Tag Archives: Poetry

Abhor That Which Is Evil and Cleave to That Which Is Good by Debbie Harris

31 Sunday May 2026

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A Brief Introduction

In an age that often prizes tolerance above truth and relevance above righteousness, Romans 12:9 calls believers to a higher standard: sincere, undissembled love that fiercely abhors evil and tenaciously cleaves to good. This poem echoes that ancient charge, reminding us that holy hatred of sin—paired with Christlike grace—guards the church, strengthens communities, and preserves godly culture.

Romans 12:9 (KJV) “Let love be without dissimulation. Abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is good.”

Romans 12:21 (KJV) “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.”

Ephesians 5:11 (KJV) “And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them.”

Proverbs 8:13 (KJV) “The fear of the Lord is to hate evil: pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I hate.”

Psalm 97:10 (KJV) “Ye that love the Lord, hate evil: he preserveth the souls of his saints…”

Let love be undissembled, pure and bright,

As dawn’s first ray that brooks no shade of night;

No honeyed tongue that hides a viper’s tooth,

But heart with heart in covenant of truth.

Abhor the evil — loathe it as the grave

Loathes life, as darkness hates the light it craves.

Not mild distaste, nor tolerance’s truce,

Nor relevance that bends the holy use

To fit the fleeting fashions of the age

And make the narrow way seem broad and sage.

With holy hatred scorch the creeping lie,

The lust that turns the temple into sty,

The envy’s gall, the pride that topples thrones,

The greed that gnaws the marrow from men’s bones,

The sloth that chokes the good seed ere it rise,

The wrath that blinds both justice and mercy’s eyes.

Cast out as dross what God has named unclean,

For we are called to abhor, not to convene

With darkness in the name of love or peace —

No compromise where holy wrath must cease.

Thus altars stand, thus cultures are preserved,

When evil is detested and not served.

O cleave to good! As shipwrecked sailor clings

To rock amid the tempest’s furious wings;

As ivy grips the ancient oak in hold,

As magnet leaps to steel with joy untold.

Cleave to the truth that sets the captive free,

To justice robed in pure integrity,

To mercy that forgives yet calls sin sin,

To courage that will die ere it give in.

Thus churches rise, unshaken on the stone,

Not seeker-pleasing, not to trends conformed,

But faithful pillars where the Word is throned,

Unbent by winds however fierce or warm.

Thus communities, like ramparts old and high,

Defy the flood when evil men decry;

Thus cultures flourish, rooted deep in grace,

And nations walk where heaven shows its face.

Awake, O watchers! Lift the trumpet’s blast,

Call out the canker ere the harvest’s past.

With love’s fierce fire and Christ-like tears of grace,

Expose the darkness, occupy the space

Where good must grow. Hate sin, yet love the soul;

Reprove, restore, and make the wounded whole.

For in this balance — love without disguise,

Abhorring evil, scorning compromise,

Rejecting tolerance of what defiles

And relevance that only breeds more wiles —

The image of our Maker shines once more,

And heaven’s pattern treads the earthly floor.

So guard the hearth, the altar, and the line,

Till Christ returns in glory all-divine.

We Are the Sweet Savour of Christ: The Aroma None Can Hide by Debbie Harris

30 Saturday May 2026

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2 Corinthians 2:15 (KJV)

For we are unto God a sweet savour of Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that are perishing.

We are the fragrance of the Crucified,

A scent no artifice can mask or mend;

What secret altar we have deified

Will through our every motion rise and rend.

Some glory self, and breathe a charnel fume—

Rank pride’s thick incense, lust’s corrupting musk,

Ambition’s reek that fills the narrow room

And leaves the soul a shroud of mortal dusk.

But those who kneel where blood and mercy meet,

Who drink the myrrh of Golgotha’s dark tree,

Become themselves a living incense sweet—

The very breath of heaven’s amnesty.

To some we are the sharp foretaste of death,

A gale that warns the unrepentant soul;

To others, life’s first Eden-scented breath,

The rose of paradise made whole.

O saint, keep pure the censer of thy heart!

Let no strange fire profane the holy flame;

Be thou so steeped in Christ that men, apart

From words, still catch the savour of His Name.

For all earth’s perfumes fade as morning mist,

And every crown dissolves in common dust;

But he who glories in the Saviour’s scars

Shall walk forever wrapped in heaven’s trust.

When time is rent and every veil is torn,

That fragrance shall precede thee to the throne—

Not thine, but His, eternally reborn,

The aroma of the Lamb, and His alone.

