..........THE GAME..........

            To live in shame is not to live,
            But beats the heart the same;
            To lose the pain -- our lives we'd give,
            But still we play the game.

            We dare not quit, we dare not die,
            The race we still must run;
            In shame we hide the tears we cry,
            From rise to set of sun.

            Our strength is great, or else we'd fall
            Beneath the load we bear;
            In pain we make our silent call,
            There's none our load to share.

            It matters not the cause of shame,
            Still burns the pain no less;
            If right or wrong--we hurt the same,
            We hide our shamefulness.

            To open wide the hearts shut door
            Could not be done, you see:
            From hurt and pain and troubles sore
            Our souls cannot be free.

            To start afresh, to live anew,
            To have another chance;
            To all our troubles bid adieu,
            To sing again--to dance!

            I know for us this cannot be,
            Our cross we'll never share;
            There'll be for us no victory,
            Our cross we'll ever bear.

            'Tis but in death our pain released,
            This mortal flesh decayed;
            When these vile bodies are deceased,
            Escape will then be made.

            We're born to live, we live to die,
            From birth our end is clear;
            'Tis but a game--our years fly by,
            Our grave is ever near.

            We seek release in diff'rent ways,
            Our hurts we seek to mend;
            Our search proceeds through all our days,
            In life it knows no end.

            There is no hope for such as we,
            In this short life of pain;
            There is, for us, no being free,
            No hope, no rest, no gain.

            To live in shame is not to live,
            But beats the heart the same;
            To lose the pain our lives we'd give,
            But still we play the game.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            3-10-97

..........Life's Work..........

            Our life on earth is spent in toil,
                 Since Adam hath been so;
            If pen and ink or in the soil,
                 We work as on we go.

            Some work is done beneath the sun,
                 In burning heat of day;
            To plant, to wait -- the rains to come,
                 The heat to chase away.

            They never know just what will be,
                 If drought or famine sore;
            They work their fields and wait to see,
                 If they'll have ought to store.

            The banker waits, he holds the deed,
                 The mortgage to collect;
            That's why they work and plant the seed,
                 The home-place to protect.

            The buyer waits the crop to take,
                 He says, "It's mighty poor";
            He cares not what the farmers make,
                 He sells it for much more.

            They take their pay and buy more seed,
                 The cycle starts again;
            It seems from this they're never freed:
                 We're back where we began.

            Some work is done with pen and ink,
                 In office buildings fine;
            In chairs so large they sit and think,
                 And budget out their time.

            For they whose work is doon indoors
                 Sometimes exalt themselves;
            They think their work is worth much more
                 Than those who 'fill the shelves'.

            At those who sweat and sacrifice
                 Their noses they look down;
            They take their cash, and pay the price,
                 But at the 'help' they frown.

            They do not think of what would be
                 If farmers stopped their plow;
            Through self-conceit they cannot see:
                 We'd all be dying now!

            Yes pen and ink is worthy trade,
                 That fact we shan't deny;
            Without the crops by farmers made,
                 With pen and ink we'd die.

            We needn't choose between the two,
                 They must go hand in hand;
            Life calls for each to see us through:
                 Together we must stand.

            If happiness and joy we'd find,
                 'Twill not be in conceit;
            But eye to eye, and mind to mind:
                 All else is self-deceit.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            3-11-1997
 

..........My Youth..........

            My youth is gone, long gone, long gone,
            No more I romp and play;
            It seems my work is never done,
            From morn till close of day.

            I've no time now to throw a ball,
            Or build an earthen fort;
            For games and such -- no time at all,
            These things grown-ups abort.

            I spend my life pursuing wealth,
            To buy myself some toys;
            I work so hard, I lose my health,
            To bring myself life's joys.

            And when I have that which I seek,
            I put it on my shelf;
            For from my work I'm much too weak,
            To play with it myself.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........
 

..........Encouragement..........

