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Feathered with Mercy, Tipped with Truth: The Complex Grace of Holy Boldness by Debbie Harris

20 Wednesday May 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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Dear Precious Reader,

I wrote this poem with trembling hands and a burning heart. In a world that so often confuses volume with courage and sharpness with strength, I felt the Spirit whisper a deeper invitation: to be bold without becoming harsh, to speak truth without wounding for the sake of wounding. This is not a rebuke of passion — far from it. It is a love letter to the narrow path where the lion and the lamb walk together. True boldness in Christ is not loud; it is clear. It is not rude; it is fearless. It is feathered with mercy so that when it flies, it pierces lies without destroying hearts. My prayer is that these words would stir something holy in you — a courage that is gentle, a fire that warms rather than consumes, and a love that refuses to stay silent. May you carry this tension well: humble enough to listen, brave enough to speak, and Christlike enough to do both at the same time. You are not called to be obnoxious for Jesus. You are called to be like Him.

With affection and hope,

The Poet

Structure Summary:

The piece follows a clean, layered structure that opens with the main title “Feathered with Mercy, Tipped with Truth” and its subtitle “The Complex Grace of Holy Boldness”. Immediately beneath the title sits a rich Scripture epigraph featuring all six KJV verses stacked one after another in italics, each followed by its reference. This scriptural foundation is then followed directly by the full poem, presented under the title and rendered in its original free-verse stanzas with natural line breaks and spacing. The overall flow moves from Title → Scripture → Poetry, creating a reverent and focused progression that feels intentional.

But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ:
— Ephesians 4:15

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.
— Galatians 5:22-23

Now I Paul myself beseech you by the meekness and gentleness of Christ, who in presence am base among you, but being absent am bold toward you:
— 2 Corinthians 10:1

“The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion.”
— Proverbs 28:1

And now, Lord, behold their threatenings: and grant unto thy servants, that with all boldness they may speak thy word,
— Acts 4:29

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
— 2 Timothy 1:7

In the quiet forge where the Spirit breathes,
a flame is kindled — not wildfire, but steady gold.
Boldness in Christ rises like dawn on the sea,
not the crash of cymbals demanding to be heard,
but the clear note of a trumpet carried on wind.

It is courage clothed in kindness,
a lion’s heart wrapped in the wool of the Lamb.
Not the swagger of swords drawn too soon,
nor the noise that scatters the wounded,
but the steady gaze of love that refuses to flinch
when truth must stand naked before the crowd.

The fruit hangs heavy on one Tree:
love first, then joy, peace, patience —
gentleness holding the reins of power.
Boldness is no orphan virtue;
it walks hand-in-hand with self-control,
lest it stumble into the ditch of pride
and call its own echo “prophecy.”

How complex the dance, how narrow the blade —
to speak fire without scorching the tender reed,
to overturn tables yet wash the feet of betrayers,
to declare “Thus says the Lord”
while tears carve rivers down the same cheeks.

Obnoxious is easy; flesh loves volume,
loves the thrill of being right and loud together.
But the Spirit’s boldness is harder —
a whisper that splits mountains,
a stillness that routs armies,
a cross lifted high in the teeth of empire
without a single curse flung back.

So let us be bold, beloved,
as arrows loosed from the Archer’s hand —
feathered with mercy, tipped with truth,
straight, swift, and singing.
Aimed not to wound for wounding’s sake
but to pierce the lie and heal the heart.

For the same Spirit that made Peter roar at Pentecost
also made him weep outside the high priest’s door.
Boldness without love is brass.
Love without boldness is shadow.
Together they are Christ —
crucified, risen, and still speaking
through clay jars that tremble,
yet refuse to be silent.

Walk then in this holy tension:
humble enough to listen,
brave enough to answer,
gentle enough to be heard,
and fierce enough to be faithful.
This is the fruit —
ripened in secret,
offered in public,
sweet and sharp on the tongue of a broken world.

The Last Shall Be First by Debbie Harris

20 Wednesday May 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Praise

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Dear Precious Reader,

I have always been fascinated by this verse and all its depth, beauty, and complexity. The simple words “the last shall be first and the first shall be last” have echoed through centuries, quietly overturning every worldly measure of success, status, and value. In Christ’s eyes, the hidden and the humble often shine brightest, while the proud and powerful are gently set aside. This paradox comforts the overlooked and challenges the exalted — reminding us that who Heaven prizes could indeed be a surprise.It is my prayer that this poem stirs your heart to recognize the quiet glory in the “least of these,” to honor those who serve in humility (whether they have little or much), and to live with the joyful hope that heaven’s final accounting — inscrutable to human eyes — is already written in the ink of redeeming love.

