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Beloved, Chosen, Mine by Debbie Harris

30 Wednesday Sep 2026

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

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Note to the Reader

Dear Reader,

We are living in sobering and sometimes cruel times. Words are cheap, and they are also sharp. This quatrain was written for that weather: not to deny what earth may say, but to remember that God hath already named His own.

“Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.”

—Isaiah 43:1

“Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth.”

—Romans 8:33

—The Poet

Let earth still speak, if speak it will;

the Father’s naming holds thee sure.

Beloved, chosen, Mine be still—

go forth in joy, for evermore.

What God Hath Called Thee, When All the Earth Hath Spoken Otherwise by Debbie Harris

30 Wednesday Sep 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, Triumphant

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A Note to the Reader

Dear Reader,

We are living in sobering and sometimes cruel times. Words are cheap, and they are also sharp. Names are given lightly—some in jest, some in scorn, some in fear—and they can follow a soul farther than they should.

This poem was written for that weather.

It does not pretend the earth is kind, or that every tongue is just. It only dares to say that the last word is not the world’s. What God hath called His own still stands when lesser voices have spent themselves.

If you come here bruised by what has been said of you, read slowly. The names that matter were spoken before the morning stars, and they have not been withdrawn.

Go forth in joy; thy name is sure.

—The Poet

Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.

—Isaiah 43:1

Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth.

—Romans 8:33

Let earth still speak, if speak it will;

the Father’s naming holds thee still.

He calls thee Mine, as ones He keeps

when waters rise and darkness creeps.

He calls thee known, and precious too—

not spent like dust the wind blows through.

Beloved, held ere light was made,

ere morning stars in joy were laid.

Chosen in Christ, before the sun,

holy and blameless, not by run

of works, but by His own delight.

Accepted in the Beloved’s right.

A child of God, of Spirit born;

no foundling left, no name outworn.

Not slave, but child; with Christ made heir—

the Father’s portion thou shalt share.

Redeemed, not with corruptible gold,

but with the blood the prophets told.

Forgiven, far as east from west.

Made righteous, justified, and blessed.

A new creation—old things past;

the former life is overcast

and gone. A saint, because He called.

Sealed till the day the graves are walled

no more. A temple, living, His,

wherein the Spirit dwells and is.

His workmanship. A citizen

of heaven, not the dust of men.

Hid with Christ in God. His friend.

His sheep, whom none shall pluck or rend.

A royal priesthood. Salt and light.

A branch that liveth by His life.

More than a conqueror, through the love

that will not let thee go thereof.

So let the lesser tongues still say

what names they will, and pass away.

Go forth in joy; thy name is sure:

Beloved, chosen, Mine evermore.

Christ-Centered Sojourners Who Will Not Bargain with the Age, Faithful to Jesus Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords by Debbie Harris

28 Monday Sep 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry

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To the Reader,

Dear Reader,

This little piece was not written to flatter the age, nor to furnish it with a prettier name for what it already loves. It was written for those who would belong to Christ when belonging costs something.

The world has always had its own liturgies: self as sovereign, appetite as oracle, the present hour as the only court of appeal. Against these the gospel does not negotiate. It calls men strangers in the land they inhabit, pilgrims toward a city they have not built, and servants of a Lord the nations still refuse.

If the lines that follow seem severe, it is because the narrow way is severe. If they seem glad, it is because the One who walked it first is alive. Read them not as a banner against your neighbor, but as a reminder to yourself: when the culture turns from Christ, the church must not turn with it.

May He who is holy keep you holy.

May His word outlast every fashion.

And may you lose the world’s applause, and find in Christ the life that no man can take from you.

—The Poet

We walk as strangers through a borrowed age,
Though streets and markets cry to make us kin;
Men raise their towers on a crumbling stage—
We seek the city God has founded in.

Not of this world, though breathing in its dust,
His kingdom comes without the tyrant’s drum;
He chose the hidden well, the downward thrust,
And made the last the first when He had come.

