My Only Book

An Anthology of Poems & Prose Penned by a Protestant Poetaster ~With the Best of Inspired Others~


I STILL grieve for my mother

Posted on November 3, 2012 at 4:50 PM Comments comments (0)

I still grieve for my mother . . .

~ ~ ~

I grieve for the heartaches she went thru

I grieve for the sufferings she endured

I grieve for the senselessness of-it-all

I grieve for the mind she was losing

I grieve for the love we lost from her

I grieve for all the love not shown her

I grieve because she really wasn't always there

I grieve for the pain of heart she had in her

I grieve because she may not live again

I grieve for I can still see those hurting eyes

I grieve, and prayerfully hope that she will arise

I still grieve for the loss of my sweet mother

I grieve and the deeper and deeper it goes

I grieve off the onion skins of all memories

I grieve because it's a long-ago habit to know

I grieve to remember our dear mother

I'll grieve til I see her with the angels of heaven

I'll grieve til grief doesn't exist anywhere

I will grieve for my sins and of my mother's

I will grieve for those of other's who cared

I still grieve for my sister and brothers

I grieve for the troubles my "father"suffered

I grieve because of the love I saw right there

I still grieve because my Mother is not here

I grieve with the groans of Creation

I grieve for Earth's final dissipations

I grieve for the sorrow ALL share

I still grieve for the loss of my dear mother

I grieve because I always have cared

I grieve because it's my sensitive nature

I'll grieve until my own soul becomes unaware

I'll grieve, for the love of my mother . . .

is something she put there.

~ ~ ~

Jesus, the christ, conquored sin and death and the grave! The Victory of His is Ours! But the Suffering and Shame that was His is Still for Us to Live. The pathway to Heaven isn't cheap. It was paid for by the blood of the Lamb. That's why God is LOVE. That WAS LOVE! That is why there is Faith, Hope, and LOVE. That is why there is GRACE!

Samson's VOW

Posted on October 25, 2012 at 5:20 PM Comments comments (0)


Seven green withs around me were bound.

All the ropes were around me found.

They were the seven locks of my sleeping head's hair.

But I awoke to tear away both beam and the heavy snare.

Aye! There hath not come a razor upon my head!

Thus, my strength was with me because of my hair!

If once I'm shaved my strength would be made bare.

Alas, I showed all my heart's secret ways.

And my seven locks were indeed shaved all away.

From that one sore moment, my God I found not!

They bound me in fetters of brass---and my eyes were put out!

But my hair began to grow in mine enemy's prison house.

They brought me to the house of Dagon to mock.

Between the pillars they set me and I "made them sport"1

On the roof three thousand Phillistines laughed and gazed.

(But they didn't know that soon they'd all be amazed!)

I called unto the Lord, and said, "O Lord my God,

Remember me! O' I pray Thee, only this once, O God!"

And I took hold of two pillars in the house were I was found,

And avenged me of mine enemies all around!

Reader, remember Samson and the source of his Great Strength.

Never Fail thy vows to thy God who is all THY Strength.

1 Sport = Hebrew. to laugh (in pleasure or detraction); by implication, to play:---deride, have in derision, laugh, make merry, mock(er), play, rejoice, (laugh to scorn, be in (make) sport.


Posted on August 31, 2010 at 1:45 AM Comments comments (0)

Hymn of the Waldenses

Hear, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock

Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock;

While those, who seek to slay thy children, hold

Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold;

And the broad goodly lands, with pleasant airs

That nurse the grape and wave the grain, are theirs.

Yet better were this mountain wilderness,

And this wild life of danger and distress--

Watchings by night and perilous flight by day,

And meetings in the depths of earth to pray,

Better, far better, than to kneel with them,

And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn.

Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder; the firm land

Tosses in billows when it feels thy hand;

Thou dashest nation against nation, then

Stillest the angry world to peace again.

Oh, touch their stony hearts who hunt thy sons--

The murderers of our wives and little ones.

Yet, mighty God, yet shall thy frown look forth

Unveiled, and terribly shall shake the earth.

Then the foul power of priestly sin and all

Its long-upheld idolatries shall fall.

Thou shalt raise up the trampled and oppressed,

And thy delivered saints shall dwell in rest.

