Tag Archives: Inpirational

The Great Things Which the Lord Hath Done for Us: A Classical Hymn of Joy and Wonder after Psalm 126:3 by Debbie Harris

09 Tuesday Jun 2026

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A Classical Hymn after Psalm 126:3, Rich in Vivid Imagery

Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

When the Lord restores the captives and turns sorrow into singing, the heart cannot stay silent. This hymn was born in the spirit of Psalm 126:3 — a joyful overflow of gratitude for the mighty acts of God across all ages. I have sought to clothe the wonders of Scripture in vivid, classical imagery so that the soul might see afresh what the eye of faith has always known: the Lord has done great things for us, and we are glad.

May these lines stir your heart to remember His faithfulness, to rejoice in His redemption, and to look with hope toward the even greater things He has yet to do.

With praise and prayer,

The Poet

Psalm 126:3 (KJV)

The LORD hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad.

The Lord hath done great things for us,

And we are glad, exceeding glad!

Our mouths with laughter overflowed like mountain torrents in the spring,

Our tongues were clad in robes of song, in shimmering golden dawn.

When Zion’s captives He restored,

As streams in desert places flow—bright crystal veins through barren sand—

We seemed like dreamers wrapped in midnight’s starry cloak,

Yet saw the Lord’s own glory blaze in radiant, holy fire.

What mighty works His hand hath wrought!

Behold a list of wonders, rich and vast, painted on eternity:

He spake, and light from darkness sprang in blinding blaze of first creation,

The heavens arched like sapphire vaults with stars as diamond choir,

The earth He robed in emerald hills and verdant, rolling glory,

And called each star by its own name in whispers soft as dew.

He cleft the sea with staff of old; waves towered as emerald glass,

And made dry land for Israel’s feet where oceans once held sway.

From Pharaoh’s host He swept the wave in thunderous, foaming wrath,

And drowned the proud beneath a crimson, churning, watery grave.

He fed the host with manna white like frost-kissed pearls from heaven’s store,

And drew sweet water from the flint in sparkling silver streams.

He stayed the sun in Joshua’s day—a blazing orb hung still—

Till victory o’er the foe was won beneath an endless golden light.

He raised the dead with thund’rous voice, gave sight to eyes long blind,

Made lame to leap like mountain deer, and dumb to sing like larks at dawn.

The leper shone in snow-white peace, the tempest bowed in calm,

And water turned to ruby wine at wedding feasts beneath the vines.

He bore our griefs upon the tree—a blood-red cross against the sky—

The Just One suffered there for us: the Righteous died for sinners lost,

The Holy One for the unjust throng, the sinless Lamb for guilty ones.

From death’s dark tomb He rose again in robes of dazzling morning light,

And broke the ancient bars of rust where shadows fled like startled ravens.

He sent His Spirit, tongues of fire like living crowns of flame,

On waiting hearts in upper room where heaven’s glory poured like gold.

He built His Church on rock secure, a beacon through the gale-swept night,

And filled the world with Gospel bloom in colours pure as rainbow rain.

He turns our mourning into dance, our sackcloth into robes of gold,

He fills the barren womb with life like desert rose in sudden bloom,

And bids the hopeless heart rejoice in fountains of unending joy.

He guides the pilgrim through death’s vale where shadows whisper fear,

Protects the widow with angel wings like falling drifts of snow,

Shields little children in His arms, lifts poor ones from the dust,

And seats them with the reconciled in heaven’s warm eternal home.

The Lord hath done great things for us—

Creation’s dawn in fiery birth, redemption’s crimson flood,

Mercy like endless oceans deep, and grace like living crystal streams!

Our hearts are filled, our eyes run o’er with tears of diamond joy,

We praise Him where heaven kisses earth in this most holy place.

O come, ye people, join the song, let every tongue His name adore,

For He who wrought these wonders vast shall do still greater things—and more!

Glory to the Father, and to the Son,

And to the Holy Ghost, ever One.

As it was in the beginning, is now,

And ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

Psalm 97:10 – A Classical Ode by Debbie Harris

07 Sunday Jun 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Pleasing God Not Man, Royally Redeemed

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From the Poet

Dear Reader,

In a world that whispers “just a little compromise,” Psalm 97:10 rings like a clarion call from heaven: “You who love the Lord, hate evil!” This ode is my humble attempt to clothe that divine command in classical dress — rich with the thunder and lightning of the Psalm itself, the unyielding cedar of conviction, and the certain dawn of the coming King.