May you be blessed as you read.

The Poet

Brief Summary of the Poem’s Format (in paragraph form):

This poem, titled The Last Shall Be First, is a literary lyric piece composed of 42 lines arranged in six stanzas of varying length. It is written primarily in iambic pentameter, giving each line a natural, rhythmic flow of ten syllables with five stressed beats. The overall tone is contemplative and reverent, blending vivid imagery with quiet prophetic weight.The rhyme structure follows a flexible yet consistent pattern, mostly alternating ABAB or ABCB schemes, with occasional rhyming couplets at the close of stanzas for added emphasis and emotional resonance. A sophisticated blend of perfect rhymes and subtle slant rhymes creates musicality without rigidity, allowing the poem to feel both elegant and accessible. Frequent enjambment carries thoughts smoothly from one line to the next, mirroring the gentle, unfolding nature of the poem’s central paradox.This formal structure provides a sense of order and beauty while supporting the theme’s subversive message — traditional on the surface, yet quietly transformative in spirit.

In marble halls where echoes boast of gold,
The first sit throned in silken certainty,
Their laughter sharp as coins on counting boards,
While shadows lengthen at the outer door.
They feast on futures, mortgage mercy’s name,
And measure worth by what their ledgers claim.

Yet some among the first have bowed the knee—
Rich hands that build, not hoard; hearts Christ-possessed.
They raise up schools where beggars’ children read,
Pour wealth like wine for country, church, and need.
Their mansions open wide to serve the least;
Their ledgers bleed with love’s accounting sheet.
These, too, in Christ’s own eyes are lifted high,
Though earth still calls their glory passing by.

But at the gate, where beggars bow like reeds
Before the wind of every passing heel,
The least of these—barefoot, with trembling hands—
Collect the crusts the world forgets to yield.
Their eyes are wells no ledger ever fathomed;
Their rags, the hidden glory of the real.

In Christ’s own eyes the trumpet sounds unseen—
A quiet dawn that turns the tables true.
The self-exalting first are last, their crowns
Of laurel ash beneath a heaven’s view.
While beggars rise in robes no tailor wove,
And humble rich walk streets of living gold.

The widow’s mite, the leper’s quiet plea,
The orphan’s hand, the magnate’s open store—
All these, when given for the King’s own sake,
Are first in eyes that see the heart’s true core.
No worldly trumpet, no earthly roar
Can change what Christ has weighed forevermore.

O paradox that burns the heart like fire,
That justice wears the face of those we scorned!
The least of these—dismissed, despised, denied—
Are highest where the world’s gaze never turned.
And we who pass them daily on the street
May yet discover Christ has crowned the least.

When God Gives Wings: Strength, Wisdom, and Power for the Impossible Task by Debbie Harris

19 Tuesday May 2026

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

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Dear Precious Reader,

In the poem, When God Gives Wings, a soul stands before a task so immense and impossible that no human strength, wisdom, or ability could ever accomplish it. Yet in tender mercy, God breathes upon the weary and grants divine wings—wings not of this earth, but straight from heaven itself. With immeasurable strength, supernatural ability, and heavenly wisdom poured out, what once loomed as an unscalable mountain is not only overcome but joyfully soared over. The impossible becomes a living testimony of God’s limitless power. The poem overflows with wonder at the miracle, awe at God’s greatness, adoration for the King who stoops low to lift the weak, and deep thanksgiving for His faithful presence and empowering grace. It is a gentle yet powerful invitation to every tired heart facing the impossible: When God calls you, He fully equips you. He gives wings so that you may fly.May these words stir your faith and fill you with fresh courage.

With joy and blessing,

In the hush of dawn where miracles ignite,
God breathes upon the weary child of light.
He grants these wings—not feathered, frail, or bound—
But heaven’s own, where earth and glory kiss the ground.

A task that seemed impossible, immense,
Loomed like a mountain none could hope to crest.
Yet wonder floods the soul like endless sea,
As mortal limits break in holy liberty!

The spirit rises, not by merit, weak and small,
But by the hand that holds the stars, the all.
Awe trembles deeply, vast and deep and wide,
As immeasurable strength like rivers surges, sanctified.

God pours out wisdom, vast and pure and bright,
And ability that shatters every height.
No longer chained to doubt or fear’s cold grasp,
His power thunders—lightning in the clasp!

