Tag Archives: faith

Free Verse: Divine Love’s Decree: Repent, Believe, Eternal Life Is Thine by Debbie Harris

15 Sunday Feb 2026

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God is love.
Not sentiment. Not nostalgia. Not a warm blanket thrown over chaos.
Love that is fire—uncreated, unconsuming of itself,
yet consuming everything that stands against its holiness.

He spoke galaxies into being,
named the dust, gave it breath,
set eternity in the human heart
so it would ache for Him.

Then the fracture:
a turned back, a grasped fruit,
a lie believed louder than the Voice that made light.
Sin entered like smoke—
and love did not flinch.
Love looked straight at the wound
and refused to call it small.

Wrath is what love looks like
when it will not negotiate with death.
Not petty anger. Not loss of control.
Wrath is love saying No
to the thing that murders children,
enslaves image-bearers,
and calls darkness good.

So the Father did not bargain.
He gave.
Gave the Son—
the radiant exact imprint of His being—
gave Him to the wood,
to the nails,
to the full weight of what justice demands.

The cross is where love and wrath kissed—
violent, voluntary, final.
“It is finished,” He said,
and the sky tore open like torn cloth,
the veil between God and rebel torn from top to bottom.

Now the invitation hangs in the air,
simple, unguarded:
Come.
Live.
Believe in the One sent to bear what you could never carry.

To refuse is not neutral.
It is to stand in the open when the storm arrives,
to walk away from the only door
that opens into life.
The wrath remains—
not because God changed His mind,
but because He never lies.
Justice does not evaporate.
It was satisfied
or it will be executed.

Yet even in this moment—
right now—
the pierced hands are still extended.
The voice that called Lazarus from the grave
still calls.
God is love,
and love will not stop calling
until the last heartbeat fades
or the last heart turns home.

Turn, repent, believe,
so that your eyes can not be blinded by the enemy’s lies and deceit!
You must be born again!

The call thunders now,
sharp as a sword, tender as a Father’s plea—
don’t wait.
The light is breaking through.
See it.
Turn.
Be born again.
Live.

Triumphant Praise Based On I Timothy 1:17 by Debbie Harris

15 Sunday Feb 2026

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

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Now unto the King eternal,
Immortal, invisible,
The only wise God—

Be honour and glory
For ever and ever—
Amen! Amen!

(Repeat, faster/softer then louder/soaring)

King eternal! Immortal!
Invisible! Only God!
Honour and glory—
Forever and ever!
Amen! Amen! Amen!

(Final soaring build – all voices together)

Now unto the King eternal!
Immortal! Invisible!
The only wise God!
Honour and glory forever—
And ever! And ever!
Amen!

Swallowed and TransfiguredThe Contemplative Act Whereby Ezekiel Partook of the Scroll of Woeand Discovered the Hidden Sweetness of Union with the Divine Will by Debbie Harris

15 Sunday Feb 2026

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Ezekiel 2:9–10
Then I looked, and behold, a hand was extended to me; and behold, a scroll of a book was in it. When He spread it out before me, it was written on the front and back, and written on it were lamentations, mourning, and woe.

Ezekiel 3:1–3
And He said to me, “Son of man, eat what you find; eat this scroll, and go, speak to the house of Israel.” So I opened my mouth, and He fed me this scroll. He said to me, “Son of man, feed your stomach and fill your body with this scroll which I am giving you.” Then I ate it, and it was sweet as honey in my mouth.

Ezekiel 3:14
So the Spirit lifted me up and took me away; and I went embittered in the rage of my spirit, and the hand of the Lord was strong on me.

No gentle volume offered to the hand,
No silken page to turn with measured care:
A scroll unfurled in flame, on either hand
Lamentation, mourning, woe laid bare.

“Son of man,” the voice resounds through bone,
“Eat what lies before thee—fill thy frame.
Devour the writing, leave no line unshown,
Make judgment’s ink the substance of thy name.”

I parted lips as one who meets his fate,
And took the roll entire upon my tongue;
The taste of honey flooded palate, throat,
While gall of sorrow pressed where breath is sung.

Yet sweeter grew the sweetness as I chewed—
Not honey stolen from the summer comb,
But honey born of perfect will subdued,
Of love that wounds to heal the heart’s deep home.