May these lines strengthen your heart to stand unmoved. Hate what God hates. Love what He loves. Refuse every gilded truce with darkness. The King is returning in glory, and righteousness shall dawn.

With prayer and holy resolve,

The Poet

Psalm 97:10

KJV

Ye that love the LORD, hate evil: he preserveth the souls of his saints; he delivereth them out of the hand of the wicked.

ESV

O you who love the LORD, hate evil! He preserves the lives of his saints; he delivers them from the hand of the wicked.

AMP

You who love the LORD, hate evil; He protects the souls of His godly ones (believers), He rescues them from the hand of the wicked.

NIV

Let those who love the LORD hate evil, for he guards the lives of his faithful ones and delivers them from the hand of the wicked.

O ye who love the Eternal Flame, whose breast

Doth throb with holy fire unquenched by night,

Hate evil as the serpent’s venomous crest

That poisons Eden’s bowers with subtle blight!

Let not thy foot in compromise be led

Where shadows weave their silken, treacherous thread;

Nor let thy hand in friendship’s false embrace

Clasp hands that bear the mark of darkness’ race.

Behold the throne where Righteousness and Truth

Like twin seraphim guard the sapphire height!

Clouds mantle Him in majesty uncouth

To mortal gaze, yet blaze with living light.

Lightning leaps forth—His arrows swift and keen—

And mountains melt like wax where sin hath been.

The heavens declare His glory, earth obeys,

And every idol crashes in the blaze.

Thou, saint of God, preserved amid the flood

Of raging wickedness that swells and roars,

Shalt stand unmoved, a cedar in the wood

When tempests howl and lesser branches fall.

No compromise with Belial’s gilded lies,

No truce with Mammon’s lustful, hungry eyes;

Thy convictions, forged in heaven’s anvil bright,

Shall shine as adamant against the night.

Let evil’s hosts in purple pomp advance,

With crowns of fading laurel on their brow;

Thy soul shall spurn their revels and their dance,

And turn to Zion’s hill with steadfast vow.

For He who loves thee guards thy life with care—

From wicked hands He snatches thee from snare.

The oil of joy upon thy head is poured;

Thy path is lit by His unfailing Word.

Thus sing, O heart that loves the Lord alone:

“Hate evil! Cling to good with iron will!”

Though darkness rage and tempters slyly drone,

The upright soul shall climb the holy hill.

No compromise, though empires tempt and fall;

Thy King returns in glory—Righteousness shall dawn!

The Silent Tragedy: When the Word Sin Is Eradicated from a Culture by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

From the poet:

In an age that has quietly erased the word sin from its vocabulary, I offer this poem not as condemnation, but as a solemn reminder and an urgent invitation. Once we lose the honest naming of our rebellion against God and His good order, we also lose the path to true forgiveness and restoration.

May these lines stir the conscience, awaken the heart, and turn every soul toward the only One who can save us from our sins—Jesus Christ our Lord.

Will you and I be among those who still dare to call sin sin, and thereby point a broken world to the Savior?

In elder days when thunder voiced the Law

And prophets walked the flinty roads of old,

The word sin rang as iron on the soul—

A blade that clove the heart, a bell of gold

That tolled repentance ere the grave grew cold.

Now from the common tongue the word is fled,

Like some archaic curse no longer named.

The pulpits soften, courts declare it dead,

And schools instruct the young: “No soul is blamed.”

All acts are neutral flowers, self-blessed, untamed.

O tragic void! Where once the pilgrim knelt

Beneath the weight of wrong and cried for grace,

Now mirrors only flatter, conscience melts

Into a mist of “feelings,” “choice,” and “space.”

No fall remains; thus no redemption waits.

The ancient bards knew better. Homer sang

Of wrath that spoiled the host and felled the brave;

Virgil beheld the guilty shades who clang

Their chains in Tartarus, unshriven, save

By memory of trespass and the grave.

Dante, fierce Florentine, with measured tread

Descended hell’s nine circles, naming each

By sin’s true name—fraud, lust, pride, the dread

Of treason’s frozen lake. No gentle speech

Could blunt the horror; truth alone could teach.

