Czar Alexander The Second
FROM him did forty million serfs, endow'd
Each with six feet of death-due soil, receive
Rich freeborn lifelong land, whereon to sheave
Their country's harvest. These to-day aloud
Demand of Heaven a Father's blood,—sore bow'd
With tears and thrilled with wrath; who, while they grieve,
On every guilty head would fain achieve
All torment by his edicts disallow'd.
He stayed the knout's red-ravening fangs; and first
Of Russian traitors, his own murderers go
White to the tomb. While he,—laid foully low
With limbs red-rent, with festering brain which erst
Willed kingly freedom,—'gainst the deed accurst
To God bears witness of his people's woe.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Related quotes
Africa. A land...
Africa.
A land full of mysteries,
A land where the Gods speaks,
A land where Nature talks in secret ancestral tongues,
A land rich in Culture and Heritage,
The soil, drenched in sweat and blood
Listens to the poundings of the African feet
As they dance to the sound of patriotism.
Africa.
The land of hope and bliss,
The land of milk and honey,
The land where freedom was fought for,
The land rich in natural beauty,
The people, blessed with strength and grace
Fights for the love of their land
As they listen to the pleas of the drenched soil.
poem by Muneerah Abdulrahman
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Lamb of God....a reflection
as the lamb slaughtered in the face of the wickedness
the world ended with the blood of the sacrifice, as a
remission of our sin
Jesus of the Nazareth, crucified and suffered in the
cross is the ultimate sacrifice, the indemnity of the
wrath of the Father, whose anger settled through the
blood of his only begotten son
the lamb, who gives everything to save mankind, has
come to witness the salvation promise by the covenant
in the garden of paradise, where once Adam and Eve
have live
the meaning of the promise always illuminate that
Jesus is truly the son of God, who fulfilled salvation
as proclaim by the prophets has welcome those who
witness the living God in our lives
Jesus reveals in the cross the loving Father and open
the gate of heaven, where every soul is hail to the
kingdom of his father, as He always have live in a
accordance to the will of his father, Jesus offer and
accepted as a living sacrifice at the cross
His life has offer mankind to salvation, for death is the
payment of our sin, the son of Man have to die to save
the punishment of death, even at the cross, Jesus
promise salvation and a paradise for he wants us to be
there with him where ever he'll go
the lamb has come into our lives, receive and live, and
be a lamb for other life, witness that salvation as Jesus
witness the loving Father in heaven, for what ever we
give is what you receive in heaven
the lamb of God wants us to live with him in the kingdom
of the Father till the end of the world...come my brother
and sister
poem by Antonio Liao
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Eucharist
the last and perfect celebration of mankind
center in the breaking of bread; bless and thank
by Christ in the eve of his death
it is the ultimate and the final vow of self giving
of what the wisdom of salvation mean to man,
the gift of servitude is just a beginning to the
Calvary of life
the death that He freely accepted from the
Father's hand, a sacrifice of what meant to
share what you have in life, a will being of every
things of He who is bound to give of what all that
has given
a mighty of self-giving, a sacrificial lamb comes to
reveal thy heaven's home, a receptacle of all sin
whose blood will hold on the angry God, pacify by
His own blood and nail in the most brutal death in
human race
what wonder that He gives, when life flows in the
wounded chest, flows as it goes in the soil where
it rest, even the heaven's dark clouds witness the
lamb that give, wondered by million of angels
in the paradise it cease
the cross comes to gives us the true God, whose
father sudden the only begotten Son of God, it was
the moment that last through out eternity
Christ come in witness to the Father's love, a
love that beyond death, He lives with him for thy
Father everlasting love transcends beyond death,
through his death
as the Eucharist passion our hearts, the unity of the
Holy Spirit guide us to thy everlasting soul, it is by
taking Christ in the Eucharist He lives in us, leave
nothing to believe of what is taken, but live what is to
believe that Christ gives the life that afraid no death
and leads us to the Father in heaven
let our soul be lifted high to the most heavenly Father
and brings us to life Everlasting
poem by Antonio Liao
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The Little Czar
Oh, Great White Czar of Russia, who hid your face and ran,
You’ve flung afar the grandest chance that ever came to man!
You might have been, and could have been—ah, think it to your shame!—
The Czar of all the Russias, in fact as well as name.
‘The Father of your People,’ your children called to you
To do the things to save them which only you could do.
Your soldiers whipped their faces—the trodden snow is red
With the blood of men and women; and the blood is on your head!