O mystery of eating strange and deep!
The Word descends not to the outward ear,
But deeper, past the tongue’s dividing keep,
Into the belly’s cavern dark and sheer.

There in the crypt of self the scroll dissolves,
Its bitter script transmuted into light;
What once was woe the inner furnace solves,
And turns to sweetness burning through the night.

No longer separate, the man and message blend—
The prophet is the lament he must bear;
His sinews bear the weight that God would send,
His breath the very sigh of heaven’s prayer.

Thus swallowed whole, the soul is lifted high,
Transfigured in the act of full consent;
The hidden sweetness blooms where tears once lie,
And union with the Will is sacrament.

Let others skim the surface of the page,
Debate its edges, quote its phrases bright:
The true disciple enters that fierce stage
Where eating is the only way to sight.

For God requires not admirers mild,
Nor connoisseurs of sacred text and lore—
He seeks the one whose inmost self is styled
By every syllable the scroll once bore.

So eat, O pilgrim, let the honey stay,
Though sorrow churn the stomach in its course;
The Word, once taken in, will never stray—
It is the life, the way, the very source.

Swallowed and Transfigured: The Contemplative Act Whereby Ezekiel Partook of the Scroll of Woe and Discovered the Hidden Sweetness of Union with the Divine Will by Debbie Harris

15 Sunday Feb 2026

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No parchment leaf to skim with careless eye,
Nor volume shut upon the scholar’s shelf:
The hand of flame extends, and bids me try
The bitter text, to make it bone and self.

“Eat,” the voice commands, no gentle word,
“Fill belly deep with lamentation’s scroll;
Mourning and woe inscribed on every side—
Devour it whole.”

I opened mouth, and lo, the roll was laid
Upon my tongue, a weight of darkened ink;
Yet as I chewed the judgments God had made,
Sweet honey flowed where gall might make me shrink.

O paradox of grace! The heart’s own bread
Is judgment first, then sweetness in the vein;
Till man becomes the message he has read,
And speaks what burns, yet satisfies again.

Not hearers only, nor debaters vain,
But vessels filled, who bear the living sting—
The Word must lodge where blood and marrow reign,
Or else the prophet’s mouth is but a ring.

Thus eat, O soul, and let the honey stay,
Though sorrow sour the stomach in its course;
For truth, once swallowed, cannot fade away—
It shapes the man, and is itself the source.

There Is Therefore Now No Condemnation: A Declaration of Victory Over the Voice That Accuses Day and Night by Debbie Harris

15 Sunday Feb 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, Spiritual Warfare

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The poem confronts the inner voice of accusation—the relentless “prosecutor” (Satan) who rehearses past sins, declares the soul guilty, and urges it to shrink from God in shame. Drawing directly from Scripture, it proclaims the accuser’s defeat: he has been cast down (Revelation 12), and his charges are powerless against God’s elect.

The core truth is victory through Christ’s finished work:

  • God Himself justifies; Christ died, rose, and intercedes (Romans 8:33–34).
  • There is now no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus who walk by the Spirit (Romans 8:1).
  • Believers are invited to approach the throne of grace boldly, not in terror, but with confidence in mercy and help (Hebrews 4:16).

The enemy’s reminders of failure are answered by pointing to the cross, where the blood of Jesus speaks a better word—mercy, redemption, and “paid in full.” Accusation loses its grip as faith strengthens, obedience flows from love already received, and the soul rests hidden in Christ.

In the end, the poem calls the reader to run to God rather than flee, declaring shalom—unbroken peace—because the accuser is subdued forever by the triumph of the Lamb. It is a hymn of liberation, assurance, and bold access to grace.

Romans 8:1
There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit

A voice arises in the night so deep,
Relentless prosecutor of my shame,
Rehearsing sins that make the weary weep,
And whispers, “Guilty—God withdraws His name.”

Yet Revelation speaks the accuser’s fall,
Cast down from heaven’s courts where he once stood,
His charges hurled against the brethren all,
But powerless now beneath the cleansing flood.

Who dares to lay a charge on God’s elect?
The Judge Himself has justified the soul;
Christ died, He rose—His blood pays every debt,
And shuts the mouth of condemnation’s toll.

