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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.

Maranatha by Debbie Harris

09 Tuesday Dec 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Rapture

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The night is wide, yet one star holds its place,
a silver promise nailed against the sky;
the dark is deep, but dawn has touched its face
and left a quiet light for every eye.
The cold is fierce, yet somewhere spring lies curled
within the secret heart of the frost;
a single word still trembles through the world
and will not let one living thing be lost.

Maranatha.
Come, Dayspring, rise with healing in Thy wings,
come, Root of Jesse, bloom where winters cease;
come, Key of David, open hidden things
and set Thy captives into sudden peace.
Come, quiet Breath upon the waters blown,
and make the chaos hear Thee and be still;
come, set the longing heart upon Thy throne
and be the rest that only love can fill.

Maranatha.
The table waits with cup and living bread,
the lamps are trimmed, the bridal door ajar;
each heartbeat is a footstep in Thy tread,
each sigh a guiding signal to Thy star.
Come, take the cup and break the bread anew,
come, speak the mercy-name we barely dare;
come, turn the water into morning dew
and make the wounded world divinely fair.

Maranatha.
We have no crown but expectation’s fire,
no gift but waiting hands held open wide;
yet every breath repeats the heart’s desire
that soon the Bridegroom claim His waiting Bride.
Come, Morning Star, outshine our brightest sun,
come, Rose of Sharon, flood the desert plain;
come, fairest Lord, until our night is done
and beauty walks the streets of earth again.

Maranatha.
Come quickly, Lord, yet come as Thou know’st best;
come, Jesus, come, and make the whole world sing.
Come, lay Thy hand upon the trembling dust
and turn our winter into endless spring.
Come, Lord Jesus. Come, and we shall see Thy face, Thy glory, Thy eternity. Maranatha. Amen. Even so, come.

Take Heed, Whom You Hear: A Warning and a Call to Be Nobler Than the Bereans by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Dec 2025

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

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Summary of the Poem

“Take Heed, Whom You Hear: A Warning and a Call to Be Nobler Than the Bereans”

The poem is a stark warning against false teachers who serve Satan with refined skill. These “ministers” appear polished, eloquent, and attractive, presenting deadly error disguised as truth: poison poured slowly into a beautiful golden cup that tastes, at first, like living water.

It urges extreme caution (“Take heed, take heed”) about whose voice we allow into our hearts, because many speak of Christ and quote Scripture while neither knowing Him nor fearing God. Their message flatters and comforts, but it never convicts or transforms.

In contrast, the poem lifts up the Bereans of Acts 17 as the enduring model: ordinary believers who refused to accept even apostolic preaching at face value. Night after night they searched the Scriptures to verify every claim, turning over every glittering cup to see what was really inside.

The closing call is both a prayer and a resolve:
May we be even more noble than they were; children of the second look; jealous guardians of truth who spill out every honeyed lies and drink only from the pure, plain water of God’s Word, until the day we see Christ face to face.

In essence, the poem is a passionate plea for relentless biblical discernment in an age of sophisticated deception.

The devil keeps his ministers,
polished, soft-spoken, and wise;
they come with velvet syllables,
a smile that never hurts the eyes.
They pour the ancient poison slow
into a cup of beaten gold;
one sip tastes just like living water,
the next leaves the soul stone-cold.

Take heed, take heed, O traveler,
whose heart is hungry heart you feed;
not every voice that speaks of heaven
is climbing there on bended knee.
Some preach a Christ they never met,
and quote the Book they never feared;
their gospel shines like burnished brass
that leaves the ear caressed, not seared.

But there were souls in Berea once
who would not swallow gleaming lies;
they took the word back to the Word
and held it trembling to the skies.
Night after night they searched the page,
noble, stubborn, unafraid,
till every glittering cup was turned
and every lying promise weighed.

So let us be Bereans still,
children of the second look,
refusing honeyed draughts of death
for the plain water of the Book.
Though Satan send his choicest cup
rimmed round with light and rimmed with song,
we’ll spill it out upon the ground
and drink where living waters run.

Lord, make us wary, make us bold,
make us jealous for the truth;
give us hearts that tremble at Thy Word
and hands that will not clasp the smooth.
For every age has its golden cups;
only the Scripture never lies;
so we will search, and search again
until we see Thee with open eyes.

