Finding The Secret

More Than Conquerors
Lilies of the Field

“Why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?” —Matthew 6:28-30

Consider the Lilies of the Field

Flowers preach to us if we will hear:—
The rose saith in the dewy morn:
I am most fair;
Yet all my loveliness is born
Upon a thorn.
The poppy saith amid the corn:
Let but my scarlet head appear
And I am held in scorn;
Yet juice of subtle virtue lies
Within my cup of curious dyes.
The lilies say: Behold how we
Preach without words of purity.
The violets whisper from the shade
Which their own leaves have made:
Men scent our fragrance on the air,
Yet take no heed
Of humble lessons we would read.

But not alone the fairest flowers:
The merest grass
Along the roadside where we pass,
Lichen and moss and sturdy weed,
Tell of His love who sends the dew,
The rain and sunshine too,
To nourish one small seed.

—Christina Rossetti

Consider the Lilies

“Consider the lilies,”
It says in the Word
They toil not, they spin not
And yet it was concurred.

Solomon in all his glory
Wasn’t arrayed like one of these
Lilies, you see, are special
For Him above they please.

The Lily stands for innocence
And for Christ our Lord, as well.
He is the Lily of the Valley!
He’ll purify us and help us dwell

Dwell in only Him alone.
We musn’t experiment with things of this world
The frills and the other stuff
In which it is so easy to get swirled!

So I say again, “Consider the Lily!”
The Lily of the Valley, God, is He.
And in Him alone, must we dwell.
Then we will have such jubilee!

—Terra Mandrell
© Terra Mandrell. Used with permission.

The Lily of the Valley

He dresses the lilies of the fields
In splendor with great care
This One they call Lily of the Valley,
The One who is so fair!

His love for you spans far and wide,
His care is always there
The Lily of the Valley knows your needs
And fills them with a prayer.

He feeds the birds, the chipmunks too
And even cares for bugs!
Oh why on earth do we doubt
And wonder of His love?

We see the Lily toiling not—
Without a single care
Why can’t we open up to Him
And leave our worry there?

The Bible says God will supply
According to Christ’s riches
Lord give us faith, help us believe
Whether mountain top or ditches!

The Lily of the Valley,
The Bright and Morning Star
Is there for us to clothe and feed
And fill our heart’s desire.

—Greta Cole
© Greta Cole. Used with permission.

The Lily

The Lily stands for purity,
For Christ our Savior, too.
He’s the Lily of the Valley,
He can cleanse and make us new.

We should be like the lily,
Pure in body, heart, and mind.
Standing for our Savior,
We’ll be a witness to mankind.

—Gretchen Glaser
© 1997 Grtchen L. Glaser. Used with permission.

What a Rose

I’ve had this rose with me so long
That I never cared to see
The beauty that lies beneath the petals
And now amazes me—

Shell-colored petals dripping off
To reveal a deeper hue—
I never thought that this was here
Deep inside of you—

Beneath the petals of comeliness
Is a beauty so deep and true
That I know that only God Himself
Could have shaped the core of you—

Oh, friend, I knew that I was blessed
To have you here with me—
But now I realize what a gift,
What a rose you’ve come to be—

—Joanna Spencer
© Joanna J. Spencer. Used with permission.

Daffodils

On the third day of creation
God must have laughed out loud
As He painted earth with color
By giving dirt a living shroud.

Not a timid laugh, I know,
But ecstasy incarnate,
Joy which, polished ’til it sparkled,
The time of spring in beauty garnished.

For this laugh has taken form,
Which gushes every year:
Daffodils—the blooms of bliss
Which radiate their brilliant cheer!

—Benjamin Graber

Gazing at Roses

I gaze, sadly, at the rose petals.
For they will, soon, be gone;
Leaving only stark and ragged stems
As loveliness they shed.

What use have I of thorns
I will quickly thrust aside?
With nothing more of softness to fondle,
No beauty will I find.

I forget that thorns have value,
Protection from attack.
For with only thoughts of deepest grief,
I want to turn my back.

I do not want the sad things,
For they speak of fading wood,
And I become so melancholy;
Cease feeling as I should.

I prefer to find a beautiful rose,
As that will always please.
A rose will bring me sweet perfume,
All delight; appease.

Take away the thorns, in life,
For they bring the deepest pain;
Afflicting my heart with sorrow
Of such bitter rain.

Let me but dance with joy,
Along a rose strewn path,
With only happiness around me;
So I will always laugh.

But then I saw my Savior
Crowned with cruel thorn.
I had to look, again, at Him;
Bleeding, cruelly torn.

His loving eyes were sad,
Tears running down His cheek
Right into His heart.
The thorns were piercing deep.

Jesus wore that crown of thorns
So I may know His love.
How can I but thank God for their curse;
For my life to bloom, above?

Give me understanding, Lord,
To grasp roses by the thorn.
For they drive me close to you;
Where my heart can be re-born.

It is only through the raining tears
I see true wonder of new life.
Your promise, in the pain,
That it is only thorns
That cause a rose to grow.

Soft Whispers from
Derry’s Heart Poems
© 2003 used with permission
heartwhispers@iinet.net.au

I Find Blue Flowers

I find blue flowers
In soft, shaded bowers,
Curling themselves to sleep—

Sometimes it seems
These almost-there dreams
Will someday undoubtedly be—

I pull them, I shake them,
But will I ever wake them?
I guess that I’ll just have to see—

But lilacs awoken
Are very soft-spoken,
And they never say much to me—

Violets

A vibrant thought that lies in shadows;
A joy which lingers out of reach—
A masterpiece beyond acclaim,
A song that skirts the edge of speech—

Aspiring high, we miss her glory,
And beaten down, we cannot see,
Our tears so often fog the view,
We’re blinded by our vanity—

So open up my eyes, my Lord!
I cannot see the violet treasure
You’ve placed here in my life each day
As I get caught in my own pleasure;

I want to taste the love You’ve given,
Not just to know it in my head,
So bring me to Your gem again,
And let her vivid beauty spread!

—Benjamin Graber

God made a little gentian;
It tried to be a rose
And failed, and all the summer laughed.
But just before the snows
There came a purple creature
That ravished all the hill;
And summer hid her forehead,
And mockery was still.
The frosts were her condition;
The Tyrian would not come
Until the North evoked it.
“Creator! shall I bloom?”

—Emily Dickinson

A sunflower bright and cheery,
A pansy daring and red—
You never know what feelings
Might next pop into my head.
I might be an apple blossom,
Airy and light.
I might be quiet and solemn
Like the lily white.
I might be thorny
And hide my heart inside me,
Like the red rose,
A hidden Valentine I’ll be.
I might be cheerful and sunny,
Like a daisy in the meadow.
I might be shy and like
The morning glory mellow.
I might be tart and bitey
Like a cranberry you see.
But really I’m just one
Unpredictable flower called “me”!

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?
Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or
nakedness or danger or sword?… No, in all these things
we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.”
—Romans 8:35, 37

If you have any comments or questions, or if you have a poem to share, please send an e-mail to bgraber@neo.rr.com

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