One day I’ll leave this old body, This earthen house of clay,
And rise up to be with Jesus, Who is my Hope and Stay.
This earthen shell I’ll leave behind, And those who come to mourn
Will see this house left vacant With earthly rags adorned.
They’ll come to gaze upon it; To remember times gone by,
To visit friends and family, To laugh and, yes, to cry—
But this one thing remember, If one of them is you,
That I’ve gone and left this body, As all of us must do,
And I’ll be waiting over yonder Where Jesus lives and reigns,
For ‘tis there I hope to meet you, Where we’ll never part again.
a. franklin staples, May 11, 2002
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
The Bones of the Church
The church can be seen as made up of bones
Like any other body,
But the bones that make it up, my friend,
Fit together rather oddly.
Now, first we have the “Wish Bones,”
Those bright and shining stars
Who just sit around and wish that things
Were different than they are.
Then there are the “Jaw Bones,”
Those who are always talking
About whatever it is that’s going on,
Be it mundane or shocking.
They continue to “jaw” about this and that,
And do more harm than good;
They grumble, gossip and complain
Instead of living as they should.
Let’s not forget the “Tail Bones,”
Those who are always late;
Late for worship, late for meetings,
Always making others wait.
Those “Tail Bones” take too literally
The words of Jesus Christ, our Lord,
About the first being last and the last being first,
In the pages of God’s Word.
Those “Tail Bones” cannot take a stand
Or Come to a decision;
They want always to “wait upon the Lord,”
Ignoring the Great Commission.
And, oh yes, there are the “Funny Bones,”
Those so easily offended
At some “terrible” thing the preacher said
At the last service they attended.
“If that’s the way he’s going to preach,
I won’t be going back!,”
Those thin-skinned souls are oft heard to say,
And the preacher takes the flak.
But, Thank God there are the “Backbones,”
Those who do the work,
Who teach the classes, call on the sick;
Their duties they don’t shirk.
And if the preacher needs a hand,
Or maybe even two,
The “Back Bones” will be right there to help
When there is work to do.
Yes, let’s thank God for the “Back Bones;”
They’re the pillars of the church
Who take a stand upon God’s Word
And pitch in to do His Work.
a. franklin staples
© 1991 by A. Franklin Staples
Like any other body,
But the bones that make it up, my friend,
Fit together rather oddly.
Now, first we have the “Wish Bones,”
Those bright and shining stars
Who just sit around and wish that things
Were different than they are.
Then there are the “Jaw Bones,”
Those who are always talking
About whatever it is that’s going on,
Be it mundane or shocking.
They continue to “jaw” about this and that,
And do more harm than good;
They grumble, gossip and complain
Instead of living as they should.
Let’s not forget the “Tail Bones,”
Those who are always late;
Late for worship, late for meetings,
Always making others wait.
Those “Tail Bones” take too literally
The words of Jesus Christ, our Lord,
About the first being last and the last being first,
In the pages of God’s Word.
Those “Tail Bones” cannot take a stand
Or Come to a decision;
They want always to “wait upon the Lord,”
Ignoring the Great Commission.
And, oh yes, there are the “Funny Bones,”
Those so easily offended
At some “terrible” thing the preacher said
At the last service they attended.
“If that’s the way he’s going to preach,
I won’t be going back!,”
Those thin-skinned souls are oft heard to say,
And the preacher takes the flak.
But, Thank God there are the “Backbones,”
Those who do the work,
Who teach the classes, call on the sick;
Their duties they don’t shirk.
And if the preacher needs a hand,
Or maybe even two,
The “Back Bones” will be right there to help
When there is work to do.
Yes, let’s thank God for the “Back Bones;”
They’re the pillars of the church
Who take a stand upon God’s Word
And pitch in to do His Work.
a. franklin staples
© 1991 by A. Franklin Staples
On Complaining
We're mostly a bunch of complainers;
Too often we're not satisfied
With the state of the weather, in general,
Or the passage of time, or the tide.
For if it isn't too hot, why then it's too cold;
It's either too wet or too dry;
Time's going too fast or it's going too slow;
The water's too low or too high.
The music's too loud or else it's too soft;
The singer can't carry a tune;
The preacher's long-winded or his sermon's too short;
It's either too late or too soon.
There's either too much or there's not enough,
Whether it's snow, food, coffee, or tea;
The pillow's too hard or else it's too soft;
Nothing's ever as good as can be.