Milton, blind but seeing, raised his song

To justify the ways of God to men,

And showed how one transgression, vast and strong,

Brought death and all our woe. Yet even then

The greater arc of mercy rose again.

But strip away the word and what remains?

A culture sleek with self, where every vice

Is rechristened “lifestyle,” “identity,” or “gains.”

No prodigal returns; no broken cries

Ascend. The temple stands, but God’s house lies

In ruins of the tongue. The heart grows coarse,

Untroubled by the stain it will not see.

Ambition swells to empire without remorse,

And cruelty wears the mask of liberty.

The final darkness falls—yet no one flees.

Restore the word, sharp as a surgeon’s knife,

That cuts the canker out before it kills.

Let sin once more awaken mortal strife

Between the soul and its rebellious will,

Till humbled knees recall the ancient skill

Of seeking pardon. Only then may rise

The triumph of the Cross that ends all pain:

Forgiveness purchased at Redemption’s price,

Where sin confessed is washed in crimson rain,

And man, once fallen, stands upright again.

Will you and I be those who call sin sin,

Thereby pointing all to the Savior strong—

Who saves lost souls from every stain within

Through Jesus Christ our Lord, the endless song

Of grace that makes the broken whole, restored.

The Demonic Subversion of Liberty: The Enemy’s Cunning Use of Church-State Separation to Expel the Almighty and Sacred Scripture from the Nation’s Public Squares by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Jun 2026

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

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

In this darkening hour, when the public square lies desolate and the voices of faith are driven into whispered corners, I set forth this poem not as mere verse, but as a prophetic lament and a clarion call. The enemy of souls has long wielded the noble phrase “separation of church and state” as a demonic sword—twisting its original intent to shield the church from tyranny into a weapon to exile Almighty God and His Holy Bible from the very lifeblood of the nation.

What began as a safeguard for liberty has been forged in hell’s own furnace into a barrier against the Light itself. Schools no longer echo with the fear of the Lord. Courtrooms stand stripped of the Ten Commandments. Public squares, once alive with prayer and sacred song, now bow before the cold idols of secularism, pride, and fleshly license. This is no accident of history, but a calculated subversion—a great deception designed to unmoor a people from their Maker and prepare the ground for darker principalities.

Yet the Word of God cannot be chained. The same Scriptures that kindled the hearts of our Founders still burn with unquenchable fire. This poem is offered in the spirit of the ancient prophets: to expose the serpent’s cunning, to mourn what has been lost, and to stir the remnant to holy boldness. Church and state may rightly walk in parallel paths, but no wall forged by man—or devil—can separate the living God from those who seek Him.

May these lines awaken slumbering consciences, rebuke the powers of darkness, and kindle again the holy flame that once made this land a beacon. Return, O nation, to the Rock from which you were hewn. The King of kings yet reigns, and His Word shall have the final victory.

In solemn hope and unyielding faith,

The Poet

In shadowed halls where once the Light held sway,

The ancient serpent coils with cunning art,

And whispers lies that twist the founding day,

To rend the sacred from the nation’s heart.

“Separation!” cries the demonic host,

A wall of stone where none was meant to rise,

To bar the Throne of Grace from coast to coast,

And quench the Lamp that lit the Founders’ eyes.

With guile he cloaks his malice in the law,

As if the Lord were foe to liberty;

Yet Jefferson’s pen, in wisdom’s awe,

Spoke church from state, not God from you and me.

Now courts profane decree the Bible banned,

From schoolhouse walls where children once were taught

The fear of Him who made both sea and land,

And moral law that tyrants’ schemes have wrought.

The enemy exults in empty squares,

Where crosses fall and carols fade to dust;

No Ten Commands to guide the judge’s cares,

No prayer to pierce the halls of power’s lust.

He sows division, calls it tolerance high,

While altars crumble ’neath the secular throne;

The public square, once open to the sky,

Now bows to idols carved of flesh and stone.

O blinded age, that deems the Gospel chain,

When freedom’s root in Scripture deep was set!

The enemy hath used this twisted rein

To loose the beast and bind the saints in debt.

Yet Heaven laughs at schemes of mortal spite—

The Word of God no edict can confine;

Though veiled in courts of false enlightened night,

It burns eternal in the heart of man divine.

