Not long ago I heard a sermon drawn from my favorite book of the Bible, the Psalms. I love the Psalms because they're chalked full of joy and sorrow, triumph and defeat, life and death, and worship and idolatry; the reality of living that defines my life, and the life of most I'm sure. There's uncharted solace with my God when I consider that where I've been He once trodden, what I've done He forsake, who I've been He foreknew, when I've sinned He forgave, and how I've wandered He secured.
From Chapter 90 was the Psalm preached, and it reminded me of a poem that I wrote five years ago while contemplating these very things; the brevity of life, the treasures I hold dear, the time I've wasted, and the future untold.
Treasuring and toiling the time,
Tom
From Chapter 90 was the Psalm preached, and it reminded me of a poem that I wrote five years ago while contemplating these very things; the brevity of life, the treasures I hold dear, the time I've wasted, and the future untold.
Treasures & Time
The grass withers and the flower fades,
And the sands of time sift away.
In the flickering of light and twinkling array,
So is life and the passing of day.
I question my time and where I invest,
And in where and what doth my treasure lie?
The toil of labor shall soon be nigh,
And the memory thereof a very distant sigh.
Few shall recall where I spent myself,
The money I made and the places I trade.
No one shall know in the midst of their aid,
The thoughts, the heart, the passion forbade.
Will the circle of monotony cease,
To rule myself and the cycle of day?
The sound of echoes to change my way,
I veer a course toward worthless decay.
The struggle within is known too well,
The same ole battles and victory seem still.
The will to win and alter my fill,
Comes only from Him as the source to kill.
I ask Thee to help me number my days,
That I might be wise, with foolishness gone,
Counting my hours till I sleep like a fawn,
Content till morning when I wake in the dawn.
I cannot regain that which has past.
Thus I buffet myself in this moment of time,
To think on my Love and serve Him sublime,
Before I am dust and summit the climb.
The grass withers and the flower fades,
And the sands of time sift away.
In the flickering of light and twinkling array,
So is life and the passing of day.
I question my time and where I invest,
And in where and what doth my treasure lie?
The toil of labor shall soon be nigh,
And the memory thereof a very distant sigh.
Few shall recall where I spent myself,
The money I made and the places I trade.
No one shall know in the midst of their aid,
The thoughts, the heart, the passion forbade.
Will the circle of monotony cease,
To rule myself and the cycle of day?
The sound of echoes to change my way,
I veer a course toward worthless decay.
The struggle within is known too well,
The same ole battles and victory seem still.
The will to win and alter my fill,
Comes only from Him as the source to kill.
I ask Thee to help me number my days,
That I might be wise, with foolishness gone,
Counting my hours till I sleep like a fawn,
Content till morning when I wake in the dawn.
I cannot regain that which has past.
Thus I buffet myself in this moment of time,
To think on my Love and serve Him sublime,
Before I am dust and summit the climb.
- T.M.K.
Treasuring and toiling the time,
Tom
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