            From the mountain top
            To the valley drear,
            We're tossed to and fro each day.
            When will trouble stop?
            When will rest draw near?
            Who'll take our heartaches away?

            We try to be true
            We try to be right
            But sometimes we miss the mark;
            We start up anew,
            To look for the light,
            Still, we end up in the dark.

            We turn to our friends,
            Grasping for their love,
            But they've no time to caress;
            Pain with pain then blends,
            And push comes to shove:
            And our lives are in a mess.

            They don't understand
            All that we go through,
            How could they give what we need?
            Just a helping hand,
            Just an "I love you",
            Just a thoughtful loving deed...

            Still we press along,
            Our burdens to bear,
            As good soldiers of the Cross;
            Still singing a song
            That we long to share
            With those who are suff'ring loss.

            Through the ups and downs,
            The joy and the pain,
            In all we do here below:
            With smiles and with frowns,
            We still hope to gain
            A home where no pain we'll know.

            But its not down here
            That we find our rest,
            No, it's not in this dark land;
            But, still it is near,
            The land of the Blest,
            Where with the Lord we will stand!

            Jesus knew good days,
            Days when all were true,
            Days when the world received Him;
            They gave Him the praise,
            And then followed through,
            Not letting their candle dim.

            But He knew despair,
            And He knew defeat,
            He knew what it meant to die;
            Now He's reigning where
            There's gold on the street:
            He's with the Father on high.

            He beckons to you
            To open the door
            Of your heart, e'er it's too late;
            He longs to walk through
            And bring you much more
            Than sinfulness can create.

            If you need a friend
            Who'll always be there
            No matter, what e'er betide;
            True unto the end,
            With you anywhere:
            Let Christ come stand by your side.

            He's there when all's well,
            And when nothing's right,
            Carrying you safely through;
            He rescues from hell
            And leads to the light:
            He brings salvation to you!

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........
 

..........No Time For Religion..........

            *****

            I've no time now to think of religion,
            Too many things in this life I must do;
            I've no time now to think of religion,
            But I'll find time before my life is through.

            YOUTH:

            I'm just a child, my wild oats I'm sowing,
            I've many years to get right with the Lord;
            Besides, His blood will always be flowing
            And, someday, I will obey His blest Word.

            PRIME:

            You see, friend, I'm a very busy man,
            My lot in this life keeps me on the go;
            I've far more to do now than I can...
            Besides, I've many years left here below.

            MIDDLE AGE:

            Someone must work to pay for the preacher,
            I put money in the collection plate.
            What? Don't I care for the Master Teacher?
            Indeed!  And, I'll come before it's too late...

            RETIREMENT AGE:

            I've heard all those sermons 'bout Jesus' blood,
            And how without it no one is made clean;
            Someday I'll be washed in the Crimson flood,
            But, I'm busy, friend, you know what I mean...

            ELDERLY:

            I've done all right through all these many years,
            I see no need to concern myself now;
            I've had laughter and sorrow, joy and tears:
            And not once to any man did I bow.

            DEATH BED:

            I'm not sure where I'll be on the morrow,
            I'm not sure what I must do to prepare;
            For the wasted years I now have sorrow,
            And I wonder if His glory I'll share?

            ETERNITY:

            Jesus, I had no time for religion,
            No, far too many things I had to do;
            Jesus, I had no time for religion,
            You can see that, you understand, don't you?

            JESUS:

            I carried my Cross up to Calvary,
            And shed my blood just to set lost men free;
            But in life this great truth you failed to see:
            Now I've but this to say:  Depart from me.

            FRIEND:

            You have time in your life for religion,
            You may not think so, but I know you do;
            You have time in your life for religion:
            Come to Jesus before your life is through.

            *****

            I've no time now to think of religion,
            Too many things in this life I must do;
            I've no time now to think of religion,
            But I'll find time before my life is through.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            8-5-2000
 

..........The Perfect Preacher..........

