27 Thursday Nov 2025
Posted in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Thanksgiving
Harvest sunblaze crowns the golden fields,
Abundant life in every heart yields.
Bread and laughter lift our endless song—
Thanksgiving’s victory forever strong!
27 Thursday Nov 2025
Posted in Christian Poetry, Thanksgiving
Beneath the amber of November’s dome,
The table groans with harvest’s quiet grace,
Each gathered face a hearth, each shared word home,
God’s plenty shines through every lifted face.
25 Tuesday Nov 2025
O Ancient of Eternal Days: A Sevenfold Hymn of Thanksgiving Unto Ages of Ages
A concise summary in seven breaths (one for each perfect stanza):
Refrain after every stanza:
“Praise, praise the Giver of all good… All peoples, lift undying praise!”
A hymn that begins before creation and never ends, carrying every generation’s gratitude forward on the same unbroken melody, world without end.
1
O Ancient of Eternal Days,
Before the worlds were framed,
Thy voice called forth the light and seas
And every creature named.
Thy open hand, through endless years,
Hath strewn the heavens with grain;
The seasons turn, the harvest nears—
Thy mercy falls like rain.
Praise, praise the Giver of all good,
Whose love shall never cease;
From age to age Thy mercies flood
The borders of our peace.
Forever, through the length of days,
Let grateful anthems rise—
All peoples, lift undying praise
To God who feeds and supplies!
2
On barren shores our fathers knelt
When winter gripped the land;
Yet Thou preparedst unseen bread
By Thine almighty hand.
A table rose amid the wild,
The cup of mercy ran;
And songs of thanks, by exiles styled,
First sounded among men.
Praise, praise the Giver of all good,
Whose love shall never cease;
From age to age Thy mercies flood
The borders of our peace.
Forever, through the length of days,
Let grateful anthems rise—
All peoples, lift undying praise
To God who feeds and supplies!
3
When enemies who lie and kill
And come to steal, destroy,
Rose like the darkness, fierce and shrill,
To rob Thy people’s joy—
Thy hidden manna fed us still,
Thy wings o’ershadowed nigh;
Through every threat of death and ill
Thy covenant kept us by.
Praise, praise the Giver of all good,
Whose love shall never cease;
From age to age Thy mercies flood
The borders of our peace.
Forever, through the length of days,
Let grateful anthems rise—
All peoples, lift undying praise
To God who feeds and supplies!
4
The golden sheaves now bend and break,
The vintage overflows;
Earth laughs in color for Thy sake
And every field o’erflows.
Ten thousand tables gleam tonight
Beneath the harvest moon—
All gifts are Thine, all hearts unite
To sing one thankful tune.
Praise, praise the Giver of all good,
Whose love shall never cease;
From age to age Thy mercies flood
The borders of our peace.
Forever, through the length of days,
Let grateful anthems rise—
All peoples, lift undying praise
To God who feeds and supplies!
5
Yet not for bread and cup alone
Our trembling praises ring;
For wounded hearts made wholly known,
For every hidden thing
Turned glory by redeeming grace,
For sinners called Thy own—
We bless the love upon Thy face
That claimed us for Thy throne.
Praise, praise the Giver of all good,
Whose love shall never cease;
From age to age Thy mercies flood
The borders of our peace.
Forever, through the length of days,
Let grateful anthems rise—
All peoples, lift undying praise
To God who feeds and supplies!
6
Let empires crumble into dust,
Let thrones in silence fall;
Thy kingdom comes, forever just,
And shall outlast them all.
The child unborn shall taste this feast,
The stranger find his place;
Thy table lengthens, east to west,
Till time gives way to grace.
Praise, praise the Giver of all good,
Whose love shall never cease;
From age to age Thy mercies flood
The borders of our peace.
Forever, through the length of days,
Let grateful anthems rise—
All peoples, lift undying praise
To God who feeds and supplies!