Adoration swells, a holy, burning flame,
To You, O Sovereign—matchless is Your name!
The King stoops low from throne of endless light
To arm the weak with unconquerable might.

Thanksgiving pours like incense, sweet and free,
For every impossible task the Lord has called this soul to see.
He bends the heavens, walks beside the way,
Empowering feet that once would falter, hearts that now obey.

How marvelous, this gift beyond all words—
The Creator lending wings to flightless birds!
The spirit soars through heights of glory, pure and strong,
Because the King of kings has made the soul strong.

All praise, all glory, adoration, love
Ascend to God who equips from realms above.
In wonder, awe, and grateful hearts they sing:
When God gives wings, the impossible takes flight!

Abiding in Christ: Christ-Centered Practices for Cultivating the Fruit of Self-Control by Debbie Harris

16 Saturday May 2026

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

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Dear Precious Reader,

In a world that spins seemingly out of control—headlines screaming chaos, cultures unraveling, and hearts racing from one crisis to the next—it can feel as though everything is falling apart. Yet beneath the surface, all things are quietly falling into place according to the sovereign hand of God. In times like these, the quiet strength we need most is not louder voices or tighter grip on our own lives, but the steady fruit of self-control cultivated deep within by the Holy Spirit.That is why I wrote this poem.It is not a call to white-knuckled willpower or religious striving. Rather, it is an invitation to surrender: to fix our eyes on Christ, abide in the Vine, and let His life become ours. Each stanza traces the daily battles we all face—anger, lust, gluttony, sloth, and reckless words—and points them to the cross where they were already defeated. Self-control, as the poem declares, is not ultimately “Christ and me,” but “Christ in me.” It blooms not from clenched fists, but from open, yielded hands.My prayer is that these words would stir your heart to ask the Holy Spirit afresh: “Cultivate Your fruit in me.” May you find, in the quiet dawn where tempests start, that His gentle power is enough to tame every storm within.With hope in the One who holds both the world and our souls,

Galatians 5:22-23 (KJV)
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.


Proverbs 25:28 (KJV)
He that hath no rule over his own spirit is like a city that is broken down, and without walls.

In the quiet dawn where tempests start,
The soul bows low and seeks His heart.
Not by its strength, but His alone,
It tames the flesh that claims its throne.
When anger rises like a flood,
His gentle word becomes its blood.
“Be slow to wrath,” the Scripture cries—
It breathes His name and watches it die.
The eyes that wander, lured by sight,
Are fixed on Calvary’s holy light.
The cross stands tall where lust was slain;
In His pure gaze, they break the chain.
When appetite demands its feast,
They turn to Bread from heaven’s east.
One taste of Him and lesser bread
Loses its hold upon the head.
In weary hours when sloth would creep,
They rise and pray while others sleep.
His Spirit stirs the willing soul—
Discipline becomes the joyful goal.
When words rush forth like unchecked fire,
They pause and let His peace inspire.
A tongue refined by holy flame
Speaks life instead of bringing shame.
Each battle won is not their own—
The Victor rose and claimed His throne.
Abiding in the Vine, they see:
Self-control is Christ in thee.
So day by day they train the will,
Not clenched in pride, but yielded still.
For in surrender, power flows—
The fruit of Spirit ever grows.
The Lord keeps them steadfast, makes them strong,
To run the race, to finish long.
Till every impulse bends the knee,
And all reflects the One who sets them free.
Amen.

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

16 Saturday May 2026

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

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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!

Behold the Potter’s Masterpiece: How Christ Gave Wings to Dust and Turned Weakness into Triumphant Song by Debbie Harris

14 Thursday May 2026

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

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I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
— Philippians 4:13 (KJV)


But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.
— 2 Corinthians 4:7 (KJV)


Then he answered and spake unto me, saying, This is the word of the LORD unto Zerubbabel, saying, Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, saith the LORD of hosts.

Zechariah 4:6 (KJV)

