Category Archives: Christ-centered poetry

“Ye Shall Not Add… Neither Shall Ye Diminish”:A Cry Against the Alteration of God’s Holy Word by Debbie Harris

20 Thursday Nov 2025

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

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he poem is a fierce, urgent warning that the single most soul-destroying habit a person can adopt is to tamper with the Word of God (adding to it, subtracting from it, softening it, or reinterpreting it to suit human preference).

It portrays such alteration as a slow-acting but lethal poison: a tiny change (one jot, one tittle) seems harmless at first, yet it quietly corrupts the heart, removes the anchor of truth, and ultimately leaves the soul shipwrecked and estranged from God.

Modern attempts to “update” or “humanize” Scripture are exposed as proud rebellion: men making themselves kinder than God and forging a false mercy that becomes an eternal funeral pyre.

The closing charge is absolute: lay down the pen, touch not one syllable, stand in awe and trembling. Better to be broken by the unflinching rod of the true Word than to die smiling under a counterfeit gospel. The words of Scripture are settled forever; to meddle with them is to invite spiritual ruin.

  • Deuteronomy 4:2
    Ye shall not add unto the word which I command you, neither shall ye diminish ought from it, that ye may keep the commandments of the LORD your God which I command you.
  • Deuteronomy 12:32
    What thing soever I command you, observe to do it: thou shalt not add thereto, nor diminish from it.
  • Proverbs 30:5-6
    Every word of God is pure: he is a shield unto them that put their trust in him. Add thou not unto his words, lest he reprove thee, and thou be found a liar.
  • Joshua 1:7
    Only be thou strong and very courageous, that thou mayest observe to do according to all the law, which Moses my servant commanded thee: turn not from it to the right hand or to the left, that thou mayest prosper whithersoever thou goest.
  • Jeremiah 26:2
    Thus saith the LORD; Stand in the court of the LORD’s house, and speak unto all the cities of Judah, which come to worship in the LORD’s house, all the words that I command thee to speak unto them; diminish not a word.
  • Matthew 5:18-19
    For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled. Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven: but whosoever shall do and teach them, the same shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.
  • Galatians 1:8-9
    But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed. As we said before, so say I now again, If any man preach any other gospel unto you than that ye have received, let him be accursed.
  • Revelation 22:18-19
    For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book, If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book: And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book.

Beware the hand that dares to bend
The living Word to private end;
No poison drips so slow, so sure,
No blade cuts deeper, none more pure
Than subtle change of what God said,
A shifted line, a verse half-dead.

The soul that drinks that altered stream
Will sicken in a silent dream;
First taste seems sweet, the change so small,
A jot, a tittle, that is all.
Yet day by day the fever grows,
Till truth lies bleeding no one knows.

Men call it wisdom, call it light,
To trim the Word for modern sight;
They soften threats, they blunt the rod,
And crown themselves more kind than God.
But mercy forged in human fire
Becomes the soul’s eternal pyre.

I’ve seen the wreck on every shore—
The heart that thought it needed more
Than what was written, plain and clear;
It added comfort, stifled fear,
Then woke to find the anchor gone,
And every star of guidance none.

O trembling hand, lay down the pen,
Let not one sacred syllable bend!
The Book that thunders, “Do not add,”
Still holds the power to make hearts glad
Or break them on the whetstone true;
Its ruin is its healing too.

Touch not the Word, though curiosity burn;
The soul that tampers shall itself be torn.
Better to bleed beneath the rod
Than smile forever estranged from God.
Stand trembling, stand in dust and awe—
The Word is settled. That is all.

A Sonnet In Awe Of God’s Provision by Debbie Harris

20 Thursday Nov 2025

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The sparrow rides a wind it never earned,
Its wings edged bright with light not of its own;
A widow’s jar still whispers flour, unturned,
The cruse bleeds oil where want should overthrow.

From flint-split heart the rock remembers grace,
Manna descends like mercy’s slow refrain;
Lions grow tame before the psalmist’s face,
The fourth walks fire and cools the furnace flame.

The barren womb breaks sudden into song,
The prisoner’s chains slip off like outworn skin;
The leper reaches—finds his hand made strong,
New flesh where rot had gnawed its way within.

We, beggars waking rich, stand stunned and dumb:
Love’s scandalous arithmetic o’ercomes.