The age enthrones the self and names it true,
And drinks a sweetness that will leave it dry;
But He who left the glory that He knew
Said, Lose this life, and find the life on high.

Salt of the earth, yet never lost in brine,
A city set that darkness cannot hide;
The cross still cuts across the world’s design,
The Lamb still walks where every Caesar died.

As Noah built while laughter filled the plain,
As Daniel kept the fast they could not break,
We keep a feast the age will not sustain,
And wear the shame that makes the wise ones quake.

When culture turns and sets its face to war
Against the Lord, His word, His holy Name,
We will not bow, nor bargain at the door,
Nor sell His truth to keep the world’s acclaim.

Sound the Trumpets of the Realm: The King Has Come and Claimed His Own by Debbie Harris

26 Saturday Sep 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving, Triumphant

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To the Reader

Scripture is a book of hope. From the first promise to the last Amen it speaks of rescue, light, and a King who does not abandon the lost. That hope is not scattered among many saviors. It is gathered into one Name. “There is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.” The gates lift in Psalm 24 for the King of glory; the tomb gives way because Christ is risen; the debt is cancelled because His blood speaks a better word than the grave. This poem is that hope set to a trumpet.

My hope in writing is simple and urgent: that every soul may find the salvation-hope that is found in Jesus Christ alone. The cry “O every soul” is the same mercy that leaves the ninety-nine and goes after the one. He is the living Savior, calling every soul today to repent and believe in Jesus Christ alone.

—The Poet

Psalm 24:7

Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in.

Acts 4:12

Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.

Lift up the gates—the King has come!

The tomb is burst, the night undone.

No other hope, no rival name

Can stand before His burning claim.

He stormed the dark with wounds for crown,

He tore the bars, the debt went down.

His blood has signed the sinner free—

The Lord of lords in victory.

O every soul, the trumpet cries:

Behold the Savior, lift your eyes!

Jesus, the First, the Last, the Son—

The only Hope, the triumph won.

**To God be the glory always and only.

A Sonnet of Sudden Glory: One Breath on Earth, the Next Before the Throne by Debbie Harris

26 Saturday Sep 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Grief, Bereavement, Loss, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Love Of Family, Triumphant

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

Since my mother went Home, I have found myself writing again and again about the triumph waiting for the true believer. This sonnet rose from that hope: that death is not a long night, but only a change of breath—one still drawn on earth, the next already before the Throne. I offer them in gratitude, in sorrow, and in triumphant joy, knowing we do not grieve as those who have no hope.

—The Poet

1 Thessalonians 4:13–14

But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.

For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.

There is no sting. The Christian does not die

so much as change the air that fills the lung.

One breath is dust; the next, a brighter sky

already singing what the grave unsung.

The body drops its borrowed coat of clay;

the soul steps through as through an opened door.

No interval of dark, no wandering way—

earth’s final gasp is Heaven’s corridor.

Death comes like thunder that has lost its crack,

a shadow startled by too sudden sun.

The stone rolls inward on an empty track;

the race is finished ere it is begun.

O Death, thy needle snaps against the bone.

We breathe once here—and wake before the Throne.

Corinthians 15:55–57

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.

But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

If you later want one more on a separate page, not under this poem:

John 11:25–26

Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:

And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?

**To God be the glory always and only.

Alleluia by Debbie Harris

26 Saturday Sep 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Praise, salvation, Thanksgiving, Triumphant

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Dear reader,

I was just overwhelmed by the benefits God gives us.

Scripture says He has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing, and that our inheritance is kept in heaven, unfading and undefiled. The Gospel does not hand us a small comfort. It gives us forgiveness of sins, peace with God, adoption into His household, a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and a joy no one can take from us. We are children of the King of Kings. “The Lord is my portion,” the Scriptures say, and “we are His people, the sheep of His pasture.” Nothing—neither death nor life nor anything else in all creation—can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

That is why I wrote this. The treasure is Jesus. We are His, and He is ours. I could not keep the praise in.

Alleluia.