Arise, ye faithful, rend the serpent’s guise!

Let truth reclaim the square where once it shone;

For church and state may walk in parallel skies,

But God above shall never be dethroned.

The Bible’s light no darkness can eclipse—

It calls through time, a trumpet loud and clear:

Return, O land, from error’s dark eclipse,

And crown the King whom angels all revere.

The Victorious Call – A Soul Beholds Its Sin, Weeps on Hallowed Ground, and Rises Clothed in Triumph by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Jun 2026

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

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A Note to the Reader from the Poet

Dear Reader,

If you have ever stood where this soul stands—eyes flooded with the weight of your own sin, heart aching with the truth that you are vile—know this: you are not alone, and you are not without hope. These verses were written for the moment your tears fall on holy ground. That weeping is not the end; it is the doorway.

The robe is real. The blood still speaks. The Lamb still calls. Come just as you are. Let the hallowed ground of honest confession become the place where heaven clothes you in victory.

With joy in the triumph of grace,

The Poet

Job 40:4

NIV

I am unworthy—how can I reply to you? I put my hand over my mouth.

ESV

Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth.

AMP

Behold, I am of little importance and contemptible; what can I reply to You? I lay my hand on my mouth.

KJV

Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer thee? I will lay mine hand upon my mouth.

They stand before the throne, once clad in tattered rags,

A soul that suddenly beholds its every crimson stain;

Great rivers of repentance flow, hot tears that carve deep tracks,

And every memory, laid bare, falls prostrate in the rain.

This is the hallowed ground where broken sinners meet their God—

Where weeping eyes see sin as black as midnight’s deepest pit,

Where trembling hands can grasp no rope, no ladder, no façade—

Yet here the gift of all gifts waits: pure mercy, richly fit.

Like Job they rise from ashen dust in thunderous, tear-stained praise,

Like Isaiah cleansed beneath the altar’s searing, holy blaze,

Like Paul, once chief of sinners, now ablaze with ransomed days—

Grace thundered, swept their guilt into forgetful, endless praise!

No sin now holds this champion from the fight they’ve won at last,

They cast their darkness down as conquered, trampled, helpless foe;

The night that tried to quench the Eternal Light has fled, outclassed,

Now bows its head where crimson rivers of redemption flow!

No frantic hands, no futile will were needed in the fray—

The blood of heaven stormed the gulf and triumphed in its flood!

The ledger’s debt forever cancelled, blotted, swept away,

The iron chains lie shattered, gleaming shards in crimson mud!

“Come now!” the voice rings out in trumpet might and trumpet song,

“Not for the righteous— but the lost made bold by tears alone!”

They lift their eyes, aflame with holy, weeping, wondrous dawn,

The Cross their banner, blazing bright, and their new story known!

Just as they are, with sin’s last shadow slain in weeping light,

With every chain dissolved in radiant, unstoppable grace,

They march triumphant through the open plain of endless height—

The Lamb receives the vilest soul and crowns them in His place!

Behold the robe! A robe of blazing righteousness descends,

Woven in heaven’s loom with threads of everlasting gold,

White as untrodden snow on peaks where morning never ends,

Embroidered deep with scars of love and mercy manifold.

It wraps the weeping soul in glory words cannot contain—

No longer rags of shame, but splendor flashing like the sun;

The tears that fell like jewels now sparkle in its radiant train,

And hallowed ground becomes the threshold where the vict’ry’s won!

The ragged cloak lies trampled, buried in the dust of grace;

A robe of blazing righteousness is worn in triumph bright!

Though dawn once found them broken, weeping, bound in sin’s embrace,

By evening they are stars in heaven’s vast, eternal light!

Now is the hour! The gates of glory swing on hinges grand!

The one once vile now reigns, redeemed, and lifts a victor’s song!

Hell’s darkest claim has lost its final, feeble, futile sting—

Triumphant, justified, the victory forever rings!

The Clarion Call to Every Soul: We Must Proclaim Truth Boldly in the Public Square – Salvation by Grace Alone Through Christ by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

In these shadowed and restless days, when the public square has become a marketplace of glittering lies and the ancient pillars of truth are bartered for the cheap coin of comfort and applause, I offer this rhyme not as mere ornament for the ear, nor as idle verse for the scholar’s shelf, but as a clarion trumpet-call echoing the voices of prophets and apostles long departed.

