Nothing to say...

I think it's pretty evident by now that this blog is all but dead. There's a lot of stuff going on in my life right now, and I haven't had the heart or the time to spend on this.

So consider this a semi-permanent hiatus? I may come back someday-- but then again, I might not.

Behold th’Amazing Gift of Love

Behold th’amazing gift of love
The Father hath bestowed
On us, the sinful sons of men,
To call us sons of God!

Concealed as yet this honor lies,
By this dark world unknown,
A world that knew not when He came,
Even God’s eternal Son.

High is the rank we now possess;
But higher we shall rise;
Though what we shall hereafter be
Is hid from mortal eyes.

Our souls, we know, when He appears,
Shall bear His image bright;
For all His glory, full disclosed,
Shall open to our sight.

A hope so great, and so divine,
May trials well endure;
And purge the soul from sense and sin,
As Christ Himself is pure.

This hymn has been much al­tered over the years.
Here is Watts’ original version:

Behold what wondrous grace
The Father hath bestow’d
On sinners of a mortal race
To call them Sons of God!

’Tis no surprising thing,
That we should be unknown;
The Jewish world knew not their King,
God’s everlasting Son.

Nor doth it yet appear
How great we must be made;
But when we see our Saviour here,
We shall be like our Head.

A hope so much divine
May trials well endure,
May purge our souls from sense and sin
As Christ the Lord is pure.

If in my Father’s love
I share a filial part,
Send down Thy Spirit like a dove,
To rest upon my heart.

We would no longer lie
Like slaves beneath the throne;
My faith shall Abba, Father, cry,
And Thou the kindred own.

Words: Isaac Watts

My Country, 'Tis of Thee

My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims’ pride,
From every mountainside,
Let freedom ring!

My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills,
Like that above.

No more shall tyrants here
With haughty steps appear,
And soldier bands;
No more shall tyrants tread
Above the patriot dead—
No more our blood be shed
By alien hands.

Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees,
Sweet freedom’s song;
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound prolong.

Our fathers’ God, to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom’s holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King.

Words: Sam­u­el F. Smith, 1831

Socialized medicine is NOT the answer!

Your Friday Cheezburger

Your Friday Cheezburger

Comfort, Comfort Ye My People

Comfort, comfort ye My people,
Speak ye peace, thus saith our God;
Comfort those who sit in darkness,
Mourning ’neath their sorrow’s load;
Speak ye to Jerusalem
Of the peace that waits for them;
Tell her that her sins I cover,
And her warfare now is over.

For the herald’s voice is crying
In the desert far and near,
Bidding all men to repentance,
Since the kingdom now is here.
O that warning cry obey!
Now prepare for God a way!
Let the valleys rise to meet Him,
And the hills bow down to greet Him.

Yea, her sins our God will pardon,
Blotting out each dark misdeed;
All that well deserved His anger
He will no more see nor heed.
She has suffered many a day,
Now her griefs have passed away,
God will change her pining sadness
Into ever springing gladness.

Make ye straight what long was crooked,
Make the rougher places plain:
Let your hearts be true and humble,
As befits His holy reign,
For the glory of the Lord
Now o’er the earth is shed abroad,
And all flesh shall see the token
That His Word is never broken.

Words: Jo­han­nes G. Olear­i­us

Why didn't he apologize for offending the fly?

If only he could be this tough with America's enemies.

IMPORTANT UPDATE:
PETA does not approve of Obama's
unethical treatment of the fly

Rockin' Robins

Make Haste, O my God, to Deliver

Make haste, O my God, to deliver, I pray,
O Lord, to my rescue make haste;
Let those who would harm me be filled with dismay,
And in their own folly disgraced.

Let them be turned back in confusion, O Lord,
Who in my destruction would joy;
Let shame and defeat be their only reward,
Who sneers and derision employ.

May all those who seek Thee, and make Thee their choice,
Great gladness and blessedness see;
May all those who love Thy salvation rejoice
And constantly magnify Thee.

I cry in deep need and Thy help I implore;
Make haste to the rescue, I pray;
My Savior Thou art, and my Strength evermore,
No longer Thy coming delay.

Words: From The Psal­ter

Brown Jordan Nomad Slings

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for the do-it-yourselfers nationwide.

Sinners, Dismiss Your Fear

Sinners, dismiss your fear,
The joyful tidings hear!
This the word that Jesus said,
O believe, and feel it true;
Christ is risen from the dead,
Lives the Lord Who died for you!

Haste, to His tomb repair,
And see the tokens there;
See the place where Jesus lay,
Mark the burial cloths He wore;
Angels near His relics stay,
Guards of Him Who dies no more.

Why then art thou cast down,
Thou poor afflicted one?
Full of doubts, and griefs, and fears,
Look into that open grave!
Died He not to dry thy tears?
Rose He not thy soul to save?

Know’st thou not where to find
The Savior of mankind?
He hath borne Himself away,
He from death Himself hath freed,
He on the third glorious day,
Rose triumphant from the dead.

To purge thy guilty stain
He died, and rose again;
Wherefore dost thou weep and mourn?
Sinner, lift thine heart and eye,
Turn thee, to thy Jesus turn,
See thy loving Savior nigh.

He comes His own to claim,
He calls thee by thy name:
Drooping soul, rejoice, rejoice,
See Him there to life restored!
Mary—know thy Savior’s voice,
Hear it, and reply, “My Lord.”

Words: Charles Wes­ley

Quote:

You cannot slander human nature; it is worse than words can paint it.

~Charles Haddon Spurgeon

I will extol Thee, Lord on high

I will extol Thee, Lord on high,
At Thy command diseases fly:
Who but a God can speak and save,
From the dark borders of the grave?

Sing to the Lord, ye saints of His,
And tell how large His goodness is;
Let all your powers rejoice and bless
While you record His holiness.

His anger but a moment stays;
His love is life and length of days;
Though grief and tears the night employ,
The morning star restores the joy.

Words: Isaac Watts

Quote:

The love of liberty is the love of others; the love of power is the love of ourselves.
~William Hazlitt