As the deer daily drinks from the cool waterbrooks,
So my heart in my God gains release.
Like poor Peter to Jesus when sinking betook,
So to God I come seeking for peace.
When shipwrecked in the surf for the shore sailors come,
So when stressed I to God voice my vow.
As the heat ever upward its bonds overcomes,
Though I'm hindered to pray, I learn how.
Like the fox to its hole with the hounds in pursuit,
So true safety in God I espy.
As the nest is for eagle, for owl and for coot,
So for rest, too, in God I'm supplied.
Though His arrow's more sure than the archer's sent forth,
Still my God with great patience abides.
Though the compass' direction may fail to point north,
Still God's love remains sure like the tides.
�John Evans
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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"An awful web we start to weave
When in our sin we would deceive!"
By such we know entrapments here
That bring distress beyond all cheer.
Oh, yes, 'tis true, but now I'd tell
Of one small web that served man well.
This one involved an incident
Where God's Good Hand was evident.
In World War II an Air Force ace
Was shot down from the skies and faced
A searching party with a will
To capture him intent to kill.
Well, he too seeking self to save
Found respite in a little cave.
In that small space he heard without
The foe encircling all about.
"O God," he prayed, "please make a wall
To hide me here! Please frustrate all!"
Then in dim darkness he perceived
A little spider start to weave.
In just a while the airman saw,
Its work well done, it did withdraw.
So soon from his vicinity
An enemy came up to see
A spider web before this cave.
And thus, thought he, "My time I'll save.
He's not in there, for I can see
A spider here its web did weave."
The foe then gone, the airman raised
So quietly paeans of praise:
"O God, you heard my feeble call:
This spindly web became my wall!
And, thanks to You, Your Providence,
That spider came, Your angel sent!"
And so, dear friends, my tale is told.
In two webs here two truths unfold:
Though hurtful webs men often weave,
Our God weaves too--and I believe!
"Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in You." - David, fleeing Saul, Psalm 56:3
�John Evans
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Is this that "Death" which I so feared to see,
That which I'd hoped Sweet Rapture would forestall?
'Tis true, though seen as Jesus said 'twould be:
"Our Vict'ry"--shared together!--at His call.
Unknown delights not sensed where eagles soar
Are mine so freely now in fluid flights.
I see the sights unsung in earthly lore,
All pain now past of mortals' tear-filled nights.
I thrill where body ills can harm no more,
Where hurtful words can nevermore benumb.
I raise my praise to Him Whom I adore,
While strumming strings the blest of God can strum.
Enraptured that with Christ I've tasted "Death,"
I joy with Jesus, breathing Heaven's breath.
"Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man,
the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him."--1 Corinthians 2:9;
O Death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"--1 Corinthians 15:55.
�John Evans
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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I'd hoped this year that we'd be spared God's fury,
That we'd instead see mercy from above;
But, oh, I know that wrath reserved is surely
What rightfully we rate from God, not love.
Our nation's scorned His Word, His prophets' warnings;
Yes, seemingly we're set in our sad sins!
And, oh, it's true we've well-nigh lost our moorings,
As horror haunts our house without, within!
Infanticide is surely joined to mis'ry;
Perversions' deviations are in view!
Our schools have relegated God to hist'ry
With prayer provisions proscribed too!
Can we expect past hist'ry's God of Mercy
To lend a list'ning ear now to our cries?
Why, He has documented controversy
With nations prone to cling to idol ties!
But still our hope is God and His good remnant,
That remnant which like Daniel prayed for men;
Or like Habakkuk, with great faith attendant,
Said through it all we'll trust, live on for Him.
And like the psalmist we in silence wait
With firm assurance that our God still cares;
That He's still there though mountains flee away,
And still the One Who hears repentant prayer.
"O Lord, we have sinned, and have committed iniquity, and have done
wickedly, and have rebelled, even by departing from thy precepts and from thy
judgments.!"--Daniel 9ff;
"Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines;
the labor of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no grain; the
flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls:
yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will joy in the God of my salvation."--
Habakkuk 3:17, 18;
"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore
will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be
carried into the midst of the sea."--Psalm 46:1, 2.