Yes, to most of us nothing is perfect:
We can always find room for complaint,
But if someone points out our shortcomings,
We can answer right up, "I'm no saint!"
But that's what you are, my dear brother,
If the blood of God's Son you have claimed —
A saint who will one day be perfect,
With nothing wherewith to be blamed.
So why complain now, brother, sister,
About everything under the sun?
Thank God for each day you are given
And live it for Jesus, the Son.
Give thanks for each situation!
Praise God for the good and the bad,
For Jesus Christ died to save you. —
He's the dearest Friend you ever had.
Don't complain about things and don't grumble.
It's advice that I need to take, too,
For God's perfect Son shed His precious blood
That we might be perfected all through.
And someday He'll make all things perfect,
And no one will ever complain
About things over yonder in glory
Where with Him forever we'll reign.
a. franklin staples
June 26, 1990
Copyright © 1990
by
A. Franklin Staples
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
How Many Ways
How Many Ways?
How many ways are there to pray,
Or things to say,
To God?
How many innovative phrases
Can we use to voice our praises
To God?
Does God demand that we be creative
In our petitions to Him stated
Before He hears?
Does He not want them simply stated,
From the humble heart related,
Sometimes with tears?
He desires not vain repetition
Of our petition
Or plea.
He simply asks that we give it thought,
Pray as we ought,
Bend knees.
Just simple words are all sufficient
To the Omniscient,
Who's everywhere.
In times of need or deep distress,
He'll surely bless
The humble prayer.
Just how many ways are there to pray,
Or things to say,
To God?
a. franklin staples
June 7, 1994
Copyright © 1994 by a. franklin staples
Or things to say,
To God?
How many innovative phrases
Can we use to voice our praises
To God?
Does God demand that we be creative
In our petitions to Him stated
Before He hears?
Does He not want them simply stated,
From the humble heart related,
Sometimes with tears?
He desires not vain repetition
Of our petition
Or plea.
He simply asks that we give it thought,
Pray as we ought,
Bend knees.
Just simple words are all sufficient
To the Omniscient,
Who's everywhere.
In times of need or deep distress,
He'll surely bless
The humble prayer.
Just how many ways are there to pray,
Or things to say,
To God?
a. franklin staples
June 7, 1994
Copyright © 1994 by a. franklin staples
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
I AM A CANADIAN
I’ve been debating with myself as to whether to put this one up. It is my wish to assure those of you who take the time to read it that it was written and is presented here without even a hint of prejudice on my part. To include all of the ethnic groups that make up this great country would make it rival some of the epic poems penned by poets far more gifted than I.
I AM A CANADIAN
I am an Inuit on the Hudson Bay shore;
I hunt and I trap in Canada’s far north;
Of the white man’s handouts, I don’t want any more.
I am a Canadian!
I am a First Nations Cree on the Great Plain
Of southern Alberta, where white men grow grain.
Though some would dispute it, I proudly proclaim:
I am a Canadian!
I am a First Nations Micmac on the far Eastern coast;
Of Canada’s First Peoples, of that I can boast.
My culture is what I value the most.
I am a Canadian!
I am a fisherman, you should understand,
Who once fished for cod off this Newfoundland,
And even though why I often don’t understand,
I am a Canadian!
I am a lumberjack in the New Brunswick woods.
My father spoke French and was oft misunderstood.
My mother spoke English, like all English should -
I am a Canadian!
I am an immigrant from Old-world Hong Kong.
I am so very happy to feel I belong
To this great, friendly country so free and so strong.
I am a Canadian!
I am un habitant, French, from Quebec.
Too long I’ve been looked upon as a “pain-in-the-neck.”
I’m looking for dignity, honour, respect -
I am a Canadian!
I am a coal miner from Cape Breton Island,
Proud of my roots in old Scotland’s Highlands,
But as this land is your land, it also is my land -
I am a Canadian!
I am a white-collar worker in Ontario.
My forefathers were English and Irish, you know,
But I’ll tell everybody, wherever I go:
I am a Canadian!
In Prince Edward Island’s fertile red mud,
I grow potatoes, the dependable “spud.”
Whether you call me “Mac” or “Percy” or “Bud,”
I am a Canadian!
I am a real live Indian Sikh.
It’s not French or English but Punjabi I speak.
It is this country’s peace and its freedom I seek -
I am a Canadian!
I am Japanese and live in Vancouver, B. C.
I am glad to live here in this land of the free
Even though things haven’t always been so good for me.
I am a Canadian!
I live in Nova Scotia and my skin is black.
My forefathers were slaves, to which I’ve no wish to go back.
Let’s keep this great country on the right track!
I am a Canadian!
I live in New Brunswick. I’m from Loyalist stock.
You know I speak English by the way that I talk,
But when all’s said and done, it should come as no shock -
I am a Canadian!
I am a Metis, on the Red River claim.
I’ve both Scottish and First Nation blood in my veins.
Though often misused yet I still will proclaim:
I am a Canadian!
I am a wheat farmer in Saskatchewan.
The Ukraine is where my ancestors are from,
But in this great country is where I belong -
I am a Canadian!
I am a Canadian! What wonderful words.
Let’s proudly proclaim it. Let it be heard
The whole world over. May our hearts all be stirred.
I AM A CANADIAN!
a. franklin staples
November 4, 1992
Copyright © 1992 by a. franklin staples
I AM A CANADIAN
I am an Inuit on the Hudson Bay shore;
I hunt and I trap in Canada’s far north;
Of the white man’s handouts, I don’t want any more.
I am a Canadian!
I am a First Nations Cree on the Great Plain
Of southern Alberta, where white men grow grain.
Though some would dispute it, I proudly proclaim:
I am a Canadian!
I am a First Nations Micmac on the far Eastern coast;
Of Canada’s First Peoples, of that I can boast.
My culture is what I value the most.
I am a Canadian!
I am a fisherman, you should understand,
Who once fished for cod off this Newfoundland,
And even though why I often don’t understand,
I am a Canadian!
I am a lumberjack in the New Brunswick woods.
My father spoke French and was oft misunderstood.
My mother spoke English, like all English should -
I am a Canadian!
I am an immigrant from Old-world Hong Kong.
I am so very happy to feel I belong
To this great, friendly country so free and so strong.
I am a Canadian!
I am un habitant, French, from Quebec.
Too long I’ve been looked upon as a “pain-in-the-neck.”
I’m looking for dignity, honour, respect -
I am a Canadian!
I am a coal miner from Cape Breton Island,
Proud of my roots in old Scotland’s Highlands,
But as this land is your land, it also is my land -
I am a Canadian!
I am a white-collar worker in Ontario.
My forefathers were English and Irish, you know,
But I’ll tell everybody, wherever I go:
I am a Canadian!
In Prince Edward Island’s fertile red mud,
I grow potatoes, the dependable “spud.”
Whether you call me “Mac” or “Percy” or “Bud,”
I am a Canadian!
I am a real live Indian Sikh.
It’s not French or English but Punjabi I speak.
It is this country’s peace and its freedom I seek -
I am a Canadian!
I am Japanese and live in Vancouver, B. C.
I am glad to live here in this land of the free
Even though things haven’t always been so good for me.
I am a Canadian!
I live in Nova Scotia and my skin is black.
My forefathers were slaves, to which I’ve no wish to go back.
Let’s keep this great country on the right track!
I am a Canadian!
I live in New Brunswick. I’m from Loyalist stock.
You know I speak English by the way that I talk,
But when all’s said and done, it should come as no shock -
I am a Canadian!
I am a Metis, on the Red River claim.
I’ve both Scottish and First Nation blood in my veins.
Though often misused yet I still will proclaim:
I am a Canadian!
I am a wheat farmer in Saskatchewan.
The Ukraine is where my ancestors are from,
But in this great country is where I belong -
I am a Canadian!
I am a Canadian! What wonderful words.
Let’s proudly proclaim it. Let it be heard
The whole world over. May our hearts all be stirred.
I AM A CANADIAN!
a. franklin staples
November 4, 1992
Copyright © 1992 by a. franklin staples
Monday, April 18, 2011
ON MAKING A BANANA SPLIT
ON MAKING A BANANA SPLIT
Make a banana split? Why, that’s like asking someone to make an apple crumble or an apple crisp or a blueberry buckle (who ever really saw that happen?), to say nothing of that equally difficult task of making a lemon square! In fact, the idea is so preposterous that one is almost inclined to question the sanity of a person who would even suggest such a thing. Make a banana split, indeed. Why, the task is so difficult and the probability of success in the undertaking so remote that it is unlikely that anyone will ever be successful in making a BANANA SPLIT - at least all by itself.
a. franklin staples
October 15, 1993
Copyright © 1993 by a. franklin staples
Make a banana split? Why, that’s like asking someone to make an apple crumble or an apple crisp or a blueberry buckle (who ever really saw that happen?), to say nothing of that equally difficult task of making a lemon square! In fact, the idea is so preposterous that one is almost inclined to question the sanity of a person who would even suggest such a thing. Make a banana split, indeed. Why, the task is so difficult and the probability of success in the undertaking so remote that it is unlikely that anyone will ever be successful in making a BANANA SPLIT - at least all by itself.
a. franklin staples
October 15, 1993
Copyright © 1993 by a. franklin staples
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Just A Lump of Clay
An Introduction
Genesis 3:19 says, “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, til thou return unto the ground; for out of it thou wast taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return.”
As I grow older, the subject of death is more and more brought to mind. The death of my father, my wife’s father and, more recently, my mother, as well as the passing of other close relatives and friends, has served to increase the thought time that I devote to the subject.
It is not my intent to be morbid but rather to emphasize that we, as Christians, need to be more realistic in our treatment and perception of physical death. When my father-in-law died in 1987, I remember saying something to this effect to my eldest son: “We should remember that the body in that coffin is not Grampy. It’s just a piece of clay.”
Now, that’s sometimes hard for us to grasp, and when it’s your grandfather or your grandmother or your father or mother or you sister or your brother or your son or your daughter or your wife or your husband, or some other close relative or good friend whose coffin your gazing into, that’s not most likely to be your perception. So, perhaps misunderstanding the point I was making or where I was coming from, my son replied, “It’s a pretty special piece of clay,” and of course it was.
The fact remains, however, if you can bring yourself to be entirely objective about it, and every true believer in the Lord Jesus Christ should, that the body lying in that coffin is really nothing more than a conglomeration of earthly minerals (clay, if you will) that temporarily bears the physical image of the person who once occupied it. Fail to, neglect to, or be unable to pump it full of embalming chemicals, and it will show obvious signs of chemical deterioration and physical decay before the sun sets on the first day of death, for dust it is and unto dust it begins immediately to return. The person who once inhabited it is no longer in it. The soul and spirit have departed (Genesis 35:18).
As Rev. Norman Trafton, an old and dear friend of mine, so aptly put it when his wife Dorothy went to be with the Lord, “She has gone beyond us and we wouldn’t wish her back.”
That is the subject of this poem.
Just A Lump of Clay
Just a lump of clay - That’s all we leave behind;
Just an empty shell of dust - No spirit, no soul, no mind -
For the spirit returns to God Who gave the life and took
To await the resurrection, As He promised in His Book.
Just a lump of clay - That’s how it all began -
God moulded it and fashioned it And made into man.
He breathed into it the breath of life; Man became a living soul -
Made in God’s image they were back then, Before sin took its toll.
Just a lump of clay That will soon turn back to dust,
But the spirit and the soul live on If in Jesus Christ we trust,
For God Himself, in Jesus Christ, Came down to earth one day
To live a perfect sinless life In such a lump of clay;
To die for man on Calvary’s cross; To be sin for all mankind;
To rise triumphant over death - No clay was left behind!
And one day soon, perhaps today, He’ll return with trumpet sound,
And all who’ve died secure in Him Will rise up from the ground.
In brand new bodies they will rise To live and reign with Him,
From mortal clay their bodies changed, No longer marred by sin;
And those alive will be changed, too, On that grand and glorious day,
And we’ll all know then what can be done With just a lump of clay.
a. franklin staples
March 6, 1991
© 1991 by A. Franklin Staples
Genesis 3:19 says, “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, til thou return unto the ground; for out of it thou wast taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return.”
As I grow older, the subject of death is more and more brought to mind. The death of my father, my wife’s father and, more recently, my mother, as well as the passing of other close relatives and friends, has served to increase the thought time that I devote to the subject.
It is not my intent to be morbid but rather to emphasize that we, as Christians, need to be more realistic in our treatment and perception of physical death. When my father-in-law died in 1987, I remember saying something to this effect to my eldest son: “We should remember that the body in that coffin is not Grampy. It’s just a piece of clay.”
Now, that’s sometimes hard for us to grasp, and when it’s your grandfather or your grandmother or your father or mother or you sister or your brother or your son or your daughter or your wife or your husband, or some other close relative or good friend whose coffin your gazing into, that’s not most likely to be your perception. So, perhaps misunderstanding the point I was making or where I was coming from, my son replied, “It’s a pretty special piece of clay,” and of course it was.
