To make a poem less than my best

Would be, like, robbing God.

This gift He gave me not my own

To you, I can afford.



The imperfections I cannot blame

On Him.  They are my own!

Too much of self gets in the way,

They are my mistakes alone.



As a minister, my smiles were scarce,

As if I could not show joy,

My poetry now is so much so

But words are hard to employ.



The joy that I feel deep inside

That incites these words I pen,

As though He were my very own

A love hard to comprehend!



Where does this love for Him come from?

I think of Him, tears fall!

Remembering a time I stood far off,

With a sort of fear, that is all!



So what is it now?  There was a change,

Of course, saved log ago,

But I did not know Him as I do now!

We do not stay small we grow!



Growth it is!  He is my personal friend!

When dying, He died for me!

Cannot wait to kneel at His feet above

Smile on His face I will see!



As a pastor, I preached for many years.

These are my sermons now,

To let these thoughts die in my heart

No way!  Cannot allow!



The love that I feel so hard to express,

Tears of joy you cannot see!

When I think of the true reality there

Yes!  Joy enough there for me!



Yes, I will meet you I the morning over there.



Sam Cox 5.31.05

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s