I saw in dreams a monarch, of his power all unaware,
Step down amongst his people from off his palace stair:
The Grand Dukes shrank and trembled, the traitors fled afar—
Through all the mighty Russias rang the order of the Czar!
You might have journeyed freely, wherever path is made,
Through all your vast dominions, alone and unafraid;
And, in the eyes of subjects, the cultured and the rude,
Have seen, instead of hatred, the tears of gratitude.
Oh, little Czar of Russia, a weak man and a fool,
At the mercy of your nobles—their prisoner and their tool—
Your freedom and your people’s and their love was to be won:
Ah, me! it would have been a deed a coward might have done.
Yet we who know so little might say one word for you:
How many in our weakness have lost our kingdoms, too!
And facing death and exile, when all the world seemed black,
How many in our after-strength have won our kingdoms back!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. John (Chapter 20)
It was the day one of the week;
When dawn broke, Mary Magdalene
Came early to the tomb, though dark
And saw the stone large, set aside!
She hurried to Simon Peter,
And other one, whom Jesus loved,
And said, ‘The Lord has been taken.
We don’t know where they have put Him.’
So, Peter with the other one,
Both ran towards the tomb at once;
The other disciple reached first,
But did not go into the tomb.
He bent down, saw the burial clothes!
Then Peter went into the tomb and saw
And saw the burial clothes lie there;
The cloth that covered Jesus’ head
Lay rolled up in a separate place.
The other disciple went in
And saw, believed the state of things;
For, they didn’t know the scripture say:
‘He had to rise from dead, third day! ’
The two disciples returned home.
But Mary stayed outside the tomb;
Bending over the tomb, she wept;
She saw two angels in white there:
One at the head, one at the feet,
Where Jesus’ body had been laid.
They asked, ‘Woman, why do you weep?
She said, ‘They’ve taken the Lord away!
I don’t know where they have laid Him.’
At as she said, she turned around,
Saw Jesus but didn’t recognize.
Jesus asked her, ‘Woman, why weep?
Whom are you searching for right here? ’
She thought it was the gardener.
She asked him, ’Sir, please tell me where
You’ve laid Jesus and I’ll take Him! ’
Then Jesus called to her, ‘Mary!
She said in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni! ’
Then Jesus said, ‘Stop holding to me;
I’ve not ascended to Father.
But go and tell my brothers all,
I’m going to my Father, God! ’
Then Mary Magdalene went back,
Told all disciples, all she saw.
While disciples stayed with doors locked,
For fear of Jews and evening came:
Then, Jesus stood in their ’midst, said,
‘Peace be with you, peace be with you!
As Father sent me, I send you.’
He breathed on them and said to them,
‘Receive the Holy Spirit now!
Whose sins you forgive, are forgiv’n,
Whose sins you retain, are retained.’
Thomas wasn’t there when Jesus came;
The others told, ‘We’ve seen the Lord.’
He said, ‘Unless I see the mark
Of nails in hands and side, and put
My finger into them, I’ll not
Believe in whatever you say.’
When Thomas was with disciples,
A week later, again inside,
Then Jesus came, though doors were locked,
And said to them, ‘Peace be with you! ’
He told Thomas, ‘Put your finger
Into my hands, into my side;
Don’t be unbelieving, Believe! ’
Then Thomas said, ‘My Lord, My God! ’
Then Jesus asked, ‘Do you believe
Because you have all seen me now?
Bless’d are those who haven’t, yet, believe! ’
Then Jesus did many more signs,
In presence of his disciples.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-27-2007
poem by John Celes
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Fatherland
THE BRAVE old land of deed and song,
Of gentle hearts and spirits strong,
Of queenly maids and heroes grand,
Of equal laws,—our Fatherland!
Though born beneath a brighter sun,
Shall we forget the marvels done,
By soul outspoken, blood outpoured,
By bard and patriot, song and sword?
Forget how firm and true our sires,
Still lighted by their battle-fires,
’Gainst kingly power and kingly crime,
Long struggled in the darkened time?
How in a rolling sea they stood,
Where every wave was freemen’s blood,—
Shall we forget the time of strife,
When freedom’s only price was life?
Shall Cromwell’s memory, Milton’s lyre,
Not kindle ’mong us souls of fire,
Not raise in us a spirit strong—
High scorn of shams, quick hate of wrong?
Shall we not learn, Australians born!
To smile on tinselled power our scorn,—
At least, a freeman’s pride to try,
When tinselled power would bend or buy?
The brave old land of deed and song,
We ne’er will do her memories wrong!