A Call to Berean Fidelity by Debbie Harris

28 Thursday May 2026

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Just because one walks through hallowed halls,

Where scholars pore o’er ancient tomes and scrolls,

And dons the robe with letters on the walls,

It means not that the living Spirit calls.

For many now with titles proudly stand,

And claim to speak for God with learned tongue;

Yet twist the sacred text with cunning hand,

Exalting self where holy fear is wrung.

The law is for the proud who trust their might,

Who boast in works and human righteousness;

But grace is for the broken, contrite heart—

The wounded soul the Lord alone will bless.

Be like the noble Bereans of old,

Who searched the Scriptures daily, line by line;

Though Paul himself had preached the truth foretold,

They tested all against the Word divine.

No seminary, doctorate, or fame

Can substitute for trembling at His Book;

In this dark age of bold apostate claim,

Cling fast to Scripture—let no teacher crook.

For wolves now dress in academic guise,

With polished speech that flatters itching ears;

They preach a lawless “grace” that never tries

The heart, but leaves the sinner dry of tears.

Test every spirit, every novel word,

Though wrapped in robes of learning, soft and wise;

The law exposes pride, but grace restored

Brings life to those who fall before His eyes.

The humble saint who knows no lofty school

May walk more closely with the risen Lord;

While eloquent deceivers play the fool,

And twist God’s truth into a twisted chord.

Let every heart bow low before the throne,

And search the Scriptures with a holy fear;

The law is for the proud—grace for the broken shown—

In days when blasphemy is proudly near.

For Christ alone is Head of all the Church,

His Word the final, sole authority;

No human title, platform, or research

Replaces “Thus saith God” in purity.

Stand therefore, saints, with lamp and sword in hand,

Unmoved by trends or scholarly applause;

In this last hour, across this troubled land,

Be true to Scripture and to Jesus Christ.

Three Prophets Who Feasted on God’s Word by Debbie Harris

26 Tuesday May 2026

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In the august annals of divine revelation, where the eternal intersects the temporal in moments of awe and trembling, three chosen prophets were summoned to an act of profound ingestion: to consume the very Word of God Himself—an encounter at once visceral and mystical, literal in obedience yet laden with inexhaustible layers of symbolism. Jeremiah, amid the crumbling ruins of Judah and the encroaching specter of Babylonian exile, discovered the oracles of the Lord and inwardly devoured them, declaring them the very joy and rejoicing of his heart even as national catastrophe loomed. Ezekiel, languishing in captivity beside the waters of Chebar, beheld a celestial hand proffering a scroll inscribed with lamentation, mourning, and woe; commanded to eat, he found it sweet as honey upon his tongue, though its message foretold unrelenting judgment upon a rebellious house. Centuries later, on the desolate, wave-beaten isle of Patmos, the beloved apostle John received from a mighty angel a little open book, which proved honeyed in his mouth yet embittered his bowels—a foretaste of both divine glory and the apocalyptic sorrows he must proclaim.

These three sacred episodes unveil a transcendent truth: the Word must first be assimilated into the prophet’s sinews and spirit—transmuted from external scroll to internal fire—before authentic proclamation or faithful living can issue forth. For everyday believers today, this means moving beyond casual reading into deep ingestion through slow, repeated meditation, prayerful internalization, prompt obedience, and expectant acceptance of both sweetness and bitterness. By making Scripture part of our very being, ordinary lives can be kindled with the same “prophet-fire” that sustained Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and John.

What follows is a classical poem in rigorous iambic pentameter and ABAB rhyme, meditating upon these holy instances.

When heaven’s clarion voice pierced mortal night,

Three vessels bowed beneath the Almighty’s hand.

They seized the scroll of truth in burning light

And made God’s very words their soul’s command.

First Jeremiah, crushed by Judah’s fall,

When exile’s gloom enshrouded Zion’s throne,

Found heaven’s oracles and ate them all:

“Thy words became my joy, my heart’s alone.”

No parchment passed his lips, yet deep he fed;

God’s fire blazed within his quaking breast.

Though scourge and scorn assailed his weary head,

He spoke undaunted, bearing heaven’s behest.

Then by Chebar’s banks in captive thrall,

Ezekiel saw a hand stretch forth the roll—

Lamentation, mourning, woe for all,

Yet honey-sweet when taken, whole and full.

“Son of man, consume what thou dost find,”

The sovereign voice compelled with thunderous might.

He ate; the scroll became his flesh and mind,

And forth he strode to warn a stubborn night.

At last on Patmos’ wave-lashed, stony shore,

John took the little open book from heaven’s throne.

“Take, eat,” the angel cried; he asked no more.

Sweet as wild honey in the mouth alone,

Yet bitter gall within his belly burned.