—The Poet

Ephesians 1:3

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath blessed us with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ.

1 Peter 1:3-4

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you.

Romans 5:1

Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.

John 16:22

And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you.

Romans 8:38-39

For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Revelation 19:16

And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh a name written, KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS.

The glorious, beauty-filled, transformative Gospels

give us ceaseless joy—

triumph, beauty, love, forgiveness,

a Trinitarian community,

a victorious hope

that can never, no ever, be taken away.

Rest in our Savior’s excellent provision.

Rejoice, sons and daughters

of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

We are His, and He is ours.

The treasure is Jesus Christ our Lord.

Rejoice and shout

Alleluia.

Alleluia.

Alleluia.

Against Syncretism: How a Mixed Gospel Becomes No Gospel at All by Debbie Harris

23 Wednesday Sep 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Spiritual Warfare, Taking A Stand Against Evil

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A Note from the Poet to the Reader

Dear Reader,

This verse is not offered as ornament, nor as a clever quarrel with the age. It is a warning. The Holy Triune God has given one gospel, and that gospel will not bear another lord, another law, another hope, or another holiness beside Christ.

What men call breadth is often unbelief with better manners. Progressivism, liberalism, Rome’s additions, the paths of Hinduism and Buddhism, the dreams of socialism, Marxism, and the commune, together with every immorality that refuses repentance—these are not cousins of Biblical Christianity. They are strange fire. To bind them to the cross is to unmake the cross. The mixture is not a larger faith. It is another gospel. Another gospel is no gospel. And a false gospel, however crowded its pews and however loud its hymns, still sends souls to hell.

Read, then, not to admire the rhyme, but to test the foundation. If Christ is not enough, nothing else will save. If Scripture is not sufficient, no council, party, or philosophy can repair it. Keep the faith unmixed. Guard the deposit. Do not marry the Bride to a banner God never raised.

The Poet

Do not yoke the cross with banners men have raised,

nor pour strange fire where only God is praised.

Progressive creeds and liberal softening speech

cannot baptize the gospel they would teach.

Rome cannot finish what the Lord has done;

Hindu wheels turn, Buddhist silence has no Son.

Socialist dreams, the Marxist banner red,

the commune’s hope—these leave the living dead.

Immorality wears no kind or borrowed face;

it walks in hellish clothes and claims no grace.

What God has named anathema stays banned;

no mixture sits unjudged before His hand.

The gospel is not clay for other hands,

nor cargo-hold for platforms, parties, plans.

It is Christ crucified, the empty grave,

repentance, faith—the only word that saves.

Scripture sufficient, grace that none can earn,

holiness required till He return.

Add other ground and you have built in vain;

the house is His no more, the faith is slain.

Syncretism is not charity or light;

another gospel is no gospel right.

It soothes the lost, it flatters every age,

and sings them hellward from a crowded stage.

The Triune God will not divide His throne

with saints or systems He has never known.

Guard the deposit; keep the Bride unwed

to any lord but Christ, the living Head.

Christ plus nothing. Mix it, and it dies.

The false gospel sends souls to hell with hymns and lies.

**To God be the glory always and only!

Let All We Are Be Praise by Debbie Harris

19 Saturday Sep 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry

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Dear Reader,

I have seen how great God is in grief.


I have seen Him provide in ways I never thought possible.


I have seen His tender care rest over those near and dear to me.

From that seeing, this poem was born.It did not come from a life untouched by sorrow, but from the quiet places where He met us still—where He held what we could not hold, and gave what we did not know how to ask for. These lines are only a small offering of thanks: that even ordinary hours, even aching hours, may become a hymn of praise.

May they lead you not to the poem, but to Him.— The Poet

Psalm 34:1
I will bless the LORD at all times: his praise shall continually be in my mouth.

Habakkuk 3:17–18
Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: Yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will joy in the God of my salvation.

2 Corinthians 1:3–4
Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.

Psalm 147:3
He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.

May every part of us become a song—
the work, the waiting, the word we speak,
the quiet rooms, the crowded street,
the strength we give, the rest we keep.