We stand at the crossroads of eternity. The spirit of this age whispers compromise and silences the bold, yet the Word of the living God thunders still: we are not called to murmur salvation in secret chambers, but to proclaim it unashamedly upon the housetops and in the thoroughfares of men. For every idle word, every withheld witness, and every courageous declaration shall be weighed in the balances of divine justice. The books shall be opened; the Great Assize shall convene; and no soul shall escape the reckoning of what it did with the blood-bought truth of Calvary.

May these measured lines kindle within your breast a holy fire that consumes timidity, sharpen your tongue with the double-edged sword of Scripture, and arm your heart with the unyielding courage of the redeemed. Let them remind you that grace is not cheap, nor is the cross a relic of the past—it is the blazing standard under which we must yet contend for the faith once delivered to the saints.

Go forth, then, not in your own strength, but in the power of the Spirit, lifting high the name above every name while time and mercy still linger.

In solemn service to the King of kings,

The Poet

• Matthew 10:27 — “What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs.”

• Romans 1:16 — “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes…”

• Acts 4:12 — “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved.”

• Ephesians 2:8-9 — For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.

• 2 Corinthians 5:10 — For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad.

• Revelation 20:12 — And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life…

In public squares where nations throng and gaze,

We must proclaim the truth with trumpet clear;

No shadowed fear, no compromise or haze,

But blazing light for every listening ear.

For every soul shall kneel before the Throne,

Accounted for the seed of word or silence sown;

When heaven’s books are opened and made known,

The Judge demands what reaping we have grown.

The ultimate Truth resounds through time’s long hall:

Salvation flows through Jesus Christ our Lord—

Not human striving, not works however tall,

But sovereign grace by His own wounds outpoured.

So raise the cross where busy crowds collide,

Declare redemption’s anthem far and wide!

To the Persecuted and Suffering Church in Nigeria: A Lament and Song of Hope in the Midst of Tribulation by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

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

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Luke 12:32

KJV: Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.

NIV: “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom.”

AMP: Do not be afraid and anxious, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.

Psalm 56:8

KJV: Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?

NIV: Record my misery; list my tears on your scroll—are they not in your record?

AMP: You have taken account of my wanderings; Put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not recorded in Your book?

Matthew 16:18

KJV: …upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

NIV: …on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.

AMP: …on this rock I will build My church; and the gates of Hades (death) will not overpower it.

From the Poet

Dear Reader,

This poem is written with a heavy yet hopeful heart for our brothers and sisters in Nigeria who daily lay down their lives for the name of Christ. I have not walked their path, nor can I fully measure their suffering. I only know that Scripture calls us to “remember those in prison as if you were there with them” (Hebrews 13:3).

May these lines serve as both lament and encouragement — a small mirror held up to their steadfast faith, and a quiet call to the wider Church to pray, to speak, and to stand with them. Their wounds are real. Their hope is surer. One day, on earth or in Heaven’s glory, the world will see their scars transformed into trophies of a victory won not by the sword, but by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony.

Until that morning breaks, let us hold them before the Father who bottles every tear.

With solemn respect and sisterly love,

The Poet

O steadfast remnant, tempered in the flame

Where Sahel winds bear scimitars of hate,

Thy altars glow though villages lie maimed—

Thy anthems pierce the darkness, undismayed.

In Middle Belt the herdsmen’s shadows fall

Like wolves upon the fold at break of day;

The mother’s final lullaby, the infant’s call,

Are answered only by the heavens’ gray.

Ten thousand spires reduced to ash and bone,

Ten thousand names the world refuses breath;

Yet from that dust a living Seed is sown—

The Christ who wept in Gethsemane draws near,

Counts every crimson drop, each stifled groan,

And whispers, “Little flock, be of good cheer.”

Thy cross is sharp, thy night without a star,

Yet His yoke settles gentle as the dew;

The Lion of Judah paces where you are,

And hell’s own legions cannot conquer you.

Though distant thrones avert their eyes in shame

And trade thy blood for profit sealed in oil,

The Lord of Hosts engraves each hidden name

In lamb’s own blood upon the deathless scroll.