William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878 / Boston / United States)



Lawrence Scott


Posted on August 30, 2010 at 10:17 PM Comments comments (0)


Deem not the just by heaven forgot,

Though life its common gifts deny ---

Though, with a crushed and bleeding heart,

And spurned of man, he goes to die:

For God hath marked each sorrowing day,

And numbered every bitter tear;

And heaven's long years of bliss shall pay

For all His children suffer here. 


From Uncle Tom's Cabin, page 484, by Harriet Beecher Stowe, T. Nelson & Sons 1852 Edition

I just read the classic "Uncle Tom's Cabin". It's a MASTER PIECE of "factual fiction." I aim to put many gems from that book right here on this page for the edification of whomever, including me. 

I received an old yellowed 1852 edtion from a good friend of mine who was going through her old books and wondered what to do with it. Bless her soul! She thought of me!, a "living" Martyr [and prophet, for all of God's sealed one's are "prophets"]----so says the inward spiritual discernment pointing to the darkened days before us, and so says my present spiritual physical and mental and emotional pains!

The Lord redeems through many an avenue of sufferings. Was it "fair" what the slaves went through? If you haven't read this book, DON'T. It will utterly discomfort your moral ease rouse the highest sense of indignation! Fair or unfair, how can we qualify any suffering? We should not be surprised by GOD's means, unless his end of mercy come.

Consider Job. Consider David. Consider Paul. Oh, yes! Consider our blessed Lord Jesus himself, the Prince of "Suffering"---the One who will see to it so very very soon "affliction [sin, suffering, death, disease, etc] shall not rise up the second time."! Nahum 1:9

The true Christian has much to learn from the history of negro slavery and the noble souls of many a white or negro man or woman who fought the dreadful EVIL til the day of the blessed "emancipation." So sad that the NATURE OF SIN in mankind makes it so that til the close of time there will be many Martyrs {living or not}; for the Book of Revelation, reveals that as the 7 last plagues fall "the merchants of the earth" are mourning over the lack of the sale of "Babylon" [USA and the world's] "merchandise" of  "wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and slaves, and souls of men." Revelation 18:13.

A bit of interesting info. Hymns that Uncle Tom sang in the book of fact/fiction by H.B. Stowe...

Evidentially, many traditional hymns have "root lyrics" from which the song writers of today call the "original hymn."  John Newton's "Amazing Grace" [1779 or 1808] appears in a raw form in the lyrics of a HYMN found in the 1852 Edition of Uncle Tom's Cabin.  Evidentially the last verse here was not in the original Newton version.

"The earth shall be dissolved like snow,

The sun shall cease to shine;

But God, who called me here below,

Shall be for ever mine.

And when this mortal life shall fail,

And flesh and sense shall cease,

I shall possess within the veil

A life of joy and Peace.

When we've been there ten thousand years,

Bright shining like the sun,

We've no less days to sing God's praise

Than when we first begun.

The Newton Orignial ---

"Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)

That sav’d a wretch like me!

I once was lost, but now am found,

Was blind, but now I see.’

Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

And grace my fears reliev’d;

How precious did that grace appear,

The hour I first believ’d!

Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares,

I have already come;

’Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,

And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promis’d good to me,

His word my hope secures;

He will my shield and portion be,

As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,

And mortal life shall cease;

I shall possess, within the veil,

A life of joy and peace.

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,

The sun forbear to shine;

But God, who call’d me here below,

Will be forever mine.


"The origin of the melody is unknown. Most hymnals attribute it to an early American folk melody. The Bill Moyers special on “Amazing Grace” speculated that it may have originated as the tune of a song the slaves sang. Newton was not only a prolific hymn writer but also kept extensive journals and wrote many letters. Historians accredit his journals and letters for much of what is known today about the eighteenth century slave trade."

Another HYMN sung by UNCLE TOM was this hymn by Isaac Watts

[The last stanza wasn't in the Book]


When I can read my title clear

To mansions in the skies,

I bid farewell to every fear,

And wipe my weeping eyes.

Should earth against my soul engage,

And hellish darts be hurled,

Then I can smile at Satan’s rage,

And face a frowning world.

Let cares, like a wild deluge come,

And storms of sorrow fall!

May I but safely reach my home,

My God, my heav’n, my All.

