When reading these inspirational poems you should feel encouragement,
hope, and see reflections of God in the poetry. They should be uplifting and
and enable you to focus on the positive aspects of life.
You may also enjoy our collection of Motivational Poems or
You can view our full poetry collection at:
Busy, Busy Me
Poet: Greta Zwaan, ©2018
My life is filled with service for family, church and friends,
The needs seem overwhelming, it simply never ends.
One friend is terribly lonely, and no one seems to care,
I try to see her often; her life seems dull and bare.
My other friend is crying, she's struggling with her grief,
I listen to her story, which helps to bring relief.
My neighbour's arm was broken when she fell in her yard,
And even doing dishes, she finds so very hard.
I'm glad that I am healthy, there's things that I can do,
To make their burden lighter, to help to get them through.
But then an illness hits me, and suddenly I am down,
I fret and stew and worry, I just can't get around.
But these folks need attention, I've got to help them through!
Then comes the quiet whisper, "I can do that for you."
"My dear, you're very busy, you're running at full speed,
But you don't seem to notice your own most private need.
Your time with Me is shortened; at best I get a glance;
You read the Word I wrote you, just when you get a chance.
It's time for a refresher, it's time for a review,
Your busy life is altered; now I take care of you."
So quickly I remember, it's God I set aside;
I scatter crumbs of mercy, but God's Word is denied.
The time I need for gathering the gems it has in store,
My engine needs refueling before I tackle more.
God has not caused this illness; I know His hands can heal,
Yet on my bed of sickness, I know my needs were real.
A need that I be quiet and listen to Him speak,
His presence is more precious than good deeds that I seek.
Poet: Greta Zwaan, ©2017
When you see me don't be alarmed, I'm not a finished project;
A work in making, just begun, no longer known as reject.
Many changes must be made, many plans to alter
Efforts to reclaim the mold, are bound to often falter.
Restoration will take time, the work God's undertaken,
The mighty Master of the clay will not leave me forsaken.
I'm pliable and need to learn, my spirit must be willing,
God will not force His choice on me, He's lovingly instilling,
New thoughts to form within my heart, ideas that will inspire,
To make me more like His dear Son and give me that desire.
That all my plans fit to His will as each day dawns before me,
I find the guidance in His Word in case sin should allure me.
My safety lies within His love, my heart within His will;
I need to listen to His voice, He's whispering, "Peace, be still".
Tell Me Lord
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2017
Lord, am I obeying you as I should?
Am I cutting corners to do as I would?
Do I interpret Your law my way?
Do I ask You questions? Do I stop to pray?
When I think I'm doing what You request
Do I bend Your plans to suit me best?
Is it my schedule that sets my goals,
Do I run ahead of You, searching for souls?
I want to follow the guidelines You set ,
I want to please You, to serve You, and yet
I feel I'm short changing Your perfect plan;
perhaps I'm too hasty to reach out to man.
I want to consult You, to be in Your will
But sometimes I wonder, did You say "Be still"?
I do need Your guidance, I can't run ahead,
Teach me to follow, to hear You instead.
Give me Your patience so that I will know,
You'll plainly tell me just where I should go.
Love Thy Neighbour
Poet: Eldred Herbert
Let us strive to serve the Master,
And to judge not any soul,
Let us toil a little faster,
Get our lives within control.
Speak no evil of your neighbour,
Though you find this sometimes hard;
You will find the world more sunny,
When you clean your own backyard.
The Lord knows we are not that perfect,
He forgives us for our flaws,
So let's strive a little harder,
To live up to all His laws.
Let us help the erring neighbour,
Be forever on your guard,
And the folks will find you nicer,
When you clean your own backyard.
Keep your tongue from speaking evil,
Others faults - tell not a soul;
Crush down rumors ere you hear them,
Help to make the sinner whole.
We should strive to help our neighbour,
Their good works, do not retard;
Be not idle, be quite busy,
Cleaning up your own backyard.
When you have your yard in order,
Sow some seeds of peace and love
In rich loam, where they'll be rooted,
And all evil growth remove.
As you strive to please the Master,
You'll receive a great reward;
You will find life has a purpose,
When you clean your own backyard.
Only a little dewdrop
Sparkling in the morning sun;
But it just reflected heaven,
And it blessed the heart of one.
Only a tiny sunbeam
Shining for a little while;
But it filled the heart of sadness,
And it brought a sudden smile.