7
To Father, Son, and Spirit blest,
One God in boundless might,
Be glory while the worlds shall rest
And through eternal light.
Amen, amen, let earth reply,
And heaven the song prolong—
Thanksgiving nevermore shall die
But rise, world without end, as song.
Praise, praise the Giver of all good,
Whose love shall never cease;
From age to age Thy mercies flood
The borders of our peace.
Forever, through the length of days,
Let grateful anthems rise—
All peoples, lift undying praise
To God who feeds and supplies!
25 Tuesday Nov 2025
Tags
A Song of the Redeemed: Everlasting Gratitude to Jesus Christ for the Finished, Unending Gift of Salvation
This poem is a sustained, joyful portrait of the redeemed in the third person, celebrating the ceaseless, irreversible gift of salvation purchased once-for-all by Jesus Christ.
From the first breath of morning to the last sigh of night, the blood-bought host lives in astonished thankfulness. Every ordinary moment (waking, walking, laughing, eating, sleeping) is saturated with the finished work of Calvary: the curse lifted, death defeated, wrath exhausted, sin forgiven. Nature itself testifies—the sparrow, wheat, rain, and sky all echo the victory of the Second Adam and the broken Bread.
The redeemed laugh like soldiers who heard their Captain shout “It is finished!”, feast like guests whose infinite debt is stamped “Tetelestai—Paid in full” by the Lamb’s own blood, and rest like heirs who can never be disowned. Children run, old men leap, widows sing—every demographic of the saved pulses with resurrection life because Jesus Christ lives, reigns, and keeps giving the gift that never diminishes and can never be revoked.
The poem closes with an eternal refrain: the morning stars and the ransomed host together sing one undying note of gratitude to the risen Lord Jesus—Thank You without end—for the finished, unending salvation that flows ceaselessly from His throne.
They wake before the dawn has traced its gold,
the blood-bought host, and breathe the air made sweet
by Jesus Christ who loved and gave Himself.
Their houses—once cold tombs where death held sway—
now stand with every window flung to light
that streams unearned from Calvary’s finished work.
They walk the streets their feet once dragged in chains;
each step now falls on ground the Savior cursed no more.
The sparrow sings because the Second Adam lives,
the wheat bows low because the Bread was broken first,
the rain descends because the clouds of wrath
were emptied on the Lamb who bore their sin.
See how they laugh—no guarded, timid sound,
but loud and free, like soldiers who have heard
their Captain cry, “It is finished!” from the tree.
They greet with wonder those whom Jesus sought
and bought with blood, comparing scars that match
the prints still open in His hands and side.
At table they need no one bid them thank;
the bread itself proclaims the broken Body,
the cup still glows with blood that speaks a better word.
They eat, and every bite is sealed “Forgiven,”
they drink, and every swallow sings “Alive,”
because their Jesus Christ is risen, reigning, giving.
The children race, the old men leap for joy
as calves released when winter’s chains are shattered;
the widows lift the songs they thought forever lost
because the Bridegroom lives who dried their tears.
Above them bends a sky no longer brass
but poured-out mercy from the wounds of Christ.
All day they praise—no anxious, dutiful strain
for fear the gift might slip from trembling hands—
but steady, astonished, like a host set free
who saw the ledger soaked in royal blood
and read beneath their infinite debt
one crimson word: “Tetelestai—Paid in full.”
When night returns they do not bolt the doors
against tomorrow’s possible reversal.
They sleep as heirs the Son has made His own,
as kings already crowned by Jesus’ victory,
as loved ones held in love that cannot end,
and every heartbeat is a quiet amen
to ceaseless salvation flowing from the throne.
And somewhere deep, the morning stars still sing
the song they learned the day the Lamb prevailed:
the ransomed answer, breath by breath, forever—
“Thank You, Lord Jesus. Thank You without end.”