In Awe of How God Provides for His Own by Debbie Harris

20 Thursday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Praise, Thanksgiving

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The poem is a lyrical meditation on the wonder of divine provision. Drawing from biblical images (sparrows, ravens and widows, manna, water from the rock, Daniel in the lions’ den, Shadrach and his friends in the furnace, Sarah’s laughter, restored lepers, multiplied loaves), it celebrates God’s miraculous, often extravagant care for His people.

It portrays a God who turns scarcity into abundance, danger into safety, and emptiness into overflowing grace. Nothing is wasted in His economy; even tears and lost years are redeemed. The tone is one of stunned gratitude before the “scandalous arithmetic” of a Provider who refuses to let His own go hungry, leaving the speaker (and reader) in speechless awe and worship.

The sparrow lifts on a wind it never earned,
wings tipped with light that was not its making;
it drinks from a puddle cupped in broken stone—
a chalice the storm forgot to shatter.

A widow counts two coins that should have been one,
yet the jar keeps breathing flour, the jug keeps bleeding oil;
the prophet’s raven drops bread like dark forgiveness
on a fugitive hiding from his own prayers.

Out of the cracked heart of a rock, water remembers
how to be generous;
manna falls like slow punctuation
in the long sentence of the wilderness.

Even the lions in their hunger learn restraint
when a man stands in their den humming psalms;
the fourth figure walks the furnace, unconsumed,
cooling the flames with the hem of mercy.

See the childless womb that suddenly laughs,
the prisoner whose chains fall off like old skin,
the leper who reaches, and instead of losing a hand
finds it wrapped in new flesh.

Nothing is wasted—
not the five loaves, not the tears, not the years eaten by locusts.
He keeps every sparrow in a ledger of love
and every hair numbered like stars in a private sky.

So we stand, beggars who wake up rich,
carrying empty cups that keep overflowing,
stunned into worship by the scandalous arithmetic
of a God who will not let His own go hungry.

Amen.

One Savior, One Song, One King: Sonnet of a Heart Tuned Forever to the Praise of the Lamb Who Was Slain by Debbie Harris

17 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by in Bible Centered Poetry, Christ Centered Devotionals, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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Romans 11:33–36 (KJV)

³³ O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!
³⁴ For who hath known the mind of the Lord? or who hath been his counsellor?
³⁵ Or who hath first given to him, and it shall be recompensed unto him again?
³⁶ For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen.

From Him the morning breaks and stars are born,
Through Him the cross, the empty tomb, the grace;
His wounded hands still hold the world He swore
To buy with blood and crown with royal race.
No breath is mine but what His mercy gave,
No crown I’ll wear but what His sorrow wrought;
Each moment, talent, tear, from cradle-grave
Is owed, is owned, is only His by right.
Then let no rival glory claim one sigh—
No dream, no fear, no pleasure steal His due;
My waking, working, weeping, living, die:
All fuel to blaze one fire forever true.
To Him alone be glory, now, alway;
My heart, my life, my all—His endless day.

Of Him, through Him, and to Him alone
are all things. To Him be glory forever. Amen.

Of Him, Through Him, and to Him Alone: The One Eternal Desire of the Royally Redeemed by Debbie Harris

17 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Praise, Prayer, Royally Redeemed

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Rooted in the doxology of Romans 11:36 (“For of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen”), these three interconnected poems form a single, burning declaration:

  1. Everything that exists flows from God’s delight (Of Him).
  2. Everything that is saved was saved only through the blood of the Lamb (Through Him).
  3. Therefore everything that is saved now exists for one fierce, eternal purpose: to return all glory to Him alone (To Him).

The central message is that the royally redeemed (those purchased by Christ to be kings and priests) have only one true desire: that no rival glory—big or small, spectacular or mundane—ever steal what belongs to Jesus.

From the first breath of the morning to the last tear of the night, from spreadsheets to suffering, from triumphs to traffic, every moment is to be lived as fuel for the one fire that will never go out: the praise of His glory. There are no neutral seconds for a blood-bought soul. Worship is not a Sunday activity; it is the entire point of Monday through eternity.

The series ends with a jealous, joyful, lifelong Amen:
Only to Him.
Only forever.
Starting right now.

