I am no poet and rarely do I ever show anything of this nature to others, but I am in Oxford and wish to share this with some on the other side of the pond. So here it is….
On Regent’s Park
by Thomas White
Ancient paintings hang along the halls,
and the courtyards are so quaint.
Baptist treasures lie within these walls,
but the Hilton, that she ain’t.
Sounds of snoring invade each room,
and the bathroom has no shower.
No televisions here to speak of doom.
No elevators up these towers.
This lack of comfort is what I need,
to show me where my sin lies.
Former luxury has become necessity.
exposed in the land where martyrs died.
I saw Helwys’s work on the Mystery
defending religious liberty.
He was slain for his Iniquity,
yet often I don’t speak at all.
The martyrs’ monument tells their story
As they truly followed the Savior.
May I speak so boldly of His glory,
rather than seeking any man’s favor.
I take no possession from this city
where the Ox once water crossed
More valuable, is a new fervency
to preach Jesus to the lost.