He prophesied anew of nations’ doom,

Of kingdoms crushed where once the mighty spurned

The Lamb who rose triumphant from the tomb.

O pilgrim soul, receive this ancient lore:

God’s word must first be eaten, deep consumed—

Not lightly skimmed along the surface shore,

But wholly taken, sweetened and illumed.

Let it dissolve within thy inmost part

Till prophet-fire ignites thy faltering heart.

Then speak undaunted, whether sweet or sore,

For thus alone is heaven’s message borne.

An Iron Anathema Upon the Bastard Gospels: A Solemn Heroic Ode Against the Pernicious Errors of Moral Relativism, False Tolerance, the Prosperity Heresy, and All Manner of Immorality that Corrupt the Pure Grace of Christ in These Perilous Latter Days by Debbie Harris

26 Tuesday May 2026

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Galatians 1:6-10 (NIV)

⁶ I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you to live in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel— ⁷ which is really no gospel at all. Evidently some people are throwing you into confusion and are trying to pervert the gospel of Christ. ⁸ But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach a gospel other than the one we preached to you, let them be under God’s curse! ⁹ As we have already said, so now I say again: If anybody is preaching to you a gospel other than what you accepted, let them be under God’s curse!

¹⁰ Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.

In Galatia’s sunlit vales where first the pure

Glad tidings rang from Paul’s unyielding tongue,

The heavens shook when swift apostates turned

From grace’s fountain to a gospel dunged

With human pride. “I marvel,” thundered he,

“Ye desert Him who called you into light,

To clutch a phantom gospel, no gospel be,

A twisted shadow born of darkest night.”

So now, in latter days more vile, I raise

This iron song against the creeping blight:

Moral Relativism, that serpent’s praise,

Which melts all truth to mist and calls it right.

“No absolute!” it hisses soft and sweet,

“What thou deem’st vice another holds as bloom;

Thy lust, thy greed, thy wrath—these are complete,

For every man his god, and every tomb

A door to self-made paradise.” Thus dies

The eternal Law, dissolved in vapid air,

While consciences, unanchored, fall and rise

On every fashionable, filthy stair.

Then Tolerance, that painted harlot, comes

In rainbow robes and voice of honeyed lies,

Proclaiming, “Judge not!” till the Church grows dumb

And opens wide her gates to every vice.

“Repentance wounds the soul,” the new priests cry;

“The Cross offends—make broad the narrow Way!”

They crown as sacred what the Scriptures name

Abomination, turning night to day,

Till heaven’s pure light and hell’s just fire seem

But equal shades in tolerance’s dream.

Behold the golden calf of Prosperity!

A gospel fat with promises of ease—

“Sow money, reap dominion, health, and glee;

Thy faith hath failed if suffering thou see.”

They nail the Man of Sorrows to a coin,

Make Calvary a marketplace of gain,

Trade thorns for crowns of plastic, and enjoin

The poor to “name it, claim it” in His name.

The blood that purchased pardon now is sold

For private jets and mansions built on sand;

They feast while Lazarus starves outside the fold,

And call their greed the touch of God’s own hand.

All Immorality now struts arrayed

In robes of “liberation,” bold and bright:

Lust hailed as love, pride as empowerment made,

Wrath as justice, sloth as self-care’s right.

A Christ remade who winks at every chain,

A Spirit soft as down, a Father mild

Who never thunders “Turn!” nor counts the slain

That slide in silken ease to darkness wild.

They preach a bloodless cross, a crownless King,

A gospel shorn of power to save or kill—

And bid the nations dance and clap and sing

While souls descend the broad and pleasant hill.

Yet hear the apostolic curse resound,

More fierce than Sinai’s thunder, sharp as flame:

Though Paul himself, or angel heaven-crowned,

Should preach another gospel in Christ’s name—

Anathema! Let him be damned, cut off,

Devoted to destruction’s holy ire!

Twice spoke the Apostle; twice I set it forth—

The gospel stands eternal, fixed, entire.

For am I now a servant seeking men’s applause,

Or God’s alone? Shall I please mortal breath

And lose the crown? Nay! Let the whole world pause

In outrage—still I cleave to living death

Of Calvary. One gospel, one sure blood,

One narrow gate, one Saviour, crucified,

Risen, returning. All the shifting flood

Of lies shall break against this Rock and die.

O Church of the last days, awake! Arise!

Cast off these bastard creeds that wear His name

Yet bear no scars. Cling to the truth that buys

With precious blood, not cars or fleeting fame.

Let every false apostle stand revealed,

Every gilded lie meet its appointed doom,

Till once again the ancient Word is sealed

In hearts that serve—not man—but Christ the Groom.

