Tuesday, September 8, 2009
We take with our first breath, a brush,
Straight from the Master’s Hand,
And while our mothers cuddle and hush
And heed our each demand,
The first soft strokes are dabbed upon
This canvas large and bare,
And none but the most Awesome One
Will know what’s painted there.
Some will have splashes of laughter and light,
Some will have clouds filled with rain.
Some colors will be brilliant and bright
While some will be muted with pain,
Some will have blends of shadow with sun,
And reach for the mountain top,
Some will have barely begun,
And the Master their brush will stop.
Some faces we paint white or black,
And some are in between,
Some hills are barren, gray and dark,
While some are lush and green,
Some have seasons, warm and bright,
And some are cold and bare,
Some canvas is mostly black or white,
But the Master’s hand is there.
Some painters seem in such a rush,
While some will dilly-dally,
From glorious heights, some gaily brush,
While some stay in the valley,
But on each canvas, tone on tone,
There is sorrow mingled with song,
And blends of rainbow with sullen stone
Will touch the weak and strong!
Some artists travel far and wide,
While others stay at home,
Some will paint when the laughter has died,
And some with mirth and song,
But then, one day the brush will still,
The painter’s hand will cease,
And only then, will the Lord reveal,
His perfect masterpiece!
All Rights Reserved Sept. 2009
Your love, O Lord, endures forever,
Do not abandon the works of Your hands.Ps. 138:8