For Him

I cannot sing the loudest

Nor can I sing the best.

I cannot sing as sweetly,

As a bird does from her nest.

But when I make a joyful sound,

I sing unto the King.

I sing to thank Him for His love,

And the blessings that He brings.

I am not a famous artist,

My works are not well known.

I'm in no uptown galleries,

Or art collector's homes.

My work is far from popular,

But ask me if I care,

My purpose is to praise my God,

His glory to declare.

My words don't always leave my pen

With fervent, eager glee.

I don't always make a perfect point,

Or paint fitting imagery.

My writing tells of stories,

That are hundreds of years old,

Yet still the truth contained therein

Is fierce and live and bold.

We may never find great riches,

We may never have grand homes,

But with every work that glorifies,
We lay an alter stone.

Our lives will be the sacrifice,

A gift to One on high.

We know the only way to live,

Is every day to die.

by. Jonathan E. Schaefer

11/16/2014