Alone I weep, and lost, in hurt and pain.
My dreams seem shattered; mind's lamp flickers low.
I blame myself, but how am I to blame?
No grand design to build, nowhere to go.
The world turns its uncaring eye away.
I live or die: 'twill not be written much;
And as the sleepless night brings troubled day,
I long for crumbs of comfort, human touch.
Yet soon is Easter, and my thoughts now turn
To One Who, palm-applauded, still rode on:
His face set flint, as all His love did burn:
A cross awaiting, for God's only Son.
And as my tears descend, as winter rain,
I know Love lives, and I shall love again.

David John, Oxford, England.


As waves crash into foam upon earth's shores,
And all their driving force dissolves in peace,
So do my self-driv'n prides meet Your Resource,
Which bids their angry heaving surges cease;
And broken to a humbler, kinder form,
Which seeks to wash more gently, tired feet;
So does my life regain its long-lost norm,
With cooling balm Your patient Shores to greet;
And so Your Love receives me, drinks me in,
And all my life is peaceful, loving flow,
And to the deepest Ocean I am kin,
Whence I once came: whither I soon shall go;
But had I ne'er found peace upon Your Shore,
Had roamed my angry billows evermore.

David John, Oxford, England.


In all my musings, this I did not grasp,
That he who thinks he knows, knows not at all,
And he who would the hand of princes clasp,
Must first from his own pomp and kingdom fall;
And then, with head bowed low, must bring his gift
To One Small Child Whose home is not His own,
And that weak Babe alone, his spirit lift,
Till all his earthly wealth he does disown;
And then, discredited, and knowing nought,
'Tis all his credit that he this does know;
And selling all, this one great pearl has bought -
Yet, true, was given, when head and heart bowed low.
So in his loss, he everything shall gain;
No more security to know, but LOVE'S blest chain.

David John, Oxford, England.


He weeps, as to this cold, hard world He comes,
Deep in His own creation, Child Divine.
From Paradise, amid the shining ones,
God's Son leaves Love's eternity for time.
He sighs as, sweetly, Mary's gaze He meets,
And lies all helpless, cradled in her care,
And knows the bitter, mingled with the sweet,
As sense assails Him in the cold night air.
He sleeps serene, as shepherds kneel silent;
The stars still shine for Him, Who lit their flame.
God dwells in Man: Supreme become servant,
Yet all shall know the power of His Name.
Those tiny hands hold hope in their embrace,
That smile lights all the world with heavenly grace.

David John, Oxford, England.


In passing through the night, I now have come
To where Love's child is born, in stable home;
I shall adore Him, for that fair, frail frame
Shall take my punishment one day - yea - this earth's blame.
When I have brought my gift, I shall depart,
Yet carry that sweet child within my heart,
On out into the night of doubt and sin;
Yet one bright star shall shine undimmed therein:
'Tis that which guides me on my pilgrim way,
To endless vistas of eternal day;
Its beams are as a crown beyond a cross,
To which I'll fix my gaze, through gain and loss,
For that fair child is born, and I rejoice!
His love, His cross, His crown, shall be my choice.

David John, Oxford, England.


If you could see beyond your weeping tears,
To where the sunshine sparkles once again,
Then would those drops of pain be free from fears,
And you'd recall that gardens need the rain.
If you could see beyond despair and sorrow,
To where the veil is lifted, mercy flows,
Then would today be blessed by faith's tomorrow,
And thorns be valued for tomorrow's rose.
For tears can give love's rainbow many hues,
But life's sun burns if taken to excess;
God's kind wisdom often forbids us choose,
Lest we seek sun before the rain can bless;
And were no tears, no rainbow could unfold;
No journey's end reward: no crock of gold.

David John, Oxford, England.


And in thy tears, shall no more be thy loss,
But thy release! gentle as summer rain;
For God, thy God, transfixed upon the Cross,
Shedding Heaven's tears, brings thee to life again!
Take heart! Thou shalt no longer cry in shame,
Thy heart's soft diamonds shall adorn thy face:
Each full of love, releasing all the blame,
For He Who wept for thee, died in thy place.
Think then on Him, the One and Only God,
Who, scorned and taunted, bent beneath that Tree:
To save one lost, the 'Dolorosa' trod:
'Twas THEE; 'twas Love, His pain thy soul to free.
Those salt tears, from Love's deepest Ocean poured,
Thine bless, for HE'S ALIVE, and HE IS LORD!

David John, Oxford, England.


Imprisoned fast I lay: long years of pain;
Yet hope and joy live still: they will not die.
Was I, or was I not, the one to blame?
There is no answer, even from on High.
But One once stood alone, in Pilate's hall.
Blameless, He faced the stubborn crowd: condemned.
Yet as, for me, He drank the bitter gall,
His love covered my sins, and called me friend.
And day by day, that love's the golden key
Which unlocks cells of pain, dungeons of fear,
And shines with joy, as prisoners are set free,
Their chains shattered, as His Word they hear.
For Easter brings New Life: 'twill NEVER die,
And Love Himself is all the reason why!

David John, Oxford, England.


As I approached the death-cold river's edge,
I saw my way needs lie through that deep stream;
But then recalled I my sweet Lord's true pledge,
And saw, beyond, His Golden City's gleam.
Aside the near bank, one Man stood alone,
And as I looked, He seemed in agony;
I asked if He was bound for Heaven's Home,
He gently took my hand and, "Come," said He.
We plunged into the water's icy flow,
And I thought all was lost, as I went down;
But then I heard His gentle voice: "Let's go!
All's well. This way by Me is all well known."
He guided me right through to Heaven's rest,
And, smiling, said, "Well done, Dave, you're the best!"

David John, Oxford, England.


Delighted bark, and ears aloft with joy!
Each sense so highly sensing its delight;
Tail whirring round, and expectation high,
A little whine, and soft brown eyes alight;
Creation all unique in sable fur,
An innocence unsullied by the Fall;
Surpassed by man, yet somehow lovelier,
At one with Nature, loved, and loving all;
And now that nose pushed close against my hand,
A lick, a pat, then rushing full of glee,
As if our welcome long ago was planned
By One Who made this friend so specially;
And how could friend be so from malice free,
Unless God made him for eternity?

Rest in peace, Ross.
David John, Oxford, England.