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The Rose Beyond The Wall, A Poem By A. L. Frink

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Near a shady wall a rose once grew,
Budded and blossomed in God's free light,
Watered and fed by the morning dew,
Shedding it's sweetness day and night.

As it grew and blossomed fair and tall,
Slowly rising to loftier height,
It came to a crevice in the wall
Through which there shone a beam of light.

Onward it crept with added strength
With never a thought of fear or pride,
It followed the light through the crevice's length
And unfolded itself on the other side.

The light, the dew, the broadening view
Were found the same as they were before,
And it lost itself in beauties new,
Breathing it's fragrance more and more.

Shall claim of death cause us to grieve
And make our courage faint and fall?
Nay! Let us faith and hope receive--
The rose still grows beyond the wall,

Scattering fragrance far and wide
Just as it did in days of yore,
Just as it did on the other side,
Just as it will forever-more.

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The Loom of Time - Unknown

Man's life is laid in the loom of Time
To a pattern he does not see,
While the Weaver works and the shuttles fly
Till the doom of eternity.

Some shuttles are filled with silver thread,
And some with threads of gold;
While often but the darker hue
Is all that they may hold.

But the Weaver watches with skillful eye
Each shuttle fly to and fro,
And sees the pattern so deftly wrought
As the loom works slow and sure.

God surely planned that pattern,
Each thread - the dark and the fair -
Was chosen by His master skill
And placed in the web with care.

He only knows the beauty
And guides the shuttles which hold
The threads so unattractive
As well as the threads of gold.

Not till the loom is silent,
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the pattern
And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful
In the Weavers skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern that He has planned.


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