Spurgeon III Beside no man will, If any man will convert himself no man will Who can measure

the power of the Holy Spirit? Remind you of God's promises; The spirit, like some heavenly wind Shelter me in from all the pain; Guide you in your decisions... Stregnthen your faith; Spurgeon knew in fullest view that tempers a fire When the spirit of God goes away from us and suspends all operations; Another personal belief, Although some quite content in turning over a leaf? We long for inner silence of reflective choice beauty The remorse over shadows in longing temperament lie Comfort you in your sorrows; Look deeper in the breath of silence in complete honesty A tug at the heart alonside brevity The spirit, like some heavenly wind blows on the sons of flesh Some may equate laughter with fear I shed a single tear to numb its inner pain The Holy Spirit is like an advocate to one in peril Transgress the inner lomging to be heard (We long for silence etched on the pilgrims journey amidst timeless cavity As thought provoked caged barbaric tombstone appear then radiate its pulse An explosion of lava pressed toward the mark & pull.) Poetry is an artform conveyed in certain hindsight embellished among thorns In certain appease to crown the jewel Dost mind us to prompt us to cry A shiver in silence amidst the dwelling The seasons of persuasive shattered promises In its conclave nor reasons; A deep reflective look inside by its call asunder In shapes of twilight merged in its eventful regard to each other Passerby's can err' escape the helping hand of its glory Shaped by encridible love out of its illusion!