Come boldly then unto the throne of grace,
Not cringing low in terror of the past,
But confident, for mercy finds its place
In wounds that heal and love that holds steadfast.

No condemnation shadows those in Christ,
Who walk by Spirit, not the flesh’s chain;
The cross declares the verdict: “Paid in full”—the price—
And Satan’s arrows fall in futile rain.

When he reminds of failures long ago,
Point swift to Calvary, where mercy flows;
His lies grow faint, his power melts like snow,
Beneath the blood that better witness shows.

So run, O soul, to grace’s open door,
Not fleeing wrath, but claiming what is thine;
The throne rejects thee nevermore—
For Jesus’ blood forever speaks: “Thou’rt mine.”

Shalom—peace unbroken, hope renewed,
In Christ alone, the accuser is subdued.

Classical Rhyme:Neglect Not So Great a Salvation: The Urgent Invitation Before Time Closes and Judgment Opens by Debbie Harris

15 Sunday Feb 2026

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

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This reflective spiritual poem, written in classical ABAB rhyme, meditates on the fragility of human life likened to a vanishing vapor (James 4:14). It portrays God’s persistent, gentle call—often a still small voice—that summons every heart to salvation, yet warns how easily that call is ignored through procrastination, distraction, or love of worldly comfort. Drawing from the rich young ruler’s sorrowful departure, the peril of gaining the world while losing one’s soul, and the biblical urgency of “now is the day of salvation” (2 Corinthians 6:2), the poem pleads against the quiet tragedy of neglect. It contrasts temporary earthly pleasures with the unshakable abundance of eternal life, emphasizing that mercy stands open today, but the door of opportunity will one day close—not from lack of God’s love, but from the end of time itself. The tone is both sobering and hopeful, urging immediate surrender to the Savior’s rescue before the fleeting breath expires and eternity’s irreversible reality begins.

Life is a mist that rises at the dawn,
A breath, a gleam, then vanishes from sight;
Yet in its fleeting span the heart is drawn
By still small voice that pierces through the night.

The call comes soft, not thunder, not with flame,
But mercy’s tug when silence wraps the soul;
Many are summoned, yet so few the same
Will yield and let the Savior make them whole.

The rich one stood before the Lord of grace,
His treasures gleaming brighter than the call;
He turned away, sorrow upon his face,
Chose fleeting gold and let redemption fall.

What profit lies in worlds of wealth and fame
If, gaining all, the soul itself is lost?
The heart grows dull, ignores the sacred name,
And silence settles where conviction crossed.

Behold, now is the day, the hour is here—
Not tomorrow’s promise, vague and far away;
Neglect is not rebellion, yet the fear
Is this: the door may close while we delay.

He knocks to rescue, not to bind or chain,
To give abundant life beyond the grave;
Eternity awaits—no end, no pain—
For those who answer, those He died to save.

O traveler, heed the whisper while you may,
Before the vapor fades into the night;
Choose heaven’s call above the world’s display—
Surrender now, and step into the light.

The Christlike Balance We Long For: Patient Mercy That Weeps for Souls, Unbending Resolve That Stands Against the Masks of Evil by Debbie Harris

15 Sunday Feb 2026

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The sonnet is a prayerful aspiration to reflect God’s character in daily life. It asks for grace to embody Christ’s gentle, merciful, and patient love toward every person—tender as morning dew, compassionate like Jesus weeping at Lazarus’s tomb, kind in speech, and full of grace in action—even toward those who are lost or straying.

At the same time, it pleads for unwavering resolve: never to compromise or yield when God’s truth is challenged, tested, or attacked. The poem recognizes that evil often disguises itself in subtle, soft-spoken, or outwardly respectable forms (“a thousand cunning masks”), yet believers are called to stand firmly against every form of sin and falsehood.

The heart of the poem lies in embracing this biblical tension: deep, heart-breaking compassion for sinners as image-bearers of God, paired with uncompromising opposition to sin itself. It concludes by affirming the path of walking in God’s way—offering mercy to people while remaining unyielding toward evil’s influence.

In essence, the sonnet is both a portrait of Christlike maturity and a personal plea: “Lord, make us merciful like You toward every soul, yet holy and resolute like You against all that opposes Your truth.”

