Bunyan’s Cell

So much that I might do

But the tide has turned again

And the King’s ire is up-raised

And he’s seeking out God’s men.

And the Church is now his toy

And the Bishops do his will

Though the lordship of our Christ

Is a fact and power still.

And the cell a wee bit larger

Than the one I had last time

And the sleep in Christ’s approval

Brings restoring most sublime.

And the dream I had last night

Must become a volume true

Of the journey of one “Christian”

And the perils he passed through.

And the vision of the City

That would help him bear the shame

As he left the ways of custom

And the neighbours mocked his name.

And a wife would not go with him

As he heeded Matthew Ten.

But he prayed the God of Mercy

Would unite them once again.

Yes, a dream held all this power

And a River, glorious thought;

With a crossing, praising Jesus

For the Joyful Land He bought.


(Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON)


Poets’ Evangel

It’s a mirror

It’s a ladder

It’s a weapon for Mansoul

It’s a bombast

From the Christ past

Crying now to be made whole.

It’s a comfort 

For the wounded

And a hospice for their hurt

It’s a warning

To the haughty

That their Father came from dirt.

It’s another

Look at Calvary

And another, yet again

It’s a resume

On Jesus

Working still today for men.

It’s a fairground

For the senses

But it must not leave the trail

Of the journey

Ever upward

By the folk who pass Death’s Vale.

It’s an invite 

To the wayward

And a shelter for their night

It’s adoption

To a family

Resting washed and safe and right.

It’s an offering

From the heart’s purse

With but two small mites in hand.

It’s a blessing

To the writers

That they hardly understand.


Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON

The Wild Flock


It must be rough

Watching us

In the upward climb.

Heads butt

And feet stray

From the path

You know is best.

And I am in this bunch.

Hazards too many

Because of our stiff necks

And crazy inclinations.

Because of the mean weather

And the skulking wolf.

A friend passed yesterday

We bleated our misery

Missing a member.

Feeling our vulnerability.

But your rod, Sir

And your staff

They comfort me

In strange ways.

And with you

It is mostly sunshine

And that high, lush plateau*

Will be attained.


(*Romans 8: 35-39)

Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON

Seated High

You’re up on my shoulders
And tugging my hair
And laughing
For all you hold dear.
And daughter
I’d carry you anywhere
Delighting that you
Cling so near.
The sun is at apex
And waves wash my feet
And time has been
Frozen it seems.
Oh will you remember
When years pull apart
Our walks and our talks
And our dreams?
This Father is weeping
In spite of the joy
For blessings
Unearned in your smile.
And thinking the Father
Has carried me high
And kept me from harm
All the while.

Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON

Holy Fear

I would hate to disappoint you
And am driven by the thought
That you suffered for my failings
And my pardon bravely bought.
Not a one gets in as closely
To my heart of hearts’ repose
Though my mind can scarcely fathom
That before all time You chose
To adopt me in the Firstborn
And to give me grace to stand
Right before your throne of Glory
Not with shaking voice or hand.
There’s a boldness now in coming
And in kneeling at your feet
And the change is thanks to Calvary
And it makes my joy complete.

Psalm 34
Hebrews 4: 15, 16