Only to Him be glory forever
—not just with our lips,
but with the stubborn, beautiful minutes of Monday morning.

We do not sing this in heaven only;
we begin it in traffic,
in the oncology ward,
in the 3 a.m. panic,
in the cubicle,
in the kitchen sink full of last night’s dishes.

Living for His glory forever means:

  • The alarm clock is answered because He is worthy of the day.
  • The spreadsheet is finished with excellence because half-hearted work insults the King who gave us minds.
  • The apology is offered quickly because unforgiveness robs Him of the praise due for the cross.
  • The paycheck is stewarded, the body is disciplined, the phone is put down at dinner—
    all because lesser gods keep trying to steal what was bought to be His alone.

Every ordinary step can thunder with eternity
when it is taken on the single road that leads back to the throne.

The royally redeemed have no neutral moments.
There is no “off-duty” for a purchased soul.
We eat to the glory of God.
We sleep to the glory of God.
We laugh, weep, text, vote, mow the lawn, change the diaper,
fight temptation, forgive the wound—
all of it is either fuel for His praise
or stolen kindling for some idol that will burn.

So we wake up jealous.
Not petty-jealous, but white-hot, worshipful jealous:
Let no rival have what is His.
Let no comfort, no ambition, no fear, no pleasure
sit on the throne that was paid for with blood.

Only to Him.
In the spectacular and in the small.
In the spotlight and in the unseen.
In the healing and in the hospital bed.
In the yes and in the long no.
In the wedding and in the funeral.
In the first breath of the day and the last sigh of the night.

Only to Him be glory
—not 99%,
not most of the time,
not when it’s convenient or emotionally moving.

Only.
Forever.
Starting right now.

Let the redeemed life be one long, unbroken echo:
“Whatever you do—whether you eat or drink or scroll or suffer or love or die—do it all to the glory of God.”
Because one day the echo becomes sight,
and every knee bows,
and every tongue confesses out loud what we practiced in secret:

Jesus Christ is Lord—
to the glory of God the Father.

Only to Him.
Forever.

Amen.
Let the day begin.

Wood, Hay, Stubble Burn in Fire to Test Purity—Only Christ-Glorifying Deeds Remain Gold, Silver, Jewels: The Bema Epic of Royal Heirs by Debbie Harris

16 Sunday Nov 2025

Posted by in Bible Centered Poetry, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Royally Redeemed

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I. The Loom of Dawn
In the hush before the worlds were spun,
A loom of light stood in the void’s deep heart;
There, Thought was born as threads of sun,
And Word took wing on winds that never part.
The Weaver’s hand—eternal, scarred, and sure—
Drew gold from mercy’s vein, let silver pour
From rivers of His grace; then, rough and raw,
He carved the stones that sing beneath His law.
Yet shadows crept, and mortals wove in haste:
Hay of pride, wood of wrath, stubble of waste.

II. The Building
Upon the Rock that split the dark in twain,
A city rises, tier on gleaming tier.
Some raise their towers with the hurricane
Of fleshly zeal—timbers that crack and sear.
Others, with trembling fingers, set each gem
In sockets forged by prayer; their anthems hem
The sky with sapphire, topaz, chrysolite—
Each deed a star, each word a lance of light.
The air is thick with incense of the soul:
Frankincense of faith, myrrh of self-control.

III. The Trumpet
Then, sudden as the eagle’s stoop, a blast
Of molten music cleaves the firmament.
The dead in Christ arise; the shadows cast
By earthly suns dissolve in white ascent.
A throne of jasper, rimmed with thunder’s rim,
Stands over seas of glass; the seraphim
Veil faces with their wings, yet dare to sing:
“Holy, Holy, Holy—let the judgment ring!”
The books unfurl like banners in the gale;
Each heartbeat, whispered curse, each secret tale.

IV. The Fire
A river of white flame, alive, aware,
Pours from the throne and licks the works of men.
See! Towers of straw ignite in scarlet glare,
Their ashes whirl like locusts in the glen.
Yet Christ-centered deeds, though rough as ore,
Drink fire and blaze—to gold and silver soar,
To jewels refined, transmuted in the flame;
Each act for Him now bears His royal name.
The wood shrieks, splits; the hay dissolves to smoke;
But precious stones exhale a living cloak
Of rainbow light that wraps the Savior’s feet—
A carpet woven from the pure, the sweet.

