For Satan always finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.
quote by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Against Idleness and Mischief
How doth the little busy Bee
Improve each shining Hour,
And gather Honey all the day
From every opening Flower!
How skilfully she builds her Cell!
How neat she spreads the Wax!
And labours hard to store it well
With the sweet Food she makes.
In Works of Labour or of Skill
I would be busy too:
For Satan finds some Mischief still
For idle Hands to do.
In Books, or Work, or healthful Play
Let my first Years be past,
That I may give for every Day
Some good Account at last.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How doth the little buissy bee
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!
How skilfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labors hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labor or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be passed,
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.
poem by Isaac Watts from Divine Songs Attempted in Easy Language for the Use of Children (1715)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Caliban Upon Rudiments Or Autoschediastic Theology In A Hole
Rudiments, Rudiments, and Rudiments!
'Thinketh one made them i' the fit o' the blues.
'Thinketh one made them with the 'tips' to match,
But not the answers; 'doubteth there be none,
Only Guides, Helps, Analyses, such as that:
Also this Beast, that groweth sleek thereon,
And snow-white bands that round the neck o' the same.
'Thinketh, it came of being ill at ease.
'Hath heard that Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands, and the rest o 't. That's the case.
Also 'hath heard they pop the names i' the hat,
Toss out a brace, a dozen stick inside;
Let forty through and plough the sorry rest.
'Thinketh, such shows nor right nor wrong in them,
Only their strength, being made o' sloth i' the main—
'Am strong myself compared to yonder names
O' Jewish towns i' the paper. Watch th' event—
'Let twenty pass, 'have a shot at twenty-first,
'Miss Ramoth-Gilead, 'take Jehoiakim,
'Let Abner by and spot Melchizedek,
Knowing not, caring not, just choosing so,
As it likes me each time, I do: so they.
'Saith they be terrible: watch their feats i' the Viva!
One question plays the deuce with six months' toil.
Aha, if they would tell me! No, not they!
There is the sport: 'come read me right or die!'
All at their mercy,—why they like it most
When—when—well, never try the same shot twice!
'Hath fled himself and only got up a tree.
'Will say a plain word if he gets a plough.
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mischief
LET those who're fond of idle tricks,
Of throwing stones, and hurling bricks,
And all that sort of fun,
Now hear a tale of idle Jim,
That warning they may take by him,
Nor do as he has done.
In harmless sport or healthful play
He did not pass his time away,
Nor took his pleasure in it;
For mischief was his only joy:
No book, or work, or even toy,
Could please him for a minute.
A neighbour's house he'd slyly pass,
And throw a stone to break the glass,
And then enjoy the joke!
Or, if a window open stood,
He'd throw in stones, or bits of wood,
To frighten all the folk.
If travellers passing chanced to stay,
Of idle Jim to ask the way,
He never told them right;
And then, quite harden'd in his sin,
Rejoiced to see them taken in,
And laugh'd with all his might.
He'd tie a string across the street,
Just to entangle people's feet,
And make them tumble down:
Indeed, he was disliked so much,
That no good boy would play with such
A nuisance to the town.
At last the neighbours, in despair,
This mischief would no longer bear:
And so–to end the tale,
This lad, to cure him of his ways,
Was sent to spend some dismal days
Within the county jail.
poem by Ann Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mischief
Let those who're fond of idle tricks,
Of throwing stones, and hurling bricks,
And all that sort of fun,
Now hear a tale of idle Jim,
That warning they may take by him,
Nor do as he has done.
In harmless sport or healthful play
He did not pass his time away,
Nor took his pleasure in it;
For mischief was his only joy:
No book, or work, or even toy,
Could please him for a minute.
A neighbour's house he'd slyly pass,
And throw a stone to break the glass,
And then enjoy the joke!
Or, if a window open stood,
He'd throw in stones, or bits of wood,
To frighten all the folk.
If travellers passing chanced to stay,
Of idle Jim to ask the way,
He never told them right;
And then, quite harden'd in his sin,
Rejoiced to see them taken in,
And laugh'd with all his might.
