The Marks of the Deceiver: A Lamentation Upon Those Who Encourage Sin, Court Gold, and Bend the Scriptures to the Spirit of the Age by Debbie Harris

14 Sunday Jun 2026

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

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To the Reader

Dear Reader, beloved pilgrim journeying through this vale of tears,

In these latter days, when the very foundations of truth tremble beneath the weight of smooth deception, a clear and faithful voice arose upon the public square. It lifted a prophetic standard, not in the language of scholarly treatises or ornate rhetoric, but in plain, urgent speech drawn straight from the wells of Scripture. It set forth the unmistakable marks of the false teacher: those who no longer confront sin with holy severity, but who instead encourage it with gentle affirmation; who banish all mention of Hell’s righteous judgment; who crave the glittering praise of men and the comforts of worldly wealth; and who, with practiced cunning, twist the eternal words of God to harmonize with the ever-shifting spirit of this present evil age.

I have taken this timely warning—simple, biblical, and unadorned—and clothed it in the enduring garments of classical verse. Not to embellish or obscure the truth, but to engrave it more deeply upon the heart, that it might abide when the scroll of the screen has faded and the noise of the hour has passed. Poetry, rightly used, is a lantern in the darkness and a sword in the hand of the watchful. May these lines serve as both.

Read slowly. Read prayerfully. Let the words test the spirits, as the Apostle commanded. Examine every teacher, every doctrine, every pleasing sentiment by the unchanging light of Holy Scripture. For the enemy of souls has never been more subtle, nor his ministers more adorned in the robes of light. Yet the true Shepherd still calls His sheep by name, and His voice remains the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Cling to the old paths. Hold fast the faith once delivered to the saints. And may the God of all grace grant you discernment, courage, and unwavering fidelity in this darkening hour.

Matthew 7:15

Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.

2 Timothy 4:3-4

For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears; And they shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto fables.

2 Peter 2:1-3

But there were false prophets also among the people, even as there shall be false teachers among you, who privily shall bring in damnable heresies, even denying the Lord that bought them, and bring upon themselves swift destruction. And many shall follow their pernicious ways; by reason of whom the way of truth shall be evil spoken of. And through covetousness shall they with feigned words make merchandise of you: whose judgment now of a long time lingereth not, and their damnation slumbereth not.

1 Timothy 6:5 — “…supposing that gain is godliness: from such withdraw thyself.

Jude 1:4 — For there are certain men crept in unawares, who were before of old ordained to this condemnation, ungodly men, turning the grace of our God into lasciviousness, and denying the only Lord God, and our Lord Jesus Christ.

In shadowed halls where once the Gospel rang

With thunderous truth and purifying fire,

Now soft-tongued serpents weave a silken song,

And call their honeyed lies celestial choir.

They shun the blade that severs soul from sin,

Nor speak of Hell’s unquenchable abyss;

Lest trembling hearts should turn from pleasure’s din

And seek the narrow path of righteousness.

Their eyes gleam bright with gold and mortal praise,

They court the crowd and court the critic’s nod;

While heaven’s treasures gather dust and rust,

They heap their barns with fleeting, earthly laud.

The sacred Scroll they twist with cunning art,

To suit the age’s ever-changing whim;

Where Scripture stands austere and set apart,

They bend its spine to make it mirror sin.

O pilgrim soul, by grace with eyes made clear,

Flee these false shepherds clothed in wolves’ array!

Cling to the plain and ancient Word sincere,

That burns like beacon through the darkening day.

Let no man’s charm, nor crowd’s approving roar,

Nor glittering gain seduce thy steadfast feet;

The Shepherd true hath spoken long before—

His voice alone shall guide thee through the deceit.

Thus stands the test: by fruit the tree is known,

By doctrine pure or doctrine overthrown.

Hold fast the faith once delivered to the saints,

Till Christ in glory claims His own.

The Triumph of the Most High: Encouragement for Believers When the Wicked Spring Forth as Grass – Psalm 92:5-9 in Classical Heroic Verse by Debbie Harris

12 Friday Jun 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Pleasing God Not Man, Spiritual Warfare

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Believer,

When evil seems to flourish all around us—when the wicked rise like unchecked grass and the workers of iniquity appear unstoppable—take heart. The Lord sees it clearly and declares with divine finality: “Nope.” Their moment is brief, their root already severed beneath His sovereign hand.

This is the triumphant heart of Psalm 92: the temporary bloom of wickedness contrasted with the everlasting exaltation of our God. Read these lines when discouragement presses in. Speak them aloud. Let them remind you that justice is not delayed forever—evil will be cut down, scattered like chaff, and overthrown, while the Lord reigns on high, forevermore.

You are not alone in the fight. The same God who cuts down the proud upholds the righteous. Stand firm, believer—your King has already spoken.