There shall I bathe my weary soul

In seas of heav’nly rest,

And not a wave of trouble roll

Across my peaceful breast.

Also from the book UNCLE TOM, page 459

Colonization Society By John G. C. Brainard (1796–1828) [Only the underlined was in Uncle Tom's]

ALL sights are fair to the recover’d blind—  

All sounds are music to the deaf restored—

The lame, made whole, leaps like the sporting hind;  

And the sad bow’d down sinner, with his load

Of shame and sorrow, when he cuts the cord, 

And drops the pack it bound, is free again

In the light yoke and burden of his Lord.

Thus, with the birthright of his fellow man,

Sees, hears and feels at once the righted African. 

’T is somewhat like the burst from death to life;        

From the grave’s cerements to the robes of Heaven;

From sin’s dominion, and from passion’s strife,  

To the pure freedom of a soul forgiven!  

When all the bonds of death and hell are riven,

And mortals put on immortality;        

When fear, and care, and grief away are driven,

And Mercy’s hand has turn’d the golden key,

And Mercy’s voice has said, “Rejoice—thy soul is free!

Hurts and Pains

Posted on July 14, 2010 at 10:23 PM Comments comments (0)


Dear friend,                                                                Written around 1985-86

    On many occasions I have perceived in your spirit a hurt or pain, and on as m any times my heart has gone out to that hurt or pain.

    “Lord,” I would say silently inside and pray, “have I hurt or pained this friend of mine in any way that she would have hurt or pain in her spirit when I look into the eyes of this friend of mine?”

    And Jesus said to me softly, “My child, silence is not love’s medium for hurt and pain. It needs to be expressed through tearful words that say, ‘yes, I’m sorry, I did not understand, but I know you hurt, you do have pain. I have felt with you in your hurt and pain. But, friend, there is One who has not only had hurt and pain as we have had hurt and pain, but has also

understood the WHY of hurt and pain. And because He came and took on hurt and pain, and understood the why greater than we can or could, He also gave to us a great gift for understanding—for what we are to do with hurt and pain is a very good question. But, the answer to this very good  question is the WHY he came; to heal our hurts and pains and to show us how to heal each other’s hurts and pains; for so many hurts and pains come between us as we do live in a world of hurt and pain.’“

    And as the Lord’s voice became the heart melted as I thought about these words and how they ought to be said. And I cried in my eyes and said in my self that that’s what should be ought next time I’d look into the eyes that say “hurt and pain.”

    And I sat quietly for a while as some time went by as time surely does, and then I sighed a very deep sigh did I, and I had this thought did I: if we can so sense these hurts and pains, how much more easily did Jesus sense hurt and pains, when HE stared up to heaven, then bowed his head downward, and as he closed his eyes finally—because of hurts and pains.


Written in Lincoln, Nebraska in a “relationship theology” class 1984. [Later on, I  discovered that this unusual “self-reflecting” class introduced several false sentiments of the counterfeit “grace only” gospel which all the evangelicals teach, as well as the Catholic cult. The course book we read, which the whole class was based on, was a “new theology” right out of Babylon’s corrupting religious “universities.” It did not teach at all the fact that we are accountable, and every person is accountable [to the One True God] [and at all times their fellow men] for SIN, which is the cause of all “hurt and pains.” Instead of relieving the burden of sin, this class in one very large way taught that whatever “pains of hurts” we or others have, SIN has nought to do with it. “Sin is the transgression of the law of God.” [1 John 3:4] Thus, it taught an inward sentiment leading to a false kind of “ministry”—a ministry of covering sin, instead of exposing it so the “hurt and pain” sin causes can be also dealt with, and so pain can be stopped and hurt healed. To deal with “pain and hurt”, “sorrow and death,” etc, without pointing to the ultimate remedy in a very clear and BIBLICAL way [via Christ’s love through his name and atoning blood] is to lead one ONWARD in the paths of the shadow death and to death itself. Therein, there is only but “hurts and pains.” Comment 12/2006

Dear Lord, How Long This Grief?

