From Heaven’s Banks


What is a desert,

But a place unlivable.

A place where even water

Is forbidden to thrive.

A place where food is:

Quicker than man’s hands,

And acid to the stomach.

A place where a man is:

Destined to die,

And in horrible disarray.

No man passes through

Such a place,

Without desiring the things

Of life.

All this,

Yet God sustains.

The son of unrighteousness beats heavily

Upon the desert of men.

He mocks them

In their plight;

Offering useless promises,

Reminding of delights.

How they make his day pleasant,

To remember roasted pheasant.

While they chew away on cactus,

Malnutrition is their way!

All this,

Yet Christ sustains.

Forced to die and suffer loss;

Of the way of man this is the cost.

Yet there are those who make their way

Fed well by Christ,

And everyday!

You know what I am speaking of,

That healthy banquet from above,

A table in the wilderness

Covered with delicacies of love.

What right-minded man would pass it by?

The jars of water.

The meat is fried.

The succulent fruit from lands afar.

And Holy welcome

From servants of Fire!

But a great traipsing mass

Walks by everyday,

Spurning the offering

Of “The Way“!

Yet of those who sit

And gorge themselves,

How many give him rightful thanks?

By convincing others to come and eat

Of the fruit from Heaven’s banks.

By His Grace

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