May We Never Underestimate the Righteous and Holy Power of Our Risen Savior by Debbie Harris

26 Wednesday Nov 2025

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings

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Christian Poetry, Inspirational, jesus-christ, Praise, worship

Summary of “May We Never Underestimate the Righteous and Holy Power of Our Risen Savior”The poem is a fervent, worshipful warning and celebration: Christians must never reduce, tame, or forget the full, awe-inspiring reality of who the risen Jesus truly is.It begins with a solemn charge—never to underestimate the holy power that conquered death itself. Christ is portrayed not merely as a gentle teacher or moral example, but as the sovereign King who silenced storms, shattered hell’s gates, and rose victorious from the tomb, bearing scars that are now emblems of eternal dominion.Stanza by stanza, the poem contrasts the limitless might and terror of His glory with the frailty of human pride, empires, and darkness. No night is too deep, no heart too hard, no kingdom too strong to withstand the light and love of the Risen One. Every knee will ultimately bow—not by persuasion, but by the undeniable authority of the Lamb who was slain and yet lives forever on the throne.The closing stanzas shift from warning to exultation, calling the soul to awaken and join the angelic anthem: “Worthy is the Lamb!” The resurrection is not a past event to be sentimentalized; it is the present, reigning, returning reality of the all-conquering Christ.In essence, the poem is a passionate plea to behold Jesus in His full biblical majesty—terrifying in holiness, tender in mercy, and absolutely unrivaled in power—so that we worship, fear, love, and live in the light of the One who lives and reigns forever.

May we never underestimate
The holy power that death could not hold,
The King who rose when the morning was late
And turned the grave to a gate of gold.

He spoke, and tempests forgot their rage,
He stood, and iron-barred darkness broke;
The chains of hell fell off like a page
Torn from the book that Satan wrote.

No night so deep but His dawn can rend,
No heart so hard but His love can move;
The proudest knee in the end shall bend
Beneath the scar that is crowned with love.

Let empires boast of their marble and might,
Let tyrants thunder and legions roar—
They crumble to dust in a breath of His light,
For Christ is risen, and reigns evermore.

May we never belittle or tame
The terror and tenderness blended as one
In Him who still bears the print of the nail
Yet sits on the throne when all thrones are gone.

Awake, my soul, and with angels cry:
“Worthy the Lamb upon Calvary slain!”
All heaven thunders the glad reply—
He lives, He reigns, and He comes again!Amen.

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!

May Our Lives Be a Song of Praise and Thanksgiving to Thee, O Lord of Majestic, Hope-Filled Victory by Debbie Harris

24 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Praise, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving

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Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Praise, Prayer, worship

The poem is a single, sustained prayer that our entire lives might become a living act of worship: rising like sweet incense (Psalm 141:2) to the majestic God who has triumphed over sin, sorrow, and death through the cross and resurrection of Jesus.

It celebrates the transformative power of the gospel:

Darkness is outrun by mercy.
Brokenness and scars are turned into songs of glory.
Ordinary days, tears, work, and weakness are all redeemed and filled with resurrection light.
Every moment (from Monday labor to the return of spring) pulses with hallelujah because the war is already won.

The poem offers back to God the small, honest gifts of real human lives (the worker’s hands, the child’s trust, the widow’s mite, the prodigal’s return) and asks that He receive them as fragrant worship. It ends with a triumphant amen: because we serve the Slain and Risen Lamb, even our little lives are swept up into one endless, hope-filled song of praise and thanksgiving.

In short:
Because of who Christ is and what He has done, every breath we take can be worship, every day can be victory, and every heart can keep singing forever.

May our lives rise like incense, sweet and slow,
a steady hymn through night’s unyielding deep,
each breath a note, each heartbeat set aglow
by mercy that outruns the dark and keeps
its promise in the breaking of the bread,
its victory in the place where sorrow bled.

Oh Lord, majestic, clothed in living light,
Thy name a banner over every fear;
the grave is hollow now, the stone is bright
with morning no shadow can draw near.
We carry resurrection in our veins,
and every scar sings glory through its pains.

Let laughter spill like wine at harvest feast,
let weeping turn to dancing in Thy sight;
our fragile days, once borrowed from the beast
of death, now blaze with heaven’s borrowed might.
Because of who we serve—the Slain, the Risen—
our little lives become a wide horizon.