From Heaven’s Throne to Bethlehem’s Manger: A Christmas Hymn for All Ages by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Dec 2025

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

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Verse 1
The eternal Light has come to men,
Born in the midnight deep;
The Word made flesh in Bethlehem
Fulfills what prophets keep.
A stable holds the King of kings,
The heavens bow before Him;
All glory be to Christ who brings
Redemption’s open door hymn.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 2
The shepherds heard the angel throng
Proclaim the wondrous birth;
They hastened where the Child was laid
And spread the news on earth.
No palace cradle, straw His bed,
Yet there the Lord reposes;
The Lamb of God, the Living Bread,
In lowly manger closes.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 3
From eastern lands the wise men came,
Led by the star’s bright ray;
With gold and myrrh and frankincense
They worshiped and obeyed.
The Gentile world now finds its King,
The nations see salvation;
Let every tongue His praises sing,
Let every heart’s ovation.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 4
The heavens rang with angel song,
The skies were filled with light;
Yet Mary pondered everything
Within her heart that night.
O silent Mother, full of grace,
Who kept the sacred treasure,
Thy Son shall save the human race
Beyond all time and measure.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 5
The ancient curse is broken now,
The serpent’s head is crushed;
In David’s town, the promised Child
Has hushed the world once hushed.
No more shall darkness hold its sway,
The Dayspring shines forever;
The Light of Life has dawned today,
And night shall fall, no never.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 6
Come, sinner, leave thy guilt behind,
Come, weary, find thy rest;
The Savior born this holy morn
Invites thee to His breast.
The door of mercy open stands,
The feast of love is ready;
Lift high thy voice, lift high thy hands,
Thy Savior comes in steady.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 7
When years have passed and ages roll,
When sun and stars grow dim,
Still shall the Church with one accord
Sing this eternal hymn.
Till Christ shall come in glory bright
To end all earthly story,
We’ll sing through endless day and night:
All glory be His glory!

Refrain (sung twice to close)
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Glory, glory in the highest—
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

“I Will Remember Their Sin No More”A Hymn on the Triumph of Divine Love over Divine Omniscience by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Dec 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving

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When God beholds the sinner’s scroll,
 He finds no stain remains;
The debt is paid, the breach made whole,
 Forgiven are his chains.

Though every fault lies bare to sight
 Beneath th’ all-seeing eye,
Yet love, more strong than boundless light,
 Refuses memory’s cry.

Omniscience could rehearse the fall,
 Recount each wandering trace;
But mercy overrules it all
 And grants a spotless place.

The Judge who knows all things aright
 Declares the record clean;
For Christ has borne the darkened night
 And washed away the sin.

No charge shall rise on judgment day,
 No guilt shall e’er return;
The Lord who blotted sins away
 Hath sworn He will not turn.

O depth of covenant grace divine,
That love should silence lore!
The past is lost in love’s design—
God remembers sin no more.

From Gabriel’s Light to the Infant’s Face: A Sequence of Christmas Sonnets and Songs Drawn from Holy Scripture by Debbie Harris

03 Wednesday Dec 2025

Posted by in Advent, Christ-centered poetry, Inspirational

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1. Shakespearean Sonnet: The Annunciation (Luke 1:26–38)

In Nazareth the angel broke the noon,
A blaze of light that stilled her water jar;
The virgin lifted eyes of startled moon
And heard the name that shattered Eden’s bar.
No sword, no trumpet—only “Hail, full-graced,”
Yet heaven’s war was won in that one word;
The Word Himself, now hidden in her womb,
Lay curled like flame inside an earthen lamp.
“How shall this be?”—the timid question rose;
The Spirit’s shadow folded like a wing,
And love too fierce for flesh to diagnose
Bent low and made her body heaven’s camp.
“Behold the handmaid of the Lord,” she said—
And God became a Child beneath her heart.