            He's not too short, and not too tall,
                 And not too fat, nor thin;
            He must resemble nearly all
                 The congregation's men.
            He need not ask for too much pay,
                 Vacations -- very few;
            He needs to be at work each day,
                 If he gets sick -- he's through!
            He should not preach too very long,
                 Nor raise his voice at us;
            Still, his voice must be very strong,
                 But never cause a fuss.
            He needs to drive a fancy car,
                 And wear the finest suits;
            And hang out where the rich folks are,
                 Wear fancy shoes -- not boots.
            He must decry our neighbors sins,
                 Condemn their wicked ways;
            Yes, such a preacher always wins
                 His congregation's praise.
            He must know how to overlook
                 Our little flaws, indeed!
            And never "throw" at us the Book:
                 Or he'll soon be in need!
            He mustn't preach beyond the hour
                 Appointed for his speech,
            Too long a speech will lost it's pow'r,
                 The weary mind to reach.
            He must always serious be,
                 Yet not too stern to smile;
            Then we'll with him always agree,
                 And he'll be here a while!

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            January 31, 1999

..........Dry Wells..........

            Sometimes I open my mouth and the words seem to fall right out.
            Other times, it seems, I haven't a clue what I'm talking about.
            I try and try and struggle in vain to say what is on my mind;
            But I never quite keep up; I just seem to be lagging behind.
            It is then that I appreciate the tongue that is made of 'gold',
            That affords its owner the chance to speak forth words both plain and bold.
            There is scarcely a feeling known to man like the one at such times,
            When nothing you say seems to make sense: nothing reasons or rhymes.
            But, bad as that is - there is nothing that ever could be so nice
            As having it all together, never having to say it twice.
            If your heart is empty, lonely, painful and seeking a release,
            Nothing else will do, and nothing else will afford the heart its peace.
            Nothing will bring down a glorious moment so quickly as this,
            For dry wells will surely steal from the heights of joy its very bliss.
            And nothing we do can prepare us for the feeling within
            When we find ourselves unable to bear our hearts and souls to men.
            So we reason and rhyme and try to make sense of a senseless land,
            And long for the chance to go home with the Lord, forever to stand!
            To be in that land where we'll never find ourselves wanting for speech,
            Where all we need to think or say will be freely given to each.
            But until that day comes we will keep on laboring here below,
            Still longing within for the time when we with the Savior will go.

            ……….H. L. Gradowith……….

..........Which Road To Take..........

            When before the bar we stand,
            In that far and distant land,
            And receive the fruit of what we have sown;
            Will we hear God's blessed Son
            Say to us, "My child, well done?"
            Will He be with us? or, leave us alone?

            The choice is ours now to make,
            The issue:  Which road to take;
            The straight and narrow, or, the broad and wide?
            If the right road we select
            We will be with the elect;
            Death and Hell await all who turn aside.

            If money was the reward
            That was offered by the Lord
            Instead of life in that Land over there,
            "Few" would be the number lost,
            "Many" here would pay the cost,
            That the riches of the Lord they might share.

            What they can't see seems a waste,
            So they live here in great haste,
            Caring only for that which they can see;
            But the "few" here understand
            What awaits them in that Land,
            So they live for the One who set them free!

            For the Savior live each day,
            Trust in Him, His word obey,
            Turn not aside to the left nor the right;
            Ever be faithful and true,
            To the One who died for you,
            He'll redeem those who here walk in the light.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            8-21-2000
 

(NOTE:  Part One of this poem is in the Archive of GRADOWITH POEMS as
            message 17.  You might wish to read it again before reading this, or what
            follows might not make much sense.  Tim)

            ..........Three Apples..........

            ......Part Two - Conclusion.....

            Before my wife I set the prize,
            Still naught but tears fell from her eyes.

            Her weakness and fever increased,
            The apples brought her no pleasure;
            From pain she could not be released,
            She could not enjoy her treasure.
            Ten days passed by and she improved,
            So much that I left her alone;
            I thought her from danger removed,
            If only... If then I had known...
            To work I went, my shop to keep,
            Thinking all at home was now well;
            In retrospect I'm made to weep -
            At what was to lead me to hell.