25 Tuesday Nov 2025
Summary of the Sonnet
“A Sonnet of Gratitude for the Glorious Victory of Salvation Won for the Redeemed”
This sonnet joyfully celebrates the redeemed believers’ profound thankfulness for the gift of salvation. It portrays them as those who were once enslaved to sin and death but have been gloriously transformed by Christ’s decisive victory. Through His death and resurrection, the curse is shattered, the enemy is defeated, the grave is robbed of its power, and former captives are raised to life, crowned with light, and clothed in righteousness. Every breath of the redeemed now becomes a song of triumph, and their hearts are thrones for the risen Lamb. The poem closes with a resounding call for heaven and earth to echo endless praise, declaring that the saved are not merely rescued—they are forever conquering kings and priests in Christ. The entire sonnet pulses with gratitude for a salvation that is complete, irreversible, and overwhelmingly victorious.
Shall the redeemed compare their souls to spring
That bursts with life beneath the Victor’s sun?
Once slaves to sin, now children of the King,
They stand in robes of triumph He has won.
The curse is crushed; the grave has lost its sting,
The foe lies broken, silenced evermore;
Death heard the shout of resurrection ring
And yielded up its captives to the Door.
See how they rise, once dead, now crowned with light,
Arrayed in glory purchased by His blood;
Their every breath a hymn of boundless might,
Their hearts a throne where reigns the Lamb of God.
Let heaven and earth with endless anthems ring:
Forever saved, forever conquering!
24 Monday Nov 2025
The sonnet is a poetic meditation on Ephesians 5:20’s command to “give thanks always for all things.”
It urges the reader to offer gratitude not only in moments of joy, plenty, and health, but especially in hardship, pain, hunger, sorrow, and suffering. The poem reframes difficulties as disguised mercies: wounds that sing, crosses that become crowns, scars that shine like jewels, and bruises that lead to healing joy.
In every circumstance (sunlit or stormy), the speaker calls us to lift continual thanks to God the Father through Jesus Christ, insisting that this habit of thankful praise, even in the darkest times, is what ultimately strengthens weak and weary hearts.
Give thanks, O heart, in every breath you draw,
Not only when the sun gilds morning skies,
But when the midnight rain and tempests roar,
And sorrow’s iron enters through your eyes.
Give thanks when bread is plentiful and sweet,
Yet more when hunger gnaws the hollow night;
Give thanks in health that dances down the street,
And deeper still when pain restrains your flight.
For every wound, a hidden mercy sings;
Each cross a covert crown, each scar a gem.
The Father’s hand that bruises also brings
The oil of joy from Gilead’s stem.
So, in the name of Jesus, lift your song—
Give thanks always, for this makes weak hearts strong.
(Ephesians 5:20: “Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”)
24 Monday Nov 2025
Summary of “A Thanksgiving Hymn to Christ the King”
The poem is a single, sustained act of worship that moves from earthly Thanksgiving beauty to the eternal throne of Jesus Christ.
It begins with the familiar golden splendor of an American Thanksgiving (amber fields, scarlet maples, pumpkin, cider, laughter, and a laden table), yet swiftly lifts every detail into praise of Christ the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the true source of all bounty.
Remembering how Jesus once multiplied loaves on Galilee’s shore, the poem thanks Him not only for food and harvest, but far more for His broken body and shed blood that multiply grace and forgive sins.
Earthly candles and hearthfires fade before the fiercer, saving light of the cross. All temporary joys (turkey, pies, breath itself) are offered back to the Lamb who was slain, that He might transform them into eternal crowns.
The poem closes with a vision that stretches beyond every future Thanksgiving on earth: one day the final harvest will gleam, time will end, and the redeemed will lay endless hallelujahs at the feet of Jesus Christ, the King supreme.
In short, it is a joyous, majestic declaration that every Thanksgiving feast is but a foretaste of the everlasting banquet, and every “thank you” on earth is rehearsal for the unending worship in heaven.
On this golden Thanksgiving day,
when amber light spills over fields laid bare,
we lift our eyes beyond the harvest’s fair array
to Him who crowns the year with mercy rare.
