Didactic Sonnet (Ephesians 6:4)

Let every father train his children well,
In love and patience – humble for your part,
All for their good – you dying to yourself,
For anger breeds up anger in their hearts.
Yet loving them requires discipline,
To guide their wayward souls to God’s decrees.
Confronting; demonstrating pain of sin,
Correct with words or rod as is their need.
And after discipline be quick to love.
Affection is the most effective means,
To show atonement from the Lord above;
So discipline will make their conscience clean.
Your discipline will shape their view of God,
His saving grace must be shown by your rod.

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Seven Lamentations and Their Answers

I call a curse on my conception day,
That birth would burn with blackness over-born.
Destruction unto death is my desire,
Then I’d have never seen the evil of this earth!
Surely had I the chance to change and chose,
I would decide to die upon that day,
But see my birth: my suffering started there.
And so I lament.

“But I have chosen birth that you might live;
Do not despise the sacred gift I give.
I chose that I be born into your earth,
And knew your suffering at all its worst.”

But You are Lord, and not a lowly man,
Could You then sympathize in suffering?
What evil could eternal ever feel?
Or can infinity feel loss and longing?
Is pain of parting in Your omnipresence?
That’s absurd.

“And yet in everything I was a man,
All pain and suffering I understand.
For I experienced all, and worse than you.
And so My pity is completely true.”

What comfort can I find in cosmic life?
When friends will fail — faithless fraternity.
I asked support, and solace for my soul,
They stabbed me in the back.

“And even I had friends betray My trust.
You can’t react by closing off your love.
But I will comfort you – your friends are means,
All comfort ultimately comes from Me.”

But were a measure made of all my woes,
And weighed against the world, the scale would show!
I’m comfortless, and therefore do I cry,
As for Yourself, You have forsaken me,
Or was this desolation done by You?
And so I complain.

“Yet I have suffered pain beyond compare,
And never did I speak in my despair.
Tho’ pain should lead to cries of righteous grief,
Oh, never let your tongue complaining speak!”

Perhaps if I had marred myself in pain,
Then I could bear the burden of my plight,
Perhaps in death my rest will be revealed,
For grief has never gone into the grave.
There’s my hope!

“Your hope is not in your own death or pain,
But in My death – yet Mine was not in vain,
For then I conquered death in victory,
There is your hope of rest eternally.”

Yet man was made of molded, mortal mud.
And he will vanish as the fleeting flower.
His life is hard, and hardly to be born in whole.
As of a slave who cannot sit in shade,
What little can he do? But then life leaves,
Finally he sleeps.

“It’s true that life is very shortly lived,
So do not waste a second that I give!
But use your life to build what will endure:
The Word of God – and you will rest secure.”

But why, Lord, do You ever look on us?
Is it enough that we exist at all?
But now you watch and wait to damn our works,
You will not turn away for time it takes,
To simply swallow my saliva down.
A prisoner in a panopticon,
A lab-rat underneath Your leering eye,
The gaze of God has gutted all my hope,
I wish I could cease to exist.

“But you misread My constant care for you!
Devoted to your welfare I pursue.
You speak such blaspheme that you should die,
Yet I took death that you be justified.”

Obedience

Both king and culture make commands,
That citizens obey their rules.
To disobey: the king will damn,
And culture will call you a fool.

And were not both ordained of God?
Then live in king and culture both.
So live at peace with in their laws,
And never needless rock the boat.

Remembering through all of this,
You have another King to serve,
And you’ve a culture that is His,
And always this you must preserve.

You are no slave of worldly ways.
When they negate the gospel’s truth,
Then you must stand, strong and unfazed,
And trust that God will work through you.

For customs curtsey to great kings,
And we are citizens through Him.
So He may call us not to sing,
When culture plays its market-hymn.

Yet never lightly does He call,
And never lightly should we act,
Though kings will boil you in gall,
And by the culture you are sacked.

We have no promise of our ease,
But we will suffer for His sake.
Though never marked in history,
As heroes, or as martyrs great.

But when He calls you to subvert,
Remember this through suffering:
That He has suffered for you first.
Obedience will praise the King.