Posted on July 14, 2010 at 10:01 PM Comments comments (0)

When I think of your life and how much you suffered, my mind becomes cloudy with self-abhorrence and yet at the same time I am filled with self-pity. O Lord God Almighty, deliver me from this torment. Make me to joy, yes, JOY in the suffering no matter how hard it may be. Even if every breath is one step toward death. Bring me to the gates of death, yea, to the gates of the shadow of death, yea to the very valley of the shadow of death, for my soul is parched, dry as the sand in the midst of the desert. For I know that afterwards thou shalt deliver me up to thy glorious mountain, yea thou shalt set me on high, even with wings like the mighty eagle. And then shall I know how it is to be as one with the Almighty, lifted up above all that is failing in this earth below. For as truly as thou art God, so are the myriads of celestial respondents watching over Thy children, yea even this child, and are resplendent with Joy, praising your Holy Name. Praise ye the LORD.

    O Lord my God, how long shall be this grief, this burden of soul anguish, for that which I know nothing of? My mind is hung, it is transfixed between the chasm, the great chasm of this your child’s SELF and THOU, O LORD GOD ALMIGHTY. Only the SINS of the whole world could be greater than

this weight. O my LORD, deliver me from the grief which beckons to steal THY GLORY, the GLORY that belongs only to THEE. Deliver me from this vessel called SELF. Transform the mind in me that is all too small for your MIND to possess. Enlarge my mind O God, My Saviour. Envelope and fill, break down and repair, and if at last replace this my mind so small, with solely yours—as ALL. And then shall I know how it is to be one with the ALMIGHTY. Then shall I understand as thy servants of old, what it means to possess, to live the eternal weight of GLORY, and see the reality of this light affliction. Yea Lord my God, what Faith is this that sees the invisible as enduring, and the visible as nothing? What glorious faith is this that stumbles not upon feelings, nor the spirits of fallen men? What faith is this that resides alone within the heart of one whose heart pulses with the Creator, the Redeemer of all things seen and unseen?  What faith, what glorious faith, is the faith of the one and only true God. What faith, yea what glorious faith.

    Let all the hosts of the universe bow before thy throne, O Lord, Our God. For in thee and in thee alone do we find our rest. In Thee alone do we find the only true rest for our souls. Though our bodies, so weak and frail, so defiled and weighty, do continually pull us to the black dirt of the ground from which we come; though pain and tears, sorrow and grief, beckon us to give up...still we try our hearts, we set them fast and pointed as arrows with the tips of diamonds towards THEE, the  only ONE who can satisfy our souls; for only THOU can save us. 

   When our hearts are overwhelmed, lead us to the ROCK that is higher than us, the God or our salvation. From the end of the earth will we cry unto thee, when our hearts are overwhelmed, lead us to the ROCK that is higher than we. For thou hast been a shelter for us, and a strong tower from the enemy. The Lord liveth; and blessed be our ROCK; and let the God of our salvation be exalted!


        Written the Summer before leaving for OREGON, June 24th 1988

What an I Holding On To? [My Issac?]

Posted on July 14, 2010 at 9:52 PM Comments comments (0)

Lord....what am I holding on to, what am I clinging to that you are wanting to burn away? What curiosity like the curiosity of a little child (rebellious) even that puts his hand on the hot burner just that much too long and burns his little finger? Excuse my unorthodoxy O’ God. O, maybe that is what is needing to be burned away. Am I like the child above who in his growth never does learn the lesson? It may be why these calloused hands, these tearful eyes so mournful be. My mind needs healing beyond my call or the help of those who handle with care in human flesh. Do I make any sense to you? Do you see this letter as I thoughtfully endeavor to use the brain you have given me to use? Sometimes I think that the very things which I write are nothing but nonsense and folly of the poorest literary joke. But it is written to you, and let the world so be as it may be for us both. I love thee, O God, though in the past few days, weeks, yes, even months, I have been wondering what you have been up to that you would be so silent with my soul. So I decided to write this...this so-called letter to God, hoping perhaps that there is some strange dealing in the spiritual world that goes beyond my vocal notes. If indeed the Word made flesh did put the world in orbit (AND THAT I BELIEVE WITH MORE RIGOR THAN THE DEVIL’S DO) then it can be for sure that my God can see these words so small as me. It was said in the law that there was more to a pilgrim’s walk as long as he lent his mind to Him above for more than the bending down in the water. I’m taxing my mind at this time, so I’ll come right to the point. It’s this extra step called the fire baptism that brings the Christian to a plain of existence with hope as hot. But it comes absorbing all that’s combustionable, and even unknowingly, but after the ashes are floating in the sky we see that the way we’ve taken is just right.