From Jos’s wounded hills to Lagos spires,

Thy witness flares—a constellation pure;

Stephen forgives within thy funeral fires,

Polycarp’s calm endures thy furnace sure.

Rise, suffering vine, though trampled underfoot—

Thy roots draw life from aquifers unseen.

The wine pressed out beneath the heavenly foot

Shall overflow with glory unforeseen.

Cling to the faith the noble martyrs confessed,

The crown of life gleams for thy patient race;

What earthly loss, what tears, what sharp distress

Beside the beauty of His unveiled face?

Be strong, beloved Church—be not afraid.

The Judge descends with justice in His eyes.

Each bottle of thy tears, each price you’ve paid,

Becomes a jewel set in paradise.

Till then shine on, though blood may be thy crown—

The gates of hell shall never take thee down.

When morning breaks—on earth or Heaven’s shore—

Thy God triumphant in thy wounds made whole.

The Herald’s Celestial Fire: An Ornate Proclamation of Scripture’s Perfection, the Godhead’s Glory, and the Urgent Call to Repentance by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

I cannot be silent.

The same divine compulsion that seized the prophet Jeremiah still burns within the bones of every true herald of the Triune God. It is no mere emotional surge, but a sovereign ignition of the Holy Spirit — that burning fire shut up in the marrow of the soul, weary with restraint and impossible to contain. In a generation steeped in theological compromise, cultural idolatry, and a gospel diluted by human preference, the perfect, inerrant Word of our eternal Father, incarnate Son, and proceeding Spirit demands unashamed proclamation.

This is no abstract orthodoxy. It is the living tension of divine perfections: the holiness that kindles wrath against all ungodliness, the justice that demands satisfaction for treason against the Creator, and the mercy that flows from the riven side of the crucified Lamb. Here, at the cross, wrath and mercy kiss in substitutionary atonement — the Father crushing His beloved Son under the full weight of cosmic justice, so that sinners might be declared righteous by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone. The inner-rant is thus both judgment and invitation: a holy violence against the rebel heart, clothed in the tenderness that pleads, “Turn! Why will you die?”

This poem is my feeble attempt to echo that prophetic fire — not as ornament for the ear, but as a thunderclap from the sapphire throne. It weaves the inerrancy of Scripture, the sovereignty of the Godhead, the urgency of escaping the second death, and the triumphant hope of resurrection life. May it stir within you the same unresting zeal: to speak with boldness and conviction, yet always bathed in the love that sent the Son to bear the cup of wrath we deserved.

We cannot be silent. Souls hang suspended between eternal glory and eternal perdition. The Kingdom advances through voices unashamed. Repent, believe the Gospel, and join the heralds before the Day of the Lord dawns.

For the glory of the Father, the exaltation of the risen Lamb, and the powerful working of the Spirit —

The Poet

Jeremiah 20:9 (ESV)

If I say, ‘I will not mention him, or speak any more in his name,’ there is in my heart as it were a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot.

Romans 1:16 (ESV)

For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes…

In triune sapphire throne where Three shine One—

Ancient of Days enthroned on crystal sea,

The slaughtered Lamb whose wounds outshine the sun,

The rushing Wind that sets the prophet free—

Mercy awakens holy inner-tide,

A seraph’s coal upon the trembling lip,

A furnace veiled in flesh, a burning bride,

That storms the gates of death with thunderous grip.

Not silken phrases honeyed for the snake,

But living oracles, a lightning blade

That cleaves the marrow, rends the veiled heart awake,

And drags to blazing light the sins long laid.

Like Sinai’s crown of flame on trembling peak,

It thunders “Thus saith I AM!” through kings’ halls,

While mercy, robed in blood, begins to speak

And shatters rebel thrones with trumpet calls.

As Jeremiah’s bones became a blaze

No mortal vessel could contain or tame,

So mercy storms the dungeon of our days,

With courage forged in love’s eternal flame.

Conviction rolls like cherubim’s four wings,

Yet from the riven side sweet mercy streams—

A crimson river where the sinner clings,

While heaven’s justice and compassion gleams.

The flawless Word, more pure than gold refined,

More fixed than Zion’s mount or starry choir,

Upholds the wheeling galaxies aligned

And every soul beneath the Judge’s fire.

No jot shall fade, no tittle ever fall,

Though heaven and earth dissolve in final roar;

Its granite truth outlasts the siren’s call

And breaks the chains of death forevermore.

O inner fire, Ezekiel’s whirlwind throne,

A coal from off the altar’s glowing hearth,

It bursts the iron mouth, the heart of stone,

And summons corpses from the grave of wrath.

God’s wrath is holy—white, devouring light,

Not petty storm but cosmic justice pure,

Yet on the altar’s wood of darkest night

The Lamb absorbs the blaze and makes it sure.

There wrath and mercy kiss in wounds divine,

The Father’s pleasure crushing His own Son;

The Spirit seals the pardon with a sign—

The risen Lion, slaughtered, now the One.

With Peter’s voice like rushing mighty wind,

With Stephen’s countenance as angel-flame,

The herald lifts the cross through scorn and din,

That rebels might escape the wrath to come.

No terror of the crowd, no iron chain,

Can quench the love that risks eternal shame;

For every soul plucked from the second pain

Becomes a living trophy to His Name.

Thus mercy speaks—unflinching, robed in tears—

The blameless Word in whirlwind and in plea:

“Repent! Believe! The Kingdom’s gate appears!”

Flee wrath, and reign with Christ eternally.

Delight in the Royally Redeemed: A Poetic Meditation on Psalm 16 and the Royal Priesthood of Believers by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

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

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Psalm 16:3-4 (KJV)

As for the saints that are in the earth, and to the excellent, in whom is all my delight.

Their sorrows shall be multiplied that hasten after another god: their drink offerings of blood will I not offer, nor take up their names into my lips.

Psalm 16:3-4 (NIV)

I say of the holy people who are in the land,

“They are the noble ones in whom is all my delight.”

Those who run after other gods will suffer more and more.

I will not pour out libations of blood to such gods

or take up their names on my lips.

Psalm 16:3-4 (AMP)

As for the saints (godly people) who are in the land,

They are the majestic and the noble and the excellent ones in whom is all my delight.

The sorrows [pain and suffering] of those who have chosen another god will be multiplied [because of their idolatry];

I will not pour out their drink offerings of blood,

Nor will I take their names upon my lips.

1 Peter 2:9 (KJV)

But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light.

1 Peter 2:9 (NIV)

But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.

1 Peter 2:9 (AMP)

But you are A CHOSEN RACE, A royal PRIESTHOOD, A CONSECRATED NATION, A [special] PEOPLE FOR God’s OWN POSSESSION, so that you may proclaim the excellencies [the wonderful deeds and virtues and perfections] of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light.

Dear Reader,

In the quiet tension between ancient covenant and present exile, this poem was born—not as mere ornament, but as an act of re-seeing. Psalm 16 unveils a profound paradox: the psalmist’s delight is not first in abstract divinity, but in the concrete, embodied community of the saints—those majestic, noble, and excellent ones who bear the scars and splendor of redemption. When Peter later declares us a royal priesthood, he does not invent a new identity; he unfolds what David glimpsed. The “royally redeemed” are no romantic ideal. They are flesh-and-blood bearers of divine kingship, purchased at infinite cost, set apart amid a world that still bows to bloodless yet deadly idols: power, spectacle, self, certainty, distraction.

To delight in them is an act of spiritual resistance and profound joy. It is to choose the excellent over the easy, the rooted cedar over the fleeting vine, the star-cluster of holy kinship over the isolated glow of false gods. The poem lingers in this tension because our age multiplies sorrows precisely where David warned—through frantic pursuit of lesser loves that promise everything and deliver chains. Yet in the company of the royally redeemed, sorrow is transfigured; majesty emerges not despite the storm but through it.

May these lines invite you not only to admire beauty, but to inhabit it—to recognize your own royal bearing, to cleave to the noble ones around you, and to refuse, with quiet defiance, every name that would steal your tongue and heart. In their light, we taste already the Kingdom that is coming, where delight is no longer contested but complete.

With reverence for the Word and wonder at the saints,

The Poet

In realms where covenantal glory gleams,

The royally redeemed arise in splendor bright,

As ancient cedars robed in heaven’s light,

Majestic pillars carved by sovereign hands.

Noble in bearing, excellent in grace,

They stand as jewels upon the sacred crown,

A royal priesthood, ransomed from the night,

In whom the psalmist’s deepest joys abound.

