin’s embrace,

By evening they are stars in heaven’s vast, eternal light!

Now is the hour! The gates of glory swing on hinges grand!

The one once vile now reigns, redeemed, and lifts a victor’s song!

Hell’s darkest claim has lost its final, feeble, futile sting—

Triumphant, justified, the victory forever rings!

The Greatest Country on Earth Becomes Great When She Puts Jesus Christ First in All Her Ways: A Call to Repentance, Revival, and Return to the Holy Bible by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

I write these lines not as a politician, nor as a voice of any earthly movement, but as a humble servant of the Lord Jesus Christ, burdened for the soul of our beloved nation. In an age when many chase after the shifting winds of culture, when godless isms clamor for allegiance and the foundations laid by our fathers tremble, this poem was born out of prayer, Scripture, and a longing to see revival sweep across the land once more.

It is my earnest prayer that these verses will stir your heart as they stirred mine. They are not written to condemn, but to call us all higher — to repentance, to humility, and to the only true Source of national greatness: the exalted Lord Jesus Christ, the Way, the Truth, and the Life. The Holy Bible alone is our sure foundation. When a nation places Him first in her councils, her courts, her homes, and her hearts, she rises. When she turns away, she falls.

This is a poem for all the ages — for the patriot kneeling by his bedside, for the mother teaching her children, for the pastor weeping at the altar, and for every citizen weary of darkness who still believes that “Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord” (Psalm 33:12). May it ignite fresh hunger for the Word of God and bold courage to reject every counterfeit creed.

If these words move you, share them. Read them aloud. Pray them. And above all, live them. Let us return to the Lord with all our hearts, that He might heal our land and restore her former glory — greater still, because it will be His glory shining through us.

With prayerful hope and unshakable faith in our coming King,

The Poet

A watchman on the wall

Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD;

and the people whom he hath chosen for his own inheritance.

— Psalm 33:12 (KJV)

Blessed [fortunate, prosperous, and favored by God] is the nation whose God is the LORD,

The people whom He has chosen as His own inheritance.

— Psalm 33:12 (AMP)

If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.

— 2 Chronicles 7:14 (KJV)

and My people, who are called by My Name, humble themselves, and pray and seek (crave, require as a necessity) My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and forgive their sin and heal their land.

— 2 Chronicles 7:14 (AMP)

Righteousness exalteth a nation: but sin is a reproach to any people.

— Proverbs 14:34 (KJV)

Righteousness [moral and spiritual integrity and virtuous character] exalts a nation,

But sin is a disgrace to any people.

— Proverbs 14:34 (AMP)

The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom: a good understanding have all they that do his commandments: his praise endureth for ever.

— Psalm 111:10 (KJV)

The [reverent] fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom;

A good understanding and a teachable heart are possessed by all those who do the commandments [seeking His will and purpose].

His praise endures forever.

— Psalm 111:10 (AMP)

Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return unto the LORD, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.

— Isaiah 55:7 (KJV)

Let the wicked leave (behind) his way

And the unrighteous man his thoughts;

And let him return to the LORD,

And He will have compassion (mercy) on him,

And to our God,

For He will abundantly pardon.

— Isaiah 55:7 (AMP)

In ages past, when stars aligned with grace,

A land arose by Heaven’s own design,

Not built on pride or fleeting mortal race,

But on the Rock where living waters shine.

The greatest country on this earthly sod

Became the beacon bright for all to see,

Because she bowed and placed her trust in God—

Exalting Christ, the Way, the Truth, the Key.

No godless creeds her people then obeyed:

No woke delusion twisting right to wrong,

No materialist chase for gold that fades,

No progressivism’s ever-shifting song,

No Marxism with chains of envy bound,

No communism’s dream that starved the soul,

No Islam’s crescent veiling gospel sound,

No papal throne demanding men’s control.

No atheism cold, no secular lie,

No humanism crowning man as king,

No socialism’s theft in virtue’s guise,

No globalism’s web that snares and stings,

No hedonism’s lust for fleeting thrill,

No nihilism’s void where hope decays,

No pagan rites on every windswept hill—

All idols fell before the Ancient of Days.

