The Prodigal Nation: A Cry for America to Kneel Again at Calvary by Debbie Harris

25 Tuesday Nov 2025

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Patriotic

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Inpirational, Inspirational, Prayer, Royally Redeemed

This prophetic poem is a heartfelt lament and urgent plea for the soul of America. It begins by echoing the beloved line “God shed His grace on thee,” then paints a stark picture of a nation that has received unmatched blessing yet drifted far from its first love, trading truth for pride, liberty for license, and the light of Christ for the darkness of self.

Like the prodigal son, America is portrayed as a wayward child who has squandered its inheritance, yet the Father still calls, still waits, still stands ready with open arms. The poem moves from sorrow over the nation’s spiritual decline to a ringing call for repentance: to fall on its knees at the cross, drink again from Calvary’s fountain, and find forgiveness and eternal life in Jesus Christ alone.

The final stanzas burst with hope and holy urgency. Church bells, steeples, and awakened hearts herald the promise that if America turns back to Christ, revival’s fire is here, ready to fall, ready to burn away the darkness and restore the land to the glory and purpose for which it was graced.

In essence, it is both a mourning for what has been lost and a triumphant declaration that it is not too late: the Shepherd seeks His sheep, the King is near, and revival awaits the nation that humbles itself and comes home.

America, America,
God shed His grace on thee,
From shining sea to shining sea,
Yet shadows veil what once was free.

The crown of brotherhood lies bent,
Our purple mountains turn to dust,
The fruited plain forgets its scent,
And liberty lies stained with rust.

We chased the wind, we crowned the pride,
We called the darkness light by day,
We traded truth for what felt right,
And slowly turned our hearts away.

But hark—a voice still calls thy name,
The Shepherd seeks the wandering sheep,
His arms are wide, His love the same,
Though we have sown what now we reap.

America, America,
Fall on thy knees beneath the cross,
Where mercy flows for every loss,
Where grace redeems what sin has cost.

Repent, return, O weary land,
The altar waits, the Savior stands,
His blood still speaks a better word
Than all the cries of broken hands.

Let church bells ring from coast to coast,
Let steeples pierce the darkened sky,
Let prodigal hearts come home to boast
No more in self, but Christ on high.

America, America,
God shed His grace on thee—
And bids thee now, in humble faith,
Come drink the cup of Calvary.

There find forgiveness, full and free,
There find the life that never ends,
For every soul that turns to see
The Lamb of God who heals and mends.

America, awake, arise,
Lift up your eyes, the King is near.
The night is far spent, dawn is nigh—
Turn back to Christ; revival’s fire is here.

A Hymn of Return: On the Sacred Duty to Fill Every God-Given Talent with Beauty as Our Humble Offering by Debbie Harris

25 Tuesday Nov 2025

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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Beauty, Biblical Truth, Inspirational

A Hymn of Return: On the Sacred Duty to Fill Every God-Given Talent with Beauty as Our Humble Offering

The poem presents every human talent (artistic, manual, relational, intellectual) as a small spark of God’s own infinite Beauty, lent to us not for self-glory but to be returned to Him transformed into lovelier praise.

It begins with the quiet truth that God has placed a unique “note” in each person and asks only that we make His beauty endure through our lives. Like a rose that cannot help but give back fragrance, we are to take whatever we have been given (brush, voice, hammer, lullaby, garden, poem) and fill it with reverence and excellence, and offer it back as worship.

Talents are never truly “ours”; they are loans of divine glory meant to increase through use. The poem urges us never to let any gift rust or fall silent, but to polish it until it glows with something more than human, becoming a mirror that flashes one ray of God’s light into the world.

The closing vision is eschatological: when the final day comes and all partial beauties are gathered into the Perfect Beauty, every small act of consecrated craftsmanship will expand into the eternal flame from which it came, and God will delight to recognize Himself in the humble human work offered with love.

In essence, the poem is a lyrical call to stewardship: live and work in such a way that every talent becomes a humble, beautiful gift returned to the Giver, an act of liturgical beauty that prepares us for the unending Beauty of heaven.

The Lord of Beauty lent us each a spark,
A single note to sound within His song;
He shaped the hand, the voice, the eye, the heart,
And whispered soft: “Now make My beauty long.”

Not for our praise, nor for the world’s applause,
But as the rose returns its scent to air,
We take the gift and, trembling at the cause,
Pour loveliness again into His care.

The painter’s brush, the poet’s burning line,
The gardener’s patient, green, and quiet art,
The mother’s lullaby, the carpenter’s design,
Each humble craft a beating of God’s heart.