            In keeping with the custom here
            I longed for noontime to draw near.

            At midday I a rest did take,
            A great ugly vile slave saw I;
            I soon made the gravest mistake,
            For which I now deserve to die.
            For what transpired led me to stand
            Before thee, my lord, in shame;
            Doomed to eternity's dark land,
            Having soiled my father's good name.
            (If only I'd stayed with my wife,
            If only I'd waited one day...
            I would not have taken her life:
            I'd not now have to go away…)

            I saw an apple in his hand,
            And how I did misunderstand.

            "O slave, O slave, lend me your ear,
            Tell me, what is it that you hold?
            Fear not, O slave, draw near, draw near:
            Stand forth and answer me, be bold."
            He laughed and said, "Behold, this prize,
            My lord, I took from my mistress;
            For me she held this grand surprise,
            Though she was ill, in much distress.
            She said her husband bought this treat
            Down in Bossorah for much gold;
            With her I then did drink and eat...
            And now, lord, my story is told."

            My anger I could not assuage,
            Her life I then sought in my rage.

            To her bedside I straightly went,
            And on the table my gaze fell;
            There I was filled with resentment:
            I resolved to send her to hell.
            "O wife," said I, "There are but two
            Remaining of the apples three.
            Pray tell me, dear, what did you do
            With the other one I brought thee?"
            "I wot not, husband, where 'tis gone:
            When last I saw it 'twas right there."
            I knew, right then, what must be done,
            And I did it without a care.

            The tale that slave had given me
            Sealed her fate for eternity.

            Without a word, without a sound,
            I slit her throat, removed her head.
            In her dress and a carpet bound
            I her remains; there she lay dead.
            Into a chest I placed the bag
            And took it unto the river;
            To the shore the chest I did drag,
            (Grant mercy O Great Life-Giver.)
            Back home I then sought to return
            And to home I pressed on my way.
            And, oh, the lesson I then learned:
            By Allah! Cursed be that day!

            For tears filled my eldest sons eyes,
            Though my sin he'd not realized.

            I said, "My boy, what makes thee weep?
            What meaneth these tears you now cry?"
            "Oh, father, when mother did sleep
            Those three apples I did espy.
            Temptation came and I gave in
            And shamefully one apple took;
            To explain - I cannot begin,
            I fear on her face now to look.
            I went with my brethren to play
            And a great ugly slave drew near;
            He wanted to take far away
            The apple that mommy held dear.

            He took the apple from my hand,
            And asked, that he might understand:

            "Whence hadst thou this?" he asked me;
            I explained that mommy was frail,
            I told him of your long journey:
            I told him of ev'ry detail.
            And then he knocked me to the ground,
            And though oft with him I did plead
            None to help me was to be found
            So off went the slave with great speed.
            O father, please, tell not this tale
            To mother who's suffering so...
            In her condition, sick and frail,
            Please don't let my poor mother know.

            'Twas then I came to know my sin,
            The vilest deed e'er done by men.

            'Twas all, my lord, a grave mistake,
            Oh, that I could go back again;
            Oh, that my dear wife could awake…
            There is no relief for my pain!
            I thought she lied, I thought, I thought...
            I believed unfaithful she'd been;
            Thus lawfully her life I sought,
            If only that slave's lie I'd seen.
            There is nothing to justify
            The great guilt I will always bear,
            'Tis only right that I should die
            And with my wife death's darkness share.

            This, Master, is the truth I tell;
            Now send my weary soul to hell.

            The Caliph marveled at these words,
            "By Allah, the youth's not to blame;
            This order I give to all lords:
            Tell to me the guilty slave's name.
            His lying caused this lass to die,
            And with his own life he shall pay;
            And, so, by my throne now swear I:
            He will hang here on the third day!
            If ill betide thee through thy slave,
            Make him forthright thy sacrifice:
            A many serviles thou shalt find,
            But life comes once and never twice."