We follow not the fashions of the hour,

Nor bow to Caesar, trend, or cunning creed;

We seek the Holy Bible’s changeless power,

The Lamp, the Sword, the Living Word indeed.

Jesus Christ—first in council, hearth, and hall,

First in the school, the court, the marketplace—

His cross our banner, rising over all,

His resurrection morning on our face.

O nation bowed beneath a gathering night,

Return! Repent! Let tears of sorrow flow.

Cast down the altars built on lesser light,

And to the Lord of Hosts in ashes go.

Revival’s fire, long quenched, can blaze anew

If humble hearts will seek His holy face;

Turn from the lies that promised much yet slew,

And run once more the path of truth and grace.

Blessed the nation whose God is the Lord!

Whose people fear His name and keep His ways.

Her fields will yield, her cities stand restored,

Her children sing His everlasting praise.

Let every age hear this immortal call:

Exalt the Savior, shun the siren’s song.

In Christ alone true greatness comes to all—

The King of kings shall make His people strong.

Arise, O land! Let revival’s trumpet sound,

Let righteousness once more adorn thy brow.

With Bible open, on thy knees be found—

The greatest country shall be great again now.

The Clarion Call to Every Soul: We Must Proclaim Truth Boldly in the Public Square – Salvation by Grace Alone Through Christ by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

In these shadowed and restless days, when the public square has become a marketplace of glittering lies and the ancient pillars of truth are bartered for the cheap coin of comfort and applause, I offer this rhyme not as mere ornament for the ear, nor as idle verse for the scholar’s shelf, but as a clarion trumpet-call echoing the voices of prophets and apostles long departed.

We stand at the crossroads of eternity. The spirit of this age whispers compromise and silences the bold, yet the Word of the living God thunders still: we are not called to murmur salvation in secret chambers, but to proclaim it unashamedly upon the housetops and in the thoroughfares of men. For every idle word, every withheld witness, and every courageous declaration shall be weighed in the balances of divine justice. The books shall be opened; the Great Assize shall convene; and no soul shall escape the reckoning of what it did with the blood-bought truth of Calvary.

May these measured lines kindle within your breast a holy fire that consumes timidity, sharpen your tongue with the double-edged sword of Scripture, and arm your heart with the unyielding courage of the redeemed. Let them remind you that grace is not cheap, nor is the cross a relic of the past—it is the blazing standard under which we must yet contend for the faith once delivered to the saints.

Go forth, then, not in your own strength, but in the power of the Spirit, lifting high the name above every name while time and mercy still linger.

In solemn service to the King of kings,

The Poet

• Matthew 10:27 — “What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs.”

• Romans 1:16 — “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes…”

• Acts 4:12 — “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved.”

• Ephesians 2:8-9 — For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.

• 2 Corinthians 5:10 — For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad.

• Revelation 20:12 — And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life…

In public squares where nations throng and gaze,

We must proclaim the truth with trumpet clear;

No shadowed fear, no compromise or haze,

But blazing light for every listening ear.

For every soul shall kneel before the Throne,

Accounted for the seed of word or silence sown;

When heaven’s books are opened and made known,

The Judge demands what reaping we have grown.

The ultimate Truth resounds through time’s long hall:

Salvation flows through Jesus Christ our Lord—

Not human striving, not works however tall,

But sovereign grace by His own wounds outpoured.

So raise the cross where busy crowds collide,

Declare redemption’s anthem far and wide!

To the Persecuted and Suffering Church in Nigeria: A Lament and Song of Hope in the Midst of Tribulation by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

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Luke 12:32

KJV: Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.

NIV: “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom.”

AMP: Do not be afraid and anxious, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.

Psalm 56:8

KJV: Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?

NIV: Record my misery; list my tears on your scroll—are they not in your record?

AMP: You have taken account of my wanderings; Put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not recorded in Your book?

Matthew 16:18

KJV: …upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

NIV: …on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.

