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Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.

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Here I raise my Ebenezer; hither by thy help I’ve come; and I hope, by thy good pleasure, safely to arrive at home. Robert Robinson’s hymn Come Thy Fount of Every Blessing To raise an Ebenezer: In Hebrew, Ebenezer means “stone of help” (eben = stone; ezer = help). Samuel wanted the people to remember, not just for a few days, but for years, for decades, for generations, how God had come to the rescue of his people when they humbled themselves before him. (from desiringgod.org) EBENEZER - with a nod to A Christmas Carol There’s a knock at the door! There’s a knock at the door, And yet! it’s the knocker, the trend set of the past. It’s an old-fashioned drink, a hot toddy, he thinks. The whorl of the snow infringing upon his home. He’d not allow it! A man’s face on the knocker - he asks himself if he’s snockered, though his lips haven’t tipped a bottle in too many years. His glasses are old. Have they been wiped clean. The wind seems to roar at his madness. It’s madness to hear an old partner, near, for he lays under the snow, walks with the embers aglow. Does he now hear the chain gang? He quickly enters his mausoleum - well, it’s his spot, a tomb of sorts. A welcomed nap in a high-backed chair. He takes his first snore but that sound of chains arouses him from its depths. He wills the cacophony to back off but finds he’s not in charge. He’s to be enslaved to this night, to keep company with ghosts. Past Tripping over his tongue, silver pockets, a gal to entertain - which one to pick… He prefers to pick a lock and imprison himself with his gold. Present He has a preference to close his wrinkled eyes, but the ghost holds them open with toothpicks and to his surprise, ugly things crawl and attack. Future Finger pointing, he thought was his to do, to stretch towards poverty. What is worse than the grave, the dirt-besmirch of devils? The cemetery rolls out the parchment. His name at the bottom, ripped out from the Book of Life. Dawn It dawns on him, he’s not dead yet. Christmas Day He removes the knocker, lays down a welcome mat, drains the punch, laughs it up, feeds the poor, joins friends and family, lifts a lame boy upon his shoulders, pays the doc and prays to see better days. Graveyard Only his body interred. His soul sings loud with the angels. Gladly, he serves the Lord.

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EBENEZER

Here I raise my Ebenezer; hither by thy help I’ve come; and I hope, by thy good pleasure, safely to arrive at home. Robert Robinson’s hymn Come Thy Fount of Every Blessing To raise an Ebenezer: In Hebrew, Ebenezer means “stone of help” (eben = stone; ezer = help). Samuel wanted the people to remember, not just for a few days, but for years, for decades, for generations, how God had come to the rescue of his people when they humbled themselves before him. (from desiringgod.org) EBENEZER - with a nod to A Christmas Carol There’s a knock at the door! There’s a knock at the door, And yet! it’s the knocker, the trend set of the past. It’s an old-fashioned drink, a hot toddy, he thinks. The whorl of the snow infringing upon his home. He’d not allow it! A man’s face on the knocker - he asks himself if he’s snockered, though his lips haven’t tipped a bottle in too many years. His glasses are old. Have they been wiped clean. The wind seems to roar at his madness. It’s madness to hear an old partner, near, for he lays under the snow, walks with the embers aglow. Does he now hear the chain gang? He quickly enters his mausoleum - well, it’s his spot, a tomb of sorts. A welcomed nap in a high-backed chair. He takes his first snore but that sound of chains arouses him from its depths. He wills the cacophony to back off but finds he’s not in charge. He’s to be enslaved to this night, to keep company with ghosts. Past Tripping over his tongue, silver pockets, a gal to entertain - which one to pick… He prefers to pick a lock and imprison himself with his gold. Present He has a preference to close his wrinkled eyes, but the ghost holds them open with toothpicks and to his surprise, ugly things crawl and attack. Future Finger pointing, he thought was his to do, to stretch towards poverty. What is worse than the grave, the dirt-besmirch of devils? The cemetery rolls out the parchment. His name at the bottom, ripped out from the Book of Life. Dawn It dawns on him, he’s not dead yet. Christmas Day He removes the knocker, lays down a welcome mat, drains the punch, laughs it up, feeds the poor, joins friends and family, lifts a lame boy upon his shoulders, pays the doc and prays to see better days. Graveyard Only his body interred. His soul sings loud with the angels. Gladly, he serves the Lord.