Category Archives: Praise

O Boundless Mercy, Matchless Worth: A Hymn of Redemption’s Embrace by Debbie Harris

09 Tuesday Dec 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Praise

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The poem traces the breathtaking journey of a soul under the gaze of a holy God.It begins with unflinching honesty: Jesus Christ sees everything, every hidden sin, every hypocritical prayer, every tear we refused to cry, and the spiritual death we carried while pretending to live.Yet the moment a person truly repents (when pride finally breaks, when the heart turns back with nothing to offer but its own ruin), everything changes. Mercy pours like an ocean without shores, grace covers completely, and divine love stoops from heaven to embrace the unworthy. The Judge Himself becomes the sacrifice, paying the price on Calvary.No earthly treasure or human achievement can compare to this gift: to be completely known in all our shame, yet completely loved, forgiven, cleansed, and (astonishingly) crowned with heavenly honor.In short, the poem celebrates the heart of the gospel: God’s boundless mercy and matchless grace transform the most broken sinner into a beloved, glorified child welcomed home forever.

Our Savior sees the hidden stain,
The secret sin, the silent shame;
Each thought that shuns the light of day,
Each wandering step that went astray.

He knows the heart that feigned to pray,
The lips that lied, the hands that strayed;
He marks the tears we never shed,
The living death where hope has fled.

Yet when the broken spirit turns,
When pride dissolves and sorrow burns,
When empty hands at last confess
Their ruin and unrighteousness—

Then mercy, like a boundless sea,
Flows from the throne of Calvary;
Then grace, unmeasured and unstinted,
Covers the soul once foul and tainted.

Love bends the heavens, comes down low,
To kiss the brow once bent with woe;
The Judge becomes the Ransom price,
And God Himself is sacrifice.

No gift beneath the stars above,
No treasure born of human love,
Can match this wonder, pure and free—
Redeeming grace on Calvary’s tree.

O boundless mercy, matchless worth!
The greatest gift on sinful earth:
To be fully known, yet fully loved,
Forgiven, cleansed, and crowned in heaven above.

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 in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Praise, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving

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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.

A Sonnet on Ephesians 5:20 by Debbie Harris

24 Monday Nov 2025

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

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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 Hymn To The Beauty To Our Lord And Savior Jesus Christ, King Of Kings And Lord Of Lords by Debbie Harris

22 Saturday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Praise

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The poem is a reverent contemplation of the surpassing, inexhaustible beauty of Jesus Christ. It declares that no human words, art, or lifespan can ever fully capture His loveliness: His face outshines the dawn, His eyes hold depths greater than the sea, and even the fairest flowers and the sun itself grow dim before Him.

His pierced hands and sacred wounds, once marks of suffering, now radiate eternal glory and serve as the very gates of heaven. Angels and elders in heaven veil their faces and cast down their crowns in ceaseless worship of the Lamb who was slain.

Yet on earth, time is too short and mortal hearts too limited to comprehend or express even a fraction of this beauty. A thousand ages would still leave the soul stammering in awe.

The closing strophe turns to hope: although no one sees Him in fullness now, to all who are born again God has promised the day when faith will become sight. Then, face to face with the unveiled Christ, they will at last drink in the complete splendor of His beauty and love Him perfectly forever.

In mortal sphere where fleeting shadows fall,
There walks a Form that holds the heart in thrall;
No tongue of man, though eloquent it be,
Hath power to speak the tenth part of His beauty.

His countenance is fairer than the morn
When first it gilds the dew-besilvered thorn;
His eyes are deeper than the midnight sea,
Yet soft as light that breaks on Galilee.

The rose of Sharon pales before His cheek,
The lily of the valley seems less meek;
The sun itself, in all its golden pride,
Doth veil its face when He is glorified.

His hands, once pierced, now bear the radiant scars
That shine more bright than all the evening stars;
His wounds, once red with sorrow’s bitter wine,
Are now the gates whereby the soul divine
Doth enter bliss and drink eternal day,
Where grief is lost and tears are wiped away.

The seraphim before His throne fall low,
Veiling their wings in reverent glow;
The four-and-twenty elders cast their crowns
And chant new anthems to the Lamb that drowns
All lesser music in its boundless tide
Of love that flowed when on the Cross He died.

Yet mortal years are all too brief a span
To trace the glory of the Son of Man;
A thousand ages, bright as seraphs’ wings,
Would find the heart still poor and stammering.

O Beauty ancient, yet for ever new,
O endless Light that mortal eye ne’er knew
In fullness here; yet to the born-again
Thy promise stands, immutable, clear, and plain:
They shall behold Thy face in unveiled might,
And, ravished, drink the plenitude of light,
Where faith shall yield to sight, and sight adore
The Lamb upon the throne for evermore.

We Receive a Kingdom That Cannot Be Shaken: A Hymn of Reverence, Gratitude, and Eternal Victory by Debbie Harris

21 Friday Nov 2025

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

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Rooted in Hebrews 12:28, the poem celebrates the staggering gift of an eternal, unshakable kingdom that believers are already receiving amid a world that is crumbling. Earthly empires rise in smoke, their crowns and scepters shatter, mountains melt, and graves claim every merely human glory; yet God’s people stand secure on Mount Zion, the city that cannot be moved.

The cross itself becomes the guarantee: the slain Lamb now reigns, His wounds transformed into royal jewels, and every scar a proof that this kingdom is forever “shake-proof.” Because Christ has triumphed over sin and death, His people live in confident hope, wearing an unseen crown and bearing the weight of coming glory even now.

The poem moves from awe-filled reverence (falling before a holy God) to exultant victory (rising to serve the King of Kings with trembling joy). It ends with a final, defiant hallelujah: while hell despairs and death lies crushed, the redeemed lift their voices in worship, tasting already the wine of endless days in the one realm that no power can ever overthrow.

In short, it is a song of majesty, unbreakable hope, and ultimate victory for all who serve the Lamb who was slain—the eternal King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

(Hebrews 12:28)

Therefore, since we are receiving
a kingdom that cannot be shaken—
let us be thankful,
and so worship God acceptably
with reverence and awe.

We stand on ground that will not yield,
while thrones of earth dissolve like mist;
the fires may roar, the mountains slide,
yet here our footing keeps its tryst.
No earthquake moves the city’s wall,
no tempest tears its banners down—
for we have come to Zion’s hill
and wear the Victor’s hidden crown.

The smoke of empires climbs and fades,
their iron scepters snap like reeds;
but mercy built our fortress here
on promises that never bleed.
The Lamb once slain now wears the scars
as royal jewels upon His breast—
and every wound that bought our peace
has made His kingdom shake-proof, blest.

So lift your heads, you blood-bought host,
the night is gone, the dawn is sure;
the trumpet soon will split the sky
and call the heirs to what endures.
With reverence deep and holy fire
we fall, we rise, we kiss the rod—
then stand to serve with trembling joy
the King of Kings, the Lord our God.

Let angels hush, let hell despair,
let death itself lie crushed and still;
we bear the weight of glory now—
a kingdom no grave ever will.
Come, take the cup, come wear the crown,
come taste the wine of endless days—
for we have seen the throne that stands
when every other throne decays.

Hallelujah to the Lamb,
Hallelujah to the King—
forever reigns the unshaken realm
where hope and majesty take wing.
Amen.

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

20 Thursday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Praise

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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.

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.

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

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

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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.