Journey With Jesus

Imagine if you could journey with Jesus when He walked this earth. Let these short poems give you thoughts about what an honor, what an experience it would be to journey with Jesus. Today we can still journey with Jesus by living by the example that he set many years ago.

Short Poems / Christian Poems / Poems About Jesus / - related: Quotes about Jesus

Fishburgers
Greta Zwaan, © 2011

The fish burgers he carried as he dashed to the top of the hill;
His mother had packed him a basket, his appetite to fulfill.
He was young, he was strong, he was healthy; he was eager to follow the crowd,
He had heard of this fellow called "Jesus" and how hearts were swayed, hearts were bowed.

He needed a personal experience -"Never believe all that you hear."
He figured he'd use his own judgment as he pushed through the crowd and drew near.
WOW! There were thousands of people! The most folks that he'd ever seen,
This Jesus had them all seated and slowly he crawled in between.

That many people! Yet, silence. Not a soul uttered a word!
The only one speaking was Jesus, for no other sound could be heard.
It's late; he should eat his lunch now, he should leave and be on his way;
Yet something compelled him to listen, to hear what Jesus would say.

Then he heard Him question those seated, "Did anyone here bring their lunch?"
He offered his fish burger basket, but it couldn't feed this huge bunch!
But Jesus blessed it and broke it - everyone ate and was filled -
All from his basket of burgers! He was astonished and thrilled!

He'd sat at the feet of the Master! He'd given Him all that he had,
And, oh, what a great transformation occurred in the heart of this lad!

There is always a friend that one never loses, and that friend is Jesus. There is wondrous peace, power and solace to all who call His name. Byron R. Pulsifer

The Heart Of God
Poet: W. E. Littlewood

There is no love like the love of Jesus,
Never to fade or fall
Till into the fold of the peace of God
He has gathered us all.

There is no heart like the heart of Jesus,
Filled with a tender lore;
Not a throb or throe our hearts can know
But he suffered before.

There is no voice like the voice of Jesus;
Ah! how sweet its chime.
Like the musical ring of some rushing spring
In the summer-time!

O might we listen that voice of Jesus!
O might we never roam
Till our souls should rest, in peace, on his breast,
In the heavenly home!

In His Steps
Greta Zwaan, ©1994

In His steps I long to walk, a strong and vital bearer,
To give the message to the world, that Jesus Christ is fairer.
Fairer than the clear blue sky, fairer than the flower,
Always giving of His love, awesome, Holy power.

His gentle manner, loving touch, His total care and teaching,
To the deepest soul of man, His love is ever reaching.
No hurts so strong, no fear so great, that He cannot subdue it,
No soul so deeply steeped in sin, that He cannot renew it.

Compassion, love and gentle care are attributes we savour,
When walking in the light He gives, when living in His favour.
Don't feel discouraged when you've failed, and life falls down around you,
Renew your pledge and try again, for Christ's love will surround you.

He fills the gap, forgives the sin, He brings hope and renewal,
Remember, it's for you He died, you are His precious jewel.
Yes! I can walk beside my Lord! His faith will give me power,
It's by His grace and through His love I'm guided every hour.

The King Of Love
Poet: Henry W. Baker

The King of love my Shepherd is,
Whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am his,
And he is mine forever.

Where streams of living water flow
My ransomed soul he leadeth,
And where the verdant pastures grow
With food celestial feedeth.

Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
But yet in love he sought me,
And on his shoulder gently laid,
And home rejoicing brought me.

In death's dark vale I fear no ill,
With thee, dear Lord, beside me;
Thy rod and staff my comfort still,
Thy cross before to guide me.

And so, through all the length of day,
Thy goodness faileth never;
Good Shepherd, may I sing thy praise
Within thy house forever.

When?
Poet: Susan Coolidge

If I were told that I must die tomorrow,
That the next sun
Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow
For any one,
All the fight fought, all the short journey through,
What should I do?