Jesus, Thou King of Kings, bright Morning Star,
whose scepter rules the storm and calms the sea,
before Thy throne we cast our crowns afar,
for every grain and grape are gifts from Thee.
The scarlet maple, burning in its praise,
the pumpkin’s quiet gold, the cider’s steam,
the laughter rising through the autumn haze—
all echo back the glory of Thy name.
Thou who once broke the bread on Galilee’s shore,
and fed the thousands with a child’s small store,
still multiplies our meager thanks once more
till hearts, like loaves, are broken and restored.
We thank Thee for the table richly spread,
for hands that planted, hands that reaped and baked;
yet more, O Lord of Lords, for wounds that bled,
for love that died and rose, and sins erased.
The pilgrim’s candle flickers in the night,
the hearthfire leaps to greet the wandering guest;
but brighter burns Thy cross’s saving light—
in that fierce flame we find our deepest rest.
So take our trembling praise, our feeble song,
our turkey carved, our pies, our fleeting breath;
receive it all, Thou Lamb who bore our wrong,
and weave it into crowns beyond our death.
Forever, Jesus Christ, the King supreme,
we laud Thy name through every coming year;
till earth’s last harvest yields its final gleam
and crown Thy throne with endless hallelujahs clear.
Amen.
15 Saturday Nov 2025
It traces life’s essentials—breath, daylight, innate abilities, and unearned mercies—back to their singular Source, portraying each as a temporary loan rather than a possession.
Through vivid metaphors of ribboned gifts, painted canvases, kindled sparks, and whispered love, it builds a rhythmic litany of dependence and wonder.
The closing turns the reader’s own exhale into an act of worship, sealing the cycle: all from God, all to God, amen.
Dawn cracks open like a gift unwrapped—
each breath a ribbon pulled from God’s own hand.
The lungs expand, a quiet miracle,
no coin can buy the air that fills the span
between the heart’s soft drum and silence.
The day arrives, unearned, a canvas wide,
painted in gold before the eye can blink.
Sunlight spills across the waking world,
a signature no mortal pen could ink—
time borrowed, not owned, yet freely given.
Talent wakes inside the fingers, tongue,
a spark that leaps from thought to crafted form:
the singer’s note, the builder’s steady rung,
the poet’s line that shelters in the storm.
None self-made; all on loan from the Source.
Blessings fall like rain on parched ground—
health to rise, love to hold, bread to break.
The child’s laugh, the friend’s unspoken sound,
the grace that mends what we ourselves forsake.
Every drop traced back to the same sky.
So let the exhale carry thanks, not pride;
let every gifted day be lived aware
that breath, light, skill, and mercy coincide
in one continuous prayer.
From God they come.
To God return.
Amen.
10 Monday Nov 2025
This poem is a lyrical prayer of gratitude addressed to the Triune God—Father, Son (Jesus), and Holy Spirit—celebrating God’s abundant provision and presence. Structured in five stanzas, it weaves agricultural imagery (harvest, wheat, grapes) with theological depth to express thanks for both physical and spiritual blessings.
Core Theme: Profound thanksgiving for material and eternal gifts, rooted in the distinct yet united persons of the Trinity, culminating in joyful praise.
Father of mercies, whose open hand
spills dawn across the stubbled land,
we thank You for the furrow’s yield,
for wheat that bows, for rain that healed.
Jesus, the Vine, whose blood runs red
in every grape the harvesters tread,
we thank You for the table spread,
for broken bread that raises dead.
Spirit, wild Wind, who fans the flame
in every heart that speaks His name,
we thank You for the kindled coal
that warms the marrow of the soul.
Three Persons, one unshadowed Light,
You hold the day, You hold the night;
for breath, for sight, for love that stays,
we lift this triune hymn of praise.
So much to thank You for—too much
for any tongue, yet every crutch
of word we lean on bends and sings:
all glory to the King of kings.
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