Tag Archives: Faith-Centred


( by Joan Wilson)

I said I’d go where you put me Lord,

and mostly I have done,

but not as much as I ought to have

I haven’t always won !

indeed if I start checking

I know I’d be dismayed,

always it’s your love and mercy

that I’ve seen displayed,

now I stay where you’ve put me

I know that’s alright too,

for you’ve promised in your name

forever I will be with you.

Fleeting Wings of Time

On the fleeting wings of time,
Life goes its merry way;
And each of us should live as though
This was our very last day

Due to human failures,
We don’t always know what our mission will be,
It’s not as though we were blind;
We look but cannot see.

If there was no tomorrow,
What would we do with our life?
Would we live in happiness?
Or would we live in strife?

When we reach retirement,
We say, “We’re through and done!”
If we only knew the truth,
A new life has just begun.

Friendships mean a lot right then,
When our life we start anew.
We live each day for someone else;
As though we each one knew:

Our lives are sometimes short;
And time goes by so fast,
That love and friendship
Are the only things that last.

Our lives sometimes become so full
That those we have touched and passed,
Seem to think we have forgotten,
But our memories linger and last.

If ever you get lonely,
Call them to you once more.
Memories will come to you;
They may even knock on your door!


You wouldn’t know,
to see her smile,
that she had walked
so many miles,

You wouldn’t know,
Her feet so shod,
by walking barefoot
with her God,
How far.

Of that glow,
tis not of man,
but God who say’s
‘Go on , you can.’
keep walking.

Dance and sing,
despite it all.
Make lemonade
when lemons fall.
Share His Love,
and be a Voice.
A light
A flame,
A smile

Shine, as one
you wouldn’t know,
unless her God
had loved her so,

And the walls cry out

And the walls cry out.

Gnawing wind scours artwork

into hallowed walls,

Edvard Munch mimicked

by time and tided season:

a silent ‘scream’

within hushment

of abbey bulwark.

’even the stones cry out’

Sculpted praise

in mute wonder:

mason’s work

revealing a surprise bequest

crafted by the Master mason.

Abbot, priest, brothers all

have passed, are past,

recalled to dust and ash.

We walk this way

in remembrance,

washed in the prayer of centuries,

the plain chant of wind and rain,

the pilgrimage of faith.