*Let him who has ears to hear, hear.*

Not Willing That Any Should Perish: A Sonnet on the Longsuffering Mercy of God by Debbie Harris

25 Monday May 2026

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A Shakespearean Sonnet on 2 Peter 3:9

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.

The Lord is not in slackness to His word,

Though scoffers mock the tarrying of the day;

His promise stands, as fixed as heaven’s sword,

Yet mercy bids the rising storm delay.

Longsuffering He bears toward erring men,

Not swift to strike, though justice claims her due;

For in His heart no soul He wills to send

To endless night where perished spirits rue.

He waits, that none should fall to ruin’s flood,

But all should turn and seek the narrow gate;

Repentance calls them from the chains of blood,

To taste the life that sin would desecrate.

O patient God, Thy forbearance is grace—

Repent and flee the coming wrath’s embrace.

May All Humanity Choose Jesus Christ As Their Lord and King by Debbie Harris

23 Saturday May 2026

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Romans 1:28 (KJV)

And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient;

Choose Christ whose word is deep,

Whose voice still calls across the storm,

When hearts grow cold and consciences sleep,

And shadows lengthen into form.

The world will offer glittering chains,

Pleasures bright but quickly spent,

Yet His words cut through the haze of pains—

Eternal, sharp, and heaven-sent.

In Romans’ warning, clear and true,

We see what comes when God steps back:

A mind reprobate, without a clue,

Approving darkness, courting black.

But turn—O turn before the door

Swings shut upon the soul’s last plea.

Choose Christ, the Lamb who bled and bore

The wrath we earned on Calvary.

His word is deep as oceans wide,

Yet gentle as a shepherd’s staff;

It pierces, heals, and stands beside

The broken, calling wanderers back.

Choose life, not death disguised as light.

Choose truth, not lies that taste like wine.

Choose Him who rose and conquered night—

The only path where hope will shine.

Let every idol fall and break,

Let every lesser love release.

In Christ alone your soul will wake,

And find the rest that brings true peace.

Before the giving over comes,

Before the mind is sealed in stone—

Choose Christ. His mercy overcomes.

His word is deep. You are not alone

The Great Inversion of Thrones: Servants upon Horses and Princes Walking as Servants upon the Earth by Debbie Harris

19 Tuesday May 2026

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Dear Precious Reader,

Since childhood, this single verse from Ecclesiastes has held me captive. Its stark simplicity conceals a profound and unsettling truth about life under the sun. In the poem that follows, the Preacher beholds a world inverted: servants riding high upon horses in unearned pomp and pride, while princes—those born to rule—are reduced to walking as servants upon the dust. Through vivid, almost tactile images of jingling bridles, gleaming stirrups, and feet treading the trodden earth, the verses lament this chaotic reversal of rightful order. Fortune’s cruel wheel spins without mercy, exalting the unworthy and casting down the deserving.Yet the poem does more than observe the madness. It echoes Solomon’s great refrain of vanity—the fleeting, insubstantial nature of all earthly rank and power. Today’s rider may be tomorrow’s footman, and the footman, king—for a fleeting season. No platform, title, throne, or follower count is fixed under the sun.This meditation therefore offers both honest lament and living hope. Do not cling too tightly to position, honor, or worldly dignity. Look instead to the Lord Jesus Christ—the true Servant-King. He who had all riches and glory stooped lowest of all: He rode into Jerusalem not on a warhorse but on a borrowed donkey, washed His disciples’ feet, and wore a crown of thorns. The ultimate inversion happened at the cross, where the Righteous One was treated as the lowest servant so that we, once lowly, might be lifted up and seated with Him in heavenly places.In Christ alone we find true and lasting nobility—not in the saddle of success or the dust of humiliation, but in union with the One whose kingdom cannot be shaken. Every earthly order will one day bow before Him. Until that day, walk in wisdom and humility, fixing your eyes on Jesus, “who for the joy set before Him endured the cross,” knowing that in Him your status is secure forever.

Ecclesiastes 10:7 (KJV)
I have seen servants upon horses, and princes walking as servants upon the earth.

I saw the servant lifted to the throne,
His feed awash with likes and viral gold;
While princes skilled in wisdom walk alone,
Their names erased, their quiet virtues sold.

The loud and brash now claim the boardroom seat,
The humble faithful bear the cynic’s scorn;
Yet in this chaos, Christ, our King, I meet—
Who rode a donkey, wearing crown of thorn.

All is but vanity beneath the sun—
The fleeting scroll, the trending name, the post—
Fortune’s algorithm spins for anyone,
And crowns of influence vanish like a ghost.