            H. L. Gradowith

            8-23-2000

            **********************************************************************

            NOTE:  The story in its original form goes on, and it is interesting - but
            we must stop it here.  The final four lines of the narrative as I have
            given it appear in the story itself, and seem to be an ancient Arab
            parable.  That is why they differ from the others (in that the third line
            of the verse has no counterpart in rhyme).  For the record, the owner of
            the slave whose lie 'caused' the death of the woman, Jafar (Disney Movie
            fans will know him), gets the slave off!  The entire story is based on
            pages 186-194 of  TALES FROM THE ARABIAN NIGHTS, Selected from THE BOOK OF
            THE THOUSAND NIGHTS AND A NIGHT, Translated and Annotated by Richard F.
            Burton.  Crown Publishers, Inc.  Portland House, a division of Random
            House Value Publishing, Inc.  ISBN 0-517-20972.

..........My Steps Direct..........

            When my faith is growing weak,
            When for greater strength I seek:
            To His holy word I turn,
            Of the Savior there I learn.
                 Teach me Lord, my steps direct;
                 Help me Lord, defend, protect.

            When I'm feeling all alone,
            And my heart begins to moan:
            To the Lord I turn in prayer,
            All my troubles He will share.
                 Teach me Lord, my steps direct;
                 Help me Lord, defend, protect.

            When my eye fills with a tear
            At the loss of someone dear,
            Life below for them is through:
            God, I pray, please see me through...
                 Teach me Lord, my steps direct;
                 Help me Lord, defend, protect.

            Keep my heart, help me each day
            To pursue the heavn'ly way:
            Keep me in Thy wondrous love,
            'Til I'm safe in heav'n above.
                 Teach me Lord, my steps direct;
                 Help me Lord, defend, protect.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            8-28-2000

..........Pray For Me..........

            When I fail to pursue the right way,
                 Pray for me, pray for me;
            When I'm tossed to and fro in the fray,
                 Pray for me, pray for me.

            When you think my faith is growing weak,
                 Pray for me, pray for me;
            When the Lord's Way I no longer seek,
                 Pray for me, pray for me.

            When you see my heart filling with hate,
                 Pray for me, pray for me;
            Please don't wait until it is too late,
                 Pray for me, pray for me.

            When I answer you harshly, my friend,
                 Pray for me, pray for me;
            Ask God to help me my ways to mend,
                 Pray for me, pray for me.

            We all need the Saviors' direction,
                 Pray for me, pray for me;
            From Satan's darts we need protection,
                 Pray for me, pray for me.

            So until I put off this body,
                 Pray for me, pray for me;
            Till in Heaven at last I'm set free:
                 Pray for me, pray for me.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            8-28-2000

..........Friend, Please Know..........

            I may not be the greatest man
            You'll ever meet in this low land,
                 But friend, please know,
                 As on you go,
            I'm doing the best that I can.

            I'm often weak, oft bowed with care,
            Needing someone my load to share;
                 But friend, please know,
                 As on you go,
            If you need a hand, I'll be there.

            I may lose faith in other men
            As they pursue their paths of sin;
                 But friend, please know,
                 As on you go,
            No bond's as strong as ours has been.

            So much has happened through the years,
            We've shared great joy and bitter tears;
                 But friend, please know,
                 As on you go,
            My thoughts of you earse the fears.

            So stand by me, let come what may,
            Side by side we will face each day;
                 Then friend, you'll know,
                 As on you go,
            True friendship never goes away.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            08-28-2000

..........Worth It All..........