V. The Loss and the Gain
One stands in rags of smoldering regret,
His crown of thorns now ash upon his brow;
“Lord, I built kingdoms,” yet the flames forget
The names he carved in sand. He learns the vow
Of emptiness. Another, poor in earth,
Steps forward barefoot; from his heart a birth
Of light erupts—his cup of water given
In secret now becomes a star in heaven.
The Savior’s eyes, twin furnaces of love,
Burn through the dross and bid the true rise above.

VI. The Great White Silence
Beyond the Bema, far across the gulf
Where mercy’s echo dies, another throne
Looms cold and terrible. No seraph’s gulf
Of song attends; the books of death alone
Are opened. There the unredeemed appear—
Their haystacks never kindled, never clear
Of gold. The Lake of Fire, a second death,
Swallows the stubble with unquenchable breath.
No tear is wiped; no name is found in grace;
Eternity is fixed in that white face.

VII. The Charge
O pilgrim, hear the crackle of the pyre
That waits beyond the veil! Let every thought
Be hammered on the anvil of desire
For Him alone. Let every word be wrought
In silver speech that will not tarnish when
The Refiner’s gaze consumes the hearts of men.
Build now with blood-bought nails, with tears, with prayer;
Let love be mortar, faith the cornerstone there.
For soon the trumpet, soon the blazing scroll—
And only what is Christ will pass the toll.

VIII. The Amen
Then let the cosmos kneel. The fire dies.
The gold remains, the silver, and the stone—
A city foursquare, with gates of pearl that rise
To greet the Lamb upon the central throne.
No night intrudes; no shadow dims the blaze
Of glory upon glory. Endless days
Resound with harps of those whose works endured:
“Well done, My servant—enter, rest secured.”
And every tongue, from pole to pole, shall sing:
“Worthy the Lamb—deeds burn unless for His sole glory,
Yet done for Christ become gold, silver, jewels—–the royal heir’s bright story!”

I Have Nothing to Glory In But the Cross of Jesus Christ by Debbie Harris

16 Sunday Nov 2025

Posted by in Bible Centered Poetry, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Praise

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Summary of the Poem

The poem, inspired by Galatians 6:14, expresses the speaker’s rejection of worldly pride—wealth, power, wisdom, and fame—as empty and fleeting. Instead, it celebrates exclusive glory in the cross of Jesus Christ, portrayed as the ultimate symbol of divine love, redemption, and sacrifice. Through vivid imagery of the crucifixion, it contrasts human vanity with the transformative power of Christ’s death, which breaks sin’s chains, heals the broken, and offers eternal hope. The speaker vows lifelong devotion to this “scandalous” truth, culminating in heavenly glory.

(A poem inspired by Galatians 6:14 – “But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.”)

In shadowed halls where empires rise and fall,
Where crowns of gold and thrones of pride enthrall,
I stand unbowed, my heart a barren field—
No harvest reaped from flesh’s fleeting yield.

The laurels wilt, the scepters turn to dust,
Ambition’s fire consumes in hollow lust;
Wealth whispers lies, and fame’s bright banner fades,
Leaving the soul in echoes of parades.

Yet one lone beam pierces the midnight veil,
A rugged cross where heaven’s mercies hail—
There, Love incarnate bled in crimson tide,
And bore my shame where justice crucified.

No boast in wisdom’s towers, sharp and high,
No glory in the strength that dares defy;
The world recedes, its chains fall shattered free,
For in that cross, my Savior died for me.

Oh, scandal of the ages, foolish sign!
The King of Glory on a tree divine—
Through splinters deep and thorns that crown His brow,
Redemption flows, and every knee must bow.

Let poets sing of stars and seas profound,
Let warriors claim the battle’s vict’ry sound;
I have no song but this eternal theme:
The cross alone, my hope, my light, my dream.

For by its power, the dead in sin arise,
The broken mended, blind receive their eyes;
In Christ alone, the veil is torn apart—
Nothing to glory in, but His wounded heart.

So let the ages roll, and tempests rage,
I’ll cling to Calvary through every stage;
Till faith gives way to sight in realms above,
And glory crowns the cross of boundless love.

