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Come Climb the Hill
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By Michael P. Johnson
Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson

† † † Come Climb the Hill

What do we seek each Sabbath morn?

Whatís in a church to do?

When far too few have been reborn

And through Godís blood made new

Few place their faith in Christís report

Their hope in Jesusí name

Godís holy will, must still be sought

Till safely through The Flame

Not few will say the church is cold

Her ancient rules severe

Like Esau, souls can soon be sold

Unless they draw Christ near

Of course the church canít make us whole

Canít free a man of sin

Nor can she save a shameful soul

That cares to venture in

Yet children who are steeped in prayer

However large or small

For endless life can now prepare

And answer to The Call

Religion cannot lead to life

Canít open Heavenís door

Canít make Godís Son a perfect wife

From Satanís wayward whore

We need to fill our cup with grace

Consume Godís righteous Wine

Repent and leave the devilís place

However chic and fine

Unless we curb our stubborn will

Seek Heavenís Lamb on high

Unless we climb Salvation Hill

Like fools weíll surely dieÖ..

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Submitted: Saturday, February 2, 2013

Last Updated: Sunday, February 3, 2013

About the Poet
I never wrote a word of poetry in my life. Till the day Jesus took my hand and touched my soul.....I invite your response. However most poems are not about me! Very few are. But the feed-back good, bad or indifferent is always desired. Not meant to offend, but I write about many things in many a guise. Of life, death, lost, found, saved, backsliders, new comers, repenting souls, doubting hearts, heathens, Christians, fire, water, Satan's daughter, wallowing in sin, saved, made sound walking in Light, graceful righteous. Suffering, ecstatic, bored, excited, sad, delighted, Sick, well, lame, able, living, dying, etc. etc. etc. Writing about anything, everything and everyone as the spirit leads. All meant to reveal, waken, revive, encourage, shame, help. Gladden, pick up, exalt, portrait, liberate. Again over 99% of my work is not about me. Although at times I write as though I were or am. Speaking e.g. in the first person. This is quite common even in the bible itself. Prophets speak of themselves, then God speaks, again the prophet, then God......Quite often it's difficult to distinguish whom it is that at any given time is speaking or narrating.

Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson

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