Men blaspheme what they do not know.
quote by Blaise Pascal
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Ultimately, there is no compromise. Westerners will either retain their civilization, including the right to insult and blaspheme, or not.
quote by Daniel Pipes
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Let us heed the voice of the people and recognize their common sense. If we do not, we not only blaspheme our political heritage, we ignore the common ties that bind all Americans.
quote by Barbara Jordan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I demand for the unmarried mother, as a sacred channel of life, the same reverence and respect as for the married mother; for Maternity is a cosmic thing and once it has come to pass, our conversation must not be permitted to blaspheme it.
quote by Ben Lindsey
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We are not here alone nor for ourselves alone … we are an integral part of higher, mysterious entities against whom it is not advisable to blaspheme. This forgotten awareness is encoded in all religions. All cultures anticipate it in various forms. It is one of the things that form the basis of man's understanding of himself, of his place in the world, and ultimately of the world as such.
quote by Vaclav Havel
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Revelation
An idle poet, here and there,
Looks around him; but, for all the rest,
The world, unfathomably fair,
Is duller than a witling's jest.
Love wakes men, once a lifetime each;
They lift their heavy lids, and look;
And, lo, what one sweet page can teach,
They read with joy, then shut the book.
And some give thanks, and some blaspheme
And most forget; but, either way,
That and the Child's unheeded dream
Is all the light of all their day.
poem by Coventry Patmore
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Fine Bulwark
The bulwark of longer structure carried finesse,
We commit folly to arrest the sight, so as to bless.
The realer findings happen like events,
Treasure is discovered by them, like comments.
Let stages develop to entertain and dream,
Might I develop those whose honesty is to blaspheme.
The stages of management are like reading and writing,
The charge from the enforcers shall be lubricating.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Quick Life
A quick embrace is all you need more than the scheme,
A little life slides down the arm, more to blaspheme.
The roads in arms and legs stain the road with life
That ended one day ago, when I had a wife.
A quick smile wrenched the face, smiling is just
What the doctor deserved, when it was lust
For the cure, for the desire for life was great,
And the doctor laid the plan for all us to accommodate.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Beauty
I could say she’s very lovely
Her complexion as smooth as silk
There’s no doubt in its verity
but she’s of a different ilk.
No words can express her beauty
To try would be a futile whim
The words would be a blaspheme-
To parrot them would be a sin.
Frenchmen would say vous êtes beau
A hackneyed phrase she heard before;
Italians, siete bello
Same old phrase from a different shore.
The fact is, her” beauty is truth”-
An ephemeral time of youth.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Written at Lovere, October, 1736
If age and sickness, poverty and pain,
Should each assault me with alternate plagues,
I know mankind is destin'd to complain,
And I submit to torment and fatigues.
The pious farmer, who ne'er misses pray'rs,
With patience suffers unexpected rain;
He blesses Heav'n for what its bounty spares,
And sees, resign'd, a crop of blighted grain.
But, spite of sermons, farmers would blaspheme,
If a star fell to set their thatch on flame.
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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Her Beauty
I heard them say, "Her hands are hard as stone,"
And I remembered how she laid for me
The road to heaven. They said, "Her hair is grey."
Then I remembered how she once had thrown
Long plaited strands, like cables, into the sea
I battled in -- the salt sea of dismay.
They say, "Her beauty's past." And then I wept,
That these, who should have been in love adept,
Against my font of beauty should blaspheme.
And hearing a new music, miss the theme.
poem by Max Plowman
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It might be lonelier
405
It might be lonelier
Without the Loneliness—
I'm so accustomed to my Fate—
Perhaps the Other—Peace—
Would interrupt the Dark—
And crowd the little Room—
Too scant—by Cubits—to contain
The Sacrament—of Him—
I am not used to Hope—
It might intrude upon—
Its sweet parade—blaspheme the place—
Ordained to Suffering—
It might be easier
To fail—with Land in Sight—
Than gain—My Blue Peninsula—
To perish—of Delight—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Previous Worms
do not worry
one cannot just be a stone
forever
we grow
we evolve into our
destined
higher states of
being
blaspheme your
human nature
be the next
god
beside the gods
haven't you heard
what the snake said to the
apple?
you can be
another Eve
or you can be the
next tree
it depends really
on how
strong is your
faith
into the higher
state of
what you can be
if you worry too much
you can be
the worm
that worrier buried
underneath
the moist soil
if you dream
you can grown wings
you can fly
you can escape from the bondage
of how limited
you are
if you wish to be like them?
will the gods and goddesses worry?
the won't
they are afraid to become
their previous
selves as worms, you know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Tale, Founded On A Fact, Which Happened In January, 1779
Where Humber pours his rich commercial stream,
There dwelt a wretch, who breathed but to blaspheme.
In subterraneous caves his life he led,
Black as the mine, in which he wrought for bread.
When on a day, emerging from the deep,
A Sabbath-day, (such Sabbaths thousands keep!)
The wages of his weekly toil he bore
To buy a cock -- whose blood might win him more;
As if the noblest of the feathered kind
Were but for battle and for death designed;
As if the consecrated hours were meant
For sport, to minds on cruelty intent.
It changed, (such chances Providence obey,)
He met a fellow-labourer on the way,
Whose heart the same desires had once inflamed,
But now the savage temper was reclaimed.
Persuasion on his lips had taken place;
For all plead well who plead the cause of grace.
His iron-heart with Scripture he assailed,
Wooed him to hear a sermon, and prevailed.
His faithful bow the mighty preacher drew,
Swift as the lightning-glimpse the arrow flew.
He wept; he trembled; cast his eyes around,
To find a worse than he; but none he found.
He felt his sins, and wondered he should feel.
Grace made the wound, and grace alone could heal.