2. Petrarchan Sonnet: The Visitation (Luke 1:39–56)

She hastened to the hills with secret fire,
A hidden coal beneath her simple dress;
The Baptist leapt—small prophet in desire—
To greet the ark that bore the Living Yes.
Two women, old and young, in wonder met;
The summer air grew gold with canticle,
Magnificat rose like a banner set
Against the dragon’s age-long chronicle.
He scatters proud in thoughts they thought secure,
He casts the mighty down from thrones of pride;
The hungry eat the bread that shall endure,
The rich go empty into endless tide.
Thus mercy visits mercy, grace meets grace—
Earth becomes again a holy place.

3. Spenserian Sonnet: The Journey to Bethlehem (Luke 2:1–5)

From Galilee the decree sent them forth,
A Caesar’s word that moved a Jewish maid
Heavy with God across the dusty north
To David’s town where prophecy was laid.
The donkey plodded slow beneath the load,
Her silence deeper than the pain she bore;
Beside her Joseph kept the starless road,
His carpenter’s hands guarding heaven’s door.
No room, no room—the final inn denied;
They took the cave where cattle steamed and stood.
There in the dark, while all the world slept blind,
The Word was made flesh in a manger of wood.

4. Villanelle: The Birth in the Manger (Luke 2:6–7)

While she was there, her days were now fulfilled,
She bore the Holy Child in silent pain;
And cradled God in straw the beasts had filled.

No royal chamber, no soft silk to shield,
Yet heaven’s glory shone through common grain—
While she was there, her days were now fulfilled.

The hands that shaped the stars lay weak and stilled,
A newborn mouth that soon would break death’s chain,
And cradled God in straw the beasts had filled.

O humble trough where endless love was spilled,
Where ox and ass breathed warmth on Him who reigns—
While she was there, her days were now fulfilled.

The timeless entered time, and time stood thrilled;
Eternity took flesh in Bethlehem’s lane,
And cradled God in straw the beasts had filled.

Come, fallen hearts, and wonder at the guild:
The King sleeps where the cattle’s breath remains.
While she was there, her days were now fulfilled,
And cradled God in straw the beasts had filled.

5. Terza Rima Sonnet: Gloria in Excelsis (Luke 2:13–14)

Sudden an angel split the midnight veil,
And glory flamed where humble shepherds stood;
Their hearts near failed beneath the blazing hail.

“Fear not!” he cried, “I bring you tidings good:
In David’s town the Savior lies this night!”
Then heaven’s host in countless multitude

Poured forth their song of pure celestial light—
“Glory to God!” the sky itself was rent; “On earth be peace, to men of His delight!” The song still echoes where the veil was bent.

6. Shakespearean Sonnet: The Magi’s Star (Matthew 2:1–11)

There rose a star no Chaldean chart had seen,
A fire that moved and halted, bright and strange;
Three kings forsook their thrones of gold serene
To follow where its silent leading ranged.
Through desert nights and Herod’s lying hall
They tracked the flame that mocked the laws of space,
Till low above a stable it stood tall
And poured its beams upon an Infant’s face.
Gold, frankincense, and myrrh—three gifts they laid
Before the Child who needed nothing then;
Yet all the wealth of earth and heaven paid
Its homage to the poorest of poor men.
They turned for home; the star had done its part—
A Little Child now knocked at every heart.

Yea, and All That Will Live Godly in Christ Jesus Shall Suffer Persecution by Debbie Harris

24 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christian Poetry

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“Yea, and All That Will Live Godly in Christ Jesus Shall Suffer Persecution” is a seven-stanza hymn-portrait of the underground, biblical church in places where following Christ is illegal and dangerous.

It begins with quiet, dawn gatherings of ordinary believers who share simple bread and water, meeting in secret because their faith has marked them for arrest. They draw strength from the same Scriptures that sustained Peter, Paul, and Daniel in prison and fire.

The poem traces their losses (homes, jobs, freedom, even life) and their strange gains: deeper joy, unbreakable unity, and a gospel that spreads faster the harder it is crushed. Like wheat that multiplies when ground, like seed that sprouts when buried, the persecuted church becomes more truly itself under pressure.

We see prisoners preaching to their guards, widows giving their last coins with laughter, teenagers smuggling pages of the Bible, and entire families refusing to bow to the state’s idols. Their love for enemies, their refusal to hate, and their calm certainty of resurrection confound their persecutors.

