Related quotes: The honest men are much...

The world around

The honest men are much denigrated;
The insincere are brought up to the fore;
The nexus is so well integrated,
And works dishonestly at every door.

They want the ones who act deaf, dumb and blind,
And serve a rubber-stamp to their designs;
If I collude, they will to me be kind,
But I'm a Master of symptoms and signs.

Oh what a wretched world, they have it made?
And loot the sick, downtrodden and the poor;
I curse them all; their sins will never fade,
Unless repent they at the Maker's door.
Freedom we got but still free we are not,
Is this our country's poor brethren's sad lot?

poem by John Celes
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Related quotes

Seek freedom

What does the sun of man want
What does mankind want
Under the sun
Is it to eat all the food
In the world and have fun
So that nobody gets nothing to feed
Or destroy the righteous and his seed
May be gather more riches
And be superior
So that others become
Poor and inferior
Or gather all the women
In the world by your side
Is this the ultimate pride
What fore does mankind want
Apart from being free and happy
You need freedom to live your destiny
So do i need freedom
Everybody needs freedom
The rich man needs freedom
So do the poor man also need freedom
The king needs freedom
So do his subjects needs freedom
The master needs freedom
So do the servant needs freedom
Freedom belongs to the old man
As well is the young man
the human society without freedom
Is an evildom
Freedom is love for one another
Freedom is the ultimate power

poem by Matt Ancient
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Christ's Little Sister

Little Sister of the Poor,
Asking alms from door to door,
Ever on you go;
Clothed in the garb of meekness,
Finding strength in others' weakness,
Soothing others' woe.

Little Sister of the Poor,
Rich in patience to endure
Stern Redemption's load;
Cold and rain and parching heat
Hinder not heroic feet
On the Royal Road.

Little Sister of the Poor,
When your weary day is o'er
Rest there may not be;
For the aged, sick, and needy
Vigils claim and succor speedy,
Turning unto thee.

Little Sister of the Poor,
Narrow is the way but sure,
Heavenward leading on;
For the Master's word thou knowest,
'What unto the least thou doest
Unto me is done.'

poem by John Bannister Tabb
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Freedom in His Kingdom

The Lord wants us to have freedom
That was His will from the beginning
Then for those who are not living free
Know that there is something wrong
Perhaps you are not where you belong
You need to search well for your freedom
You should live free in the Lord's kingdom
By His salvation we have been made free
Then being free we should be able to serve
And do our best service in God's kingdom
Even to lead those dying in sins to freedom
Take time out to see the signs of the times
It is urging on the end owing to many crimes
So let's do something that's right for the Divine
Like helping those souls dying in sins to freedom
Life in Christ is nice as He can set everyone free
And freedom needs to reign in God's kingdom
It's right to set free those who are bond by sin
Then we must do what we can to set them free
Even by saying this to them Jesus Christ is alive
Just get in service for Him and you'll do fine
With the Lord there's an everlasting freedom
Quit sinning and enjoy life in His kingdom.

poem by Clarence Prince
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A new freedom

Everybody wants to fly as a bird,
Nobody wants to remain in chains,
Because everyone has a new freedom to live merrily,
But some cruel take our freedom away
And make us their slave.

Freedom is a god gifted gift
Which nobody can destroy from this earth.
Freedom is not made for rich
But for innocent poor dwelling in slums.
Freedom means peace and love
Not fear around us.
Freedom is what brings a nice smile
On everybody’s face.

Freedom knows no boundary
Of happiness and sprinkles its grace
On everyone wonderfully.
Freedom knocks at every door
And kisses everyone in the early morning
As a nightingale sings its lovely hymn for each person.
Freedom walks from door to door
To visit so that no one
Can be deprived of it.

poem by Tanya Naidoo
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Pass the Crack

What can be said to those who are 'not'
Deaf, dumb or blind?
It seems as though they have been processed,
On an assembly line.
And mass produced to only receive deceptions.
With defections approved and encouraged.