Their footsteps trace the paths of covenant love,

Like rivers carving valleys rich with life;

Redeemed by blood far purer than the stain

Of idol altars drenched in crimson rite.

He sees their worth as stars in clustered throng,

A holy nation bathed in royal hue,

Excellent souls whose light dispels the gloom,

And draws his heart in glad, unwavering tune.

Yet swift the shadows claim the errant soul

Who hastens after gods of dust and gold;

Their sorrows swell as tempests rend the plain,

Like thorns that choke the once-fertile field.

He turns from crimson cups that bleed for naught,

Nor lifts their shadowed names upon his tongue,

Lest chains of darkness bind the spirit’s flight

And mar the royal song of true delight.

O royally redeemed, majestic band,

You shine as beacons on the pilgrim’s way—

Noble in trial, excellent in faith,

A fellowship where living waters play.

Through tempests fierce and valleys veiled in shade,

Your rooted strength upholds the chosen few;

The psalmist cleaves to you with steadfast gaze,

Where truth endures and grace forever reigns.

Thus blooms the ancient verse in timeless fire,

A hymn to loyalty’s unyielding flame:

The heart that rests in holy kin refined

Rejects the hollow lure of fleeting fame.

In you, O royally redeemed and bright,

Majestic, noble, excellent and true,

The singer finds his purest, holiest light—

A foretaste of the Kingdom ever new.

What the Lord Truly Requires: Loving Mercy That Embraces Truth, Rejects Deception, and Calls All to Eternal Redemption by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

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

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Micah 6:8 (KJV)

He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?

Micah 6:8 (AMP)

He has told you, O man, what is good; And what does the LORD require of you Except to be just, and to love [and to diligently practice] kindness (compassion), And to walk humbly with your God [setting aside any overconfident trust in your own power]?

Ephesians 4:15 (KJV)

But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ.

Ephesians 4:15 (AMP)

But speaking the truth in love [in all things—both our speech and our lives expressing His truth], let us grow up in all things into Him [following His example], who is the Head—Christ.

2 Peter 3:9 (KJV)

The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.

2 Peter 3:9 (AMP)

The Lord does not delay [as though He were unable to act] and is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is [extraordinarily] patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance.

Ezekiel 33:11 (KJV)

Say unto them, As I live, saith the Lord GOD, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live: turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways; for why will ye die, O house of Israel?

John 8:32 (KJV)

And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

John 14:6 (KJV)

Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.

1 Timothy 2:3-4 (KJV)

For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour; Who will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth.

Beloved reader, true mercy is no shallow sentiment or convenient silence that shields the soul from holy confrontation. It is the profound fusion of unflinching truth and unwavering love, the very heartbeat of the Divine requirement laid bare in Micah 6:8. To love mercy is not to soften justice or dilute conviction, but to wield truth as a surgeon’s blade—cutting away deception so that real healing and restoration may emerge. It echoes the apostle’s call to speak the truth in love, maturing us into Christ Himself, while reflecting the Father’s longsuffering heart that desires none to perish but all to embrace repentance and life.

In this sacred tension, mercy refuses the lie of false tolerance that leaves sinners slumbering toward destruction; instead, it shines the unyielding light of Christ—the Way, the Truth, and the Life—inviting every heart to freedom, transformation, and eternal communion with God. It yearns for God’s highest good for all: not mere happiness, but salvation, holiness, and humble fellowship with the Creator. May these verses and the lines that follow stir within you a deeper hunger to embody this costly, redemptive mercy: courageous enough to confront, compassionate enough to restore, and Christ-centered enough to point always toward the cross where justice and mercy kissed.

What doth the Lord require, O mortal man?

To do justly, love mercy’s truthful hand,

And walk humbly where His footsteps ran—

For mercy speaks the truth, yet takes its stand.

Not soft deceit that lets the sinner sleep,

But light that wounds to heal, and calls to rise;

True mercy longs for all God’s best to keep—

Salvation’s gift, where grace and justice rise.

He wills not one should perish in the night,

But turns to life through truth that sets us free;

Compassion clothes the soul in heaven’s light,

And bids the lost: “Come home and live in Me.”

Thus mercy, truth, and humble faith entwine—

The path of life, the will of the Divine