So take these trembling offerings, small and true:
the work-worn hand, the child’s unbroken trust,
the widow’s mite, the prodigal’s “I’m through
with running”—all laid bare before the Just
and Gentle One who calls the broken blest
and sets a table in the wilderness.

May every ordinary moment ring
with hallelujahs only grace can start;
may Monday’s labor and December’s spring
both thrum beneath Thy mercy like a heart
that knows its ransom paid, its war already won—
and sings, forever sings, because of Thee, the Son.

Amen. And amen again.
Our lives: one endless song of praise and thanksgiving.

Theologia Naturalis Redempta: The Gospel of Redemption Traced through the Groaning Creation by Debbie Harris

24 Monday Nov 2025

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

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Christ-Created Nature, Christian Poetry, christianity, Inpirational

Summary of
Theologia Naturalis Redempta
(The Gospel of Redemption Traced through the Groaning Creation)

The poem presents the entire gospel story as it is silently preached by the created world itself, from Genesis to Revelation.

It begins before creation, with the eternal Word and Love already present, then shows how every element of nature was designed from the beginning to be a living parable of Christ and His redemptive work.

Stars, leaves, and light bear the signature of the Lamb who was “slain from the foundation of the world.”
Innocent lambs, barren fig trees, toil-free lilies, and fed ravens act as living sermons on sin, judgment, providence, and grace.
The central agricultural images (sower and soils, wheat and tares, the single grain that dies to bear much fruit, the bleeding Vine and its pruning) retell the parable of the cross and resurrection: Christ’s death is the only way to abundant spiritual harvest.
Storm and wave bowing to Jesus reveal His sovereign lordship even in the chaos introduced by the fall.
Creation itself is then shown “groaning” under the curse, waiting with eager longing for the revelation of the sons of God and the final liberation of nature at Christ’s return.
The poem closes in the new creation: the curse reversed, the Tree of Life healing the nations, the river flowing from the throne, and God Himself as the light—no temple, no night, only the unveiled glory of the Lamb.

Thus nature is never a neutral backdrop; it is a book written by the same finger that wrote Scripture. From the first dawn to the final morning, every meadow, storm, seed, and star has been proclaiming one message: the dying and rising of the Word made flesh, the redemption accomplished and the creation made new through the blood of the eternal Lamb.

In short, the poem argues that if we have ears to hear and eyes to see, the whole groaning, glorious world is one long, unbroken sermon on the everlasting gospel of Jesus Christ.

Before the worlds were framed, the Word was there,
And Love, unmade, breathed life through empty air.
The Spirit brooded o’er the formless deep
Till light, obedient, from the darkness leaped.
Each star a seal, each leaf a living line,
Proclaims the Lamb whose blood would write divine.

The lamb that frisks at dawn upon the lea
Already knows the Shepherd soon to be;
The fig-tree, cursed for barrenness, confesses
That fruitlessness invites the storm of curses.
Yet lilies, clothed in glory without toil,
Outshine the pomp of Solomon’s proud spoil.

Behold the ravens: neither barn nor field
Yet find their table by the Father filled;
The sower casts his seed on varied ground—
Some choked by thorns, some trampled, some profound;
But where the plow of grace has broken sod,
One grain, in dying, multiplies to God.

The wheat and tares in mingled beauty spring
Till angels reap with sickles of the King;
The grain of wheat must fall and lose its name
Lest it abide alone in barren shame.
From that small death the bread of heaven springs—
Five thousand fed, and twelve full baskets’ gleanings.

The Vine is bleeding on the terraced hill;
The branches that abide are pruned until
More excellent the clusters grow, and press
The wine of joy for heaven’s marriage-feast.
The waves that roared in fury cease to rave
And lay their heads, like children, at His feet to lave.

Creation groans beneath the ancient curse,
In travail waits the universe’s nurse;
The rocks stand ready, should our praise grow dumb,
To shout the triumph of the Age to come.
Yet soon the curse shall vanish like a scroll,
And morning break upon the ransomed whole.

Beneath the Tree whose leaves shall heal mankind
The river flows, no serpent now to bind;
No night shall fall, no temple need the sun,
For God Himself shall be their Light, the Lamb the throne.
All nature, once a parable of grace,
Shall see her Lord unveiled and face to face.