In realms of trial where impossible tasks arose,
A humble vessel, clay of mortal dust,
Faced towering seas and mountains clad in impossibilities
That mocked all human strength with iron thrust.
No arm of flesh could break the binding chain,
No mortal wit could chart the victor’s road;
Yet Heaven’s whisper pierced the hush of strain—
“Through Christ, all things!”—and glory’s torrent flowed.
Then surged the Almighty wind, not theirs but Thine,
A blaze of eagle-wings on dawn’s own crest;
The clay was lifted, crowned with fire divine,
And charged the breach in triumph manifest.
Through weary flood and trials that blocked the way,
Through walls of doubt that barred the shining road,
They rose exultant on the Lord’s own grace,
Each victory singing, “Christ has won the day!”
O splendor wrapped in weakness glorified!
The impossible yielded, the vast task bowed in awe,
The mountain danced, the chains of doubt dissolved,
While heaven’s trumpets rang without a flaw.
They stood transfixed upon the vict’ry field,
A fragile jar yet overflowing grace,
And marveled as the skies themselves revealed
The hand of God in every radiant trace.
Behold the Potter’s triumph fully unveiled—
From dust He forged a conqueror bold and bright;
The reed became a trumpet, strong and hailed,
The timid and anxious leaped on holy height!
All glory, honor, power to the Throne!
The vessel nothing wrought, yet all was won;
They only yielded, watched, and stood alone
In holy awe—for Christ the King had done it all, and won!

Celestial Investment by Debbie Harris

14 Thursday May 2026

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

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Dear Precious Reader,

Beloved of the Risen King, you who read these lines with weary eyes or hopeful heart—whether your hands are empty or your spirit feels the weight of unseen battles,know this: I write to you.I see you.The one who gives the cup of water when your own throat is dry. The one who breaks the loaf for hungry strangers while your own table is sparse. The one who prays in secret, sows in silence, and rises each morning to love anyway, though no trumpet sounds and no crowd applauds.Do not lose heart, dear one. Your labor is written in indelible light. Every quiet kindness, every tear offered in prayer, every act of faithfulness done in the shadow of “not enough” —these are not forgotten. They are seeds. And the Risen Gardener tends them with hands that still bear the scars of love.When the world tells you that your portion is small, remember: the One who owns the cattle on a thousand hills calls you His child. When iron gates of circumstance refuse to open, remember: the stone that sealed the tomb was rolled away by the breath of God. Nothing can stand against the Victor who conquered death for you.So lift your head, precious reader. Let your hidden deeds shine like stars in the night sky of this passing age.The heavenly ledger is open, and the angels rejoice over every cup poured, every loaf shared, every chain-breaking word spoken in His name.Your poverty is only temporary.Your treasure is eternal. And on that Day when the Lion and the Lamb welcome you home, you will hear the words that make every hidden tear worth it:“Well done, good and faithful servant… Enter into the joy of your Master.”Until then, keep sowing.Keep loving.Keep believing. The dawn is coming. Christ is risen — and because He lives, your story is not over. It is only beginning.With all the affection of a fellow pilgrim who knows the road is narrow but the reward is infinite,

Your sister in the Risen King

To every child of little means who sows in secret—
cup of water, loaf of bread, and quiet faithfulness—
your labor is not in vain.
This is for you, beloved of the Risen King.

When earthly coffers stand with iron gates
And mortal wealth slips through the beggar’s hand,
When fields lie fallow, sealed by cruel fates,
And hope itself seems buried in the sand—

Fear not, O soul! Lift high thy conquering head!
Let not thy heart in shadowed silence pine,
Nor envy those who heap their fleeting store—
For Christ has triumphed! He is risen from the dead!
Thy righteousness, thy victory divine!

His scarlet robe now clothes thee royally,
His wounded hands have shattered every chain;
What earth denies, His boundless triumph brings,
And crowns thy poverty with endless gain!

Arise and shine! Let every righteous deed
Blaze as thy treasure—cup of water poured,
A loaf for hungry souls in deepest need,
A word that breaks the captive’s iron cord!

These are the coins no thief can ever claim,
The gold no rust nor moth shall e’er defile.
The heavenly ledgers blaze with living flame,
Recording every act with heaven’s joyful smile.

So labor not for dust that time devours—
Sow boldly in His love and reap eternal powers!
For Christ the Victor lives and reigns in thee—
Thy present strength, thy song, thy royalty!

When evening falls and earthly lights grow dim,
When labor seems but scattered seed once sown,
Look up! The risen King who conquered sin
Prepares His banquet at His glorious throne.

There every tear upon the barren ground,
Each hidden kindness offered in the night,
Shall blaze as crowns of glory, jewel-crowned,
In mansions flooded with unquenchable light!

Therefore, rejoice, thou child of little means—
Thy Father rules the measure of thy days!
Let Jesus be thy wealth, thy joy, thy dreams;
Let His triumphant Name be all thy praise!

This fleeting life shall soon be swallowed whole
In everlasting triumph, full and vast.
The Lion and the Lamb upon the throne
Declares thee victor—“Enter joy at last!”