For freedom here we’ll firmly stand,
As stood our sires for Fatherland!
poem by Sir Henry Parkes
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Sic Semper Liberatoribus!
As one who feels the breathless nightmare grip
His heart-strings, and through visioned horrors fares,
Now on a thin-ledged chasm's rock-crumbling lip,
Now on a tottering pinnacle that dare
The front of heaven, while always unawares
Weird monsters start above, around, beneath,
Each glaring from some uglier mask of death,
So the White Czar imperial progress made
Through terror-haunted days. A shock, a cry
Whose echoes ring the globe-the spectre's laid.
Hurled o'er the abyss, see the crowned martyr lie
Resting in peace-fear, change, and death gone by.
Fit end for nightmare-mist of blood and tears,
Red climax to the slow, abortive years.
The world draws breath-one long, deep-shuddering sigh,
At that which dullest brain prefigured clear
As swift-sure bolt from thunder-threatening sky.
How heaven-anointed humblest lots appear
Beside his glittering eminence of fear;
His spiked crown, sackcloth purple, poisoned cates,
His golden palace honey-combed with hates.
Well is it done! A most heroic plan,
Which after myriad plots succeeds at last
In robbing of his life this poor old man,
Whose sole offense-his birthright-has but passed
To fresher blood, with younger strength recast.
What men are these, who, clamoring to be free,
Would bestialize the world to what they be?
Whose sons are they who made the snow-wreathed head
Their frenzy's target? In their Russian veins,
What alien current urged on to smite him dead,
Whose word had loosed a million Russian chains?
What brutes were they for whom such speechless pains,
So royally endured, no human thrill
Awoke, in hearts drunk with the lust to kill?
Not brutes! No tiger of the wilderness,
No jackal of the jungle, bears such brand
As man's black heart, who shrinks not to confess
The desperate deed of his deliberate hand.
Our kind, our kin, have done this thing. We stand
Bowed earthward, red with shame, to see such wrong
Prorogue Love's cause and Truth's-God knows how long!
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Orinda upon Little Hector Philips
.
Twice forty months of Wedlock did I stay,
Then had my vows crown'd with a Lovely boy,
And yet in forty days he dropt away,
O swift Visissitude of humane joy.
.
I did but see him and he dis-appear'd,
I did but pluck the Rose-bud and it fell,
A sorrow unforeseen and scarcely fear'd,
For ill can mortals their afflictions spell.
.
And now (sweet Babe) what can my trembling heart
Suggest to right my doleful fate or thee,
Tears are my Muse and sorrow all my Art,
So piercing groans must be thy Elogy.
.
Thus whilst no eye is witness of my mone,
I grieve thy loss ( Ah boy too dear to live)
And let the unconcerned World alone,
Who neither will, nor can refreshment give.
.
An Off'ring too for thy sad Tomb I have,
Too just a tribute to thy early Herse,
Receive these gasping numbers to thy grave,
The last of thy unhappy Mothers Verse.
poem by Katherine Philips
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For Murderers
The law is not only laid down for a righteous person but,
Also for the unholy and profane;
To the land of dragons,
To the land of elephants,
To the land of crocodiles,
To the land of parrots,
And to the land of farmers;
The law is not only laid down for a righteous person but,
Also for murderers of fathers and murderers of mothers.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Own hate - hate growN
Spasms of freedom, build into a gun - Fighting for the land belonging to your father, and his fathers father, yet killed when the field was seized - Daughters without fathers, sons with far less brothers, debt by death to the dictators - The rulers of decay, their way, they know only one way - The war brought forth, the one too civil, against the people of your country - Own hate, hate growN - The land, by which you are to weak, alone to stand - The have to believe, by the suffering of the innocent, the sadness in sorrow, is peace - By the driven machine, the slaughter house of death, the king of war - Victory By The Blood On Your Hands.
poem by Unic Cjonr
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The Soil's Tears
The soil knows the burden of tears
The earth’s sadness that it bears
Through endless battles for territory -
Only the soil knows it has no boundary!
Blood spills on it, falls toil’s sweat,
Muscle’s ravage decides the weak’s fate
Cries of desperation and victory’s cheers
All these the soil tearfully bears!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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The Crowing of the Red Cock
Across the Eastern sky has glowed
The flicker of a blood-red dawn,
Once more the clarion cock has crowed,
Once more the sword of Christ is drawn.
A million burning rooftrees light
The world-wide path of Israel's flight.
Where is the Hebrew's fatherland?
The folk of Christ is sore bestead;
The Son of Man is bruised and banned,
Nor finds whereon to lay his head.