But this is painful no doubt I’ve found, but Lord, as we’ve understood it, it’s the only way to the crown. So, dear Lord....What is my Isaac? What is that “Isaac” you so long to slay? Me thinks that some days the enemy

blinds my mind but puts a hole large enough for him and small enough for you that all I can think is that I am not right with you. [THE ACCUSER OF THE BRETHREN!] Through his hole he tells me very largely that it’s

something big, so very big, that my only real hope is to GIVE UP ON YOU! He points me to my self and if I look too hard there I find reason to believe that snake who talks with me. Or greater still, he points me to my fleshly

pangs of this affliction’s thrusts, and goads me to no end. He sends me your word and tells me that so for my safety’s sake it must needs that I be condemned in the flesh or else I’ll be condemned with the world. His musings are hard and heavy to take and painful at many a time. And if it were not for that whispering hope that finds it’s way through your small hole —that I wouldn’t have a hope to get through. But what is Isaac, just what I beg, to cut it free at last. But I know O’ God, that it is not  me who does this operation. So what is the point of all this wordy thrashing? It comes to my mind in a very subtle way (and I think that the Devil would have me to think not of it) that the Isaac in me is nothing but SELF and all of his misery. The apostle Paul knew. O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from this body of death? You O Lord, only You.

Written the Summer before leaving for OREGON, June 24th 1988

Let The Wounded Bird Go!

Posted on July 12, 2010 at 11:53 PM Comments comments (0)

The last couple of days I've spent attempting to minister to a wounded swallow. I thought I would share with you this experience.

{Written in July of 2002}

As we are well on our way into summer, the hatchlings had already come out of the red-roofed swallow house in the backyard. I think there were at least three baby swallows that have been swooping around for the last few weeks, flying this way and that, entering and leaving their house at will.

I think they were all grown enough now to fly on their own, for I didn't see "mom" or "dad" anywhere. “cat”.

No I didn't kill my cat, and he is not a mouse pad now. He really isn't a mouse eater either.

But the dummy somehow managed to snag one of these little swallows.

So I rescued the swallow from the cat. He was just walking around in the backyard meditating on the bird {while it was in his mouth}. So I chase him down until he dropped the poor little bird.

Then I put the cat in the house, where he cried day & night to get back out to where the “action” was.

But then, when I thought I was doing "the right thing" by putting the poor wounded thing back into the birdhouse it was raised in, when I wasn't watching, a larger bird, a sparrow, entered the swallow's birdhouse and "picked" at it's head.

Afterwards, when I took the roof off the birdhouse it looked as if the swallow had suffered a "mortal wound" to his head by the pecks of the invading sparrow.

I took the swallow, now, obviously in shock, but still breathing and showing some signs of recovery, and put him in a nest of rags in an old box in the work shop.

Then I went out and caught some bugs, for I had learned that swallows supposedly eat "only" insects. A couple bugs I caught were even live ones. But whether dead or live food, the poor bird just would not eat.

In my ambition to help I tried to feed him with a herbal bottle dropper filled with water, and then a mixture of bread and water. But all I did was "irritate" him and plug-up his little nostrils! Even still, I thought, "Certainly it must be the right thing to do! Certainly he needs nourishment to overcome his wounds so he can be free and fly once again!"

Well, after many failed attempts, I gave up and let the poor bird alone to "rest".

But as I kept worrying about his situation, I would check on him now and then. But every time I would come to the box I'd put him in, I would find him tucked under the rags in some other place then when I had seen him the last time I looked. He seemed restless, yet still a bit in shock. [Probably scared too]. But the thought came to me that it was as if he were trying to get away from all my good helps!

"Maybe", I thought, "all my good doings were just opening up the wounds up more so they couldn't heal!!!"

When night came, I decided to cover the "box" with an old milk crate, just in case he might try and crawl out, and end up dying someplace where I'd never find him in the shop.

Well, the next morning, when I came out to check on him, would you know it!---he was gone!

I searched the shop all over until I found him clutching to some grass clippings stuck to the side of our mulcher-mower! [Maybe he figured that was the way he could escape this amateur bird hospital?! He was just going to "lay low" on the mower until it got pushed outside!]

