The Maker of the Universe
As man for man was made a curse;
The claims of laws which He had made,
Unto the uttermost He paid.
His holy fingers made the bough
Which grew the thorns that crowned His brow.
The nails that pierced his hands were mined
In secret places He designed;
He made the forests whence there sprung
The tree on which His body hung.
He died upon a cross of wood,
yet made the hill on which it stood.
The sky that darkened o'er His head
By Him above the earth was spread;
The sun that hid from Him it's face
By His decree was poised in space;
The spear that spilled His precious blood
was tempered in the fires of God.
The grave in which His form was laid
was hewn in rock His hands had made;
The throne on which He now appears
was His from everlasting years;
But a new glory crowns His brow,
And every knee to Him shall bow.
F. W. Pitt
I found this poem several years ago and I to this day remember how small I felt as I read it. Not only small, but very humbled as well. I wrote it down in one of my many journals and from time to time I get it out and read it again. It still has the same effect on me and I pray it always does.
Most of the time I write something to you that God has laid on my heart however often it's laid on my heart to share something with you someone else has written as is the case here. I hope that this poem touches you as much as it touched me. And if you don't already, I would encourage you to keep a daily journal as well. It need not be formal or fancy, just a place where you write down something that has touched you, a thought you've had, a Scripture that spoke to you or something you want to thank God for. And as time passes and you go back and read the things you've written you'll be both amazed and blessed.
Until we meet here again, I pray God bless you and keep your loved ones safe.