            I often stumble 'neath the load
                 Of my burdens here;
            And often veer from Heaven's road:
                 Sin is ever near.
            But I'm going to a city
                 That is free from care;
            In a land so fair and pretty:
                 That far off "somewhere".
            In heaven no heartaches I'll know,
                 Only joy and peace;
            And, Oh, how my heart longs to go!
                 How it seeks release!
            "For me to live is Christ," said Paul,
                 "And to die is gain."
            The struggles of this world are small
                 Compared to His pain.
            And so I press on t'word the mark,
                 For the lovely prize;
            Walking no longer in the dark...
                 Heaven lights my eyes.
            And when my burdens press me sore,
                 And I nearly fall,
            I think of that beautiful shore:
                 Heaven's worth it all!

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            8-28-2000

..........Three Scenes..........

            1. Never man spake like this before!
            Other men leave us wanting more,
            He speaks the word and we know it is true;
            Preachers may come and they may go
            In this life we have here below,
            Trust Him and obey:  There's no more to do.

            2. "Rabbi, we know thou art a man
            Come from God, for no one else can
            Work the mighty miracles that you work;"
            "Of water and the Spirit be
            Born again, then come, follow me:
            Be mindful here your duty not to shirk."

            3. "Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy?
            And on Thy love and grace rely?
            For thee we in life did many great deeds!
            We heard Thee, and Thy word believed,
            And thought salvation we received;
            We thought ourselves to be sowing good seeds."

            "Depart from me, depart - be gone:
            You had a chance, but now 'tis done;
            The door of mercy closed when your life passed.
            Many times I begged and pleaded
            To give you just what you needed,
            In the lake of fire now you must be cast..."

            **********

            Friend, do not delay
            Put not off today
            The Savior's precious love;
            The Savior now calls
            So ere the night falls
            Prepare to live above!

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            9-5-2000

..........Walk With Me..........

            I cannot carry this burden alone,
                 I'm just not that strong;
            Please help me endure, see me safely home:
                 Don't let me go wrong.

            Sometimes I need help, I need direction,
                 Lest I lose my way;
            And sometimes I need a friend's protection
                 From life's awful fray.

            Just someone to listen, to lend an ear,
                 When I need a friend;
            Someone who will be with me -- ever near,
                 'Til my troubles end.

            I need someone who will hold up my arms,
                 And help me endure;
            Someone who will help o'ercome sin's charms:
                 Help me to be pure!

            Would you be that friend who'll stay by my side,
                 Come whatever may?
            Someone by whom I'll never be denied?
                 Won't you with me stay?

            I cannot assure you an easy road,
                 If my friend you'll be;
            But if, someday, you need help with your load,
                 You can count on me.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            09-05-2000

..........A Moment Of Peace..........

            Where can you find a moment of peace
                 As in this world you dwell?
            To whom may you turn, seeking release,
                 From this, your self-made hell?

            Who but the Savior has what you need?
                 Who loves you like the Lord?
            Come to Him and be from your sins freed:
                 He is the Living Word!

            He knows your troubles, He understands,
                 He'll see you safely through;
            You'll find, in this world, no safer hands,
                 To help and comfort you.

            So, if you're seeking relief from sin,
                 If help and hope you need;
            Come to the Lord, the new life begin:
                 And be from all sin freed!

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            8-30-2000

..........Mother..........

            Of all sad occasions on which we think
            None breaks the heart like the death of Mother;
            Thinking of this makes our countenance sink:
            None can compare, there can be no other.

            The long, dark nights when she sat by our side
            Holding our small hands and drying our tears;
            Her true devotion could not be denied:
            No one, like Mother, could calm all our fears.

            When we were sad, our best friends gone away,
            Mother was there, we knew she understood;
            She was the sunshine that lit up the day:
            No one could help us the way Mother could.

            She shared our sorrows, our heartaches and grief,
            Not once did she ever leave us alone;
            Just think of the times she brought us relief:
            A sweeter lady I have never known.

            It hurt her to scold us, it brought her great pain,
            Still, sometimes we did what wasn't allowed;
            She gave so much that success we might gain:
            When we succeeded how it made her proud.

            I think of her love and of how she cared,
            When we were with her our lives were carefree;
            I think of the good times that we all shared:
            And I thank God that He gave her to me!