As I gently picked him up and put him, yes, "back in the box", the thought occurred to me that this bird STILL has A LOT of life in it.

The God of nature put that life there, and despite the wounds, and all my good intentions and nursing skills, the poor bird was trying to exercise his God given right to be free, even if wounded!

It hit me instantly that I had been mostly doing all the wrong things, though I "meant well".

What this bird needed was simple.

He needed to be left all alone.

He need to be left where he could "regroup" himself without my meddling with trying to "help" him.

[O’, how I longed to see him "get up" and FLY!]

I looked at this poor bird's beak, which had been pecked by the swallow, and suddenly realized that it wasn't as bad as I thought. The wounds weren't that incurable.

Apparently, my cat didn't "crunch" or "crush" him. The worst appeared to be what the "pecking" of the sparrow had done.

When I looked closer, I saw that the swallow had only lost a few covering feathers around his eyes. I had thought he had lost his left eye. But NOW HE WAS WATCHING ME WITH BOTH EYES, and his little body was pulsing steadily. He was looking at me as if to say, "what in the world do you think you are doing with me? LET ME GO!"

Right away, I took the box and walked over to the fence that divides our yard from our neighbor's cow pasture.

I lifted the cloth the bird was sitting on inside the box until he was perched and clutching the tip of my fingers that were under the cloth.

All along, on every occasion where I sought to handle this poor little swallow, he was always clutching to me, or something, almost as if in protest of my trying to do something to help him, almost as if he were saying, "Just leave me alone", "I'll be alright if YOU just LET ME GO."

As my hand slowly pushed up under the cloth, suddenly this little bird that I had thought was so badly damaged and in such great need of my "good helps", LET GO of his grip on the cloth and took off flying as freely as if he never had a problem in his life!

He flew across the width of our neighbors pasture, nearly landed in the evergreens on the other side, and then swiftly flew back towards our yard and ended up on a top branch in the evergreens in the corner of the backyard.

I went over to look at him to see how he was. And then I realized what I had been contemplating all along "Yes! Let the wounded bird go. It might just fly!"

Now, I don't know what will happen to this little bird. He might not live. But then again, I believe he has more of a chance to live and to heal with the help of his natural instincts and God’s watch care over him then with any of the worrying "good care" I attempted to bring him.


Only One who know us from our mother's womb understands our “real” needs. Only the Lord reads the heart’s burden and cries.

Not one Swallow shall "fall on the ground without your Father." Matthew 10:29.

The object lessons in what happened to me are many. Which ones do you see?!

Through The Silence

Posted on May 12, 2010 at 10:03 PM Comments comments (0)

Through the silence...

(you need to know),

I am with you.

(We both will grow

"Interior Sufferings”)—

none but you, and

none but me, can

anticipate comfortings—

While ashes fall

from burnt thoughts,

Through the silence...

Where I am kept,

your heart has wept.

Apart two lone “I’s”...

together it is we.

We struggle, we're tried...

Til Christ’s coming—

Embrace the pain!

As refreshing rain

through the silence...

You must know,

I am with you.

We both will grow.

All “undone” we’ll

see Him come...

for the lowly...

for the lovely, and...

The silence will end.

O? Teach me to Suffer, Lord Jesus

Posted on April 27, 2010 at 1:23 AM Comments comments (0)

When the demons and men—so evil—send darts of “venomous hate”,

May the blessed “law of humility” be the guard at my hearts lowly gate.

O’ Teach me to suffer, Lord Jesus, to endure meekly the pain of thy cross.

Teach me how joyful, my Lord Jesus, tis to carry my own one little cross.

When pangs of hunger and thirst come to threaten my resting in thee,

I’ll remember long days of fasting which brought courage and strength to thee.

O’ Teach me to suffer, Lord Jesus, to endure meekly the pain of thy cross.

Teach me how joyful, my Lord Jesus, tis to carry my own one little cross.

When death’s harassment and shadows portend to destroy me

In calm meditation on Calvary my heart will stay on thee.

O’ Teach me to suffer, Lord Jesus, to endure meekly the pain of thy cross.

Teach me how joyful, my Lord Jesus, tis to carry my own one little cross.

October 17th 2006

Lawrence Scott