As If From An Organ

Be gentle my love, for I am weak
A breath may be my undoing,
A sigh may slay me in my seat.
Torn by vicious forces, I am bruised
And all but lost.  Praised be He Who
does not break the reed,
Praised be He Who seeks the lost.

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I no longer remember what this poem was for.  So, for now, I am putting it up in its incompleteness.

God's Battle Line

Like men set fast in battle array,
Stand these before me in the fray,
Matthew holds by the old stone wall --
What rests in eternity does not fall.
Mark bends his knee and strings his bow,
Doubt not, he is greater than his foe
Nor doubt the strength in old Luke's arms
Suffices to guard his friends from harm.
For is not the weakest greater than he
Who denies his Lord for eternity?
Behold last, and greater than all the rest
Than man, ox, or beast of wilderness
The eagle of Patmous, the youngest of all
Yet surest and wisest of all the Lord's thralls.
For who shall question the wisdom of He,
Called beloved of God from eternity?