His cup is gall, his meat is tears,
His passion lasts a thousand years.
Each crime that wakes in man the beast,
Is visited upon his kind.
The lust of mobs, the greed of priest,
The tyranny of kings, combined
To root his seed from earth again,
His record is one cry of pain.
When the long roll of Christian guilt
Against his sires and kin is known,
The flood of tears, the life-blood spilt,
The agony of ages shown,
What oceans can the stain remove,
From Christian law and Christian love?
Nay, close the book; not now, not here,
The hideous tale of sin narrate,
Reëchoing in the martyr's ear,
Even he might nurse revengeful hate,
Even he might turn in wrath sublime,
With blood for blood and crime for crime.
Coward? Not he, who faces death,
Who singly against worlds has fought,
For what? A name he may not breathe,
For liberty of prayer and thought.
The angry sword he will not whet,
His nobler task is -- to forget.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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The Tomb Is Empty
Face it friend, the tomb is empty; death couldn’t hold Christ, you see,
Although He died for you and me, He’s now on the Throne of Eternity.
The stone, covering where Christ lay, by God’s hand, was rolled away.
In that tomb where Christ was laid, only Christ’s grave clothes stayed,
There He stood, in a body Glorified, Jesus Christ, who bled and died.
Mary was the first one to that tomb, bearing a heart filled with gloom,
She assumed the body was taken, but she would be gladly mistaken,
For, with her heavy heart that day, she would soon hear an angel say,
You will not find Christ Jesus dead, for He rose just like He had said.
She left to tell others not to grieve, for The Lord, they too would see.
Now Mary filled with a joyful heart, from an empty tomb would depart,
Filled with wonder she ran to those, other disciples, to say Christ rose.
Peter began running fast ahead; as they had thought Christ was dead,
Now he ran with much anticipation, enthused by a brand new situation,
Looking inside he just saw clothes, for from the grave Christ had rose.
But all hearts stayed, like the tomb, until Christ entered into that room,
Showing them His hands and side, proving He was The One who died.
Christ would stay for forty days, filling their hearts with joy and praise,
Filing them with His Hope and victory, that will last through all eternity,
Where they shall remain forevermore, with their Savior, Christ our Lord.
(Copyright ©04/2007)
Whose Country Is This?
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land with the biggest cemetery in the wolrd!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of desert;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of trees;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant teenagers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of timber;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hatred;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of love;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of care;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of peace;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of smokers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of businesses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of harlots;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of wise people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of idiots!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of gold;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of cocoa;
Whose country is this?
It is a alnd full of crabs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of evil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of rainfalls;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ants;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of horses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pigs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of statues;
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of birds;
And so on, and so forth!
Because nature had made them so as we see them around us,
But the wise and fool live together on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Ain't Gonna Grieve
by Bob Dylan
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Come on brother, join the band,
Come on sisters, clap your hands,
Tell everybody that's in the land,
You ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Brown and blue and white and black,
All one color on the one-way track,
We got this far and ain't a-goin' back
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
I ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
We're gonna notify your next of kin,
You're gonna raise the roof until the house falls in.
If you get knocked down get up again,
We ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
I ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
We'll sing this song all night long,
Sing it to my baby from midnight on.
She'll sing it to you when I'm dead and gone,
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
I ain't a-gonna grieve no more
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gandhi Jayanthi,2010
A son of soil, an Indian,
Had made resolve, Himalayan,
To free his country, Motherland,
And fellowmen, from British hand.
He chose a non-violent path;
Yet, there was some kind of blood-bath;
But in the end, he won the game,
And achieved immense name and fame.
He was called ‘Father of India’;
His name was Karamchand Gandhi;
His sacrifice was simply great;
An assassin then shot him straight!
He got the freedom for his land;
He toiled and had no magic wand;
He wanted all to stay as friends;
His struggle paid rich dividends.
It took a hundred years to end,
To free the land from the fiend;
The barrister Gandhiji won;
He was Bharat’s most priceless son!
His birthday is a divine day;
He showed the world a unique way;
His spirit lives in country-men;
His glory was too great to pen!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-10-2010
poem by John Celes
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The ghost Bereft
THE poor ghost came through the wind and rain
And passed down the old dear road again.
Thin cowered the hedges, the tall trees swayed
Like little children that shrank afraid.
The wind was wild and the night was late
When the poor ghost came to the garden gate;
Dank were the flower-beds, heavy and wet,
The weeds stood up where the rose was set.
The wind was angry, the rain beat sore
When the poor ghost came to its own house-door.