He'd tie a string across the street,
Just to entangle people's feet,
And make them tumble down:
Indeed, he was disliked so much,
That no good boy would play with such
A nuisance to the town.
At last the neighbours, in despair,
This mischief would no longer bear:
And so to end the tale,
This lad, to cure him of his ways,
Was sent to spend some dismal days
Within the county jail.
poem by Jane Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Long Snake, Short Ladder
Curled around that massive tree
old Satan waiteth patiently;
while up above the monkeys play
all their lifelong summer’s day.
Scrambling up and up they try,
to be the first to touch the sky.
At the very top, each finds
the sky still out of reach,
although not out of mind.
So with a final upward leap,
defying gravitational laws,
they tumble headlong, an untidy heap,
into old Satan’s yawning jaws!
poem by Brian Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Satan’s role
But for Satan, can we seek God?
Fear of Satan drives us to God.
Satan removed, why is God?
God has reason to make Satan.
23.12.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sit idle
Sit idle
Recline
languish
Recline on the sofa
The eyes will be shut
No thoughts no idea
No vision no dream
Does your back ache
Are your eyes getting heavy
Sink like a heavy weight
into waters of dullness and indolence
You sink into sleepless sleep
Better than death in life
Better than keeeping wide awake
in a burning lake
that God the Father created after our
fall from heaven
The world is a burning lake
where you act and act in living present
responding to call of Satan
More money more fame more power more wisdom
That is what Satan taught us
Sit idle Languish
That is how you can drive away
the devils of wisdom power money pleasure
and death in life
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Helping Hands
You gotta believe we can change the world
Don't turn a blind eye to tomorrow's world
But on the good side looking out
Don't take for granted the silent shout
The hands of time are rolling past
To turn the tide, we must move fast
Let's share the hope and pull some strings
We hold the answer this vision sings
They're holding on
But for how long
Let's set them free
Put your helping hands together rockin' on for survival
Gotta take a stand, time to make a plan, don't sit idle
We are the key to the dreams
It's not as hard as it seems
No
Get up and put your hands together
All your helping hands
Oh yeah
We're three steps down, you're two steps back
No more widgin' and that's a fact
A call to arms, let's take a stand
It's up to you to lend a helping hand
They're holding on
But for how long
Let's set them free
Put your helping hands together rockin' on for survival
Gotta take a stand, time to make a plan, don't sit idle
We are the key to the dreams
It's not as hard as it seems
No
Get up and put your hands together
All your helping hands, yeah
We're the thunder in the storm
That brings the winds of change
Together we can overcome
And start a brand new day
Put your helping hands together rockin' on for survival (Yeah yeah)
Gotta take a stand, it's time to make a plan, don't sit idle (No, no, no, no)
Put your helping hands together rockin' on for survival
Gotta take a stand, c'mon make a plan, don't sit idle (Oh!)
song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Idle in June
She dares not let the world hear her speak,
She's getting thin and looking meek,
A grey hair is splitting in her widows peak
She lays idle in the month of June.
Her hands are cracked and stained from mud,
although she bathes in lathered suds
There's a little of me inside her blood
She lays idle in the month of June
She carries child at her old age,
She's stuck inside her fleshy cage,
Her father birthed her insidious rage
She lays idle in the month of June.
They locked her in a cell up high,
The crime of seeking suicide
Some women they are born only to die,
She lays idle in the month of June.
One day, I know, I'll see her soon,
How I loathe the month of June,
We'll met again come the next new moon,
I won't forget her, idle in the month of June.
poem by H.J. Shreeve
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Poet Finds....
The poet finds whatever the moon could not see,
The poet finds whatever the earth does not know,
The poet finds whatever the sun could not see,
The poet finds whatever others do not know,
The poet finds whatever the stars could not see,
So why do the heathen rage and the people plot vanity? !
For she who is pregnant is closer to us,
And the hart pants after streams of water.
Your tears have been your food night and day,
And like your inner self in the lan dof your muse;
But the poet finds whatever the sun could not see.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How doth the Bee Improve His Salary? - Parody Isaac WATTS – How doth the Bee
How doth the Bee Improve His Salary?