Not only lifted voices in the night,
but how we walk and how we stay,
how we receive what comes our way,
how we endure, how we obey.

Let joy be music, let sorrow be too,
let ordinary hours rise and ring.
May all we are, in everything,
be hymn and offering unto You.

The Promises Of God, Yea And Amen: Let His Beauty In You Make Them Yearn by Debbie Harris

19 Saturday Sep 2026

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Dear Reader,

Remember what you have received. Hold fast to it, and contend for the faith once delivered to the saints. The promises of God are yea and amen—not distant words on a page, but living fire given to the soul that believes. May that fire of faith be kindled in you again: not a passing warmth, but a steady flame that teaches you to treasure Scripture, to live it, to adore its beauty, and to walk the high places of gratitude and joy. Let it produce a fire in you, that all the world may see the light of Jesus Christ in you. Do not let go of what has been placed in your hands. Keep it. Guard it. Contend for it. Let it light a holy flame.

What follows is an English sonnet: fourteen lines in three quatrains and a closing couplet, rhymed ABAB CDCD EFEF GG.

The Poet

For all the promises of God in him are yea, and in him Amen, unto the glory of God by us.
—2 Corinthians 1:20

Remember therefore how thou hast received and heard, and hold fast, and repent.”
—Revelation 3:3

Beloved… it was needful for me to write unto you, and exhort you that ye should earnestly contend for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints.
—Jude 1:3

Let us hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering; (for he is faithful that promised;)
—Hebrews 10:23

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.
—Matthew 5:16

God’s promises are yea and amen still,
firm-spoken, sure, and sealed in Christ the Son;
believe this word, and you shall climb the hill
of gratitude, where joy and praise are one.

Not shadowed vales, nor long and weary plains,
but sunlit ridges, bright with grace bestowed,
where every step His living truth sustains
and gratitude itself becomes the road.

Hold fast the holy fire you have received;
let all the world look on and see its flame,
till Christ in you is known, seen, and believed,
and every promise answers to His name.

Keep what was given on this brief sojourn—
and let His beauty in you make them yearn.

**To God Be The Glory Always And Only!

We Mourn, but Not as Those Who Mourn in Vain by Debbie Harris

17 Thursday Sep 2026

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Thessalonians 4:13–18 (KJV)

13 But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.

14 For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.

15 For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall not prevent them which are asleep.

16 For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first:

17 Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.

18 Wherefore comfort one another with these words.

Dear Reader,

This sonnet was written after the death of the last parent, when the world feels changed and yet is not empty. The rooms still hold light. There are still people who remember how you began. And heaven is not silent, for those you love are with Christ.

When the last parent dies, something irreplaceable is gone. They remembered your beginning more completely than anyone else on earth. That ache is real. Scripture does not ask you to hide it; even Jesus wept. Name the grief. Then lift your eyes: your help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.

You are not without witnesses. There are people who saw you grow—family, old friends, those who stood nearby through the years—and they still remember how you began. That memory is a gift. It means your early life has not vanished. It still lives in other hearts.

And there is a greater comfort still. Those you love are with Christ. The grave is not the end of them, and grief is not the end of you. The same Lord who received them keeps you, keeps the people who remember you, and keeps the promise that love is stronger than death.

If you are walking through that changed world, this was written for you. May it honor what you have lost, bless those who still remember you, and leave you with hope that does not fade.

— The Poet

When both who gave me breath have gone before,
the world itself seems tilted, thin, and strange.
Their room is empty on that quiet floor;
the hallway looks the same, and yet is changed.

No voice now answers “child” down that hall,
no thinning hand to bless or hold me fast.
The ordinary light feels spare as air;
the future stretches, emptied of the past.

Yet death is not the master of this night:
they live in Christ, whose promise cannot fail.
He spoiled the grave and flung the door to light;
and love outlives the flesh that once grew frail.

We mourn, but not as those who mourn in vain;
in Christ they live, and we shall meet again.