With courage and hope,

The Poet

(A Classical Rhyme Poem – For Believers)

Psalm 92:5-9 (KJV)

O LORD, how great are thy works!and thy thoughts are very deep. A brutish man knoweth not; neither doth a fool understand this. When the wicked spring as the grass,and when all the workers of iniquity do flourish; it is that they shall be destroyed for ever: But thou, LORD, art most high for evermore. For, lo, thine enemies, O LORD, for, lo, thine enemies shall perish;all the workers of iniquity shall be scattered.

O Lord, how great Thy works in glory blaze!

Thy thoughts profound outshine the sun’s own rays.

The brutish heart no sacred wonder knows,

Nor fool discerns where Thy deep wisdom flows.

When evil seems to flourish all around,

And wicked men spring forth as grass unbound,

When workers of iniquity take wing

In fleeting bloom and boast they cannot fall—

Take heart, believer! Hear the sovereign call:

God sees it all and thunders, “Nope!”—their root

Is cut beneath His hand, their doom assured.

But Thou, O Lord, art high forevermore,

Exalted far above all time’s short shore.

Lo, Thine enemies, O God, shall fall and fade;

Thine enemies shall perish, unarrayed.

All who work iniquity take flight,

Scattered like chaff before the whirlwind’s might.

Thy throne stands firm, Thy justice reigns alone—

While evil’s pride is swiftly overthrown.

Stand fast, believer: though the darkness swell,

The Lord has spoken—evil shall not prevail.

The Demonic Art of Euphemistic Veils: How Honeyed Words Cloak Sin, Wickedness, and Immorality in the Guise of Virtue by Debbie Harris

09 Tuesday Jun 2026

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

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

In an age when words are bent and twisted like reeds in the wind, I send forth this poem as a cry from the watchtower. We live in times when the serpent’s ancient tactic has been refined to perfection: no longer does evil storm the gates with horns and fire, but enters softly, cloaked in pleasant phrases, smiling euphemisms, and gentle rebrandings. What the Scriptures once called sin is now paraded as “choice,” “pride,” “love,” or “self-care.” Hell has learned the language of Heaven, and many souls are lulled to sleep by its lullabies.

This verse is no mere literary exercise. It is a battle cry against the demonic alchemy of language—the subtle art that turns murder into medicine, adultery into adventure, and rebellion against the Creator into “authenticity.” I have written in classical rhyme because truth deserves dignity, not the cheap prose of our disordered day. The form itself is a protest: while the world dissolves into formless babble, let rhyme and meter stand as pillars of order.

If these lines sting, it is not out of hatred for the sinner, but out of love for the soul still capable of repentance. Call evil by its rightful name. Refuse the velvet lie. Restore sharp, honest speech to your tongue, for “the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). Euphemisms comfort the conscience only until Judgment Day, when every soft word will be stripped away and we shall stand naked before the Holy One.

May this poem awaken slumbering consciences, fortify the faithful, and expose the darkness masquerading as light.

With solemn urgency and brotherly concern,

The Poet

Scriptural Foundation (KJV)

Isaiah 5:20

Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!

2 Corinthians 11:13-14

For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ. And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.

Ephesians 5:6

Let no man deceive you with vain words: for because of these things cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience.

Proverbs 6:16-19

These six things doth the LORD hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, An heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, A false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.

Isaiah 59:13-14

In transgressing and lying against the LORD, and departing away from our God, speaking oppression and revolt, conceiving and uttering from the heart words of falsehood. And judgment is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off: for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter.

Matthew 15:8-9

This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me. But in vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.

In shadowed halls where serpents softly speak,

A velvet tongue twists truth to tame the bleak.

Euphemisms, like incense sweet and cloy,

Cloak the fiend’s foul breath in bright alloy.

What once was murder dons the mask of “choice,”

And babes unborn are silenced, without voice.

Adultery becomes a harmless “fling,”

While vows lie shattered—souls on broken wing.

Fornication? Merely “exploring love,”

A youthful dance that fits like hand in glove.

Sodomy is “pride,” a rainbow hue,

Defying Nature’s law and God’s own view.

The glutton calls his feast “self-care” refined,

The drunkard sips his “social” cup of wine.

Laziness is “mental health” today,

While sloth devours the hours, wastes away.

Covetousness now wears the name “equity,”

The thief demands his “justice” bold and free.

While honest labor bows beneath the weight

Of guilt and “privilege” — inverted hate.

The liar’s craft is now “narrative spin,”

Or “speaking truth to power” — deadly sin.

False prophets preach “inclusion” from the stage,

While crushing consciences in righteous rage.

Divorce is “self-love,” a brave new start,

Though children’s hearts are torn and ripped apart.

The covenant once sacred, sealed by God,

Is traded for the fleeting, fleshly nod.

