Ann Marie Forest
Twas' The Night Before Jesus
Twas the night before Jesus came and all through the house,
not a creature was praying, not one in the house.
Their Bibles were lain on the shelf without care,
in hopes that Jesus, would not come there.
The children were dressing, to crawl in to bed,
not once ever kneeling or bowing a head;
And mom in her rocker with the baby on her lap,
was watching the late show while I took a nap.
When out of the east there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my feet to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the shutters and threw up the sash!
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but Angels proclaiming that Jesus was here!
With the light like the sun sending forth a bright ray,
I knew in a moment, this must be THE DAY.
The light of his face made me cover my head;
It was Jesus returning, just like He said.
And though I possessed worldly wisdom and wealth,
I cried when I saw him, in spite of myself.
In the Book Of Life which He held in His hand,
was written the name of every saved man,
He spoke not a word as He searched for my name,
when He said, 'It's not here.' my head hung in shame.
The people whose names had been written with love,
He gathered to take to His Father above.
With those who were ready, He rose without sound,
while all the rest, were left standing round.
I fell to my knees but it was too late,
I had waited too long and thus sealed my fate.
I stood and I cried as they rose out of site;
Oh if only we, had been ready tonight.
In the words of this poem the meaning is clear,
the coming of Jesus is drawing near.
There's only one life and when comes the last call,
we'll find that the Bible, was true afterall.
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Comments about this poem (Twas' The Night Before Jesus by Ann Marie Forest )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(1914 - 1955)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
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