“The Victory” by Darius M. Ratcliff, March 3, 1945



I have heard the roar of lions,

Heard the eagle’s screaming call;

I have heard the sounding waters

Of Niagara’s mighty fall;

Heard the deep voice of the ocean,

Heard its waves on boulders clash;

I have heard the roar of tempest,

Heard the thunders roll and crash:

But I want to hear the trumpet

Of the angel of the Lord;

Bidding men to cease all striving,

Fling away the spear and sword;

And I want to hear the tumult

When this earth shall pass away;

And the Lord brings in the new earth

Where we’ll live in endless day.

I have heard the boom of cannon

Crashing out in dead of night,

And I’ve heard a din infernal

When the guns let go with might;

I have heard a thousand bombers

Dropping thunders high o’erhead,

Till the night was mad and ghastly,

And the earth was lurid red:

Then I’ll see the sign of Jesus,

Coming with transcendent power,

And all earth will know the meaning

Of the coming judgment hour:

Then I’ll see the chosen gathered

While the godless flee in vain.

All the wrongs of earth then righted: –

Then at last a righteous reign.

I have seen the bloom of spring

Heard the May vibrant with song

I have felt midsummer’s warmth

When the days were sweet and long

I have known autumnal glories,

Seen the trees with reds aglow;

Seen the azures of the skies,

Seen the whiteness of the snow:

But I want to see the beauties

Of that earth that God will make

For the chosen ones of Christ,

Saved and loved for Jesus’ sake.

If this earth has now such grandeurs

For a brief and passing hour,

What will be the nameless wonders

When God works with all His power?

I have chosen Christ as Savior

Made Him Lord and Master too.

I have found in Him salvation,

Found a friend and helper true.

He has blessed my earthly journey;

With His grace has blessed my way;

I have found more than I dreamed of,

Found the joy and peace of DAY:

But I long for fuller raptures

Which the Lord’s prepared for me,

When I’m raised with Christ in glory,

When the Lord himself I’ll see;

Yes, I long for joys immortal

When the night has passes and done

And I long to meet the others

When the victory is won.

Image above retrieved from:




“The Valley Road and the Mountain Path” by Darius M. Ratcliff, February 13, 1945



A road leads away through the valley,

            And promises abundance of fun;

The crowds are gay in the valley:

            Why think of the setting of the sun?

Let us eat, let us laugh, and be merry;

            Let us have a good time while we may:

We are young and carefree and happy;

            We are out to enjoy the whole day.

But Christ has been calling and warning: –

            Alas, is He’s called us in vain:

For His wrath is over the valley,

And we falter and fall with the  slain.

If we ignore God’s calling and warning,

            And despise the Lord and His light;

If we follow the way of our pleasures,

            We’ll be lost in the valley of night.

Have you looked ahead in the valley

            To see what your journey will be?

If the wrath of God’s in the valley,

            Do you think earth’s blessings you’ll see?

Have you looked afar in the valley,

            Where the clouds in the distance dark swell?

Is your road a highway to glory?

            Of the broad way leading to hell?

A path is cut in the mountains,

            And narrow and rugged the way;

And few are the mortals who find it,

            And fewer the heroes who stay.

But the path is the highway to glory,

            And there is not another way;

And a cross marks out in the mountains

            The highway leading to day.

And the love of God is in the mountains,

            And blessings are given up there:

There is joy and unspeakable glory

            For those who the rugged way dare.

And heaven is reached through the mountains:

            It lies at the rugged way’s end.

Its gates are open to travelers,

            The traveler who the mountains ascend.

Image above retrieved from:


“Mother’s Day” by Darius M. Ratcliff, 1943




Mother with the golden hair,

Mother still young and fair;

Gazing at your baby dear,

Heaven seems to you most near.

God who made the glowing flowers,

God who made the woodland bowers,

God who is so wise and good,

Gave the gift called motherhood.

Lovely are the birds of flight,

Glorious are the stars of night:

Far more beautiful than they,

Is this gift for mortals’ day.

Mother, count your blessings, try;

Blessings money could not buy:

Children romping with their toys,

Mothers’ love, and mothers’ joys.

Motherhood has brought to you

Blessings for your whole life through;

Motherhood has made you mother, –

You’d not change for any other.


Mother, slow sweet years will pass,

Baby will become a lass;

You must meet the mother’s test;

Motherhood should have your best.

You can take the selfish road,

Shun the mother’s heavy load:

Motherhood can have your worst;

You can take the way accursed.

You will need the Savior’s grace,

You should turn to Christ your face:

For you must always true,

God and man depend on you.

You may feel a cruel cross,

You may suffer bitter loss:

You must rally from each blow,

You must still toward victory go.

You must keep the goal in sight;

Turn not from it left or right:

You for Christ and heaven build;

Till your last heart beat is stilled.


You must go the long, long way,

Golden hair will turn to gray:

Wrinkles will possess the face

Now so fair with youthful grace.

You may then be left to weep

For the child you couldn’t keep:

Death sometimes the fairest takes,

Of our love as cross then makes.

You a bitter cup may drink,

Sadder than you now dare think:

Feet in sin may choose to stray,

Leaving you for years to pray.

You may reap glad earthly joys,

See your loved one in good employs:

Never know the anxious part

Never know a broken heart.

God has made a perfect plan,

Far transcending our mind’s span:

Serve with Christ your journey through

Glorious things are waiting you.

You may fail to understand

Till you reach the heavenly strand:

But as sure as God is good,

Joys await true motherhood.

Image above:

Mary and baby Jesus Christ, ‘La vierge aux raisins’ by Pierre Mignard (1640). Pierre Mignard (November 7, 1612 to May 30, 1695), also called ‘Le Romain’ to distinguish him from his brother Nicolas and his nephew Pierre II, was a French painter, born at Troyes.

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“Come” by Darius M. Ratcliff, June 5, 1944


Out from this earth’s vain wisdom and pride

Out from the offers of vain glories beside,

Out from its trust and worship of man,

Out from its magnifying time’s brief span,

Into a faith in the crucified One,

Into radiance in God’s only Son,

Into the Christ who died in your stead.


Out of earth’s darkness and blindness and night,

Out of its weakness and failure and plight,

Out of its poverty, sickness, and woe,

Out of its vanity, pride, and mere show;

Into the light of Christ’s glorious day,

Into the strength of His triumphant sway,

Into His treasures and gladness and joy,

Into these things that naught can destroy.


Out of uncertainties, doubts, and dread fears,

Out of earth’s torments and sorrows and tears,

Out from the shadow of death and the tomb,

Out from impending slavery and doom;

Into the peace of assurance divine,

Into the knowledge that Jesus is mine,

Into the freedom where Jesus makes free,

Into the life forever to be.


Out of thyself, and having thy way,

Ignoring, despising all thoughts of God’s sway,

Out of rebellion against power above,

Refusing, denying submission and love;

Into the Christ as thy own to believe,

Into the Spirit by faith to receive,

Into the life by the Spirit to live.

Into the fullness which Christ and God give.


Out of the passionate love of the world,

Clinging to treasures by mammon unfurled,

Out  of the serving of Satan and flesh,

Laying up treasures where moths prey afresh;

Into salvation to the Master of love,

Into the striving for treasure above,

Into His service to find they delight,

Into His service, who claims you by right.


Out of the realm of the prince of the air,

Out of the road that leads to despair,

Out of a hope that lureth in vain,

Out of these glories beginning to wane,

Into the realm where earth’s gains are but loss,

Into the kingdom of God and the cross,

Into the way of the Lord’s promised rest,

Into the fold of the ransomed and blessed.


 Photo above:

Sermon on the Mount by Danish painter Carl Heinrich Bloch (May 23, 1834 – February 22, 1890).

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