Only a little rosebud
Drooping low its fragrant head;
But it cheered the little sick girl
Lying in her little bed.
Only a note of music
Ringing through the gloomy wood;
But it reached a weary wand'rer
And it did a world of good.
Only a word said kindly,
Falling on a wounded heart;
But it brought a rich, sweet blessing,
And did healing balm impart.
Only a tiny token
From a heart that's filled with love;
Give it, asking God's own blessing;
The effects you'll see above.
Poet: John McLeod, © 1982
Reach out to warm another with your love
Sow seeds for His garden far above
Will flower in wonderous colours, swiftly grow
Reflecting caring shown by you below.
Reach out to lend your healing light to those
Who may not see the beauty of the rose
And know its scent, who burdened down with care
And illness, may have little time to spare.
Reach out, just as He did, our Father's son
Recall: "I and the Father God are one"
Thus when you give the angels loud applaud,
Reach out your love, the gentle hand of God!
Do Your Best
Do your best and be not troubled,
Should some others better do;
If your work should fail to please you
Don't give up, but strive anew.
Do your best, for slighted labor
Ne'er can satisfaction bring;
Do it quickly, time is passing,
You must seize it on the wing.
Many duties lie before you,
Trials oft your strength shall test;
But you need not fret or worry,
If you only do your best.
Do your best, get not disheartened;
Though the task seem hard and long,
God is ever near to help you;
He can make the weakest strong.
Tell Him of the work accomplished,
Ask His help to do the rest;
He can smooth the path before you,
If you only do your best.
I Met God
Poet: Ralph S. Cushman
I met God in the storm
Where He found me all forlorn;
And He put His arm around me,
And I thank Him for the storm.
I met God in the dark,
Where I wandered stiff and stark;
And He caught my hand to guide me.
And I thank Him for the dark.
I met God in defeat,
Where He followed my retreat,
With a vision of new conquest;
Now I'm glad of the defeat.
I met God by the grave,
WhereI braced me to be brave,
But I failed, and then He caught me;
Yes, I thank Him for that grave.
I shall meet God when the night
overwhelms my flickering light;
Then He'll lead me to the morning,
Far away from cloud and storming,
Where, I'll praise Him for the night.
Pass It On
If you hear a kind word spoken
Of some worthy soul you know,
It may fill his heart with sunshine
If you'd only tell him so.
If a deed, however humble,
helps you on your way to go,
Seek the one whose hand has helped you.
Seek him out and tell him so.
If your heart is touched and tender
Towards sinner, lost and low,
It might help him to do better
If you could only tell him so.
Oh, my sisters, oh, my brothers,
As o'er life's rough path you go,
If God's love has saved and kept you,
Do not fail to tell men so.
The Point Of View
Poet: Frances Crosby Hamlet
In a great quarry, once I chanced upon
Three workmen, chiseling each his slab of stone.
Monotonous task, confining, dusty, slow!
And while I gazed, something I longed to know.
"What do you there?" I asked one quietly,
"I shape these blocks," he answered literally.
His neighbor stared, as my request was made.
"Why - thus I earn my living; 'tis my trade."
Somewhat apart, the third man plied his tool -
Skilled, flawless touches, taught in no swift school.
"What do you do, friend?" Though easily I guessed
He was an artist, artisans the rest.
One keen stroke more. He paused, then raised his head.
"I build cathedrals, sir!" he proudly said.
To the Humble
Poet Edgar A Guest
If all the flowers were roses,
If never daisies grew,
If no old-fashioned posies
Drank in the morning dew,
Then man might have some reason
To whimper and complain,
And speak these words of treason,
That all our toil is vain.
If all the stars were Saturns
That twinkle in the night,
Of equal size and patterns,
And equally as bright,
Then men in humble places,
With humble work to do,
With frowns upon their faces
Might trudge their journey through.
But humble stars and posies
Still do their best, although
They're planets not, nor roses,
To cheer the world below.
And those old-fashioned daisies
Delight the soul of man;
They're here, and this their praise is:
They work the Master's plan.
Though humble be your labor,
And modest be your sphere,
Come, envy not your neighbor
Whose light shines brighter here.
Does God forget the daisies
Because the roses bloom?
Shall you not win His praises
By toiling at your loom?
Have you, the toiler humble,
Just reason to complain,
To shirk your task and grumble
And think that it is vain
Because you see a brother
With greater work to do?
No fame of his can smother
The merit that's in you.