As gentle as the dew on morning grass,
Merciful as Christ who wept for Lazarus’ tomb,
Patient when our wayward hearts would pass
Through shadows, yet return to light’s own room—
So may we bear His likeness in our care,
Kind in word, grace-filled in every deed,
Extending love to all who breathe the air,
Yet never yielding where God’s truth is tried.

For evil wears a thousand cunning masks,
In whispers soft, in systems proud and bold;
We stand against it, though compassion asks
Our hearts to break for every straying soul.

The Drowsy Watch; Or, The Church’s Slumber and the Roaring Lion’s Unseen Advance An Exhortation (More modern format) by Debbie Harris

12 Thursday Feb 2026

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The poem is a passionate, prophetic exhortation in verse, warning the church against spiritual complacency and deception. It laments how an overemphasis on non-judgmental “tolerance” has become a protective excuse that blinds believers to false teachers and infiltrators—described as wolves in sheep’s clothing—who subtly undermine the faithful from within. Drawing on biblical imagery, it criticizes the lukewarm, half-hearted faith that drowsily occupies pews, failing to burn brightly or resist evil, while Satan actively prowls. The poem urgently calls sleepers to awaken, shake off lethargy, discern truth from deception, reject compromise, and reclaim vigilant faithfulness before it’s too late. It concludes with a sobering yet hopeful note: mercy still lingers for the repentant, but judgment approaches, and only the watchful will enter the open door of grace. Written in rhythmic quatrains with an ABAB rhyme scheme and mostly iambic tetrameter, it echoes the style of traditional hymns while delivering a timely, convicting revivalist message.

Matthew 7:15
Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves.

Revelation 3:15–16
I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.”

Ephesians 5:14
Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”

Romans 13:11
And do this, understanding the present time: The hour has already come for you to wake up from your slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.

Revelation 3:8, 20
See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut… Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in…

We’ve softly cried, “Let none presume to judge,”
Till tolerance became our shielding grudge—
A veil that blinds us to the cunning art
Of foes who mingle with the faithful heart.

As angels false, in brethren’s guise they creep,
While wolves in sheepskin harvest what they reap.
Awake, ye saints! Unseal the sacred tome,
Where truth’s sharp blade dispels the gathering gloom.

The lukewarm soul in drowsy pews reclines,
Half-hearted faith that neither flames nor shines.
Yet Satan prowls the field with restless might,
While churchly sleep invites eternal night.

Arise, O sleeper, from thy torpid bed!
The foe advances; shake the slumbering head.
Discern the light from shadows that deceive,
Lest grace be bartered, truth no more believe.

The hour grows late, the trumpet sounds its call—
Reject the nap, reclaim the fight for all.
For mercy lingers, judgment waits in store:
The watchful eye shall see the open door.

No Trumpets, Only Lamps: Enduring Faith in a Gospel-Rejecting World by Debbie Harris

12 Thursday Feb 2026

Posted by in Bible Centered Poetry, Christ-centered poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings

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No Trumpets, Only Lamps: Enduring Faith in a Gospel-Rejecting World is a meditative poem in classical rhyming couplets that explores how believers are called to live faithfully in a culture that has largely rejected the gospel.It portrays the present era as “sin-sick” and darkened, where truth is scorned and former wrongs are celebrated. Rather than responding with loud confrontation, forced persuasion, or retreat into isolation, Christians are depicted as quiet pilgrims and watchmen: offering mercy, forgiving preemptively, speaking the gospel gently amid mockery, planting gardens in exile, and setting tables for the estranged.The poem emphasizes humble, costly witness—bearing the gospel as broken bread and cool water rather than a sword or banner, holding a lowly light so that even the spiritually blind may feel its warmth. It acknowledges the heavy nights of discouragement and the weight of rejection, yet counters them with glimpses of unmerited grace and the assurance of God’s unchanging love.The closing stanza turns toward patient hope: the faithful do not crave human approval but labor and watch in quiet expectation, trusting that the Master will return at dawn and find them steadfast.In essence, the poem is an encouragement to persevere with humble, incarnational faithfulness—neither conquering nor withdrawing, but simply carrying the light until the Lord calls His people home.