For talent is not ours; it is a loan
Of glory, lent that glory may increase;
A mirror set beneath the sun alone
To catch one ray and fling it into peace.

Then let no gift lie rusted, mute, or dim;
Let every skill be polished till it shine
With something more than human seraphim
Can claim, till it reflects the borders of divine.

So work, O soul! and sing, and build, and sow,
With fear and love and wonder in your hands;
That when the final beauty shall bestow
Its perfect day, your fragment may expand
Into the endless Beauty whence it came,
And God behold Himself in your small flame.

O Ancient of Eternal Days: A Sevenfold Hymn of Thanksgiving Unto Ages of Ages by Debbie Harris

25 Tuesday Nov 2025

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Thanksgiving

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Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Praise, Thanksgiving

O Ancient of Eternal Days: A Sevenfold Hymn of Thanksgiving Unto Ages of Ages
A concise summary in seven breaths (one for each perfect stanza):

Before all time, the eternal God spoke light, seas, and harvest into being; every grain and every season has ever been His gift.
In the bleak beginnings of nations (pilgrims on barren shores, exiles in winter), God spread tables in the wilderness and taught His people the first songs of thanks.
Through every famine, war, and darkness since, His hidden manna and watchful love have never failed a single sparrow or child of the covenant.
Tonight, under this harvest moon, fields overflow and ten thousand tables shine; the earth itself laughs in color because all belongs to Him.
Yet the deepest thanksgiving is not for bread and wine, but for wounded hearts made whole, for sinners called beloved, for redemption that turns every sorrow into song.
Empires fall, thrones crumble, but the feast lengthens eastward and westward until the last stranger and the last unborn child find their place at the everlasting table.
Finally, all praise ascends to Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—one God in boundless might—while earth and heaven join in one unending Amen, and thanksgiving itself becomes eternity’s native tongue.

Refrain after every stanza:
“Praise, praise the Giver of all good… All peoples, lift undying praise!”

A hymn that begins before creation and never ends, carrying every generation’s gratitude forward on the same unbroken melody, world without end.

1
O Ancient of Eternal Days,
Before the worlds were framed,
Thy voice called forth the light and seas
And every creature named.
Thy open hand, through endless years,
Hath strewn the heavens with grain;
The seasons turn, the harvest nears—
Thy mercy falls like rain.

Praise, praise the Giver of all good,
Whose love shall never cease;
From age to age Thy mercies flood
The borders of our peace.
Forever, through the length of days,
Let grateful anthems rise—
All peoples, lift undying praise
To God who feeds and supplies!

2
On barren shores our fathers knelt
When winter gripped the land;
Yet Thou preparedst unseen bread
By Thine almighty hand.
A table rose amid the wild,
The cup of mercy ran;
And songs of thanks, by exiles styled,
First sounded among men.

3
When enemies who lie and kill
And come to steal, destroy,
Rose like the darkness, fierce and shrill,
To rob Thy people’s joy—
Thy hidden manna fed us still,
Thy wings o’ershadowed nigh;
Through every threat of death and ill
Thy covenant kept us by.

4
The golden sheaves now bend and break,
The vintage overflows;
Earth laughs in color for Thy sake
And every field o’erflows.
Ten thousand tables gleam tonight
Beneath the harvest moon—
All gifts are Thine, all hearts unite
To sing one thankful tune.

5
Yet not for bread and cup alone
Our trembling praises ring;
For wounded hearts made wholly known,
For every hidden thing
Turned glory by redeeming grace,
For sinners called Thy own—
We bless the love upon Thy face
That claimed us for Thy throne.

6
Let empires crumble into dust,
Let thrones in silence fall;
Thy kingdom comes, forever just,
And shall outlast them all.
The child unborn shall taste this feast,
The stranger find his place;
Thy table lengthens, east to west,
Till time gives way to grace.

7
To Father, Son, and Spirit blest,
One God in boundless might,
Be glory while the worlds shall rest
And through eternal light.
Amen, amen, let earth reply,
And heaven the song prolong—
Thanksgiving nevermore shall die
But rise, world without end, as song.

A Song of the Redeemed: Everlasting Gratitude to Jesus Christ for the Finished, Unending Gift of Salvation by Debbie Harris

25 Tuesday Nov 2025

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Thanksgiving

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Christian Poetry, Poetry, Praise, Thanksgiving

A Song of the Redeemed: Everlasting Gratitude to Jesus Christ for the Finished, Unending Gift of Salvation

This poem is a sustained, joyful portrait of the redeemed in the third person, celebrating the ceaseless, irreversible gift of salvation purchased once-for-all by Jesus Christ.