What can be said to those who are 'not'
Deaf, dumb or blind?
When even blatant hand signs,
Can not stop them from their desires...
Of the experience of getting hit by a truck!
They've been programmed to accept its coming.
Much like their anticipation as they wait...
For truth to tumble from the lips of politicians.
They become ecstatic with hope,
By the words spoken by freshly minted visionaries!

What can be said to those who are 'not'
Deaf, dumb or blind?

'Pass the crack.
And if you want more...
Get back in line! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I’m Proud, an Indian Doctor

I’m proud an Indian doctor;
I have a billion lives to save;
In practice, let me not falter;
But with my patients well behave.

’Tis thrilling to serve fellowmen,
Suff’ring from newer disease;
Let me use my fullest ken,
And teach them how to live in peace.

My country is a poor nation;
My brethren need my treatment;
So, let me serve with passion;
And free them from their ailment.

God turned me to be healer great;
And serve my fellowmen ill;
Let me improve patient’s fate;
By using my God-given skill.

I’m proud to serve my brethren;
God will bless me some day, some way;
A Doctor turns earth to heaven-
Some day, my patients will sure say!

poem by John Celes
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My workplace

Some men had pledg'd their hard-earn'd property,
To men with trust to make profit somehow;
The latter’s performance was so dirty,
They aimed to loot and blamed poor worker's show.

These kingpins brought in such corrupt workmen,
Who stripp'd the place threadbare to skeleton;
And turn'd it soon into a vice-filled den;
No one can crack the whip or use baton.

No soul is honest or dedicated;
The corruption-level is very high;
To fools all power is relegated;
The patients poor come here mostly to die?
Oh what a place, so fine and wretched yet?
It needs revamping right from scratch, I bet.

poem by John Celes
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Seldom Won

Independence, liberty and freedom
Bloodlessly won seldom
Stalwarts and leaders had shown wisdom
This all we now read in class rooms

Who will not want to be in free country?
Where it is classless, non racial and sans misery
What else can be dreamed of to lead it happily?
And country is surging ahead steadily

Foreign occupants are taken as cruel and marauders
Their position is that of land hungry and invaders
They might have plundered the country in process
And brutally murdered for gaining the access

All said and done and now they have packed
No more claims on our land is staked
We are fully independent and sovereign
Free from any yoke as independence is regained

What is scenario there after?
Is country leading towards disaster?
Is the freedom struggle really a boom?
Is there any scope for poor with room?

It has tuned into grim reality
It has proved our incompetence and inability
We have pushed country into Dark Age
We failed to look after people and manage

Farmers are coming suicide
Politicians are asking for free ride
Everybody is on rampage and hands are full of corruption
The loot is clearly seen and going on without any interruption

Yes, death is wealth
To take pride for Poor’s health
Where are we today on this freedom day?
Can they take us to peaceful way?

Can we not dream for two square meals?
Can they not strike a simple deal?
They come once in five years
To feed with oasis waters in deaf years

No answer may ever be found
Out economy is claimed to be sound
All well but country is in ill health
Entire country is robbed of its wealth

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Death of the Old Mendicant

There was a rich old gentleman
Lived on a lonely moor in Switzerland,
And he was very hard to the wandering poor,
'Tis said he never lodged nor served them at his door.

'Twas on a stormy night, and Boreas blew a bitter blast,
And the snowflakes they fell thick and fast,
When a poor old mendicant, tired and footsore,
Who had travelled that day fifteen miles and more,
Knocked loudly at the rich man's door.

The rich man was in his parlour counting his gold,
And he ran to the door to see who was so bold,
And there he saw the mendicant shivering with the cold.

Then the mendicant unto him said,
My dear sir, be not afraid,
Pray give me lodgings for the night,
And heaven will your love requite;
Have pity on me, for I am tired and footsore,
I have travelled fifteen miles to-day and more.

Begone! you vagabond, from my door!
I never give lodgings to the poor;
So be off, take to your heels and run,
Or else I'll shoot you with my gun!
Now do not think I'm making fun;
Do you hear, old beggar, what I say?
Now be quick! and go away.

Have mercy, sir, I cannot go,
For I shall perish in the snow;
Oh! for heaven's sake, be not so hard
And God will your love reward.