'And shall I find her a-weeping still
To think how alone I lie and chill?
'Or shall I find her happy and warm
With her dear head laid on a new love's arm?
'Or shall I find she has learned to pine
For another's love, and not for mine?
'Whatever chance, I have this to my store,
She is mine, my own, for evermore!'
So the poor ghost came through the wind and rain
Till it reached the square bright window pane.
'Oh! what is here in the room so bright?
Roses and love, and a hid delight?
'What lurks in the silence that fills the room?
A cypress wreath from a dead man's tomb?
'What sleeps? What wakes? And oh! can it be
Her heart that is breaking--and not for me?'
Then the poor ghost looked through the window pane,
Though all the glass was wrinkled with rain.
'Oh, there is light, at the feet and head
Twelve tall tapers about the bed.
'Oh, there are flowers, white flowers and rare,
But not the garland a bride may wear.
'Jasmine white and a white white rose,
But its scent is gone where the lost dream goes.
'Straight lilies laid on the strait white bier--
But the room is empty--she is not here!
'Her body lies here, deserted, cold;
And the body that loved it creeps in the mould.
'Was there ever an hour when my Love, set free,
Would not have hastened and come to me?
'Can the soul that loved mine long ago
Be hence and away, and I not know?
'Oh, then God's judgment is on me sore,
For I have lost her for evermore!'
And the poor ghost fared through the wind and rain
To its own appointed place again.
But up in Heaven, where memories cease
Because the blessed have won to peace,
One pale saint shivered, and closer wound
The shining raiment that wrapped her round.
'Oh, fair is Heaven, and glad am I,
Yet I fain would remember the days gone by.
'The past is veiled, and I may not know,
But I think there was sorrow, long ago;
'The sun of Heaven is warm and bright,
But I think there is rain on the earth to-night.
'O Christ, because of Thine own sore pain
Help all poor souls in the wind and rain.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Freedom
For freedom you and I enjoy.
At the cost of blood and tears.
Of those warriors all.
Who stand in harm’s way.
What compensation
must be petitioned?
To satisfy the toll
of those who gave so much.
To some merely a word.
A word tossed loosely around.
To use and abuse
over and over for personal gain.
What would our country be
without it’s freedom?
How much torment
would we suffer?
How much would we lose?
If no one stood fast
to check evil’s tide?
Our freedom protect it well.
poem by Kurt Hearth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Still Falls the Rain
Still falls the Rain---
Dark as the world of man, black as our loss---
Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails
Upon the Cross.
Still falls the Rain
With a sound like the pulse of the heart that is changed to the hammer-beat
In the Potter's Field, and the sound of the impious feet
On the Tomb:
Still falls the Rain
In the Field of Blood where the small hopes breed and the human brain
Nurtures its greed, that worm with the brow of Cain.
Still falls the Rain
At the feet of the Starved Man hung upon the Cross.
Christ that each day, each night, nails there, have mercy on us---
On Dives and on Lazarus:
Under the Rain the sore and the gold are as one.
Still falls the Rain---
Still falls the Blood from the Starved Man's wounded Side:
He bears in His Heart all wounds,---those of the light that died,
The last faint spark
In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad uncomprehending dark,
The wounds of the baited bear---
The blind and weeping bear whom the keepers beat
On his helpless flesh... the tears of the hunted hare.
Still falls the Rain---
Then--- O Ile leape up to my God: who pulles me doune---
See, see where Christ's blood streames in the firmament:
It flows from the Brow we nailed upon the tree
Deep to the dying, to the thirsting heart
That holds the fires of the world,---dark-smirched with pain
As Caesar's laurel crown.
Then sounds the voice of One who like the heart of man
Was once a child who among beasts has lain---
"Still do I love, still shed my innocent light, my Blood, for thee."
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Band of Gideon
The band of Gideon roam the sky,
The howling wind is their war-cry,
The thunder roll is their trump's peal,
And the lightning flash their vengeful steel.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."
And men below rear temples high
And mock their God with reasons why,
And live in arrogance, sin and shame,
And rape their souls for the world's good name.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."
The band of Gideon roam the sky
And view the earth with baleful eye,
In holy wrath they scourge the land
With earth-quake, storm and burning brand.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."
The lightnings flash and the thunders roll,
And "Lord have mercy on my soul,"
Cry men as they fall on the stricken sod,
In agony searching for their God.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."
And men repent and then forget
That heavenly wrath they ever met,
The band of Gideon yet will come
And strike their tongues of blasphemy dumb.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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