AMP: …on this rock I will build My church; and the gates of Hades (death) will not overpower it.

From the Poet

Dear Reader,

This poem is written with a heavy yet hopeful heart for our brothers and sisters in Nigeria who daily lay down their lives for the name of Christ. I have not walked their path, nor can I fully measure their suffering. I only know that Scripture calls us to “remember those in prison as if you were there with them” (Hebrews 13:3).

May these lines serve as both lament and encouragement — a small mirror held up to their steadfast faith, and a quiet call to the wider Church to pray, to speak, and to stand with them. Their wounds are real. Their hope is surer. One day, on earth or in Heaven’s glory, the world will see their scars transformed into trophies of a victory won not by the sword, but by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony.

Until that morning breaks, let us hold them before the Father who bottles every tear.

With solemn respect and sisterly love,

The Poet

O steadfast remnant, tempered in the flame

Where Sahel winds bear scimitars of hate,

Thy altars glow though villages lie maimed—

Thy anthems pierce the darkness, undismayed.

In Middle Belt the herdsmen’s shadows fall

Like wolves upon the fold at break of day;

The mother’s final lullaby, the infant’s call,

Are answered only by the heavens’ gray.

Ten thousand spires reduced to ash and bone,

Ten thousand names the world refuses breath;

Yet from that dust a living Seed is sown—

The Christ who wept in Gethsemane draws near,

Counts every crimson drop, each stifled groan,

And whispers, “Little flock, be of good cheer.”

Thy cross is sharp, thy night without a star,

Yet His yoke settles gentle as the dew;

The Lion of Judah paces where you are,

And hell’s own legions cannot conquer you.

Though distant thrones avert their eyes in shame

And trade thy blood for profit sealed in oil,

The Lord of Hosts engraves each hidden name

In lamb’s own blood upon the deathless scroll.

From Jos’s wounded hills to Lagos spires,

Thy witness flares—a constellation pure;

Stephen forgives within thy funeral fires,

Polycarp’s calm endures thy furnace sure.

Rise, suffering vine, though trampled underfoot—

Thy roots draw life from aquifers unseen.

The wine pressed out beneath the heavenly foot

Shall overflow with glory unforeseen.

Cling to the faith the noble martyrs confessed,

The crown of life gleams for thy patient race;

What earthly loss, what tears, what sharp distress

Beside the beauty of His unveiled face?

Be strong, beloved Church—be not afraid.

The Judge descends with justice in His eyes.

Each bottle of thy tears, each price you’ve paid,

Becomes a jewel set in paradise.

Till then shine on, though blood may be thy crown—

The gates of hell shall never take thee down.

When morning breaks—on earth or Heaven’s shore—

Thy God triumphant in thy wounds made whole.

The Herald’s Celestial Fire: An Ornate Proclamation of Scripture’s Perfection, the Godhead’s Glory, and the Urgent Call to Repentance by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

I cannot be silent.

The same divine compulsion that seized the prophet Jeremiah still burns within the bones of every true herald of the Triune God. It is no mere emotional surge, but a sovereign ignition of the Holy Spirit — that burning fire shut up in the marrow of the soul, weary with restraint and impossible to contain. In a generation steeped in theological compromise, cultural idolatry, and a gospel diluted by human preference, the perfect, inerrant Word of our eternal Father, incarnate Son, and proceeding Spirit demands unashamed proclamation.

This is no abstract orthodoxy. It is the living tension of divine perfections: the holiness that kindles wrath against all ungodliness, the justice that demands satisfaction for treason against the Creator, and the mercy that flows from the riven side of the crucified Lamb. Here, at the cross, wrath and mercy kiss in substitutionary atonement — the Father crushing His beloved Son under the full weight of cosmic justice, so that sinners might be declared righteous by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone. The inner-rant is thus both judgment and invitation: a holy violence against the rebel heart, clothed in the tenderness that pleads, “Turn! Why will you die?”