From Dawn to Evermore: All Glory to Father, Savior, and Holy Spirit by Debbie Harris

15 Saturday Nov 2025

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The poem is a lyrical hymn of praise to the Holy Trinity—Father, Savior (Jesus), and Holy Spirit—celebrating their roles in creation, redemption, and sanctification.

  • Father: The architect of the cosmos, awakening the world with mountains, rivers, and leaves as living worship.
  • Savior: The merciful redeemer who heals wounds, transforms despair into joy, and turns death into life.
  • Holy Spirit: The dynamic presence igniting faith, comforting the broken, and turning human breath into sacred space.

It glorifies God for everyday miracles (birth, laughter, sparrows) and cosmic wonders (galaxies, the cross), uniting all gratitude in an eternal “all glory” that echoes from darkness to light, now and forever.

In the hush before dawn, when silence is a prayer,
Father, You breathe the world awake—
mountains rise like altars,
rivers carve psalms through stone,
every leaf a green tongue lifted in praise.

Savior, You walk the wounded roads we bleed upon,
hands scarred with mercy,
turning water to wine,
graves to gardens,
our ashes into alleluias.

Holy Spirit, wild dove,
You hover over chaos,
kindling tongues of fire in ordinary hearts,
whispering wind through the ribs of the broken,
making cathedrals of breath.

For the first cry of a child,
for the last sigh of the dying,
for the laugh that splits sorrow in two—
all glory.

For galaxies spun like silk from Your fingers,
for the sparrow that falls and is caught,
for the cross that shouldered our night—
all glory.

For every amen ever sighed in the dark,
for every hallelujah shouted in the light,
for the triune heartbeat beneath all things—
all glory,
forever and ever,
world without end.

Every Breath a Sacred Loan, Every Day a Divine Canvas, Every Talent a Spark from Eternity, Every Blessing a Whisper of God’s Love by Debbie Harris

15 Saturday Nov 2025

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It traces life’s essentials—breath, daylight, innate abilities, and unearned mercies—back to their singular Source, portraying each as a temporary loan rather than a possession.
Through vivid metaphors of ribboned gifts, painted canvases, kindled sparks, and whispered love, it builds a rhythmic litany of dependence and wonder.
The closing turns the reader’s own exhale into an act of worship, sealing the cycle: all from God, all to God, amen.

Dawn cracks open like a gift unwrapped—
each breath a ribbon pulled from God’s own hand.
The lungs expand, a quiet miracle,
no coin can buy the air that fills the span
between the heart’s soft drum and silence.

The day arrives, unearned, a canvas wide,
painted in gold before the eye can blink.
Sunlight spills across the waking world,
a signature no mortal pen could ink—
time borrowed, not owned, yet freely given.

Talent wakes inside the fingers, tongue,
a spark that leaps from thought to crafted form:
the singer’s note, the builder’s steady rung,
the poet’s line that shelters in the storm.
None self-made; all on loan from the Source.

Blessings fall like rain on parched ground—
health to rise, love to hold, bread to break.
The child’s laugh, the friend’s unspoken sound,
the grace that mends what we ourselves forsake.
Every drop traced back to the same sky.

So let the exhale carry thanks, not pride;
let every gifted day be lived aware
that breath, light, skill, and mercy coincide
in one continuous prayer.
From God they come.
To God return.
Amen.

The God Who Neither Tires Nor Falters: Song of the Everlasting One Whose Unsearchable Understanding Becomes the Inheritance of All Who Wait Upon Him by Debbie Harris

12 Wednesday Nov 2025

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Hast thou not known? Hast thou not heard,
The everlasting God, the Lord,
Creator of earth’s farthest ends,
Fainteth not, neither grows weary?
His understanding—no man can search.

He giveth power to the faint;
To them that have no might He increaseth strength.
Even youths shall faint and be weary,
Young men stumble, fall—
But they that wait upon the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
Mount up with wings as eagles,
Run and not be weary,
Walk and never faint.

O boundless God, I stand in awe—
Thy oceans of might overflow my soul!
My heart, a trembling leaf, is lifted high
On eagle-wings of grace Thou dost bestow.
I thank Thee, Lord, with every breath I draw;
Thy greatness crashes like a tidal wave,
And in its roar I lose myself,
Found only in Thy love that saves.