MY BOUQUET OF THANKS

I'm walking today through my garden of praise
Picking fresh flowers to brighten my days
Thinking of all that the Lord has bestowed
Counting each blessing to lighten my load.

Cutting the stem of a beautiful rose

Fragrance and beauty each petal disclose
Thorns of anxiety led me astray
Calvary's love gently blew it away.

Lilies of peace that are gathered in tears
Precious reminder God's freedom from fears
Christ's blood-bought family are part of His plan
Bright'ning His Table with gifts from His hand.

Think of your flowers this Thanksgiving Day
Gath'ring bouquets as a tribute of praise
Bring them as gifts to the Father above
Jesus the Source of all blessings and love.
B. Pent

AMERICA REPENT!

The door is closing on your Land
I keep on knocking to come in
But you have shut your heart to Me
I can no longer bear your sin

Your Nation stood upon My Word
A strong foundation built on truth
Your leaders sought to fear My name
And would not waver from its roots.

Your land became a Promised Land
Where milk and honey blessed the world
And all who came found hope and peace
As Lady Liberty foretold.

Then fame and fortune turned your head
While prayer no longer filled your thoughts
The Bible soon was put aside
And "self" became the object sought.

Now shame and violence fills your streets
With homes and schools all torn apart
And human life no longer bears
The image of My loving heart.

I weep for you as judgment calls
For retribution to begin
My Spirit is no longer there
To intercede because of sin.

But I'll keep knocking at your door
I long to come and heal your Land
But you must call upon My name
And in repentance take your stand.
--B. Pent

GIVING THANKS

I see the starving throng
Who have no food to eat.
I leave the grocery store
With lots of fruit and meat.
And yet, as night gives way to sleep
The question I repeat:
"Shouldn't I give thanks?"

The broken shacks appear
Where huddled families live
While I in comfort view
And very little give,
And still, as night gives way to sleep
The question I repeat:
"Why don't I give thanks?"

The sick lie in despair
There seems so little hope
With medication rare
The suffering cannot cope.
And then, as night gives way to sleep
The question I repeat:
"When will I give thanks?"

Thanksgiving's here again
As family members share
The blessings we receive
For those we love and care.
And so, as night gives way to sleep
This time I will repeat:
"Dear Lord! I give you thanks!"
--B. Pent