Prayer Answered by Crosses By John Newton

This poem is very true in the life of a Christian. God answers prayers by sanctifying him/her. 

Prayer Answered by Crosses

By John Newton

I asked the Lord that I might grow 


In faith and love and every grace, 


Might more of his salvation know, 


And seek more earnestly his face.

’Twas he who taught me thus to pray; 


And he, I trust, has answered prayer; 


But it has been in such a way 


As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that, in some favoured hour, 


At once he’d answer my request, 


And by his love’s constraining power 


Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, he made me feel 


The hidden evils of my heart, 


And let the angry powers of hell 


Assault my soul in every part.

Yea, more, with his own hand he seemed

Intent to aggravate my woe, 


Crossed all the fair designs I schemed, 


Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

Lord, why is this? I trembling cried; 


Wilt thou pursue this worm to death? 


This is the way, the Lord replied

I answer prayer for grace and faith.

These inward trials I now employ 


From self and pride to set thee free,

And break thy schemes of earthly joy, 


That thou may’st seek thy all in me.

God moves in a mysterious way

There is a poem called "God moves in a mysterious way". This poem also reflects my experience and I believe that of many people. God works His ways in our life.

God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform;

He plants His footsteps in the sea

And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never failing skill

He treasures up His bright designs

And works His sov’reign will.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust Him for His grace;

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy and shall break

In blessings on your head.

Blind unbelief is sure to err

And scan His work in vain;

God is His own interpreter,

And He will make it plain.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flow’r.

The Weaver : My life is but a weaving between my God and me.

Recently, someone reminded me of a poem called "The Weaver". This poem reflects my experience and I believe that of many people. There is a purpose for everything in our life....

The Weaver

My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.

Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.

Not ’til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned

He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.