A Still, Small Voice

Based on I Kings 19:11-18

The wind swooped down on aching wings,
Spreading forth its ageless fears,
Grasping rocks as one who clings
To hopeless dreams of bygone years;
    Anguished, screaming wind…
    But God was not in the wind.

And then an angry, swelling roar;
The Earth was trembling, raging
Like a stallion who no more
Can call the winds and take them racing;
    I felt my strength begin to shake,
    But God was not in the earthquake.

A fire next, burning hot,
Strong and proud as one who claims
To know each person’s hope and lot,
Spitting out its stubborn flames,
    Reaching up, higher and higher…
    But God was not in the fire.

And then a still, small voice;
“What doest thou here?” “I, Lord…”
“No, Elijah” (still a gentle voice!)
“I; I have kept my faithful word,
    Not by might, nor by power,
    But by My Spirit”. That is power!

Oh, Lord! How often do we scream,
And strain, and burn with human power;
Our lives, at times, would scarcely seem
To be depending on Thy power.
    Teach us, Lord, to cease our noise,
    And hear thy still and gentle voice.

© W. J. Watterson — 08/94

Grandma

A little poem written when Grandma Maxwell died, over twenty four years ago.


Oh Lord, how happy Thou must be
To have her now so close to Thee;
To see her bow before Thy throne
And give Thee fruits of all she’s sown.

Oh Lord, how happy she must be
To know Thee in Thy majesty,
To praise Thy name with rapturous song,
A special voice amidst that throng.

Oh Lord, how happy we should be
To see her leave, but not to flee;
We know she’s waiting for that day
When Thou shalt bring us home to stay.

Oh Lord, how happy then we’ll be,
United with herself and Thee;
We long to praise Thy name so blest,
And join her in her blissful rest.

(19/12/88)