I do not think that I should shrink or falter,
But just go on
Doing my work, nor change, nor seek to alter
Aught that is gone,
But rise and move and love and smile and pray
For one more day,

And, lying down at night for a last sleeping,
Say in that ear
Which harkens ever: "Lord, within thy keeping
How should I fear?
And when tomorrow brings thee nearer still,
Do thou thy will."

I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender,
My soul would lie
All the night long, and when the morning splendor
Flushed o'er the sky,
I think that I could smile, could calmly say,
"It is his day."

But if a wondrous hand, from the blue yonder,
Held out a scroll
On which my life was writ, and I with wonder
Behold unroll
To a long century's end its mystic clew,
What should I do?

What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master,
Other than this?
Still to go on as now, not slower, faster,
Nor fear to miss
The road, although so very long it be,
While led by thee.

Step after step, feeling thee close beside me,
Although unseen,
Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest hide thee
Or heavens serene,
Assured thy faithfulness can not betray,
Thy love decay.

I may not know, my God; no hand revealeth
Thy counsels wise;
Along- the path a deepening shadow stealeth;
No voice replies
To all my questioning thought, the time to tell -
And it is well.

Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing
Thy will always,
Through a long century's fruition
Or a short day's.
Thou canst not come too soon, and I can wait,
If thou come late.

A Message Of Love
Poet: Unknown

I am only a little poem,
Five minutes will read me through,
But I come in the name of Jesus
With a message of love to you.
You may not see how you can spare the time
My few short lines to trace;
But if never again till the judgment-day,
There I'll meet you face to face.

As on life's rapid transit line
You are nearing some fancied goal,
Have you ever stopped to soliloquize
About your immortal soul?
Do you know that somewhere your journey will end?
Does your conscience ever tell
That when time shall end, your endless life
Is to be spent in heaven or hell?

Do you know when your life of sin is done
And you before God are posed,
That your being will tremble with dreadful awe
With all of your wrongs disclosed?
And then while you wait your just reward,
With all opportunities past,
You will look to the prize which might have been yours,
And say, "I have missed it at last!"

Then, what are you doing to save your soul?
Is your life too busy to spare
From your pleasures and toil and greed for gain
One moment a day in prayer?
Do you know that the perishing things of life,
Which you selfishly call your own,
Will not attract your attention much
When you stand at the judgment-throne?

Will you toil and struggle from day to day.
Till you draw your latest breath,
And never consider the awful change
That will come to you in your death?
Will you strive for knowledge or worldly fame,
No matter how much they cost,
Yet in the end, with all you know,
Be foolish enough to be lost?

Do you know that except you repent of your sins
And have every one forgiven,
And walk in holiness here below,
You can never enter heaven?
A mere profession or joining some church
Will not meet the demands of your soul,
But Christ alone through his precious blood
Can cleanse and keep you whole.

They tell us the world has better grown,
And we live in a Christian land,
And churches to suit most any one's taste
Are found on every hand;
But when we behold the discord and fuss
That exists among those who profess,
We conclude that something is out of fix
With their so-called righteousness.

The inundation of worldly schemes
And of clerical opulence
Have smothered out the fires of truth
And of spiritual innocence.
The days of shouting and prayer and praise,
With many, are things of the past,
And God only knows what is yet to come
Ere we hear the trumpet's blast.

Joy and singing and Christian love
Were our fathers' happy lot;
Now with salaried preachers and rented pews
They worship they know not what.
Once hymns were sung from peaceful hearts,
Now by choirs of modern lore;
While the voice of the bride and bridegroom
Are heard in their chamber no more.

Yet standing aloof from this clashing of creeds
Are a people who dare to be true,
And carry out the commands of God
Just as he told them to.
They join no church that man has made,
But follow the highway trod
By the prophets, apostles, and Christ, their head,
And belong to the church of God.

The dazzling gifts of the early church
Are ours by right today;
No man can truly say that one
Was ever done away.
The blood of Christ does still atone
And every need supplies;
It heals our bodies when they are sick;
It saves and sanctifies.