In this sin-sick age, where gospel truth is spurned,
And men in darkness clap what once was mourned,
We dwell as pilgrims, steadfast, undismayed,
Not by the crowd’s acclaim, but by the Word obeyed.

No trumpets blast to force the deaf to hear,
No flight to hills where silence reigns austere;
But quiet witness in the market’s din—
A steady lamp where shadows gather in.

We offer mercy when the stones are cast,
Forgive before the penitent is asked;
We speak the old, unwelcome, saving name,
Though mocked as folly in this age of shame.

Like watchmen posted on the midnight tower,
We hold the vigil through the darkening hour;
The horn may sound, unheard by sleeping throng,
Yet faithfulness endures, though none prolong.

As exiles planting gardens in dry ground,
We set a table where no kin are found;
The cross remains though scaffolds rise anew—
Its victim’s love the age cannot undo.

Some nights the weight of scorn would make us fall,
The fevered tide seems to have drowned us all;
Yet grace slips in, unbidden, undeserved—
A stranger’s kindness, undeservedly preserved.

So bear the gospel, not as conquering sword,
Nor trophy bright, nor banner loudly roared,
But broken bread in hands that shake with care,
Cool water offered though the lips may swear.

A lowly light, held close that blind may feel
Its warmth before the eye can see it real.
We dwell not craving praise from men below,
But waiting for the dawn that God shall show—
Who bids us labor till the Master come,
And finds us watching when He calls us home.

Awake, O Wanderer, from the Death You Speak: The Tragedy of “Oh Jesus Christ” in Vain, the Grief It Brings to Divine Love, and the Call to Words of Life Eternal by Debbie Harris

12 Thursday Feb 2026

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This solemn, classically rhymed poem laments the casual blasphemy of a professed Christian who flings “Oh Jesus Christ!” as an empty exclamation of frustration or surprise, thereby taking the Savior’s holy name in vain. It portrays the deep grief this irreverence inflicts upon God’s heart, the doubts it stirs in observers about the speaker’s true knowledge of the biblical God, and the ancient biblical truth that the tongue holds the power of life and death (Proverbs 18:21). Through vivid imagery and urgent exhortation, the work warns against reveling in such death-bringing words and calls the wanderer to repentance, urging a return to reverent speech that honors the divine Name and chooses blessing over ruin.

In shadowed halls where faith should gleam,
A professed believer, bold in claim,
Utters lightly the sacred Name,
Profaning what the heavens deem.

“Oh God!” he cries in jest or ire,
Not in prayer, but vain and fleet,
A careless word, a thoughtless feat,
That kindles not devotion’s fire.

Yet deeper still the wound is torn
When “Oh Jesus Christ!” escapes the lip—
In shock, in rage, in casual slip,
The Savior’s name as curse is worn.

Not whispered soft in fervent plea,
Nor lifted high in grateful song,
But flung like dust where it belongs
To no one holy, none but He.

How grievous to the Father’s ear,
That Name which angels veil their face,
Now cheapened in the marketplace
Of fleeting anger, fleeting fear!

The heart of God, so full of grace,
Is pierced anew by every sound—
A blade of irreverence profound,
That turns His mercy to disgrace.

The watchers ’round, with doubting eyes,
Behold this soul in hollow guise,
And whisper low, “Does he surmise
The God of Scripture’s truths and ties?

If he who claims the cross as shield
Can toss the Christ in vain despair,
What light within does he truly bear?
What Lord does such a tongue reveal?

” For life and death dwell in the tongue,
As ancient wisdom doth proclaim—
A spring of blessing, or of flame,
Where songs of hope or dirges sung.

To choose the phrase that mocks the Lamb,
Reveling in death’s sharp-edged art,
Is to invite the shadowed heart
To feast where ruin calls its name.

Why revel then in death’s dark art,
Choosing venom over vital breath?
To wound the soul, invite the wrath,
And chain the erring, wayward heart?

Awake, O wanderer, heed the call!
Let words be bridges, pure and true,
To lift the fallen, guide anew,
Lest in thy fall, thou drag us all.

Repent the careless cry, restore
The Name to reverence once more—
For in each breath, we choose the door
To life eternal, or no more.