Hallelujah! Christ is risen! Death is slain!
All hail the Lamb who reigns forevermore!
My treasure is in heaven—Christ alone—
My King, my Victory, my All in All!

No Such Thing as Regular: Crowned as Royal Heirs of the Eternal Kingdom by Debbie Harris

13 Wednesday May 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, Spiritual Warfare, Triumphant

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In Heaven’s blazing gaze where no mere mortal hides,
No “regular” soul exists—only the sanctified.
You are redeemed, plunged deep in the Lamb’s own crimson flood,
Washed whiter than fresh snow by His holy, healing blood.

Justified, forgiven, sealed with Pentecostal fire,
Joint-heir with Christ the Lion, risen from death’s dark pyre.
Royal sons and daughters, breathing His immortal breath,
Children of the King of Kings, robed in righteousness.

Your Father rules on sapphire throne wreathed in stars and flame,
His glory burns within you, pulsing out His holy name.
All glorious within—a temple forged of purest gold,
A living crown of splendor that eternity can’t hold.

When hellish darts come screaming through the shadowed midnight air,
Tipped with poison, forged in hate, barbed with black despair—
Rise, O royal heir! Let heaven’s trumpet blast!
Lift high your shield of faith and watch those arrows fall at last.

They shatter into sparks before the Morning Star’s pure light,
For you are blood-bought royalty, arrayed in garments bright.
No common traveler here—no victim of the night—
You are a prince, a princess, crowned in everlasting light.

Regular? Never. Redeemed? Forever!
Crowned with living jewels no darkness can dissever.
Sealed by the Spirit’s flame, you shine with heaven’s might—
Walk tall, O child of the King, robed in glory, robed in light.

You are not ordinary—
You are eternally, gloriously royal.
Go shine, royal one.

While On Your Knees In Prayer, Miracles Happen by Debbie Harris

12 Tuesday May 2026

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

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While on your knees in prayer,
miracles happen

— not by luck, not by stars,
but because Christ is the Source.

He who spoke worlds into being
now bends near when you bow low.
Every healing, every door flung open,
every chain that suddenly falls
flows straight from the hands
still marked by nails.

The weight you carry loosens
because the One who carried the cross
now carries you.

What seemed impossible
bows its knee at His name
and stays.

Eyes closed, you see the scars
that bought every miracle.

In the hush between heartbeats,
Christ Himself is listening—
and He answers.

Keep kneeling.
This ground is holy.
Miracles are listening,
and their Source
is always Christ.

The Seriousness of Calling Yourself a “Christian” Without Any Recognizable Fruit by Debbie Harris

08 Friday May 2026

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Jesus Christ our Lord is the true Vine,
The source of all life and living sap.
God the Father is the Gardener wise,
He tends and watches every branch with care.

Every branch that stays joined to Christ
But hangs empty — no fruit, no clusters in sight —
Even after many seasons of mercy and grace,
The Father cuts it off and takes it from its place.
He will not let dead wood remain attached.

But every branch that bears some fruit,
He prunes with care, though it may sting and hurt,
So stronger shoots and heavier clusters grow,
And richer, sweeter fruit appears on earth.

We must abide in Christ, and He in us.
A branch cut off can never bear its own.
It withers quickly, turns brittle, dry, and brown,
And lies there useless, barren, and alone.

Jesus is the Vine, and we are the branches.
Whoever abides in Him will bear much fruit.
But apart from Christ we can do nothing —
We wither, fade, and slowly die.

If anyone does not abide in Christ,
He is cast out like a withered, lifeless limb.
Men gather up the dry wood from the ground,
And burn it in a fire fierce and grim.

God is patient, slow to wrath and kind,
He gives chance after chance, as with the fig tree.
He digs, He waters, waits with hope in mind —
But patience ends, the fruitless branch is cut free.

By their fruits you surely know the tree,
Faith without works is dead and hollow too.
The Spirit’s fruit is plain for all to see:
Love, joy, and peace in all we say and do.

So hear this warning deep within your soul:
Do not wear the name “Christian” with a barren life.
If no obedience and no real fruit appear,
The Gardener’s blade will cut you from this life.

Stay rooted deep in Jesus Christ each day,
Let His rich life flow strong through every part.
Then lasting fruit will grow without delay,
And you will please the Father’s loving heart.

I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes,
Branches once green now cut away and dry.
Lives that once walked close to the Lord
Now scattered, withered, passing by.

So let us examine our hearts today,
While mercy still calls and grace remains.
Abide in Christ, bear fruit while you may —
Lest we too are cut off from these earthly plains.