This poem is my feeble attempt to echo that prophetic fire — not as ornament for the ear, but as a thunderclap from the sapphire throne. It weaves the inerrancy of Scripture, the sovereignty of the Godhead, the urgency of escaping the second death, and the triumphant hope of resurrection life. May it stir within you the same unresting zeal: to speak with boldness and conviction, yet always bathed in the love that sent the Son to bear the cup of wrath we deserved.

We cannot be silent. Souls hang suspended between eternal glory and eternal perdition. The Kingdom advances through voices unashamed. Repent, believe the Gospel, and join the heralds before the Day of the Lord dawns.

For the glory of the Father, the exaltation of the risen Lamb, and the powerful working of the Spirit —

The Poet

Jeremiah 20:9 (ESV)

If I say, ‘I will not mention him, or speak any more in his name,’ there is in my heart as it were a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot.

Romans 1:16 (ESV)

For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes…

In triune sapphire throne where Three shine One—

Ancient of Days enthroned on crystal sea,

The slaughtered Lamb whose wounds outshine the sun,

The rushing Wind that sets the prophet free—

Mercy awakens holy inner-tide,

A seraph’s coal upon the trembling lip,

A furnace veiled in flesh, a burning bride,

That storms the gates of death with thunderous grip.

Not silken phrases honeyed for the snake,

But living oracles, a lightning blade

That cleaves the marrow, rends the veiled heart awake,

And drags to blazing light the sins long laid.

Like Sinai’s crown of flame on trembling peak,

It thunders “Thus saith I AM!” through kings’ halls,

While mercy, robed in blood, begins to speak

And shatters rebel thrones with trumpet calls.

As Jeremiah’s bones became a blaze

No mortal vessel could contain or tame,

So mercy storms the dungeon of our days,

With courage forged in love’s eternal flame.

Conviction rolls like cherubim’s four wings,

Yet from the riven side sweet mercy streams—

A crimson river where the sinner clings,

While heaven’s justice and compassion gleams.

The flawless Word, more pure than gold refined,

More fixed than Zion’s mount or starry choir,

Upholds the wheeling galaxies aligned

And every soul beneath the Judge’s fire.

No jot shall fade, no tittle ever fall,

Though heaven and earth dissolve in final roar;

Its granite truth outlasts the siren’s call

And breaks the chains of death forevermore.

O inner fire, Ezekiel’s whirlwind throne,

A coal from off the altar’s glowing hearth,

It bursts the iron mouth, the heart of stone,

And summons corpses from the grave of wrath.

God’s wrath is holy—white, devouring light,

Not petty storm but cosmic justice pure,

Yet on the altar’s wood of darkest night

The Lamb absorbs the blaze and makes it sure.

There wrath and mercy kiss in wounds divine,

The Father’s pleasure crushing His own Son;

The Spirit seals the pardon with a sign—

The risen Lion, slaughtered, now the One.

With Peter’s voice like rushing mighty wind,

With Stephen’s countenance as angel-flame,

The herald lifts the cross through scorn and din,

That rebels might escape the wrath to come.

No terror of the crowd, no iron chain,

Can quench the love that risks eternal shame;

For every soul plucked from the second pain

Becomes a living trophy to His Name.

Thus mercy speaks—unflinching, robed in tears—

The blameless Word in whirlwind and in plea:

“Repent! Believe! The Kingdom’s gate appears!”

Flee wrath, and reign with Christ eternally.

From Dust and Frailty to the Gem-Studded Garments of Salvation: A Hymn of Divine Clothing and Holy Awe by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Pleasing God Not Man, Royally Redeemed, salvation, Thanksgiving, Triumphant

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Note to the Reader from the Poet

Dear Reader,

In the quiet tension between creaturely frailty and divine generosity, this hymn was conceived. We stand perpetually before the paradox Scripture never lets us escape: we are dust — fragile, fleeting, marked by the fractures of original and ongoing sin — and yet the same Creator who fashioned us from the ground now stoops to array that very dust in garments of celestial splendor.