The closing stanzas lift the eyes forward: every empire that hates Christ will one day collapse like Babel. The same Jesus who had no place to lay His head will return with nail-scarred hands to gather His hidden, hunted flock. Until then, the church endures by Scripture alone, saved by Christ alone, kept by grace alone, clinging to the promise that faithfulness unto death receives the crown of life.

The poem is both lament and defiant celebration: persecution is normal, promised, and ultimately powerless against the church that belongs to the risen Lamb.

Beneath the radar of the watching state,
they meet at dawn before the soldiers wake,
a handful sharing bread upon a plate,
a cup of water for the Master’s sake.
No steeple marks the place, no bell is rung—
only the Word, alive on every tongue.

They read where Peter wrote from prison chains,
where Paul counted it joy to bear the scar;
they hear the Lord who stills the wind and reigns
though doors are locked and iron bars stand far.
Like Daniel in the den, like saints of old,
they trust the God who turns the fire cold.

Foxes have holes, the birds have nests, He said—
but not the Son of Man, and not His own;
so now they wander, refuge-less, instead
of bowing to the image on the throne.
They lose their homes, their jobs, their right to speak,
yet find the kingdom buried in the meek.

They are the remnant promised long ago,
the little flock the Father calls by name;
the bruised reed unbroken, the faint glow
that will not quench until the Day of flame.
The more the dragon rages, coils, and strikes,
the more the church becomes what Jesus likes.

See how they love the ones who drag them off,
how prisoners preach to guards inside the cell,
how widows give their last two coins and laugh
because the gospel cannot be withheld.
Their blood is seed; their silence shouts abroad—
the gates of hell shall never hold this squad.

O church of Scripture only, Christ alone,
by grace through faith, to God be glory still;
you walk the narrow road the world disowns,
yet every step fulfills the Father’s will.
The scroll is open, and the Lamb stands sure—
His wounded hands have made the triumph pure.

And when the kingdoms of this age collapse
like towers of Babel crumbling into sand,
the King will ride with lightning in His steps
and call His hidden ones with nail-scarred hand.
Then every secret prayer, each whispered verse,
will roar like thunder through the universe.

Until that morning, faithful, suffering bride,
keep holding fast the Word of life you read;
the world may scorn, imprison, and deride—
but Jesus lives, and He is coming with speed.
Your names are graven where no sword can reach,
sealed by the Spirit, kept beyond all breach.
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus. Even so—come.

“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.

To Pray The Impossible by Debbie Harris

20 Thursday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational

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The poem portrays praying for the impossible as a daring, almost reckless spiritual adventure. It is an act of extreme faith: standing at the absolute edge of what can be, flinging fragile hope into an abyss, walking a razor-thin line between despair and miracle .Rather than a polite request, such prayer is depicted as trespassing into forbidden territory—barging into heaven’s locked garden, disturbing the sleep of the divine, and demanding what was never meant to be given. Yet the tone is wondrous, not blasphemous: the impossible is personified as something curious, half-awake, even amused by the audacity.In the end, when the impossible actually happens, the breakthrough is overwhelming and humbling. The speaker realizes the true thrill was never in receiving the answer, but in the wild courage to ask for a road where no road could exist. The poem celebrates the sheer adventure of radical, divine and Holy faith.

To pray the impossible is an adventure indeed
a barefoot crossing of a sea that has no other side
where the wind tastes of salt and unfinished psalms
and every heartbeat is a drumbeat against the ribs of God.

You stand at the edge of what cannot be
palms raw from holding questions too heavy for hands
whispering into the dark that refuses to answer back
yet the dark leans closer, curious, almost tender.

It is to fling your small coin of faith
into a night with no bottom
and hear, far below, the faint metallic ring
of something vast turning over in its sleep.

To pray the impossible
is to walk the narrow ridge between despair and dawn
where miracles grow like frost-flowers on the breath
delicate, lethal, unbearably bright.

You become the trespasser on a shore the tide forgot
reaching for fruit that hangs just beyond the stars
and the angels, instead of turning away
lean in, half-smiling, as if they too
have been waiting to see what happens next.

And when the impossible finally cracks open
like a sunrise inside your chest
you will not say “I knew it all along”
you will only fall to your knees
laughing and weeping at once
because the adventure
was never about arriving
but about daring to ask
for a road
where no road
could ever be.

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.