Charity Is Love
©2011 Susan Noyes Anderson
Charity is love, pure love…
a sacred gift from up above
that brightens every day we live,
empow’ring us to lift, forgive
and serve each other, come what may,
in Jesus Christ’s appointed way.
These poems about Christ are among my favorites, for writing them has brought me closer to Him. God gives good gifts, and I am grateful for His presence in each day. May these poems, focused on the Savior’s life, mission and example, communicate His love to everyone who scrolls through them. If you are specifically looking for Christmas Poems or Easter Poems, feel free to click directly on either category. (Please request permission to use my poems about Christ by email before using, and be sure to include full copyright information on every copy. For internet use, a link back to the poem on this site is required.)
FINDING THE POEM YOU WANT: As you scroll through this section, simply read each snippet sample (usually the first four lines) to get a feel for the poem. When you find something you like, click “CONTINUE READING” to view the entire poem.
Charity is love, pure love…
a sacred gift from up above
that brightens every day we live,
empow’ring us to lift, forgive
and serve each other, come what may,
in Jesus Christ’s appointed way.
Leather sandals, dusty feet,
soles worn out in service.
Lessons taught, lessons learned;
stilled souls waiting, nervous.
To bathe soiled feet was but a servant’s lot,
eschewed by men whose station lent them grace.
These did not stoop to take a lowly place,
nor pause to wonder if, one day, they ought.
In ancient days, the law of sacrifice
was clear and plain.
The firstlings of each flock were offered
to the Lord and slain.
Sometimes I dream our manger scene
is brought to life at night.
The darkness yields to shepherds’ fields
and one star, shining bright.
Evening falls like gentle rain
upon the weary day.
The colors fade, then flash once more
before they pass away.
Gethsemane brought Jesus to His knees.
“Remove this cup from me,” He dared to ask.
His humble prayer, “Thy will, not mine, be done,”
allowed no respite from the fearsome task.
How bless’d are we by all of God’s creation!
What miracles attend His outstretched hand!
Adoring is our gaze across the mountains,
Appreciative, our feet upon the land.