Attending the Highest

Attending the Highest Thoughts Fixed on Delightful Mercy Copyright Doug Blair, Waterloo ON, 2019

Spirit Saga

 What is she thinking?

Dear old woman In her one hat Comes here most Sundays Sits smiling Engaging seldom But attentive to Every development.

Here since widowhood.

Initially on her knees Lips going without sound This day’s Hannah If you will.

What climbing struggles What nagging questions What challenges in health What perseverance

What anticipations of Glory?

Few know her name.

Most delighted that she arrives And presses in.

The Child In My Lap

You calculate and argue You stir up many doubts But you had best be careful No little child left out You think your way the better But see this Lad so small In comfort near my heartbeat And trusting once for all.

The bottom line is my love The sense I’d never stop And see he listens carefully Such faith I never drop.

So just get small and humble And let me sort things out

The simplest path to blessing And insights most devout.

(Painting by James Tissot)

Magnify Him

The singing a joy We do it a lot And folks rush To fill the pews Perish the thought Of mere entertainment A holy rite this To bring Him the pleasure An audible kiss.

The breath in our lungs Was first His to give He taught us dependence And right ways to live.

So time and thought now Are offered the Lord.

Much bigger His measure Much richer His Word.

Yet somehow it seems Love increases all The unity charity Blessings recalled.

His Watching Do you sense His watching

The sun delights the sheep The grass is sweet this morning And what a happy sleep The lambkins skip and frolic The old rehearse the past They know idyllic springtime It cannot last Cannot last.

The trek includes the stormy And sometimes even snows And hunger and limbs aching The journey’s progress slows.

But Shepherd still is watching He feels the beat of life And speaks only encouragement And brings to end all strife.

The wolf too knows His watching He hides at forest rim And sheep know full protection And scarcely fret at him.

Oh how they must remember When days are sun or chill The Shepherd gives His life here.

And so He always will.

Never Forgotten Pageantry

The boy heard the crowds And ran to the Core The City in pageant As often before The bleating of lambs The smoke of each gift The music the doves

The Psalms that uplift.

But somehow a change As Rome pushed and shoved A prisoner in shackles (One many had loved) His crime gainst religion A King some had said And rabbis and Romans Each wanted Him dead The main street confusion The jeering and tears Could this be the rescue Awaited for years?

The Man was all bloody But no anger showed He strove to the Hilltop With His heavy load A Cross meant for torture A fate meant for shame They posted His misdeeds They posted His name.

And laughed at the memory Of all He had said The rumours of healings And raising the dead.

And die He did tamely Like others before The Empire so brutal The crowd in uproar.

Our boy saw it all His tears flowed unchecked The Saviour discredited The vile disrespect‌ But three days concluded In Empty Tomb joy.

The King hugged His followers Including the boy.