            When we learned of her illness... how we cried,
            Confused and bewildered, the worst we feared;
            How could we ever without her abide?
            We prayed and we prayed; but still, the end neared.

            We saw her struggle the sickness to fight,
            We knew she was nearing the end of day;
            And now has descended the cold, dark night:
            We have no Mother to chase it away.

            Oh, to return to those innocent days,
            But, alas, we cannot; for they are gone;
            As on her face for the last time we gaze:
            Dear God, please help us as we struggle on.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            09-15-2000

            In memory of a friend whose mother passed away 09-14-2000.  Tim
 

..........Where Would I Be..........

            Where would I be without Jesus?
            Whatever could I hope to gain?
            No other like Him can free us:
            All other pursuits are in vain.

            In the beginning was the Word,
            All that now is was by Him made;
            Sheltered in the arms of my Lord
            I have no need to be afraid!

            He upholds all by His power,
            His eyes watch o'er all that we do;
            He's with me every hour:
            And He will see me safely through.

            "I'll never leave nor forsake thee"
            What comfort to know He is near!
            Satan cannot overtake me:
            Jesus dispells every fear.

            When in the great judgment morning
            Before Him my life is laid bare;
            A white robe I'll be adorning,
            In His glory I then will share.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            09-20-2000

            NEW BOOK:  For any interested, H. L. Gradowith has his first real book.
            It is called:  THE POETRY OF H. L. GRADOWITH Presented by Tim Smith, and
            is available for $6.00 per copy (plus $3.00 shipping).  Order from:  Tim
            Smith
                         1272 Enon Road
                         Webb, AL 36376
            or email your request to [email protected]

..........But For One Reason..........

            We are here but for one reason, you see,
                 To point all men to the Light;
            In Christ we are saved - from sin set free,
                 Now we must fight the good fight.
            If faithful to Him - in Heaven we'll be:
                 He'll help us do what is right.

            In the shadow of the cross we will hide,
                 Not seeking fortune and fame;
            By the standard of the word we'll abide,
                 Acting only in His name;
            Knowing He will ever be by our side,
                 Ev'ry temptation to tame.

            It's only in turning from Him in sin
                 That men risk missing that shore;
            We turn to Him when temptations begin -
                 Closing to them our hearts' door;
            Someday to us He will say, "Enter in,"
                 Then sin we will know no more.

            This message, the Gospel, He came to preach,
                 For it He suffered and died;
            And, preacher, if you would the lost souls reach,
                 In this pure Gospel abide;
            If some other message to them we teach:
                 In judgment they'll be denied.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            08-30-2000

            NOTE:  As for the last paragraph, if we preach some other message to them
            "they'll" not be the only ones denied...

            SPECIAL OFFER:  THE POETRY OF H. L. GRADOWITH PRESENTED BY TIM SMITH, a
            new book, is now available for $6.00 per copy.  Shipping for mailed orders
            is $3.00.  Visit http://www.geocities.com/gradowith/index.html for more
            information.  Thanks.  Tim Smith

..........Once More..........

            From out the past a mem'ry flies
            And brings to these poor tear-filled eyes
            A small hint of what used to be,
            Before the cares of life to me
            A master hard and sore became
            Far greater than my strength can tame.
            It bids me think of simpler days,
            Long hidden by the present haze
            That clouds the mind, obscures the sight,
            And leaves us searching through the night.
            So helpless, hopeless, out of sight
            Are peace and rest in this dark night.

            Oh! to return to that lost land,
            With loved ones there once more to stand.
            The feelings that this mem'ry brings --
            The thoughts to which my poor heart clings --
            So clearly I see the faces,
            So clearly I see the places,
            For a moment my fears are gone,
            I feel that I am not alone --
            But then the mem'ry flies once more
            To whence it came, that distant shore;
            And now the master rules once more:
            Come to me mem'ry, fly once more.

            ..........H. L. Gradowith..........

            09-30-2000

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