No platform lasts, no follower count stays;
The wheel that raises fools will throw them down.
But Christ, the Servant-King, has shown the way:
He stooped the lowest to receive the crown.

He walked our dust, He bore our servant’s shame,
That we, once low, might reign with Him above.
Though earthly orders twist and shift in name,
In Jesus’ hands rests everlasting love.

Then walk in wisdom though the world invert,
Though servants ride in luxury and light,
And nobles trudge where no one comprehends.
Fix eyes on Christ—the true and lasting Light.
True rank is found in union with the Son,
Whose kingdom stands when all our days are done.

Apart from Christ Alone: Without Me Ye Can Do Nothing by Debbie Harris

16 Saturday May 2026

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Dear Precious Reader,

The poem is a solemn meditation on the futility of human effort and ambition when pursued apart from Christ. It paints a vivid picture of worldly pursuits—glass castles on shifting sand, fading laurels, cracking cisterns, and towering empires of “gilded dust”—all destined to crumble into ruin. Strength, intellect, and pride ultimately fail; every triumph is temporary, every kingdom silent in the dust of oblivion.In powerful contrast, the poem turns to the hope found in Jesus, the true Vine and Cornerstone. Apart from Him, we can do nothing lasting, but grafted into His life, even the weakest life bears abundant fruit that time cannot destroy. His mercy, sealed at Calvary, rewrites our frailty into strength. It closes with an invitation: lay down your weary striving and find eternal rest and unquenchable light in the Savior.In essence, it is a call away from self-reliant Babel-building toward abiding in Christ—the only foundation that stands forever.

Grace and peace to you!

John 15:5 (KJV)
I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.


In twilight halls where mortal echoes die,
We grasp at phantoms, chase the fleeting sigh—
Castles of glass upon the quaking sand,
Thorn-crowns of pride that cut the builder’s hand.
Apart from Jesus, the cistern cracks and dries,
Ambition’s blaze a guttering wick of lies.
Laurels curl brown beneath the withering sun,
And every triumph’s tale is soon undone.
The restless mind, in darkness seeking light,
Charts only mazes, blind to what is right.
The heart, devouring shadows for its bread,
Finds famine clothed in gold, and dreams long dead.
Kingdoms ascend in brass and gilded dust,
Then topple mute into oblivion’s rust.
The strong man’s sinew, scholar’s subtle art—
Both bow at last before the failing heart.
Yet in the Vine no tempest can uproot,
The Cornerstone no age can refute—
“Apart from Me ye can do nothing,” spake the Lord,
And grafted to His life, the barren bough
Bursts into clusters, heavy with living grace,
In secret orchards time cannot erase.
His mercy, crimson-scribed on Calvary’s tree,
Rewrites the ledger of our frailty.
Where weakness kneels and lifts its trembling plea,
His strength resounds in perfect symphony.
Let mortals raise their Babel spires high,
Forge ladders forged of dust against the sky—
All towers tilt, all empires turn to clay,
Save that which bears the Savior’s name alone.
Apart from Christ, we sail uncharted seas,
With tattered sails and no true compass breeze.
But rooted deep in Him, the weakest reed
Becomes a cedar, towering and freed.
In Jesus dwells the dawn that knows no night,
Eternal rivers of unquenchable light.
Come, wanderer, lay down thy weary load,
And rest forever in the Vine’s abode

One Hope for the World: The Transforming Power of Jesus Christ Our Lord by Debbie Harris

16 Saturday May 2026

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Dear Precious Reader,

In an unredeemed world wrapped in shadowed valleys and heavy despair, there is one radiant hope that shines undimmed: Jesus Christ our Lord.Through His amazing grace, the broken sinner is made new—a glorious new creation, victorious over sin and death. He shatters every chain that binds the soul, renews the heart, and restores the old life into wholeness. No human creed, no earthly throne, and no amount of gold can compare to the power of His redeeming blood.Rise, O creation! Let every redeemed heart sing with boldness and joy:Our only hope is Jesus Christ our King!

In shadowed valleys where despair holds sway,
No other hope sustains this weary world
Than grace that makes the sinner new each day—
A new creation, glorious, unfurled.

Victorious in light, triumphant still
O’er sin and death’s cold, unrelenting night,
Salvation flows from Calvary’s holy hill—
Found only in our Jesus Christ, the Light.

He breaks the chains that bind the wounded soul,
Renews the heart and makes the old man whole.
No human creed, no throne of gold or power
Can match the wonder of His cleansing blood.

Rise, O creation! Let the ransomed sing:
Our only hope is Jesus Christ our King!