In Babylon’s fierce blaze, where flames ascend,
Three voices rise, unyielding to the throne,
To Nebuchadnezzar’s will they will not bend,
Their faith in God a rock, their hearts of stone.
“O king,” they cry, “we heed not thy decree,
Our God can save us from the furnace dire,
Yet should He not, this truth shall ever be:
We spurn thy gods, we shun thy golden spire.”

No idol forged by mortal hands they’ll praise,
No power earthly sways their steadfast soul,
Through fire or death, their loyalty ablaze,
To One alone they yield, who makes them whole.
Defiant still, their words through ages ring:
“We will not serve thy gods, O mighty king.”

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints,

Psalm 116:15 (KJV)

A fleeting breath ascends to realms above,
The saint’s last sigh, a whisper soft and sweet,
Is cradled close by hands of endless love,
Where mortal dust and holy light shall meet.
No tear escapes His ever-watchful gaze,
Each pang, each joy, He counts as sacred gold,
The soul departs through heaven’s tender rays,
A tale of faith in death’s embrace retold.
Though earth may mourn the fading of its own,
The Lord rejoices at their journey’s end,
For precious is the seed so humbly sown,
A saint’s repose, His heart shall ever tend.
In silence deep, their deaths His glory frame,
Eternal rest, inscribed with His own name.

(I was named after Deborah in the Bible. Pretty amazing that she was a poet too.)

Her eyes aflame beneath the palm’s green crown,
A seer’s gaze ablaze with heaven’s might,
She judged the lost, her wisdom handed down,
And turned the shadowed day to piercing light.
To Barak bold she spoke with fervent zeal,
“The Lord decrees this hour shall be won,
Though triumph’s crown a woman’s hand shall seal,”
Her words, like fire, sparked what faith begun.
The storm broke loose, the chariots sank in mud,
By Jael’s blow, Sisera’s breath was stilled,
Then Deborah’s praise resounded, rich with blood,
A victor’s song from battle’s echo thrilled.
Her voice, a torch, through ages still astounds,
A prophetess whose call forever sounds.

No pride in self shall lift my soul aloft,
Nor riches gleam with promise to abide,
Accomplishments, like dust, are borne aloft,
In Christ’s great cross alone I shall confide.
The wood that bore His pain redeems my days,
A glory far beyond what hands can earn,
No fleeting crown of man’s unsteady praise,
But grace through blood where heaven’s fires burn.
Let worldly boasts dissolve in silent air,
Their echoes lost to time’s unyielding tide,
The cross stands firm, my refuge and my prayer,
In sacrifice my heart shall e’er reside.
For Christians, this the anthem we profess,
To glory in His cross, our righteousness.