The poem does not merely celebrate a theological idea; it traces a transformative arc that mirrors the gospel itself. From the scattering wind of Psalm 103:14 and the weakness confessed in 2 Corinthians 12:9, through the empowering mercy of Isaiah 40 and the jeweled bridal splendor of Isaiah 61:10, it presses toward the astonishing promise of 2 Peter 1:4 — that we might become partakers of the divine nature. Each stanza is an act of remembrance and aspiration: remembering our low estate so that we might more fully adore the height of His condescension.

The gem-studded robe is no ornamental fancy. It is the righteousness of Christ, woven on heaven’s loom, encrusted with the blood-red ruby of atonement, the sapphire depths of unfailing grace, the emerald hope of resurrection life, and the diamond fire of covenant fidelity. To wear it is to walk in holy servanthood — yoked yet free, bowed yet exalted, weak yet wielding uncreated light.

May these lines not merely be read, but prayed. Speak them slowly in your secret place. Let the weight of your own dust press you deeper into the mercy that clothes you. Let the imagery carry you past sentiment into awe — speechless, trembling, joyful awe — before the throne where the Lamb slain stands worthy.

For the God who remembers we are dust has never forgotten us. He has clothed us instead, and called us His own.

With bowed heart and lifted eyes,

The Poet

Scriptural Foundation

Psalm 103:14 – We are dust

KJV: “For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.”

NIV: “For he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.”

AMP: “For He knows our [mortal] frame; He remembers that we are [merely] dust.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 – Strength in weakness

KJV: “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

NIV: “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”

AMP: “But He has said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you [My lovingkindness and My mercy are more than enough—always available—regardless of the situation]; for [My] power is being perfected [and is completed and shows itself most effectively] in [your] weakness.’”

Isaiah 40:29 – Power to the faint

KJV: “He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.”

NIV: “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.”

AMP: “He gives strength to the weary, And to him who has no might He increases power.”

Isaiah 61:10 – Garments of salvation and robe of righteousness

KJV: “I will greatly rejoice in the LORD, my soul shall be joyful in my God; for he hath clothed me with the garments of salvation, he hath covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decketh himself with ornaments, and as a bride adorneth herself with her jewels.”

NIV: “I delight greatly in the LORD; my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness, as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.”

AMP: “I will rejoice greatly in the LORD, My soul will exult in my God; For He has clothed me with garments of salvation, He has covered me with a robe of righteousness, As a bridegroom puts on a turban, And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.”

2 Peter 1:4 – Partakers of the divine nature

KJV: “Whereby are given unto us exceeding great and precious promises: that by these ye might be partakers of the divine nature…”

NIV: “Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature…”

AMP: “For by these He has bestowed on us His precious and magnificent promises [of inexpressible value], so that by them you may… become sharers of the divine nature.”

O Lord, we are but dust the wind may strew,

Frail clay unformed, by sin’s dark tempest torn,

Yet from Thy throne where living mercies dew,

Thy hand descends — and we, once lost, are born.

Thy strength, a flame that leaps through shadowed veins,

Arrays our tatters in celestial white;

The yoke of holy service gently reigns,

And lifts the bowed to wield unyielding light.

No more the slave beneath the fleshly rod,

We stand enrobed in righteousness divine —

A garment vast, by heaven’s own shuttle shod,

With jewels blazing where Thy glories shine.

See rubies red as covenantal blood,

Sapphires deep as oceans of Thy grace;

Emeralds green with hope’s eternal flood,

And pearls like tears that washed the sinner’s face.

Amethysts of awe crown every seam,

Diamonds of pardon flash with sovereign fire;

Upon the hem where healing virtues stream,

The living waters spark in ceaseless choir.

Before Thy throne we bow, in dust made bold,

Adoring hearts too vast for tongue to tell;

In speechless awe Thy righteousness behold,

And join the ransomed in their triumph swell.

Though dust we be, and frailty our first name,

Thy servant-power makes kings of earthen clods;

Clad in salvation’s jewel-woven flame,

We rise, redeemed — partakers of our God.

Glory to the Lamb who clothes the lost!