The Father Watched

 

Father, You watched as He walked by,

Helping and healing on this earth.

You watched Him suffer, heard His cry

And yet, You could not intervene-

But only watch.

You saw Him bear His cross’s load

To go to die at Calvary,

On that so long and painful road,

When nails were driven through His hands

You saw His pain.

But when that dreadful hour was come,

Our Jesus had to bear our sins.

The Father blackened out the sun,

So none could see the Crucified

Give up His life.

The Father waits and watches us,

And sees each sorrow, every pain.

He looks to see in each loved face

The likeness of His firstborn Son

Shine out for Him.

Mark Humber 1/3/2003

 From impressions gained from a preaching by Steve Keating at Punchbowl Christian Centre, Launceston

The Trombone Tutor

He leaned back in the carver chair

His eyes were almost closed

With hair that flowed out everywhere

Like sound waves frozen in mid-air

As he listened to my tune.

But he could no longer then sit tight

As I struggled through my piece

I wanted to pitch the notes so right

And make the sound more full and bright

Though it worsened line by line.

“Picture a sunset in the sky

An artist’s palette taken up

And strewn about by God on high.

The colours whirl and seem to fly,

Oh, try to play that tune!”

“Ever sat by a mountain stream

As it trickled on its endless way

Round the rocks of time its waters gleam

Then open up your soul and try to dream

That your song warbles down the walls.”

“Do you know the thrill of the touch of a girl?

As she lifts her sweet face to yours

To whisper, “I love you”, the heart’s cymbals whirl

Filling the night with the mighty burl

Of the everlasting ode of love.”

“Take up your instrument of gleaming gold

And blow through its still cold form

Your heart and mind, your deepest soul

To reverberate with a sound so whole

With the colours of your life’s song.”

Mark Humber 7/04/01

Inspired by my wonderful trombone teacher, Monte Mumford.

The Morning of My Day.

Oh, that I were again

In the morning of my day,

When the sun's first rays

Had kissed the poignant air,

Full of the hope of brilliant noon.

For I remember well

On the morning of my day,

How the pretty wrens

So quickly turned their heads

When I did pipe to them my tune.

Yes, it was glorious then

On the morning of my day,

As refracted light

From every drop of due

Sent forth its glistening rainbow hues.

Now it may well be noon

On the morning of my day.

But lo, I hear

A voice, it calls to me-

"Go forth, be bold, and seize the day".

And if I e’er should find,

On the morning of my day,

Some open heart

That I could fill with love,

I’d shine my brightest love-light in.

Oh, that I might discern,

On the morning of my day,

That there was one,

Who could call forth a tune

To which I’d ever harmonise.

And so, I'll seek to stay,

On the morning of my day.

For though I know

The night will surely come-

I'll live each moment to the full!

Mark J. Humber 19^th June 2000

Quite amusing that this was written more than 10 years ago.  I still hate getting old... :D

Ruth

 

She came from a country of famine,

And her gleaning was more than the most,

Yet "she sat in the house but a little,"

Were the words of the mighty man's boast.

 

Not only much hunger, but sorrow,

Had marked out the way that she came,

Left alone by the death of her husband;

Of a race that could only mean shame.

 

She found that those great wings of refuge,

Would comfort, support and provide,

That her lonely heart's aching was answered

As he counselled her there to reside.

 

Go not to another field, gleaning,

For there's plenty of work to be done.

And the fields, they are white for the harvest:

The first‑fruits made ripe by the sun.

 

She lay at his feet till the morning,

To give him her heart was her wish.

He appealed to a nearer relation,

For the right of redemption was his.

 

He owned that he could not redeem her.

So that lover the matter must meet,

By a token of humiliation -

He must stoop and un-sandal his feet.

 

And such was the love that has claimed us,

Magnanimous heart bore the loss,

For the feet that had led Him to Calvary,

Were the ones they did nail to the cross.

 

So we gladly may loosen the sandal,

In respect of this holiest ground,

And give it up too for our David,

Give it up, give it all in His hand.

 

For religious ideals of reforming,

Would ne'er bring a Moabite in,

But bearing His humiliation,

Be renewed, full of Christ, freed from sin.

Mark Humber 1999

The Good Samaritan

On  a well-travelled route, the old Jericho Way,

So well known to many of us,

Went a man out alone on the ill-fated day

To a palm-treed old city of lust.

But afflicted by robbers, and wounded and stripped,

Left dying by merciless hands.

A spectacle sad for any who tripped

Down the road through the Palestine sands.

          So, will anyone stop for a soul in distress,

          And what could you possibly do?

          As you ponder your choice, you are put to the test-

What if Jesus had not stopped for you?

The clergy came up with his robes and his book,

And looked on the pitiful sight.

But his flock was at home, with no one to look,

So he passed by the opposite side.

The Levite, he likewise came strutting along

To observe with disinterested eye.

If only he had there that most august throng-

But no one was there to descry.

So, will anyone stop for a soul in distress,

          And what could you possibly do?

          As you ponder your choice, you are put to the test-

What if Jesus had not stopped for you?

Next, a stranger came up to the place where he lay-

An outcast Samaritan, he.

Rejected, he has no desire for display,

But was moved by a deep sympathy.

He bound up his wounds, poured in oil and wine-

Laid him on his beast that was there.

Took him to a place where they’re caring and kind

And promised all cost he would bear.

So, will anyone stop for a soul in distress,

          And what could you possibly do?

          As you ponder your choice, you are put to the test-

What if Jesus had not stopped for you?

Now, you’ve known this old story in Luke well indeed,

And enjoyed its great Gospel appeal,

But, have you got the point of the neighbour in need-

Poor lawyer, yet cynical still?

When you passed by that young soul so cocky (for sure),

Did you greet him with friendship so rare?

Or speak to the sullen to bring him some cheer-

Did you stop, just a moment to spare?

So, will anyone stop for a soul in distress,

          And what could you possibly do?

          As you ponder your choice, you are put to the test-

            What if Jesus had not stopped for you?              

Mark Humber 1999

My disgust with religious pretence.

A Young Man In Heaven

Come, if you would see Him, though frightened and trembling, 

The secret of power is offered you free.

Draw closer to Christ to be rid of sin’s burden,

And find there’s a young Man in heaven for thee.

He’s borne all our griefs and He’s carried our sorrows,

Laid down His life in the midst of His days.

So gently He calls you to hasten still onward,

The young Man in glory still lingers today.

We see them pass over, the aged and the crippled,

The child from the comfort of motherly care.

So many hearts broken, much sorrow unspoken,

They all will be like Him, the young Man up there.

So deep in our hearts we are feeling a longing,

To be more like Jesus, our Saviour and Lord.

The only thing then, that will bring satisfaction-

To wake with His likeness where He is adored.

Mark Humber 29/9/91

Written on the death of a close friend, Doug Rose, at the age of 23. Doug died while preaching in a church. The death certificate read, 'No cause of death established.'