My limbs are tired, I cannot go away,
Oh! be so kind as let me stay.
'Twas vain! the rich man said, I shan't,
And shut his door on the mendicant,
And said, That is the way I'll serve the poor
While I live on this lonely moor.

Then the old mendicant did go away,
And, murmuring to himself, did say,
Oh, woe's me that ever I was born!
Oh, God, protect me from the storm!
My feeble limbs refuse to go,
And my poor heart does break with woe.
Then he lay down and died among the snow.

He was found by the rich man's shepherd next day,
While he was searching for sheep that had gone astray;
And he was struck with fear and woe
To see the body lying dead among the snow.

So the shepherd ran home and told his master
About the very sad disaster;
That he had found a dead body in the snow,
But whose it was he did not know.

Then the rich man ordered the body to be brought to his house
And to be instantly dressed by his loving spouse,
For his conscience smote him with fear and woe,
When he heard of the old mendicant being found dead in the snow.

So the poor old mendicant was buried without delay
In a very respectable way,
And from that very day the rich man was kind to the poor
And never turned any one away from his door.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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What god do they serve?

There are people that say
that those that are sick,
wretched and poor
live outside the will of God
and that their sins
brings them there.

What about a two-year-old child
that die in terrible pain
from cancer,
the upright person
that gives his life for others
and do they also
go straight to the place of destruction?

What god does just look after the rich,
the healthy, clever people
and those that are born
with the golden spoon
and live in palaces
and do not concern themselves with others?

l’Envoi
Great Lord, I just wonder
what god do they serve
when mine see
the two pennies of a poor woman,
is the great king of the universe
and in a manger
as a human
saw first light,
visited the whore
and tax collector
and paid the price
for the sins of ungrateful impudent people
and still said:

“Father forgive them,
for they do not know what they are doing.”

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Seven Sins again

>
> Do we as a people really know or care
> Concerning the seven sins?
>
> Those sins are apart of our every day life.
> Those sins are apart of our strife.
> I've heard the first was vanity or pride
>
> Now that is an hell of a ride...
> Be it physical or spiritual, how would
> One keep his/her feet on the ground?
>
> Sanity what a big role...
> Does God have pride? Then I am lost.
> What mean the word boss?
>
> Those seven sins has really cost,
> Things to be...
> Unfree and that will include me.

Was it pride that set Eve free
And made Adam give up his freedom of will?
Still...
I must appeal...
I am not ill...
But the seven is a thrill...for real,

What envy you? and who...why?
And do you cry?
The have and the have nots...
Gluttony would that be?

Are all seven just pure envy?
Lust not and bust...
Lust not and rust...

The wrath of lust not is have not,
Either way you go...
Whatever door...rich or poor,

Kindness and anger in the long run meet,
Good or bad we sit and eat.
Sometimes eating out of greed...
God speed...

Is lust greed or pride?
Or just sloth...denied?
A natural, physical and spiritual guide.

'Man she looks good'
Gluttony in the hood.

'He is so fine'...or just signs of the time,
Lust is not mine.

poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Sonnet: A Prayer for Myself

Let me be poor like Thee Jesus, my Lord;
Let me be wise and keep on earth, my soul;
Let me live life, not on my own accord;
Let me then work for my Heavenly goal.

Let me not seek only pleasures and joys;
Let me labor till sweat falls to the soil;
Let me in sadness too, thank God- rejoice;
Let me the Tempter’s evil designs foil.

Let me be humble and patient to all;
Let me be kind and love my neighbor’s small;
Let me be honest, remain not a wall;
Let me not ever miss my Maker’s call.

Let me do things that my conscience suggests;
Let me not sin or fail my Maker’s tests!

poem by John Celes
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Deaf Martha

Poor Martha is old, and her hair is turn'd grey,
And her hearing has left her for many a year;
Ten to one if she knows what it is that you say,
Though she puts her poor wither'd hand close to her ear.

I've seen naughty children run after her fast,
And cry, "Martha, run, there's a bullock so bold;"
And when she was frighten'd, laugh at her at last,
Because she believed the sad stories they told.

