Today (04/05) is my wife’s birthday. There’s much I could say about how much I admire her, appreciate her, love her…and all I could say would be pathetically inadequate. However, here’s a poem I wrote for her, in tribute of her and many other godly wives and mothers. This probably isn’t that great…but it is my stab at describing how marvelously wonderful a godly woman is!
She rises early, stays up late,
awakes at midnightâ€™s hour.
She labors with relentless love
for her man and children.
Her payment is not found in banks,
nor bonds, nor earthly store;
for all her work she yet receives
a lasting glory trove.
Her body bears the sacred proof,
that sheâ€™s a womb for life.
Sacrificial scars of bearing,
rearing, training children,
adorn her both inside and out,
with more lovely splendor
than all the gaudy, garish garb
of the worldlingsâ€™ goddess.
She wraps her arms around her home,
a hedge against the wilds.
Her babes are nuzzled, nursed, nurtured
while on her joyful breast,
theyâ€™re taught to hope in God alone
and count him as their Lord.
Both infant heads and youthful hearts
find boldness in her bosâ€™m.
Her wearied eyes, from sleepless nights,
are bright with Heavenâ€™s grace.
Her hands, careworn by countless chores,
give mercy, care, and love.
The house she daily tends with charm
declares her faithful toil:
shaping chaos into order,
clutter to a garden.
Her husband rises up to bless
his bride, indeed, his crown.
Her children count her as their queen,
bestowing regal gifts
of giggles, kisses, & respect,
her wisdom round their necks.
She is a splendor to behold,
akin to troops amassed.
Her seemingly unnoticed work,
shall soon up-end the world.
As she goes about her calling,
the Serpentâ€™s head is crushed.
Beneath her heel of Christian faith,
the dragons meet their doom.
Sheâ€™s born and bred a squad of saints,
who conquer in Christâ€™s name.
Sheâ€™s planting trees, known as children,
to bear the fruit of faith.
Fashâ€™ning arrows for his quiver,
her man makes war on hell.
The work she does is not lowly,
useless, or old-fashioned.
It shall endure for untold years;
those yet unborn shall hear.
In fact, the earth shall soon be full
of thousands from her womb;
who will declare, by covenant grace,
of promises made sure.
As one shall they arise to say
what godly offspring should:
â€œher faithful care has paved the way
for us to worship God.â€