'Tis I; Be Not Afraid
Poet: Amos E. Flint

Consoling words the Savior speaks
To all who are dismayed,
And whispers to the lost he seeks,
"'Tis I; be not afraid."

When threatening clouds obscure our view
And storms our path invade,
There comes a voice that can subdue -
"'Tis I; be not afraid."

Oh, who could bear life's stormy doom,
Or heal the deep wounds made?
None save whose voice comes through the gloom,
"'Tis I; be not afraid."

When black the threatening skies appear
And death hides in their shade,
There's only one who calms all fear:
"'Tis I; be not afraid."

When in the hours of lonely woe
We need a friend's kind aid,
Then comes a whisper sweet and low,
"'Tis I; be not afraid."

He who has helped us hitherto,
When foes have been arrayed,
Speaks softly all the journey through,
"'Tis I; be not afraid."

That voice leads home, apace, to God
The wand'rers who have strayed,
And, pleading, calls to those who plod,
"'Tis I; be not afraid."

'Tis sweet to look beyond all pain,
Where glories are displayed,
And count our days eternal gain
Where none shall be afraid.

All The Way
Poet: Clara M. Brooks

All the way through life's dark journey
Wandered I alone and sad;
Filled with pride and fond ambition,
Naught of joy or peace I had.
Then there came a gentle whisper,
"Wanderer, no longer stray.
I will satisfy your longings
If you'll follow all the way."

"All the way," my lips repeated,
While I turned me quickly round,
Saw my Savior's blood-stained footprints
He had left upon the ground
Saw his visage marred by sorrow
Saw the thorns he wore one day,
Saw the way from earth to glory -
"Lord, I'll follow all the way."

"All the way," untried before me,
Knowing not where it should lead,
Whether thickly strewn with flowers
Or with brier, thorn, and weed;
Whether billows foamed before me,
Daylight reigned or dismal night, -
"All the way," again I whispered,
"Through the darkness or the light."

"All the way" - far up in heaven,
Angels singing round the throne
Stopped to hear the faltering message
Wafted to their shining home:
There was joy that night among them,
So the story we are told;
For another lamb was sheltered
Safe within the Shepherd's fold.

"All the way" - then just before me
Opened wide the furnace door,
And the fiery flames rose upward
As they did in days of yore
When the three unyielding Hebrews
Walked, rejoicing in their shame,
And the Fourth then walked beside them -
Glory be unto his name!

Then I thought of burning martyrs
As I felt its fiery breath,
Till it seemed my feet were treading
On the threshold strong of death;
But I heard a gentle whisper
As through furnace flame I trod,
And I saw a form beside me -
Lo! 'twas like the Son of God.

"All the way!" - oh, words seraphic,
Coming through the sickening heat!
"Fear thou not, for I am with thee" -
Words most wonderful, most sweet -
"That the gold may shine the brighter,
All the dross must be removed.
I will take thee from the furnace
When thy faithfulness I've proved."

At his feet I fell to worship,
Bowed in sweet submission there,
And the furnace seemed a palace
With my blessed Savior near.
"Take my all, dear Lord, and use me
As the potter did the clay";
And his glory showered o'er me
As I added, "All the way."

Once again I saw his visage
Marred by sorrow, grief, and care;
And my heart became a mirror
With his image pictured there.
"Ah, my child, since thou wilt humbly
Share with me the bitter cup,
I will dwell within thy temple
And forever with thee sup."

Then the door swung widely open,
Forth I stepped with joy untold,
For the dross while in the furnace
Had been taken from the gold.
"Father, I will ever trust thee,
Ever say thy way is best;
All thy works are done in wisdom;
I will wait on thee and rest.

"All the way!" again I whispered,
Fearing not the furnace flame
Nor the storms of life surrounding:
"I will suffer for thy name.
Though I walk amid the shadows,
Thou wilt turn my night to day.
Lead me, Lord, from earth to glory;
I will follow all the way."

