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The Pervading Presence
The summer gleams in meadow, stream, and hill
Beneath the warming sun of mid-July;
No sudden sound disturbs the landscape still,
Which, sleeping, lies beneath the azure sky.
Here crickets chirping set an easy pace
For clouds to climb and burbling brooks to flow.
Here hearts, set free from life’s frenetic race,
May beat at nature’s rate, sedate and slow.
Here burdened breasts may relish sweet release
From cares that vanish in the evening air
As every sigh instills a sense of peace,
Of God’s pervading presence everywhere.
Oh, Lord, who made this lovely world so green,
Who stretched the starry heavens out in space,
I thank you for this soul-refreshing scene,
For bringing me to this idyllic place!
The skeptics with their instruments may scoff,
And say, “What can’t be measured can’t exist.”
“God’s but a myth enlightened men write off,
A bubble burst by science,” they insist.
I hear them well, but then, I look around,
And listen closely with my ears and heart,
And hear, within the gentle wind’s soft sound
The voice of God, and baseless doubts depart.
That voice, which echoes in the heavens above,
Speaks on the earth, most clearly, from a tree
Where one man’s whispers of redeeming love
Prove that God is, and that He’s there for me!
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The Old Man’s Lament
I tell you, my son, it’s no fun growing old!
For daylight grows dim, and the nights grow more cold
When winter descends at the close of life’s day,
And Charon’s boat beckons, to bear you away.
The twittering birds and the blossoming flowers
As springtime arrives with her lush, leafy bowers,
The melting of snow as the green fields appear
To switch winter’s white for bright colors that cheer,
Instill painful thoughts of those long-vanished days,
As fresh and as fleeting as dawn’s rising haze,
When litheness of limb and a vigorous frame
Propelled one through life like an arrow aflame.
The same fire that warmed us then kept from our sight
The ills that must follow as day turns to night,
When bonfires go out and their ashes grow cold—
For all that’s ablaze now with life must grow old.
When summer suns shine to dry up with their rays
The marsh and the meadow through long, scorching days
To sap men of strength and suck dry the green earth,
Extinguishing merriment, verdure, and mirth,
Then aged hearts grieve to behold such a scene
And know all must wither that once flourished green,
For time, like the summer sun shining on high,
Beats down on the fragile blade, destined to die.
Yes, time, with his scythe will at last cut us down,
To make room for fresh blades who’ve just come to town,
Who, likewise, will have their short day, and then pass
Away, trampled down, like the brown, withered grass.
That brings us to fall, a most beautiful season,
Yet one tinged with sadness, and here is the reason:
Its cascading leaves speak of blessings we’ve had,
Now gone with the wind, and that thought makes us sad.
We see the leaves fall, at our feet swirling past,
And know that here nothing that’s lovely can last,
No temporal blessing of spring, summer, fall,
Can stay with us always, for time changes all.
But in the late winter of life, one discerns
That, deep in the spirit, undying life burns;
It glows in the soul of all those who know God,
Who know that, when they must return the sod,
The spirit God gave them will fly to His side,
Redeemed from all vanity, vices, and pride,
To dwell evermore with their eternal Lord,
Who drew them in time to Himself by love’s cord.
As heirs of a life that will never depart,
When dust turns to dust, they’ll remain in His heart.
Their spirits will rest till that glorious day
He banishes death and sends sorrows away.
The losses of life have a lesson to teach,
So hear me, my son, as true wisdom I preach:
Don’t seek here below the chief goal of your being,
For soon all will disappear—all that you’re seeing!
The achingly beautiful blessings of earth,
Point to greater blessings of far greater worth,
Which never can fade away, wither, and die,
Rich blessings in Christ stored for us up on high.
That’s why we are solemnly told in God’s book,
To call Him to mind in our youth, and to look
For greater delights than this world has to offer,
Despised and denied by the skeptic and scoffer.
Yet those taught by God find in this, consolation:
That Christ has secured their eternal salvation
And vows to bring poor dying creatures of dust
At last to His kingdom, the realm of the just.
His promise is sure in this world full of change,
Where death and decay rule, and life seems so strange;
For all mortal men who by faith hold Him fast
Will find themselves in Jesus’ presence at last!
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Martin Rizley grew up in Oklahoma and in Texas, and has served in pastoral ministry both in the United States and in Europe. He is currently serving as the pastor of a small evangelical church in the city of Málaga on the southern coast of Spain, where he lives with his wife and daughter.
Martin, these are two brilliant theological eschatological poems that reverberate and are sermons themselves of surpassing worth. Even a scientist and atheist would be taken with your beautifully phrased poems–if they felt anything in their skeptical soul. I could never praise these poems enough.
I should add your allusion to the “tree” in the last verse of the first poem I took to be the “cross.”
Thank you so much for your feedback, Roy. The first poem was actually written as the fruit of several conversations I had with a friend who is both a scientist and a professed atheist. I read the poem to him and he did in fact like it! Thanksfor your feedback, Roy.
The descriptions and meter and meaningful thoughts make these poems to be so lovely.
Thank you, Margaret, for your feedback!
While it’s still July, Martin, let me express my appreciation for “The Pervading Presence.” Lately I’ve been moving more “at nature’s rate, sedate and slow.” I continue to hear the skeptics scoff, but you are right that the voice of God, spoken in many ways, makes “baseless doubts depart.” And your final stanza, on the clearest manner of God’s speaking, resounds splendidly.
Thank you so much, Margaret, for your appreciative comments.