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Eccl. 12

Some day the golden bowl will break
The pitcher no more water take
The silver cord will then untie
The broken wheel at cistern lie.

The strong man has been bowing down
His legs do tremble on the ground
The little birds do make him fear
Their songs no longer charm his ear.

Fears possess him, desires now fail
And life is like an untold tale
The grinders cease for they are few
His eyes are dim, he cannot view.

The mourner’s go about the street
In house of mourning they soon meet
The strong man now in death is still
And someone else his place will fill.

To live for self is very vain
Man leaves behind all he did gain
He came with breath, went out with none
His life of vanity is run.

It was from dust that man was made
To dust returns as God has said
To live for God should be our goal
And be preserved, body and soul. M.H.  


Adam of old, a lonely man with no one by his side
But God who loved him, by His hand did make from him a bride.

When Adam did from sleep awake and saw a woman there
How glad he was, for his own sake, he had a rib to spare.

This woman now shall be my wife, for she is made from me
To love and cherish all my life, no one could nearer be.

We do not know what Adam said, when first he saw his bride
I think I see him bow his head, thanks God for wounded side.

The Saviour too shall have a bride, He will not be alone
She will come from His wounded side, to share His glorious throne. M.H.


Women of Galilee we read, lamenting did bewail
They did minister to His need, their love was deep and real.

In Simon’s house He sat at meat, a woman came in there
With tears she washed and kissed His feet, and wiped them with her hair.

Mary of Bethany did pour rich spikenard on His head
The only one who knew before, He’d soon be with the dead.

On early resurrection morn, Magdalene’s at the tomb
And found the stone was rolled away, death had been overcome.

Why weepest thou, the angel said, The Lord is not now here
For He is risen from the dead, her heart was filled with fear.

She sought her Lord, where can He be, if Him I could now find
One glimpse of Him, His face to see, would satisfy my mind.

Do tell me where He is she said, I will take Him away
Just then in turning round her head, she saw her Lord that day.

Mary Magdalene was the first to see her risen Lord
She heard His voice, it quenched her thirst, for she her Lord adored.

I wonder where her place will be, in the coming glory
Her love to Christ as you can see, enhances all the story.

Now she’s with Him she loved so dear, near to her Lord we know
Never again to shed a tear, as she did here below.


To all my loved ones in Dundee
Those loved I don’t often see
But aye remember on bended knee
Dear Lord do bless

Preserve their footsteps day by day
Keep them aye in Thy narrow way
May they prove Thee their strength and stay
Dear Lord do guide

May all their joys be found in Thee
The One who died to set them free
Until Thy blessed face they see
Dear Lord be near
R.A. (10 – 10 – 63)


My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.
Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I, the underside.

Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skilful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.

He knows, He loves, He cares,
Nothing this truth can dim,
He gives His very best to those
Who leave the choice with Him

“Then I shall know even as I am known.”
(1 Corinthians 13:12)


The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just where the hands will stop —
At late or early hour.

To lose one’s wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one’s health is more,
To lose one’s soul is such a loss
As no man can restore.

The present only is our own,
Live for Christ with a will;
Place no faith in tomorrow,
For the clock may then be still.


‘God…has set eternity in their heart.’ Ecc. 3:11

It is inscribed in every breast
By God himself it is impressed
It whispers loud amidst the strife
Just how fleeting is your life
It warns- I must my maker meet
And face Him on his judgement seat
Somewhere suspended out in space
My guilt, my past, I then must face
What will I say on that great day?
When heaven and earth will flee away
Alas, before Him I’ll speechless stand
Of all I thought and all I planned
Then hear those awful words declared
Depart from me – my Son you spurned
I knew that Christ died on the tree
That God so-loved could pardon me
But all entreaties of his grace
I flung these back into his face
I always did in heaven believe
Hell – I chose not to conceive
Christ’s frequent warnings of this place
These I dismissed without a trace
Alas! too late, I did discover
Hell is real and is forever
And as the ceaseless ages roll
The price I bartered for my soul
Will cause remorse, regret – lament
Too late! Too late! now to repent (J.H.)


One by one He took them from me,
All the things I valued most.
Until I was empty-handed;
Every glittering toy was lost.

Then I walked earth’s highway grieving,
In my rags and poverty;
‘Til I heard His voice inviting:
Lift your empty hands to me.

So I held my hands toward Heaven,
And He filled them with a store
Of His own transcendent riches,
‘Til they could contain no more.

Then at last I comprehended
With my stupid mind and dull,
That God could not pour out His riches
Into hands already full.
Margaret Snell Nicholson



When I stand at the judgment seat of Christ
And He shows me His plan for me,
The Plan of my life as it might have been
Had He had His way, and I see

How I blocked Him here, and I checked Him there,
And I would not yield my will —
Will there be grief in my Savior’s eyes,
Grief, though He loves me still?

He would have me rich, and I stand there poor,
Stripped of all but His grace,
While memory runs like a hunted thing
Down the paths I cannot retrace.

Then my desolate heart will well-nigh break
With the tears that I cannot shed;
I shall cover my face with my empty hands,
I shall bow my uncrowned head…

Lord of the years that are left to me,
I give them to Thy hand;
Take me and break me, mould me to
The pattern Thou hast planned!
Margaret Snell Nicholson




Is my house set in order
if Christ should come today?
What tasks would be unfinished
if I were called away?

Suppose an angel told me
at early morning light,
“Your Lord will come this evening,
You shall go home tonight,”

Would ecstasy be clouded
by thought of work undone,
The seed I might have scattered,
The crown I might have won?

The soul I meant to speak to,
the purse I meant to share,
And oh the wasted moments
I meant to spend in prayer!

The weight of unsaved millions
would press upon my heart.
In their death am I certain
that I had not a part?

And such a few short moments
In which to set things right!
How feverishly I’d labor
Until the waning light!

O slothful soul and careless heart,
O eyes which have no sight, –
Work, lest you reap but vain regrets!
Your Lord “may” come home tonight!
Margaret Snell Nicholson




Today I heard the voice of one who wept
In far off lands
Because of sin and misery,
And begged with outstretched hands
For one small lamp to light his dark.
Now fain I would have slept,
So – stopped my ears, but in my heart
That sobbing voice still wept.
And then I heard the voice of one who
Counted not the cost,
But left His ivory palaces to seek and
Save the lost.
He said, “The sound of one who weeps
Is coming up to Me.
Dost thou forget that last command
Which I gave unto Thee,
To preach my Word to all the world?”
O, bitter be our shame!
Still hopeless millions walk the earth
Who never heard His Name,
And still the world spends lavishly
In every crowded mart,
And still the voice of Him who wept
Is sobbing in my heart!
Margaret Snell Nicholson



Pain knocked upon my door and said
That she had come to stay;
And though I would not welcome her
But bade her go away,

She entered in. Like my own shade
She followed after me,
And from her stabbing, stinging sword
No moment was I free.

And then one day another knocked
Most gently at my door.
I cried, “No, Pain is living here,
There is no room for more”.

And then I heard His tender voice,
” ‘Tis I, be not afraid”.
And from the day He entered in —
The difference it made!

For though He did not bid her leave,
(My strange, unwelcome guest,)
He taught me how to live with her.
Oh, I had never guessed

That we could dwell so sweetly here,
My Lord and Pain and I,
Within this fragile house of clay
While years slip slowly by!
Margaret Snell Nicholson