The Brush Of Our Master’s Hand – by Bernie Wheater

The Brush Of Our Master’s Hand

The sun’s golden red haze

sets ablaze the early eve sky.

Majestically it’s framed

in royal purples and blues.

So smooth is each line

so perfect each stroke

that shamed are the brushes

of Anglo and Vango.

Behind Lisa’s enchanted smile

flow envious tears

for not to have been captured

in such a beautiful array.

Yet beyond the comprehension

of our small minds to understand,

it’s such a simple simple painting

from the brush of our Master’s Hand.

Upon a black velvet canvas

shines a zillion tiny stars.

Yet when it is full

one shines oh so bright.

So pure is it’s glow

clothed in righteous satin white,

yet it is only a reflection

lighting the endless dark night.

It’s a symbol of His church

in this darkness called sin,

we each should be a reflection

of the Son He had sent.

Yet beyond the comprehension

of our small minds to understand,

is the story of each painting

from the brush of our Master’s Hand.


Among a dozen or more needles

He paints a perfect rose.

Such splendor a flower

to be placed among thorns.

It’s an example from our Father

A gift of His great Love,

to a world full of evil

He sent us Jesus His Son.

From the thorns and the cross

was flowing red cleansing blood

which He shed for the sins

of each and every one of us.

Yet beyond the comprehension

of our small minds to understand,

is the love in each painting

from the brush of our Master’s Hand.

Bernie Wheater

2-19-1998