I've seen others put their mouths close to her ear,
And make signs as if they had something to say;
And when she said, "Master, I'm deaf and can't hear,"
Point at her and mock her, and scamper away.

Ah! wicked the children poor Martha to tease,
As if she had not enough else to endure;
They rather should try her affliction to ease,
And soothe a disorder that nothing can cure.

One day, when those children themselves are grown old,
And one may be deaf, and another be lame,
Perhaps they may find that some children, as bold,
May tease them, and mock them, and serve them the same.

Then, when they reflect on the days of their youth,
A faithful account will their consciences keep,
And teach them, with shame and with sorrow, the truth,
That "what a man soweth, the same shall he reap."

poem by Ann Taylor
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Sonnet: New Year 2008 Resolutions

A New Year 2008 has dawned!
Let us resolve to work for global peace;
Let love and brotherhood become our bond;
Let wars and envy amongst nations cease!

Let’s stamp out terrorism from earth’s face.
Let’s ensure basic rights of all brethren;
Let’s safe-guard environs for human race;
Let’s make the earth a place akin heaven.

Let’s help our poor and downtrodden brothers;
Let’s pray to God for help and guidance more;
Let’s protect life of man, beast and others;
Let earth’s resources take man to the fore.

Let’s give up vices and all kinds of sin;
Let’s love our neighbors as our kith and kin.

poem by John Celes
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Poverty

I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
It was all falling into decay,
And the snow drifted in at the door.

Yet there a poor family dwelt,
In a hovel so dismal and rude;
And though gnawing hunger they felt,
They had not a morsel of food.

The children were crying for bread,
And to their poor mother they’d run;
‘Oh, give us some breakfast,’ they said,
Alas! their poor mother had none.

She viewed them with looks of despair,
She said (and I’m sure it was true),
‘’Tis not for myself that I care,
But, my poor little children, for you.’

O then, let the wealthy and gay
But see such a hovel as this,
That in a poor cottage of clay
They may know what true misery is.
And what I may have to bestow
I never will squander away,
While many poor people I know
Around me are wretched as they.

poem by Jane Taylor
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Sonnet: God, How Can I Be Inert?

Need I be silent spectator on Earth,
Watching helplessly sufferings around?
Was I not meant for a purpose at birth,
To help unfortunate, heavenward bound?

Need I be selfish ignoring others,
Bothered of only my material wealth;
Should I not help my downtrodden brothers?
Thus, improve my mind’s clime and my soul’s health!

Need I be helpless, deaf and dumb and blind,
To all unfair happenings that surround me?
Should I not put my might and try to find,
Solutions to problems of society?

Oh, make me useful God, to my brethren.
And let me help them find on earth, Heaven!

7 -17-2002

poem by John Celes
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O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing

O for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer's praise,
The glories of my God and King,
The triumphs of his grace!

My gracious Master and my God,
Assist me to proclaim,
To spread through all the earth abroad
The honours of thy name.

Jesus! the name that charms our fears,
That bids our sorrows cease;
'Tis music in the sinner's ears,
'Tis life, and health, and peace.

He breaks the power of cancelled sin,
He sets the prisoner free;
His blood can make the foulest clean,
His blood availed for me.

He speaks, and, listening to his voice,
New life the dead receive,
The mournful, broken hearts rejoice,
The humble poor believe.

Hear him, ye deaf; his praise, ye dumb,
Your loosened tongues employ;
Ye blind, behold your Saviour come,
And leap, ye lame, for joy.

Look unto him, ye nations, own
Your God, ye fallen race;
Look, and be saved through faith alone,
Be justified by grace.

See all your sins on Jesus laid:
The Lamb of God was slain,
His soul was once an offering made
For every soul of man.

Awake from guilty nature's sleep,
And Christ shall give you light,
Cast all your sins into the deep,
And wash the Æthiop white.

With me, your chief, ye then shall know,
Shall feel your sins forgiven;
Anticipate your heaven below,
And own that love is heaven.

poem by Charles Wesley
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Hymn I: O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing