The Savior’s Art
If I accept His sacrifice divine,
Returning love for love as He has done;
If I forget myself and touch the one
Whose sorrows weigh as heavily as mine,
Then will I weave my thread in His design,
That great design the Master’s hand has spun,
Wherein salvation through His blood is won,
And all are fed and nurtured on His vine.
If I reach out and calm a troubled heart,
Or let another heal the rift in me;
If, in distress, I take another’s part,
As Jesus took ours in Gethsemane,
Then I embrace the Savior’s loving art,
And honor Him throughout eternity.
Send me light—
Send me white reflections of the sun
Off pristine temple spires
Bedecked with blossoms
Brilliant red in sun
Piercing love so sharp
It takes my breath.
Pure intelligence that sears the dark
Of earth-worn wisdom
And heals the wounds of doubt
And deep fatigue.
“I thirst,” he said.
And so do I.
Am I, like Martha,
too immersed in homely
in my day’s pursuits
of worldly worries which,
by heaven’s time,
won’t count for much—
or so intent today on
busywork that I don’t pray,
or keep my soul
in touch with the divine?
And do I
(oh, yes, conscientiously)
keep thoughts so fixed
on duties of my hands,
this hour’s demands,
that I’ve no time to spare
to dry His sweet feet
with my bowed soul’s hair?
Oh, may I pattern
after Mary’s way
and choose the better part,
at those tender feet
washed with my hope,
anointed with my heart.
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