Thus from the first creation to the new
The Gospel shines the wounded landscape through:
Not writ in ink, nor graven upon stone,
But living in the flesh that veils the throne;
Beholds His glory, full of truth and grace—
The Word made flesh, who took our mortal place.

Amen.

A Sonnet on Ephesians 5:20 by Debbie Harris

24 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Praise, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving

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Biblical Truth, Christian Poetry, Inpirational, Thanksgiving

The sonnet is a poetic meditation on Ephesians 5:20’s command to “give thanks always for all things.”

It urges the reader to offer gratitude not only in moments of joy, plenty, and health, but especially in hardship, pain, hunger, sorrow, and suffering. The poem reframes difficulties as disguised mercies: wounds that sing, crosses that become crowns, scars that shine like jewels, and bruises that lead to healing joy.

In every circumstance (sunlit or stormy), the speaker calls us to lift continual thanks to God the Father through Jesus Christ, insisting that this habit of thankful praise, even in the darkest times, is what ultimately strengthens weak and weary hearts.

Give thanks, O heart, in every breath you draw,
Not only when the sun gilds morning skies,
But when the midnight rain and tempests roar,
And sorrow’s iron enters through your eyes.
Give thanks when bread is plentiful and sweet,
Yet more when hunger gnaws the hollow night;
Give thanks in health that dances down the street,
And deeper still when pain restrains your flight.
For every wound, a hidden mercy sings;
Each cross a covert crown, each scar a gem.
The Father’s hand that bruises also brings
The oil of joy from Gilead’s stem.
So, in the name of Jesus, lift your song—
Give thanks always, for this makes weak hearts strong.

(Ephesians 5:20: “Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”)

A Thanksgiving Hymn to Christ the King by Debbie Harris

24 Monday Nov 2025

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

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Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Praise, Thanksgiving, worship

Summary of “A Thanksgiving Hymn to Christ the King”

The poem is a single, sustained act of worship that moves from earthly Thanksgiving beauty to the eternal throne of Jesus Christ.

It begins with the familiar golden splendor of an American Thanksgiving (amber fields, scarlet maples, pumpkin, cider, laughter, and a laden table), yet swiftly lifts every detail into praise of Christ the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the true source of all bounty.

Remembering how Jesus once multiplied loaves on Galilee’s shore, the poem thanks Him not only for food and harvest, but far more for His broken body and shed blood that multiply grace and forgive sins.

Earthly candles and hearthfires fade before the fiercer, saving light of the cross. All temporary joys (turkey, pies, breath itself) are offered back to the Lamb who was slain, that He might transform them into eternal crowns.

The poem closes with a vision that stretches beyond every future Thanksgiving on earth: one day the final harvest will gleam, time will end, and the redeemed will lay endless hallelujahs at the feet of Jesus Christ, the King supreme.

In short, it is a joyous, majestic declaration that every Thanksgiving feast is but a foretaste of the everlasting banquet, and every “thank you” on earth is rehearsal for the unending worship in heaven.

On this golden Thanksgiving day,
when amber light spills over fields laid bare,
we lift our eyes beyond the harvest’s fair array
to Him who crowns the year with mercy rare.

Jesus, Thou King of Kings, bright Morning Star,
whose scepter rules the storm and calms the sea,
before Thy throne we cast our crowns afar,
for every grain and grape are gifts from Thee.

The scarlet maple, burning in its praise,
the pumpkin’s quiet gold, the cider’s steam,
the laughter rising through the autumn haze—
all echo back the glory of Thy name.

Thou who once broke the bread on Galilee’s shore,
and fed the thousands with a child’s small store,
still multiplies our meager thanks once more
till hearts, like loaves, are broken and restored.

We thank Thee for the table richly spread,
for hands that planted, hands that reaped and baked;
yet more, O Lord of Lords, for wounds that bled,
for love that died and rose, and sins erased.

The pilgrim’s candle flickers in the night,
the hearthfire leaps to greet the wandering guest;
but brighter burns Thy cross’s saving light—
in that fierce flame we find our deepest rest.

So take our trembling praise, our feeble song,
our turkey carved, our pies, our fleeting breath;
receive it all, Thou Lamb who bore our wrong,
and weave it into crowns beyond our death.

Forever, Jesus Christ, the King supreme,
we laud Thy name through every coming year;
till earth’s last harvest yields its final gleam
and crown Thy throne with endless hallelujahs clear.

Amen.