Finis Coronat Opus

O’er rocky edge of mountain’s ridge I tread with cautious gait; My eyes discern the stony ledge As darkness slow abates. For e’er the dawn began to gleam, I’d set my gaze aloft To footpath steep and forest deep To lose within, my thoughts. As now I crest the granite hill,  Horizon glows with fire, And sets ablaze the land so still In glorious attire.

In quiet thoughts my mind descends To ponder questions hard and deep, And oftentimes, I daylight spend So chambered thence, e’en when I sleep. And only one intruder may, With muted step and peaceful tone, And melody of happy lay Invade my thoughts’ evasive home. Ah! notes of music, wafting soft Through heavy air with worry fraught, Grant solace as you bear aloft The pain of dark and restless thought.

Long years you have striven, Long time have you prayed: Your life is a witness, Christ Jesus you praised. Amid tears and struggles, Thro’ death’s craven vale, Your hope was the promise That Christ shall prevail. Your body grew weaker, The Curse took its toll, But still you remembered That Christ kept your soul. Your faith and devotion ‘Mid tempestuous wind Shone forth like a beacon As you met your end. Yet death is defeated And cast into hell; For Christ has dominion, His glory does tell. You passed on before us Who weep here below To join with the chorus Of saints ‘round the Throne. And soon shall our time Be ended below, And multitudes shining, We’ll join in our home: “To God be the glory!”, We’ll sing evermore; No sorrow or weeping  In Heaven is borne. Your life was a beacon To point to the Cross; Your hope was in Heaven, Not in earthly dross. Your witness and story Were simple, yet strong, And we’ll meet in glory To worship the Son. Originally penned March 2019 In Memoriam - El...

In time-worn chamber, sleeping lie, In rows on rows to ceiling high Great volumes, waiting o’er the years, Their wizened secrets to reveal. If knowledge ancient bore a scent, T’would waft up, so, from spine now bent, And pages flutt’ring ‘neath the breath Of readers who disturb their rest. And words drift up, through searching gaze Into the minds of those who raised The volume from the aged shelf, And sought to better teach themselves. Photograph of the library at Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina

The ground gives way beneath my feet, The earth heaves like the oceans tide, While here I grasp at handholds weak To steady ‘gainst the fear inside. As earthquake ruins lands of old, So, too, can spirits shaken be Along life’s path; not always gold Is road that lies beneath my feet. Yet sturdy anchor I shall find ‘Mid tumult great that wracks my soul; My heart is closer now aligned To righteous King Who brings me hope.