Rebellion dresses in “empowerment” bright,

Defying Heaven in the name of “right.”

Man plays the god, re-making moral law,

While demons clap and hell prepares its maw.

“Love is love” the serpent’s slogan cries,

While redefining lust in rainbow guise.

No longer bound by God’s created frame,

It crowns as virtue every burning shame.

“All paths lead up” — the broadest lie of all,

That makes the narrow Way a useless call.

Christ’s blood is mingled with false gods and lies,

While Heaven weeps and hell in triumph sighs.

O demonic art! With words both mild and fair,

You gild the gates of Hell and lead them there.

You blunt the blade of conscience, dull the sting,

Till vice feels virtue, and the damned take wing.

No longer “sin” the scarlet letter brands,

But “lifestyle” welcomed with applauding hands.

The liar spins his “alternative fact” with grace,

The thief takes “reparations” in his place.

Yet in the end, when Judgment’s trumpet sounds,

These pretty phrases turn to chains and bounds.

The euphemist shall stand in naked light,

His sugar-coated lies exposed to sight.

Awake, O mortal! Cast the veil aside,

Call evil evil—let no tongue divide

The truth from falsehood with a silken lie.

For Heaven’s gate demands an honest cry.

Repent the gloss, the soft and soothing phrase,

That paves the road to everlasting blaze.

In plain, hard speech let virtue find her sword—

Euphemism, demon, be forever floored!

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

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

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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.

May Faithfulness, Seen and Unseen, Be the Crown We Moment by Moment Lay Down at Thy Feet by Debbie Harris

08 Monday Jun 2026

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

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

In the quiet rhythm of our fleeting days, where dawn’s first light meets midnight’s hush, I have often felt the gentle yet insistent call to lay down my heart’s small offerings before the feet of the Sovereign King. This poem was born from that recurring prayer: that faithfulness—both the visible acts of love and the unseen battles waged in secret—might become a living crown, renewed moment by moment, and surrendered wholly to Him.

It is not a boast of perfect devotion, but a humble confession and invitation. We are all pilgrims weaving our days into something eternal. Some jewels in the crown shine with joy and triumph; others are forged in tears, temptation, and patient endurance. Yet all are precious when laid before the One who walked Gethsemane’s night for us.

May these verses stir your own spirit to the same sweet surrender. May you find courage to offer your seen and unseen faithfulness, trusting that the King of Grace receives even the smallest crown with delight and transforms it into glory.

With prayerful affection,

The Poet

Revelation 4:10-11 (KJV)

The four and twenty elders fall down before him that sat on the throne, and worship him that liveth for ever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying,

Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.

May faithfulness, seen and unseen,

Be the crown we moment by moment lay down

At Thy feet, O Sovereign of grace serene,

Where mercy’s pure river makes deserts abound.

In dawn’s golden hush and in noon’s fierce fray,

In twilight’s soft veil and midnight’s chill shade,

We offer our labors, the battles we’ve braved—

The thorn-crowned endurance, the tears on bent knee—

And cast them like sheaves at Thy throne, wholly free.

Each jewel a promise, each link forged alone,

Woven of sorrow and joy intertwined,

Not gold that will tarnish nor laurels that fade,

But faithfulness offered in heart, hand, and mind.

O King who hast trod through Gethsemane’s night,

Accept this poor diadem, humble yet bright;

From cradle to conflict, from valley to prayer,

We yield every heartbeat, each breath and each care.

As rivers to ocean in ceaseless flow,

As incense ascends where the seraphim glow,

So moment by moment our crowns we resign,

Our wills and our labors, our all we consign

To Thee, the Beginning, the End, the Divine.

When time’s final curtain at last shall descend

And eternity’s morning its splendors extend,

We shall stand in Thy presence, all crowns laid before,

With faithfulness radiant forevermore,

In the halls of Thy glory, Thy children, restored.

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

06 Saturday Jun 2026

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

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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 Christ-Centered Poet’s Heart: A Warrior’s Blazing Golden Heart Clothed in Velvet Victory and Resurrection Fire by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Jun 2026

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

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Dear Reader,

If these lines have reached your eyes, know this: the heart that wrote them is no delicate bloom trembling in the wind. It is a warrior’s heart—hammered on the anvil of Calvary, refined in resurrection fire, and clothed in the velvet of Christ’s own compassion.

I do not write to impress the world, but to remind every soul who battles in secret that strength and tenderness are not opposites. They are twin flames kindled by the same nail-pierced hand. The Lion of Judah roars, yet the Lamb still weeps with you. In Him, your fiercest wounds become weapons, your deepest sorrows become songs, and your broken places become banners of victory.

Rise, beloved. Charge with poems as swords. The gates of hell cannot stand. Glory awaits, and the King who calls you “more than conqueror” rides at your side.