How doth the busy little bee
prepare for flower power,
when honey garnered, daily spree,
will wax, - no waning hour?
The answer’s plain as plain can be,
hive votes for poll_en_dower,
for feathered nests with polity
Reps wait to line their bower...
Those set up in authority
elected seem to scour,
for “cash and carry” not to be
declared, - gold’s welcome shower.
As Tweedle Dum(b) and Tweedle Dee
In, Out, Out, In, they lobby,
when crime’s unmasked, like rats we see
them scuttle, scatter, cower.
Once thought of pristine ivory
a mirage proves their tower,
packed jokers under lock and key
we bankroll though we glower.
Was Weldon’s seniority
well done? the joke turns sour.
The verdict of posterity –
twelve years, repentance dour.
But most escape the legal see,
themselves enrich, empower,
but who, who cast first stone, are we
who fellow-men devour?
© Jonathan Robin 4 December 2005 and 14 November 2006 Parody Isaac WATTS – How doth the Bee
How doth the Bee
How doth the little busy bee
improve each shining hour,
and gather honey all the day
from every opening flower!
How skillfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labors hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labor or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
for idle hands to do...
Birds in their little nests agree
and ‘tis a shameful sight,
when children of one family
fall out, and chide, and fight.
Isaac WATTS 1674_1748 - Against Idleness and Mischief
Parody of Dr. Watts, by an Anti Smoker
How doth the nasty, dirty man,
go smoking every hour;
and spend his money wastefully
on Old Nick’s favourite flower.
How wistfully he seeks his pipe,
how glad he doth it light,
and smokes the foul thing all the day,
and feels quite ill at night.
In shag, bird’s eye, or honey-dew,
his mind is ever fast;
and Satan knows to his he’s due,
for he’ll get him at last.
Author Unknown: Parody Isaac WATTS
How doth the Little Crocodile
How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws.
Lewis CARROLL Parody Isaac WATTS - How Doth the Bee
Another Terc-ish Atrocity by a Sceptical Sufferer
How doth the little Busy Bee
Insert his poisoned stings,
And kill the keen rheumatic pain
That mortal muscle wrings!
Great Scott! It sounds so like a sell!
Bee-stings for rheumatiz?
As well try wasps to make one well.
That TERC must be a quiz.
Rather would I rheumatics bear
Than try the Busy Bee.
No, Austrian TERC, your cure may work!
But won't be tried on me!
PUNCH 4 October 1890 Parody Isaac WATTS - How Doth the Bee
(note :) Turk and Terc... An Austrian physician, Dr. TERC, prescribes bee-stings as a cure for rheumatism
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Litanies Of Satan
O you, the most knowing, and loveliest of Angels,
a god fate betrayed, deprived of praises,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
O, Prince of exile to whom wrong has been done,
who, vanquished, always recovers more strongly,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who know everything, king of the underworld,
the familiar healer of human distress,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who teach even lepers, accursed pariahs,
through love itself the taste for Paradise,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
O you who on Death, your ancient true lover,
engendered Hope – that lunatic charmer!
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who grant the condemned that calm, proud look
that damns a whole people crowding the scaffold,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who know in what corners of envious countries
a jealous God hid those stones that are precious,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You whose clear eye knows the deep caches
where, buried, the race of metals slumbers,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You whose huge hands hide the precipice,
from the sleepwalker on the sky-scraper’s cliff,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who make magically supple the bones
of the drunkard, out late, who’s trampled by horses,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who taught us to mix saltpetre with sulphur
to console the frail human being who suffers,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who set your mark, o subtle accomplice,
on the forehead of Croesus, the vile and pitiless,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who set in the hearts and eyes of young girls
the cult of the wound, adoration of rags,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
The exile’s staff, the light of invention,
confessor to those to be hanged, to conspirators,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Father, adopting those whom God the Father
drove in dark anger from the earthly paradise,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bible Stories: Job (Chapter II)
When angels came before Yahweh,
Satan too joined them again.
The Lord asked him, “Whence do you come? ”
And Satan told, “By roaming earth,
And going on lands, back and forth.”
