The Incomparable One.

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The Incomparable One.

The length of my poem will be quite rare,

‘Cause I’m writing on Someone beyond ‘compare’

His judgments are all just and fair,

Every case He handles with utmost care.

 

‘JESUS’ So handsome, so charming to behold,

You have a heart that’s more than gold.

You’re so handsome and so rugged too,

Even the blind would fall in love with you.

 

So gentle in manners, so gracious in speech,

So perfect in words, you chose to teach.

You have a unique way to preach,

So far, I’ve never heard you screech.

 

You bless us all with outstretched arm,

While all the time, you remain so calm.

When you’re with us, we need fear no harm,

That’s what we’re told in the book of Psalms.

 

While we eat our bread, you are there,

While we take a breath, you bless the air,

You’re quite concerned, about our wear,

You give us a new one, when the old has a tare.

 

Your help is there in time of need,

You help the farmer to sow his seed,

You help a child to write and read,

You help a mother her child to feed.

 

In times of illness a doctor we seek,

To help us get back on our feet,

Through the doctor, your child you treat,

And through your grace we’re on our feet.

 

To those in poverty you provide,

Your generous heart you never hide.

You help us all our troubles to tide,

While in our poverty you abide.

 

You love the noble and the royal too,

Yet it seems, they don’t know you,

Is it b’cause of their royalty?

Or is it b’casue they don’t know poverty.

 

The sleeping hours of your children you bless,

While they sleep, your children you caress,

You plant upon them a tender kiss,

And softly whisper – “I am JESUS.”

 

 

It’s not the stick that helps a blind man,

It’s you, who actually holds his right hand,

You help him how to cross the road,

You also help him the bus to board.

 

It’s not by magic that he does this,

It’s because with him is JESUS.

You understand that he is blind,

All the more, to him you’re kind.

 

On pavements sit your children lame,

Some of them don’t know your name.

They believe not themselves to be children of a King,

B’cause of this, they go on begging.

 

You watch the cheater and the violent man,

Your fiery eyes his deeds do scan.

You demolish every evil plan,

And keep your children as safe as you can.

 

You love even the business man,

It’s you to establish his every plan

It’s you, who gives him prosperity,

It’s you to bless his posterity.

 

The birds of the air and beasts of the field,

You provide their daily needs,

You protect them from harm and danger,

Not forgetting, they loaned you their manger.

 

Dark forests and bright flower gardens too,

Are taken care of through man, by you.

The mountains and hills are a among the few,

That stands still in their places, because of you.

 

The rivers and the seas, obey your command,

They never cross limits and go out of hand,

Sand on the seashore and on the river bed,

All obey your command, just as you’ve said.

 

This whole world was created by your mighty hand,

The seas, the hills, the mountains and land.

On seeing your work, you were satisfied,

You gave this world to man to abide.

 

A beautiful world you gave to him,

He made it into a world of sin,

He filled this world with tears and sorrow,

Poor man, he lives with no hope for tomorrow.

 

Seeing his condition, on him you took pity,

To save his destruction, you took the responsibility.

You took the Cross by leaving your Throne,

To give him hope for tomorrow and an eternal home.

 

 

 

With all this man is so ungrateful,,

With all his ingratitude, you still remain faithful,

You bless him with your sunshine and rain,

In all this he never remembers your Name.

 

Your message to man, is sincere and true,

You say it in three little words ‘I LOVE YOU”

I loved you from the beginning, Ill love you till the end,

If you love me in return, come be MY FRIEND.

 

 

By   Joyce.

 

 

 

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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

Jaycelia’s Poems (15)

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