Now farewell oaths, and blasphemies, and lies!
He quits the sinner's for the martyr's prize.
That holy day was washed with many a tear,
Gilded with hope, yet shaded too by fear.
The next his swarthy brethren of the mine
Learned by his altered speech, the change divine,
Laughed when they should have wept, and swore the day
Was nigh when he would swear as fast as they.
'No,' said the penitent: 'such words shall share
This breath no more; devoted now to prayer.
Oh! if thou seest, (thine eye the future sees,)
That I shall yet again blaspheme, like these,
Now strike me to the ground, on which I kneel,
Ere yet this heart relapses into steel;
Now take me to that heaven I once defied,
Thy presence, thy embrace!' -- He spoke, and died!
poem by William Cowper
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Come drink from unending waters (in answer to A. E. Housman)
I would rather believe in waters
that are offered without a price,
that quenches the soul, than like others
in a Godless world and a harsh and stark demise.
As in the greatest love He has offered his life for me
have not stolen anything but has created this world
brought from injustice and pain tranquillity
paying sorrows even in His holy word untold
and with your blaspheme
challenging the Supreme Being
you only show your own inadequacy
in knowing, conceiving
that something more than life exists and in the cold
you leave His love untold, choosing to rot in the mould.
[Reference: XXII “Ho, everyone that thirsteth” by A. E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Affliction Of Richard
Love not too much. But how,
When thou hast made me such,
And dost thy gifts bestow,
How can I love too much?
Though I must fear to lose,
And drown my joy in care,
With all its thorns I choose
The path of love and prayer.
Though thou, I know not why,
Didst kill my childish trust,
That breach with toil did I
Repair, because I must:
And spite of frighting schemes,
With which the fiends of Hell
Blaspheme thee in my dreams,
So far I have hoped well.
But what the heavenly key,
What marvel in me wrought
Shall quite exculpate thee,
I have no shadow of thought.
What am I that complain?
The love, from which began
My question sad and vain,
Justifies thee to man.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Hymn 22 part 1
Christ the eternal life.
Rom. 9:5.
Jesus, our Savior and our God,
Arrayed in majesty and blood,
Thou art our life; our souls in thee
Possess a full felicity.
All our immortal hopes are laid
In thee, our surety and our head;
Thy cross, thy cradle, and thy throne,
Are big with glories yet unknown.
Let atheists scoff, and Jews blaspheme
Th' eternal life and Jesus' name;
A word of thy almighty breath
Dooms the rebellious world to death.
But let my soul for ever lie
Beneath the blessings of thine eye;
'Tis heav'n on earth, 'tis heav'n above,
To see thy face and taste thy love.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Extreme Dream Team
Though we pen poems by the ream,
As if to praise God's perfect theme,
When tired out, we sleep and dream
And sometimes to a mad extreme...
Maybe our hearts are prone to scheme,
Or in our eyes there's fixed a beam,
Where evils pour down like a stream
And cling and stink like clotted cream...
Maybe our lives aren't what they seem,
Just commonplace and not supreme,
We're not the leader of the team,
Or smile as with a God-blessed gleam...
Though evil spirits may blaspheme,
God's still the Holy Elohim
With seraphim and cherubim!
That's why I pray... before I dream...
Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2012.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
and the Revelation TV Watch Now link
on the revelationtv-dot-com website...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Examples of Early Piety
What blest examples do I find
Writ in the Word of Truth
Of children that began to mind
Religion in their youth!
Jesus, who reigns above the sky,
And keeps the world in awe,
Was once a child as young as I,
And kept His Father's law.
At twelve years old he talked with men,
The Jews all wondering stand;
Yet He obeyed his Mother then,
And came at her command.
Children a sweet hosanna sung,
And blest their Savior's name;
They gave Him honor with their tongue,
While scribes and priests blaspheme.
Samuel the child was weaned and brought
To wait upon the Lord:
Young Timothy betimes was taught
To know his holy Word.
Then why should I so long delay
What others learnt so soon?
I would not pass another day
Without this work begun.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Olney Hymn 7: Vanity of the World
God gives his mercies to be spent;
Your hoard will do your soul no good.
Gold is a blessing only lent,
Repaid by giving others food.
The world's esteem is but a bribe,
To buy their peace you sell your own;
The slave of a vainglorious tribe,
Who hate you while they make you known.
The joy that vain amusements give,
Oh! sad conclusion that it brings!
The honey of a crowded hive,
Defended by a thousand stings.
'Tis thus the world rewards the fools
That live upon her treacherous smiles:
She leads them blindfold by her rules,
And ruins all whom she beguiles.
God knows the thousands who go down
From pleasure into endless woe;
And with a long despairing groan
Blaspheme the Maker as they go.
Oh fearful thought! be timely wise;
Delight but in a Saviour's charms,
And God shall take you to the skies,
Embraced in everlasting arms.
poem by William Cowper
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Vanity of the World
God gives his mercies to be spent;
Your hoard will do your soul no good.
Gold is a blessing only lent,
Repaid by giving others food.
The world's esteem is but a bribe,
To buy their peace you sell your own;
The slave of a vainglorious tribe,
Who hate you while they make you known.
The joy that vain amusements give,
Oh! sad conclusion that it brings!
The honey of a crowded hive,
Defended by a thousand stings.
'Tis thus the world rewards the fools
That live upon her treacherous smiles:
She leads them blindfold by her rules,
And ruins all whom she beguiles.
God knows the thousands who go down
From pleasure into endless woe;
And with a long despairing groan
Blaspheme the Maker as they go.
Oh fearful thought! be timely wise;
Delight but in a Saviour's charms,
And God shall take you to the skies,
Embraced in everlasting arms.
poem by William Cowper
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