I have made my choice forever; I will walk with Christ my Lord

Jesus, I'll Go Throught With Thee
Poet: Mrs. E. E. Williams

I have made my choice forever;
I will walk with Christ my Lord;
Naught from him my soul can sever,
While I'm trusting in his Word.
I the lonely way have taken,
Rough and toilsome though it be,
And although despised, forsaken,
Jesus, I'll go through with thee.

Though the garden lies before me,
And the scornful judgment-hall;
Though the gloom of deepest midnight
Settles round me like a pall,
Darkness can affright me never;
From thy presence shadows flee;
And if thou wilt guide me ever,
Jesus, I'll go through with thee.

Though the earth may rock and tremble,
Though the sun may hide its face,
Though my foes be strong and ruthless,
Still I dare to trust thy grace;
Though the cross my path o'ershadow,
Thou didst bear it once for me,
And whate'er the pain of peril,
Jesus, I'll go through with thee.

When the conflict here is ended,
And the weary journey done;
When the last grim foe is conquered,
And the final victory won;
When the pearly gates swing open,
And an entrance full and free
Shall be granted to the victors, -
Jesus, I'll go through with thee.

Nothing To Do
Poet: Unknown

Nothing to do in this world of ours!
Where weeds spring up with fairest flowers,
Where smiles have only a fitful play,
Where hearts are breaking every day.

Nothing to do, thou Christian soul!
Wrapping thee round in thy selfish stole;
Off with the garments of sloth and sin!
Christ thy Lord hath a kingdom to win.

Nothing to do! There are prayers to lay
On the altar of incense, day by day;
There are foes to meet within and without;
There is error to conquer, strong and stout.

Nothing to do! There are minds to teach
The simplest form of Christian speech;
There are hearts to lure with loving wile
From the grimmest haunts of sin's defile.

Nothing to do! There are lambs to feed,
The precious hope of the church's need;
Strength to be borne to the weak and faint;
Vigils to keep with the doubting saint.

Nothing to do! And thy Savior said,
"Follow thou me in the path I tread."
Lord, lend thy help the journey through,
Lest, faint, we cry, "So much to do!"

Singing For Jesus
Poet: Frances Ridley Havergal

Singing for Jesus, our Saviour and King,
Singing for Jesus, the Lord whom we love;
All adoration we joyously bring,
Longing to praise as we'll praise Him above.

Singing for Jesus, our Master and Friend,
Telling His love and His marvelous grace;
Love from eternity, Love without end,
Love for the loveless, the sinful and base.

Singing for Jesus, and trying to win
Many to love Him, and join in the song;
Calling the weary and wandering in.
Rolling the chorus of gladness along.

Singing for Jesus, our Life and our Light,
Singing for Him as we press to the mark;
Singing for Him when the morning is bright,
Singing, still singing, for Him in the dark.

Singing for Jesus, our Shepherd and Guide,
Singing for gladness of heart that He gives;
Singing for wonder and praise that He died,
Singing for blessing and joy that He lives.

Singing for Jesus, Oh, singing for joy!
Thus will we praise Him and tell out His love,
Till He shall call us to brighter employ.
Singing for Jesus forever above.

Talk With Jesus
Poet: Unknown

May you talk with Jesus!
Lord, let me talk with Thee of all I do,
All that I care for, all I wish for, too.
Lord, let me prove Thy sympathy, Thy power,
Thy loving oversight from hour to hour!

When I need counsel let me ask of Thee:
Whatever my perplexity may be.
It cannot be too trivial to bring
To One who marks the sparrow's drooping wing;
Nor too terrestrial, since Thou hast said
The very hairs are numbered on our head.
Are those I love the cause of anxious care?

Thou canst unbind the burdens they may bear.
Before the mysteries of Thy word or will
Thy voice can gently bid my heart be still,
Since all that is now hard to understand
Shall be unravelled in yon heavenly land;

Do weakness, weariness, disease, invade
This earthly house, which Thou thyself hast made?
Thou only, Lord, can'st touch the hidden spring
Of mischief, and attune the jarring string.