Manual The Voice of Hope (As High As The Heavens)

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Imagine if God left a gigantic clock in the sky that showed a countdown until the return of Jesus. Students never study for their finals at the beginning of the year, but they sure are cramming on the night before exams! We do not belong to the night or to the darkness. If we all knew the exact time and date of his return, our lives would cease to run on hope and faith. All of our focus would be aimed toward the final event, and we might lose sight of the present.

When our kids know that a holiday or birthday is coming soon, they lose focus on the day to day activities and concentrate on the future special event. As soon as Thanksgiving comes to a close, they are counting down to Christmas. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare. You ought to live holy and godly lives 12a as you look forward to the day of God and speed its coming… 14 So then, dear friends, since you are looking forward to this, make every effort to be found spotless, blameless and at peace with him.

While we are waiting for Jesus, we should do what he asked us to do. His life instructions can be found in The Bible, an effective training manual that contains everything we need for life and godliness 2 Pet. Jesus wants us to eagerly anticipate his return without falling asleep on the job.

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If only we watched for Jesus with the same zeal with which we watch the weather forecast. The Apostle Paul believed that he would still be alive when Christ returned.

He wrote as though he was definitely planning on having a front row seat for the event. And so WE will be with the Lord forever. We are not expected to walk around looking up at the clouds in constant anticipation of the arrival of Jesus. For one thing, we would all have stiff necks, and people would be bumping into walls and having all sorts of accidents. But are we planning for the event of his return? If he shows up today, will I shriek in surprise or treat him as a welcome guest whom I have been eagerly expecting? This article is so inspiring and thought provoking. At the same time got me so excited to meet our Lord.

Your email address will not be published. December 16, at am.

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July 27, at am. Day before yesterday morning, God was looking down from his great, high heaven, Looking down on all his children, And his eye fell on Sister Caroline, Tossing on her bed of pain. And God's big heart was touched with pity, With the everlasting pity. And God sat back on his throne, And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand: Call me Death! And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice That broke like a clap of thunder: Call Death! And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven Till it reached away back to that shadowy place, Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.

And Death heard the summons, And he leaped on his fastest horse, Pale as a sheet in the moonlight. Up the golden street Death galloped, And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold, But they didn't make no sound. She's borne the burden and heat of the day, She's labored long in my vineyard, And she's tired-- She's weary-- Go down, Death, and bring her to me. And Death didn't say a word, But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse, And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides, And out and down he rode, Through heaven's pearly gates, Past suns and moons and stars; on Death rode, Leaving the lightning's flash behind; Straight down he came.

While we were watching round her bed, She turned her eyes and looked away, She saw what we couldn't see; She saw Old Death. She saw Old Death Coming like a falling star. But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline; He looked to her like a welcome friend. And she whispered to us: I'm going home, And she smiled and closed her eyes. And Death took her up like a baby, And she lay in his icy arms, But she didn't feel no chill.

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And death began to ride again-- Up beyond the evening star, Into the glittering light of glory, On to the Great White Throne. And there he laid Sister Caroline On the loving breast of Jesus.

And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears, And he smoothed the furrows from her face, And the angels sang a little song, And Jesus rocked her in his arms, And kept a-saying: Take your rest, Take your rest. Weep not--weep not, She is not dead; She's resting in the bosom of Jesus. James Weldon Johnson O Lord—this morning— Bow our hearts beneath our knees, And our knees in some lonesome valley.

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We come this morning— Like empty pitchers to a full fountain, With no merits of our own. O Lord—open up a window of heaven, And lean out far over the battlements of glory, And listen this morning. Lord, have mercy on proud and dying sinners— Sinners hanging over the mouth of hell, Who seem to love their distance well. Lord—ride by this morning— Mount Your milk-white horse, And ride-a this morning— And in Your ride, ride by old hell, Ride by the dingy gates of hell, And stop poor sinners in their headlong plunge.

And now, O Lord, this man of God, Who breaks the bread of life this morning— Shadow him in the hollow of Thy hand, And keep him out of the gunshot of the devil. Take him, Lord—this morning— Wash him with hyssop inside and out, Hang him up and drain him dry of sin. Pin his ear to the wisdom-post, And make his words sledge hammers of truth— Beating on the iron heart of sin. Lord God, this morning— Put his eye to the telescope of eternity, And let him look upon the paper walls of time. Lord, turpentine his imagination, Put perpetual motion in his arms, Fill him full of the dynamite of Thy power, Anoint him all over with the oil of Thy salvation, And set his tongue on fire.

And now, O Lord— When I've done drunk my last cup of sorrow— When I've been called everything but a child of God— When I'm done traveling up the rough side of the mountain— O—Mary's Baby— When I start down the steep and slippery steps of death— When this old world begins to rock beneath my feet— Lower me to my dusty grave in peace To wait for that great gittin'-up morning—Amen. The White Witch O brothers mine, take care!

Take care! The great white witch rides out to-night. Trust not your prowess nor your strength, Your only safety lies in flight; For in her glance there is a snare, And in her smile there is a blight. The great white witch you have not seen? Then, younger brothers mine, forsooth, Like nursery children you have looked For ancient hag and snaggle-tooth; But no, not so; the witch appears In all the glowing charms of youth. Her lips are like carnations, red, Her face like new-born lilies, fair, Her eyes like ocean waters, blue, She moves with subtle grace and air, And all about her head there floats The golden glory of her hair.

But though she always thus appears In form of youth and mood of mirth, Unnumbered centuries are hers, The infant planets saw her birth; The child of throbbing Life is she, Twin sister to the greedy earth. And back behind those smiling lips, And down within those laughing eyes, And underneath the soft caress Of hand and voice and purring sighs, The shadow of the panther lurks, The spirit of the vampire lies.


For I have seen the great white witch, And she has led me to her lair, And I have kissed her red, red lips And cruel face so white and fair; Around me she has twined her arms, And bound me with her yellow hair. I felt those red lips burn and sear My body like a living coal; Obeyed the power of those eyes As the needle trembles to the pole; And did not care although I felt The strength go ebbing from my soul. She feels the old Antaean strength In you, the great dynamic beat Of primal passions, and she sees In you the last besieged retreat Of love relentless, lusty, fierce, Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet.