9/30/18 Through 10/6/18

9/30/18 Through 10/6/18

Sunday

Lord, so often I look and see

With eyes of foolosh jealousy,

And fail to see that all I am 

Is just another sinful man.

Cut off the parts that weigh me down

May they be with, a millstone, drowned.

I hope to find my life in You 

So sanctify the things I do.

Monday

Naked I came, and naked I go.

Nothing is mine, as far as I know.

All that I have was given by You

Praise to the One whom praises are due!

Tuesday

Angel of God my guardian dear

Daily my prayer and thanksgiving you hear.

Lifted to God with incense smoke

Each prayer of the heart the faithful spoke.

There at my side in the morning light.

There to watch over throughout every night.

There at my call when fear overflows,

There as my guide, the next step to expose.

Wednesday

This dollar bill a paltry thing

Yet to its draw, we firmly cling.

Decisions made by what things cost,

No thought at all for what is lost.

The dollar cannot satisfy,

When even found in great supply.

this fact well-known, but still we yearn

A little larger pay to earn.

Then when invited, "Follow Me"

Beyond the fog we cannot see.

The dollars seem to high a cost,

The worthless saved, salvation, lost!

Thursday

A Frenchman wise and clever said,

"Our church should not be left for dead."

Quite true, her beauty fades with sin

But change must come from deep within.

The only way to rid the vice,

Is suffer well and pay the price.

Replacing sin with virtues rare

As found in Francis and in Clare.

This poverty, the artist's way,

To battle vices of the day,

And find the spring of purity,

Forgiveness in humility.

Sufficient are the critics now,

But what we need are more somehow,

Of artists who will ply their hand

In answer to the great command.

Friday

I wish to be a martyr

That never skips a meal

I think my way much smarter,

to common sense appeal.

I wish to build the brawn,

But never lift a weight,

To rise before the dawn,

But sleep to half past eight.

I wish to sleep around

But be as pure as snow.

In luxury be drowned,

Yet poverty to know.

You call my way absurd,

No way for it to be,

So you must not have heard

Of such topology.

Am I so odd to want as much

You say can never be?

Just look around and count the schmucks

Who play the lottery!

Saturday

In emptiness You voice is heard,

You will in suffering.

In quiet there the soul is stirred

To let the Lord be King.