With triumphant love and velvet fire,

The Poet

Beneath the breastplate forged in heaven’s blaze,

A golden heart of warrior’s blazing ore

Pulses with resurrection thunder raised,

Victorious, yet wrapped in velvet’s core.

No fragile glass to fracture at a sigh—

But royal velvet, dyed in crimson flood,

Where nail-scarred hands have woven mercy high

And crowned the storm with banners soaked in blood.

This poet’s soul, a sword of flame unsheathed,

Wields poems like lightning against the dragon’s night;

It charges through the gates of hell, victorious,

Roaring triumph in the fiercest fight.

For Christ the Lion-Lamb has loosed the roar

That turns the fiercest heart to velvet’s golden shore—

A trumpet blast of glory evermore!

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 Debbie Harris 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 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

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

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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.

From Dust and Frailty to the Gem-Studded Garments of Salvation: A Hymn of Divine Clothing and Holy Awe by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

Posted by Debbie Harris in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Pleasing God Not Man, Royally Redeemed, salvation, Thanksgiving, Triumphant

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Note to the Reader from the Poet

Dear Reader,

In the quiet tension between creaturely frailty and divine generosity, this hymn was conceived. We stand perpetually before the paradox Scripture never lets us escape: we are dust — fragile, fleeting, marked by the fractures of original and ongoing sin — and yet the same Creator who fashioned us from the ground now stoops to array that very dust in garments of celestial splendor.

The poem does not merely celebrate a theological idea; it traces a transformative arc that mirrors the gospel itself. From the scattering wind of Psalm 103:14 and the weakness confessed in 2 Corinthians 12:9, through the empowering mercy of Isaiah 40 and the jeweled bridal splendor of Isaiah 61:10, it presses toward the astonishing promise of 2 Peter 1:4 — that we might become partakers of the divine nature. Each stanza is an act of remembrance and aspiration: remembering our low estate so that we might more fully adore the height of His condescension.

The gem-studded robe is no ornamental fancy. It is the righteousness of Christ, woven on heaven’s loom, encrusted with the blood-red ruby of atonement, the sapphire depths of unfailing grace, the emerald hope of resurrection life, and the diamond fire of covenant fidelity. To wear it is to walk in holy servanthood — yoked yet free, bowed yet exalted, weak yet wielding uncreated light.

May these lines not merely be read, but prayed. Speak them slowly in your secret place. Let the weight of your own dust press you deeper into the mercy that clothes you. Let the imagery carry you past sentiment into awe — speechless, trembling, joyful awe — before the throne where the Lamb slain stands worthy.

For the God who remembers we are dust has never forgotten us. He has clothed us instead, and called us His own.

With bowed heart and lifted eyes,

The Poet

Scriptural Foundation

Psalm 103:14 – We are dust

KJV: “For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.”

NIV: “For he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.”

AMP: “For He knows our [mortal] frame; He remembers that we are [merely] dust.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 – Strength in weakness

KJV: “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

NIV: “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”

AMP: “But He has said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you [My lovingkindness and My mercy are more than enough—always available—regardless of the situation]; for [My] power is being perfected [and is completed and shows itself most effectively] in [your] weakness.’”

Isaiah 40:29 – Power to the faint

KJV: “He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.”

NIV: “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.”

AMP: “He gives strength to the weary, And to him who has no might He increases power.”

Isaiah 61:10 – Garments of salvation and robe of righteousness

KJV: “I will greatly rejoice in the LORD, my soul shall be joyful in my God; for he hath clothed me with the garments of salvation, he hath covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decketh himself with ornaments, and as a bride adorneth herself with her jewels.”

NIV: “I delight greatly in the LORD; my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness, as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.”

AMP: “I will rejoice greatly in the LORD, My soul will exult in my God; For He has clothed me with garments of salvation, He has covered me with a robe of righteousness, As a bridegroom puts on a turban, And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.”

2 Peter 1:4 – Partakers of the divine nature

KJV: “Whereby are given unto us exceeding great and precious promises: that by these ye might be partakers of the divine nature…”

NIV: “Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature…”

AMP: “For by these He has bestowed on us His precious and magnificent promises [of inexpressible value], so that by them you may… become sharers of the divine nature.”

O Lord, we are but dust the wind may strew,

Frail clay unformed, by sin’s dark tempest torn,

Yet from Thy throne where living mercies dew,

Thy hand descends — and we, once lost, are born.

Thy strength, a flame that leaps through shadowed veins,

Arrays our tatters in celestial white;

The yoke of holy service gently reigns,

And lifts the bowed to wield unyielding light.

No more the slave beneath the fleshly rod,

We stand enrobed in righteousness divine —

A garment vast, by heaven’s own shuttle shod,

With jewels blazing where Thy glories shine.