Faith

That faith is merely but a breath,
I truly cannot see.
How can it be, that in one's death
we learn each faith was free?

I must in faith receive His Grace
to truly be redeemed.
I must imagine His Blest Face
to know it's all it seemed.

That faith is trusting as a child
what never I can touch
brings fear about this One so mild,
that I would love so much.

How can I live forever Day,
if I'm not truly sure,
that Christ has saved me come what may
with saving faith so pure?

To struggle with one's living faith
is where we start to heal.
To reach to touch the childlike wraith
of rocklike faith that's real.

To know the Lord is not caprice,
and never slaps His child
for out loud speaking 'bout the piece
of faith, that is unfiled.

When just a youth of six small years
I came to know His Grace.
He gave me faith from lasting fears,
to find in Him my place.

My greatest fear throughout my days
is whether faith is true,
to know if trust is just displays
of mental things I do.

We cannot grasp with fleshy mind
one ounce of faith, that saves
as grasping water with the hand
sends thirst to early grave.

Yet, faith, that saves can learn to rest,
while looking on His Face.
The One, Who carries me is blest,
His Faith, Foundation's place.

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(Hebrews 11:1; John 6:37)

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Words: 242
Lines: 40
Form: Hymn-style Quatrains of two couplets each
of an iambic tetrameter line and an iambic trimeter line

by Jay O’Toole
on April 29th, 2022

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