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Best Poems From
YEN CRESS
(3/9/43)
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21.
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Mother Teresa
She does her humble Christian works
For cripple here and leper there,
No matter whether danger lurks.
She smiles at sick ones, while they stare
At eyes of mercy, hands that care.
She ministers to needs deplored
And opens doors to sun and air.
She serves her Lord!
Though critic sneers and cynic smirks,
She bows her head and vows to share
The love of God and kindly works.
Her life is humble, but so rare!
She seeks no honor, shuns the glare
Of public limelight. She's adored
By sick and helpless everywhere.
She serves her Lord!
No doubt she has some human quirks
Tucked 'neath the cloth that hides her hair.
I only know she never shirks
From tasks that others wouldn't dare.
The poor and sick, the rags they wear-
Her hands caress what we've ignored:
Her life rebukes our lack of care.
She serves her Lord!
Your life of service, Sister fair,
Will someday see its just reward.
At heaven's gates Christ will declare,
'She served her Lord! '
Yen Cress
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22.
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My Hero
I longed for him to be here by my side,
To smile and kiss me in the morning sun.
His country called, and so he went, with pride.
I prayed he'd come back soon to me, his bride.
He's coming home with glory 'round his head.
For just last week he showed his fearless heart.
'He saved another man, ' the major said.
'I'm sorry, ma'am, to say-Your husband's dead! '
My man is coming home! It hurts to know
He's coming home! If only it weren't so!
He's coming home!
Oh, God, too soon
My Love is coming home!
Yen Cress
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23.
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Never Alone
Dedicated to a friend needing comfort.
I cannot know the pain that you have felt.
Your boat rides waves that mine has never crossed.
My hand holds not the cards that you've been dealt.
My eyes shed not the tears that yours have lost.
I cannot guess the weight that you must lift.
I couldn't tell the stories that you've told.
I walk on different sand than you must sift.
I cannot guess the grief your heart must hold.
I will not drink the wine that's in your glass.
I've never hiked the trail that marks your hill.
The snow I ski has none like your crevasse.
My medicine is not your bitter pill.
But I know this: We love the same great God!
We both can trust His never-failing Word.
The paths we take, His feet already trod.
The prayers we whisper never go unheard.
And I can tell you at this time, my friend,
Through rain and sunshine, and when skies are gray,
Our God's exhaustless love will never end,
Through yesterday, tomorrow, and today.
Rejoice! For He is living! Trust His grace.
He understands our sorrow and our fear.
His promises are sure-He's in this place!
Oh! He will never leave you! He is here!
Yen Cress
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24.
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On Passing Through Death Valley in November
I stood in the vast, silent desert,
Alone, on a winter-bleak night;
Around me the wind blew so fiercely
The stars cast a shimmering light.
The sagebrush and chaparral murmured
In whispers of ghost-swirling sand.
A platinum half-moon crept upward
Past hillocks the sharp wind had fanned.
My arms I raised upward to heaven.
Bright starpoints spread out on display
Like pinholes in blue velvet curtains
That cover the window of day.
I wondered how people imagine
Such glory could happen by chance.
Can't they see the Creator's great wisdom?
His hand made this wondrous expanse!
I threw back my head to the vision
And gulped in the sharp-silky air.
Mere moments I stood in the desert
But eons passed while I was there.
Yen Cress
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