The fact remains, however, if you can bring yourself to be entirely objective about it, and every true believer in the Lord Jesus Christ should, that the body lying in that coffin is really nothing more than a conglomeration of earthly minerals (clay, if you will) that temporarily bears the physical image of the person who once occupied it. Fail to, neglect to, or be unable to pump it full of embalming chemicals, and it will show obvious signs of chemical deterioration and physical decay before the sun sets on the first day of death, for dust it is and unto dust it begins immediately to return. The person who once inhabited it is no longer in it. The soul and spirit have departed (Genesis 35:18).
As Rev. Norman Trafton, an old and dear friend of mine, so aptly put it when his wife Dorothy went to be with the Lord, “She has gone beyond us and we wouldn’t wish her back.”
That is the subject of this poem.
Just A Lump of Clay
Just a lump of clay - That’s all we leave behind;
Just an empty shell of dust - No spirit, no soul, no mind -
For the spirit returns to God Who gave the life and took
To await the resurrection, As He promised in His Book.
Just a lump of clay - That’s how it all began -
God moulded it and fashioned it And made into man.
He breathed into it the breath of life; Man became a living soul -
Made in God’s image they were back then, Before sin took its toll.
Just a lump of clay That will soon turn back to dust,
But the spirit and the soul live on If in Jesus Christ we trust,
For God Himself, in Jesus Christ, Came down to earth one day
To live a perfect sinless life In such a lump of clay;
To die for man on Calvary’s cross; To be sin for all mankind;
To rise triumphant over death - No clay was left behind!
And one day soon, perhaps today, He’ll return with trumpet sound,
And all who’ve died secure in Him Will rise up from the ground.
In brand new bodies they will rise To live and reign with Him,
From mortal clay their bodies changed, No longer marred by sin;
And those alive will be changed, too, On that grand and glorious day,
And we’ll all know then what can be done With just a lump of clay.
a. franklin staples
March 6, 1991
© 1991 by A. Franklin Staples
Saturday, March 12, 2011
God's House Is Not A Coffee Shop
God’s House is not a coffee shop;
'Tis to be a place of prayer.
'Tis not a place where we come to eat
But the Bread of Life to share.
'Tis not a place to spend our time
With a well-filled coffee cup,
But to drink Life's Water from the heavenly spring
And at God's Table sup.
God's House is not a coffee shop
Where silly women prattle
But where the saints of God are trained
And then sent forth to battle.
So if it's coffee that you crave
And mortal food to eat,
Have it at home before you come
To the house where God's saints meet,
For God's House is not a coffee shop,
In case you have not heard,
But a place where the saints of God are fed
The pure meat of God's Word.
September 28, 1994
Copyright © 1994 by A. Franklin Staples
'Tis to be a place of prayer.
'Tis not a place where we come to eat
But the Bread of Life to share.
'Tis not a place to spend our time
With a well-filled coffee cup,
But to drink Life's Water from the heavenly spring
And at God's Table sup.
God's House is not a coffee shop
Where silly women prattle
But where the saints of God are trained
And then sent forth to battle.
So if it's coffee that you crave
And mortal food to eat,
Have it at home before you come
To the house where God's saints meet,
For God's House is not a coffee shop,
In case you have not heard,
But a place where the saints of God are fed
The pure meat of God's Word.
September 28, 1994
Copyright © 1994 by A. Franklin Staples
The Great Lake of Fire
The Great Lake of Fire
There’s a fiery lake that’s prepared for the devil
And those angels who’ve followed him,
A fire that’s unquenchable, burning forever,
And it’s waiting for you, my friend,
If you’ve turned your back on the Lord of Creation,
Who died for your sins on the cross.
If you’re living in sin, and you die without Him,
You’ll be cast away with the dross.
As the flames roar higher in the great lake of fire,
And there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth,
Will you be forever in the great lake of fire
Or in Heaven with those who believe?
Don’t fall for the lies of those who subscribe
To the notion that hell doesn’t exist,
For it’s being prepared, you must needs be aware,
And when Christ returns for those who are His,
Time as we know it will come to an end
And before the White throne you will stand
To hear the stern judgment of King Jesus Himself
Upon those who’ve ignored His command.
Should you be among them, a part of that throng
Who’ll be there when they open the Book,
The Lamb’s Book of Life on whose pages are written
The names of the saints, take a look!
You’ll find that your name has been blotted out,
Completely erased, can’t be found,
You’ve been weighed in God’s balances
And found dreadfully wanting,
And you won’t be alone! Look around
And you’ll see weeping, hear wailing and gnashing of teeth
As the lost of the ages stand there
Before Him who died that they might have life,
Whose glory they never shall share,
For they shall be cast, as will you, my dear friend,
If my Saviour and Lord you deny,
Into that great lake of fire that shall never be quenched,
Where the soul forever shall die.
-a. franklin staples
September 18, 1998
© 1998 by A. Franklin Staples
There’s a fiery lake that’s prepared for the devil
And those angels who’ve followed him,
A fire that’s unquenchable, burning forever,
And it’s waiting for you, my friend,
If you’ve turned your back on the Lord of Creation,
Who died for your sins on the cross.
If you’re living in sin, and you die without Him,
You’ll be cast away with the dross.
As the flames roar higher in the great lake of fire,
And there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth,
Will you be forever in the great lake of fire
Or in Heaven with those who believe?
Don’t fall for the lies of those who subscribe
To the notion that hell doesn’t exist,
For it’s being prepared, you must needs be aware,
And when Christ returns for those who are His,
Time as we know it will come to an end
And before the White throne you will stand
To hear the stern judgment of King Jesus Himself
Upon those who’ve ignored His command.
Should you be among them, a part of that throng
Who’ll be there when they open the Book,
The Lamb’s Book of Life on whose pages are written
The names of the saints, take a look!
You’ll find that your name has been blotted out,
Completely erased, can’t be found,
You’ve been weighed in God’s balances
And found dreadfully wanting,
And you won’t be alone! Look around
And you’ll see weeping, hear wailing and gnashing of teeth
As the lost of the ages stand there
Before Him who died that they might have life,
Whose glory they never shall share,
For they shall be cast, as will you, my dear friend,
If my Saviour and Lord you deny,
Into that great lake of fire that shall never be quenched,
Where the soul forever shall die.
-a. franklin staples
September 18, 1998
© 1998 by A. Franklin Staples
What Is Truth
“What is truth?” old Pilate asked,
And men still ask today. —
If you were asked the question, friend,
Just what would you have to say?
Could you give an answer, friend,
That’s based on cold, hard fact,
In a day when “truth” seems relative
To the way men want to act?
Do you know the Truth, my friend,
In Whom all fulness dwells,
Or have you fallen for Satan’s lies
And doomed yourself to hell?
For Truth is found in Jesus Christ,
And nowhere else at all;
In point of fact, He is The Truth
In all things, great and small.
By Him in truth were all things made
That we see or cannot see,
From sun and moon and stars and atoms
And, yes, friend, you and me.
December 12, 1998
And men still ask today. —
If you were asked the question, friend,
Just what would you have to say?
Could you give an answer, friend,
That’s based on cold, hard fact,
In a day when “truth” seems relative
To the way men want to act?
Do you know the Truth, my friend,
In Whom all fulness dwells,
Or have you fallen for Satan’s lies
And doomed yourself to hell?
For Truth is found in Jesus Christ,
And nowhere else at all;
In point of fact, He is The Truth
In all things, great and small.
By Him in truth were all things made
That we see or cannot see,
From sun and moon and stars and atoms
And, yes, friend, you and me.
December 12, 1998
Saturday, February 12, 2011
I AM THE RESURRECTION
Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this? (John 11:25, 26)
I AM THE RESURRECTION
“I AM the Resurrection.” These are the words Jesus said,
“I AM the Resurrection.” And called Lazarus forth from the dead.
“I AM the Resurrection. “ Through the torture, the pain and the strife,
“I AM the Resurrection,” And the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
“I AM the Resurrection,” The Bread of Life and the Door.
“I AM the Resurrection,” The Saviour of the rich and the poor.
“I AM the Resurrection,” The Water of Life freely give.
“I AM the Resurrection,” Once I was dead, now I live!
“I AM the Resurrection.” These were the words JESUS spake—
“I AM the Resurrection.” He who died on the cross for my sake.
“I AM the Resurrection.” He was slain for my sins and yours.
“I AM the Resurrection.” Behold, He’s ALIVE EVER MORE!
April 12, 1987 a. franklin staples
Copyright © 1987 by a. franklin staples
I AM THE RESURRECTION
“I AM the Resurrection.” These are the words Jesus said,
“I AM the Resurrection.” And called Lazarus forth from the dead.
“I AM the Resurrection. “ Through the torture, the pain and the strife,
“I AM the Resurrection,” And the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
“I AM the Resurrection,” The Bread of Life and the Door.
“I AM the Resurrection,” The Saviour of the rich and the poor.
“I AM the Resurrection,” The Water of Life freely give.
“I AM the Resurrection,” Once I was dead, now I live!
“I AM the Resurrection.” These were the words JESUS spake—
“I AM the Resurrection.” He who died on the cross for my sake.
“I AM the Resurrection.” He was slain for my sins and yours.
“I AM the Resurrection.” Behold, He’s ALIVE EVER MORE!
April 12, 1987 a. franklin staples
Copyright © 1987 by a. franklin staples
Saturday, February 5, 2011
The Rock of My Salvation
Mangers— To those of us who live in North America, they are hay boxes made of wood, and so they are depicted in Christmas manger scenes throughout the Western World. But mangers in Judea in the time of Jesus earthly sojourn were hewn from solid stone, either free-standing or hewn out of the wall of the cave being used as a stable.
Have you who have read God’s Word considered the number of times rocks and stones are associated with our Lord Jesus Christ, both in the Old and the New Testaments?
Both Moses and David refer to Him as the “Rock of Salvation,” David specifying the “Rock of my salvation;” Isaiah calls Him a “great Rock in a weary land;” Isaiah, Paul and Peter all refer to Him as a “Rock of offence;” Paul says He was a stone of stumbling; Jesus Himself said that upon Himself, “This Rock,” He would build His Church; Matthew said of Him, “The stone that the builders rejected, the same became the head of the corner;” Daniel saw Him as the “stone cut out of the mountain without hands” which dashed the image of Nebuchadnezzar to pieces, and so on.
I awoke this morning, December 5, 1987, with these images passing through my mind and then came the words to this poem:
The “Rock of My Salvation”
The “Rock of my salvation” was laid in a manger of stone
When He came as a babe in Bethlehem To make this earth His home.
“Thou art the Christ, the Son of God,” Said Peter, a little stone,
Of the “Rock of my salvation,” Jesus the Cornerstone.
The “Rock of my salvation” Was laid in a tomb of stone
When He died on the cross of Calvary For my sin to atone.
The “Rock of my salvation” Came forth from that tomb of stone,
Forever and ever conquering death, Jesus, and Him alone.
Said the “Rock of my salvation” As He stood on Mount Olive’s stone,
“Go, preach, baptize, and teach,” Then into heaven was gone.
But the “stone cut out of the mountain” All nations will claim as His own,
When the “Rock of my salvation” Shall return to sit on His Throne.
— a. franklin staples
Copyright © 1987 by a. franklin staples
Have you who have read God’s Word considered the number of times rocks and stones are associated with our Lord Jesus Christ, both in the Old and the New Testaments?
Both Moses and David refer to Him as the “Rock of Salvation,” David specifying the “Rock of my salvation;” Isaiah calls Him a “great Rock in a weary land;” Isaiah, Paul and Peter all refer to Him as a “Rock of offence;” Paul says He was a stone of stumbling; Jesus Himself said that upon Himself, “This Rock,” He would build His Church; Matthew said of Him, “The stone that the builders rejected, the same became the head of the corner;” Daniel saw Him as the “stone cut out of the mountain without hands” which dashed the image of Nebuchadnezzar to pieces, and so on.
I awoke this morning, December 5, 1987, with these images passing through my mind and then came the words to this poem:
The “Rock of My Salvation”
The “Rock of my salvation” was laid in a manger of stone
When He came as a babe in Bethlehem To make this earth His home.
“Thou art the Christ, the Son of God,” Said Peter, a little stone,
Of the “Rock of my salvation,” Jesus the Cornerstone.
The “Rock of my salvation” Was laid in a tomb of stone
When He died on the cross of Calvary For my sin to atone.
The “Rock of my salvation” Came forth from that tomb of stone,
Forever and ever conquering death, Jesus, and Him alone.
Said the “Rock of my salvation” As He stood on Mount Olive’s stone,
“Go, preach, baptize, and teach,” Then into heaven was gone.
But the “stone cut out of the mountain” All nations will claim as His own,
When the “Rock of my salvation” Shall return to sit on His Throne.
— a. franklin staples
Copyright © 1987 by a. franklin staples
Fathers
Fathers
Let’s thank the Lord for fathers on this their special day;
We make so much of mothers that fathers fade away.
In far too many cases, the majority, it seems,
The lot of many fathers is to be behind the scenes.
