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easter poems

Christian poems about Easter for children. Short and long inspirational Easter Sunday poems and songs for church. This religious Easter poem on Jesus Christ is an Easter resurrection poem. Hey, there are you looking for some of the best Happy Easter Poems then you are at the right place, We Easter Quotes have published some of the best Happy Easter Poems especially for you. Get access to all easter poems, easter poems for the church, christian easter poems.

Poems    Easter poems

By Her Elbows on My Bed
I was but a youth and thoughtless,
As all youth are apt to be,
Though I had a Christian mother
Who had taught me carefully
But there came a time when pleasures
Of the world came to allure,
And I no more sought the guidance
Of her love so good and pure.
But mother would not yield her boy
To Satan's sinful sway,
And though I spurned her counsel
She knew a better way.

No more she tried to caution
Of ways she knew were vain,
And though I guessed her heartache
I could not know its pain.
She made my room her altar,
A place of secret prayer,
And there she took her burden
And left it in His care.
And morning, noon, and evening
By that humble bedside low,
She sought the aid of Him, who
Best can understand a mother's woe.
And I went my way unheeding,
Careless of the life I led,
Until one day I noticed
Prints of elbows on my bed.
Then I knew that she had been there,
Praying for her wayward boy,
Who for the love of worldly pleasure
Would her peace of mind destroy.
While I wrestled with my conscience,
Mother wrestled still in prayer,
Till that little room seemed hallowed
Because so oft she met Him there.
With her God she held her fortress,
And though not a word she said,
My stubborn heart was broken
By those imprints on my bed.
Long the conflict raged within me,
Sin against my mother's prayer.
Sin must yield, for mother never,
While she daily met Him there.
Mother-love and God-love
Are a combination rare,
And ones that can't be beaten
When sealed in earnest prayer.
And so at last the fight was won,
And I to Christ was led,
And Mother's prayers were answered
By her elbows on my bed.

My Mother's Bible
There's a dear and precious Book,
Though it's worn and faded now,
Which recall those happy days of long ago,
When I stood at mother's knee,
With her hand upon my brow,
Blessed Book, precious Book,
On thy dear old tear stained leaves I love to look;
As she read the stories o'er
Of those mighty men of old,
Of Joseph and of Daniel and their trials,
Of little David bold,
Who became a king at last,
Of Satan and his many wicked wiles.
Then she read of Jesus' love,
As He blessed the children dear,
How He suffered, bled and died upon the tree;
Of His heavy load of care,
Then she dried my flowing tears
With her kisses as she said it was for me.
Well, those days are past and gone,
But their memory lingers still
And the dear old Book each day has been my guide;
As I seek to do His will,
As my mother taught me then,
And ever in my heart, His Words abide.


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