�John Evans
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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When born men here are seen to be
The people of broad destinies.
We first live lives on earth, and then
A second life for all begins.
The Christian's life up there seen hence
Is so much better (it's our sense).
Yes, Heav'n for saved folks serves them well--
But oh the lost!--a horror, Hell.
Of present lives we have in mind,
The Christian's too excels, we find.
When "born again," a peace profound
Abundantly in Christ is found.
In Him we win o'er nicotine,
O'er drugs and alcohol's extremes.
And then, too, gambling must give way
Where many find earth's "hell to pay."
Potentially we have the best
Of fam'ly life, the marriage nest.
We oft live long while praising God;
Good mem'ries known--in some so flawed!
The better lives are ours, you see--
But not so automatic'ly:
With faith in God and flags unfurled,
We Live the best of life's four worlds!
�John Evans
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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They say, "This life's a losing game,
Great losses known that once were claimed!"
And true we'll lose our health,
And then at last our wealth--
BUT WHAT A LOT WE'LL GAIN IN JESUS' NAME!
As seniors we'll lose muscles' might,
Together with our appetites.
Though true we'll lose "good looks"
(As told in God's Good Book)--
HOW WELL WE'LL LOOK IN HEAVEN'S LIGHT!
So, friends, let's hold Christ's banner high;
And squelch those faithless sobs and sighs.
Someday up there we'll shout--
With things ALREADY "turned about!"
HOW BIG WE'LL WIN WHEN WE SHALL DIE!
�John Evans
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Concerning us and terrorists,
Who scorn a love for man,
We must check all by Bible texts,
Just how with God men stand.
They say to get to Paradise,
"Let's kill the infidels!"
While our God's Son paid our sin's price;
His death fully prevails!
Yes, God's Word teaches He is Love;
Theirs surely teaches hate.
So in the name of God above,
Can we to them relate?
Well, I'm sure, friends--of us and them--
Our God loves ALL, we're told;
So let's love them as we're loved, friends.
LOVE ONLY SAVES MEN�S SOULS.
�John Evans
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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In memory of:
Samuel Morris, (1872-1893)
At one time or another all have feelings that we're left
Alone to face uncertainties; indeed we've felt bereft,
With no one as our helper versus hurts perceived and real.
The trauma of such moments is often hard to heal.
Christ Jesus knew that He must leave for service at God's throne,
So told His church while gone away they'd not be left alone.
He'd send Another Comforter, Another Like Himself;
This One would bless them as none could, their All Sufficient Help.
And so in pow'r at Pentecost The Spirit of the Lord
Descended as God's Gracious Gift, fulfilling Jesus' word.
And now it's true all "born again" do have this Comforter
To aid us in our work for Christ and make us feel secure.
O Blessed Holy Spirit, help me in my quest:
I want to know Christ better, live a life that is the best.
Like Samuel Morris, Lord, the boy from Africa once come,
I do desire Your fullness to bless others In The Son.
Samuel Morris was an African teenager who was miraculously saved by divine
intervention from the most cruel of brutalities at the hands of a native
warlord who had conquered his village. His salvation experiences in Christ then
and later were amazingly similar to the Apostle Paul's, and, being told that
these were manifestations of the Holy Spirit's power, he shortly set out
penniless for America to learn more about this Spirit. His passage across the
Atlantic was attended by other miracles, even the saving of his ship and crew
from pirates, for which all gave him and his God credit. Eventually arriving in
Ft. Wayne, Indiana, he, by the simplest of expressed faith in Christ, saw other
miracles of God's grace and is credited with helping to save Taylor University
in Upland, Indiana, as an evangelical school of higher learning. Though he came
to the school at a time of critical racial relations in our nation, as a
tremendous representative of better things under God to come he became known as
the most spiritual student on the campus and worthy of the closest emulation by
all, teachers and students alike. He died at age twenty-one not having been
permitted to return to Africa to preach his much loved Savior and Lord,
but
many missionaries have gone forth to the dark continent since his time,
inspired by his simple faith. Several ministries and halls are named in his
honor today at Taylor University.
�John Evans
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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