Our society’s great disaster is that fathers, to their grief,
Have given up, forsaken, their place as head and priest.
Instead of being honoured as head of house and home,
O so many fathers let mothers stand alone.
The home has suffered greatly; the world’s in disarray;
Divorce is running rampant and children run away,
Or else, in many cases, they’re physically abused
By mothers and by fathers who don’t care how they are used.
So stand up, Christian father, and take your priestly place
As head of home and household; yea, stand there by God’s grace.
Be not among the weaklings; stand straight and tall and sure
On the Holy Word of Almighty God that ever shall endure.
Give love and honour to your wife, as Christ has loved His own,
And work with her, side by side, to make a loving home
Where children are welcomed, cherished, with love that’s sweet and pure,
Disciplined, trained up in the Lord, and made to feel secure.
We give honour to our mothers and to our fathers, too,
For God, in His commandments, so said that we should do.
Let us not forget the fathers when honour is being given,
For a Christian father is a blessing from the Father who’s in heaven.
— a. franklin staples
Copyright © 1993 by a. franklin staples
Let’s thank the Lord for fathers on this their special day;
We make so much of mothers that fathers fade away.
In far too many cases, the majority, it seems,
The lot of many fathers is to be behind the scenes.
Our society’s great disaster is that fathers, to their grief,
Have given up, forsaken, their place as head and priest.
Instead of being honoured as head of house and home,
O so many fathers let mothers stand alone.
The home has suffered greatly; the world’s in disarray;
Divorce is running rampant and children run away,
Or else, in many cases, they’re physically abused
By mothers and by fathers who don’t care how they are used.
So stand up, Christian father, and take your priestly place
As head of home and household; yea, stand there by God’s grace.
Be not among the weaklings; stand straight and tall and sure
On the Holy Word of Almighty God that ever shall endure.
Give love and honour to your wife, as Christ has loved His own,
And work with her, side by side, to make a loving home
Where children are welcomed, cherished, with love that’s sweet and pure,
Disciplined, trained up in the Lord, and made to feel secure.
We give honour to our mothers and to our fathers, too,
For God, in His commandments, so said that we should do.
Let us not forget the fathers when honour is being given,
For a Christian father is a blessing from the Father who’s in heaven.
— a. franklin staples
Copyright © 1993 by a. franklin staples
Friday, February 4, 2011
A Forgiving Spirit
A Forgiving Spirit
Our Lord Jesus Christ, on the cross, said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” This is the great example of forgiveness that I, if I am to be Christ-like, must follow.
No matter what men may say about me or to me or would attempt to do to me, none of it can upset me or divert me from God’s Way if I have a forgiving spirit! Of what value is it, or what satisfaction can my critic or adversary derive from it, if I have already forgiven him for it?
And not only that, but it brings to me peace of mind that would be impossible to obtain by any means if I allowed it to be unforgiven, but rather went around bearing a grudge or a hurt feeling day after day.
Yes, I am only human, but I cannot allow myself to use that as an excuse to commit the sin of being unforgiving. I am human, but I am being remade to conform to the image and likeness of the Creator God, covered by the precious blood of His Son, Jesus Christ, and sustained daily by the power of the Holy Ghost. Like everyone else, I must take life as He gives it — ONE DAY AT A TIME — and casting all of my burdens and cares on Him, strive daily to do His will.
a. franklin staples
Copyright © 1985 by A. Franklin Staples
Our Lord Jesus Christ, on the cross, said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” This is the great example of forgiveness that I, if I am to be Christ-like, must follow.
No matter what men may say about me or to me or would attempt to do to me, none of it can upset me or divert me from God’s Way if I have a forgiving spirit! Of what value is it, or what satisfaction can my critic or adversary derive from it, if I have already forgiven him for it?
And not only that, but it brings to me peace of mind that would be impossible to obtain by any means if I allowed it to be unforgiven, but rather went around bearing a grudge or a hurt feeling day after day.
Yes, I am only human, but I cannot allow myself to use that as an excuse to commit the sin of being unforgiving. I am human, but I am being remade to conform to the image and likeness of the Creator God, covered by the precious blood of His Son, Jesus Christ, and sustained daily by the power of the Holy Ghost. Like everyone else, I must take life as He gives it — ONE DAY AT A TIME — and casting all of my burdens and cares on Him, strive daily to do His will.
a. franklin staples
Copyright © 1985 by A. Franklin Staples
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