God asked, “Did you notice my servant Job?
There’s none like him upon the earth! ”
“You ruined Job without a cause! ”
And Satan answered Lord and said,
“Man gives all things to save his life;
Just touch his body, he’ll curse God.”
So, God placed Job in Satan’s hands;
‘Just spare his life, ’ God warned Satan.
So, Satan went from Lord’s presence,
And caused Job boils from head to foot;
Job took a potsherd to scrape with
And sat amongst the ashes sad.
His wife advised, “Curse God and die! ”
Job told her not to be foolish.
“When good things come, we praise the Lord.”
“Why shouldn’t some evil come? ” asked Job.
In all this, Job didn’t sin by word!
Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar-
Good friends of Job, heard the sad news,
And rushed to mourn and console him!
From far, they couldn’t recognize Job;
They wept aloud and tore their cloaks;
They sprinkled dust upon their heads;
And sat with him upon the ground,
For seven days and nights, speechless.
They saw his grief was very great!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Let Me Avenge Satan
Let me avenge Satan,
For tempting me all life;
He is the big Liar,
Who brought me all my strife.
Let me avenge Satan,
For accusing mankind;
He gives false promises,
And confuses each mind.
Let me avenge Satan,
For misleading all souls;
His craftiness is clear,
And wily are his roles.
Let me avenge Satan,
For giving me my woes;
He’s the fallen angel,
The Chief among my foes.
Let me avenge Satan,
For goading me to sin;
He‘s the source of evil,
Against whom I must win.
Let me avenge Satan,
For giving bad advice;
He is my betrayer,
Who lures all into vice.
Let me avenge Satan,
For setting snares for me;
He waits to ambush me
In my iniquity.
Let me avenge Satan,
For making my eyes dim;
And raising doubts in me,
And turning my life grim.
Let me avenge Satan,
For causing wars on earth;
And spreading hatred great,
Amongst siblings since birth.
Let me avenge Satan,
For telling just untruth; ;
And tempting Eve to eat,
The God-forbidden fruit.
Let me avenge Satan,
For goading Cain to kill
His brother dear Abel,
And keeping not God’s will.
Let me avenge Satan.
For tempting Lord Jesus,
After forty-days’ fast,
And thwarting mankind’s bliss.
Let me avenge Satan,
For taking souls to hell,
God made for all devils,
And angels all who fell.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-11-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
quote by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy!
What Will Be Your Reward On Judgement Day?
All who choose their religion atheism.
Choose disbelief in the existence
of God. Non-belief these choose.
What when your final judgement has
been passed will Satan say to you?
Atheism was your deliberate choice.
Scepticism was your deliberate choice.
Desires of heart your deliberate choice.
Revelation. All the promises God made
were true all Satan made were lies.
Satan also made promises not kept not any.
Satan had no power over you.
Satan will abstain accept no blame.
Satan will claim he did nothing but tempt you.
Satan will say I did nothing but offer my way
you accepted my invitation in love of money.
Satan will say suckers blame not me blame yourselves.
On Judgement Day Satan will not help fallen you.
On Judgement Day Satan cannot help himself.
Nor can Satan help any of his millions of demons.
Satan will dissociate
himself from partnership
in all your sin before God.
Satan will demand
your wrong doing receive
a grievous torment.
Atheist, non-believer,
chooser of sweet tempting sin,
to your criminal plea;
that it was deceiver Satan,
who lead you astray,
Satan will plead guilty.
God made you promises.
God gave you warnings.
In conscience of your heart.
Satan also made promises.
Now proven to be false.
Satan will confess
all his promises
were deception
false assurances
of sweet prosperity.
Woe to the fallen
beguiled by greed.
Enticed in snare
great expectations.
Did not Satan assure you
that there was no life?
In an eternal Hereafter?
Did not Satan deceive you
into rejecting Jesus Christ?
His paid innocent blood sacrifice
as intercession for all your sin?
Not all worshipper offerings
are acceptable before God.
Ten commandments warned
you may not freely do whatever you please.
It is written there are consequences.
It is written a Day of Judgement will come.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!