From the first breath of morning to the last sigh of night, the blood-bought host lives in astonished thankfulness. Every ordinary moment (waking, walking, laughing, eating, sleeping) is saturated with the finished work of Calvary: the curse lifted, death defeated, wrath exhausted, sin forgiven. Nature itself testifies—the sparrow, wheat, rain, and sky all echo the victory of the Second Adam and the broken Bread.

The redeemed laugh like soldiers who heard their Captain shout “It is finished!”, feast like guests whose infinite debt is stamped “Tetelestai—Paid in full” by the Lamb’s own blood, and rest like heirs who can never be disowned. Children run, old men leap, widows sing—every demographic of the saved pulses with resurrection life because Jesus Christ lives, reigns, and keeps giving the gift that never diminishes and can never be revoked.

The poem closes with an eternal refrain: the morning stars and the ransomed host together sing one undying note of gratitude to the risen Lord Jesus—Thank You without end—for the finished, unending salvation that flows ceaselessly from His throne.

They wake before the dawn has traced its gold,
the blood-bought host, and breathe the air made sweet
by Jesus Christ who loved and gave Himself.
Their houses—once cold tombs where death held sway—
now stand with every window flung to light
that streams unearned from Calvary’s finished work.

They walk the streets their feet once dragged in chains;
each step now falls on ground the Savior cursed no more.
The sparrow sings because the Second Adam lives,
the wheat bows low because the Bread was broken first,
the rain descends because the clouds of wrath
were emptied on the Lamb who bore their sin.

See how they laugh—no guarded, timid sound,
but loud and free, like soldiers who have heard
their Captain cry, “It is finished!” from the tree.
They greet with wonder those whom Jesus sought
and bought with blood, comparing scars that match
the prints still open in His hands and side.

At table they need no one bid them thank;
the bread itself proclaims the broken Body,
the cup still glows with blood that speaks a better word.
They eat, and every bite is sealed “Forgiven,”
they drink, and every swallow sings “Alive,”
because their Jesus Christ is risen, reigning, giving.

The children race, the old men leap for joy
as calves released when winter’s chains are shattered;
the widows lift the songs they thought forever lost
because the Bridegroom lives who dried their tears.
Above them bends a sky no longer brass
but poured-out mercy from the wounds of Christ.

All day they praise—no anxious, dutiful strain
for fear the gift might slip from trembling hands—
but steady, astonished, like a host set free
who saw the ledger soaked in royal blood
and read beneath their infinite debt
one crimson word: “Tetelestai—Paid in full.”

When night returns they do not bolt the doors
against tomorrow’s possible reversal.
They sleep as heirs the Son has made His own,
as kings already crowned by Jesus’ victory,
as loved ones held in love that cannot end,
and every heartbeat is a quiet amen
to ceaseless salvation flowing from the throne.

And somewhere deep, the morning stars still sing
the song they learned the day the Lamb prevailed:
the ransomed answer, breath by breath, forever—
“Thank You, Lord Jesus. Thank You without end.”

A Sonnet of Gratitude for the Glorious Victory of Salvation Won for the Redeemed by Debbie Harris

25 Tuesday Nov 2025

Posted by Debbie Harris in Bible Centered Poetry, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Thanksgiving

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Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Thanksgiving

Summary of the Sonnet
“A Sonnet of Gratitude for the Glorious Victory of Salvation Won for the Redeemed”

This sonnet joyfully celebrates the redeemed believers’ profound thankfulness for the gift of salvation. It portrays them as those who were once enslaved to sin and death but have been gloriously transformed by Christ’s decisive victory. Through His death and resurrection, the curse is shattered, the enemy is defeated, the grave is robbed of its power, and former captives are raised to life, crowned with light, and clothed in righteousness. Every breath of the redeemed now becomes a song of triumph, and their hearts are thrones for the risen Lamb. The poem closes with a resounding call for heaven and earth to echo endless praise, declaring that the saved are not merely rescued—they are forever conquering kings and priests in Christ. The entire sonnet pulses with gratitude for a salvation that is complete, irreversible, and overwhelmingly victorious.

Shall the redeemed compare their souls to spring
That bursts with life beneath the Victor’s sun?
Once slaves to sin, now children of the King,
They stand in robes of triumph He has won.

The curse is crushed; the grave has lost its sting,
The foe lies broken, silenced evermore;
Death heard the shout of resurrection ring
And yielded up its captives to the Door.

See how they rise, once dead, now crowned with light,
Arrayed in glory purchased by His blood;
Their every breath a hymn of boundless might,
Their hearts a throne where reigns the Lamb of God.

Let heaven and earth with endless anthems ring:
Forever saved, forever conquering!