What I Have Seen #5
I saw a Christian, a temperance man,
Casting his ballot one day at the polls:
One who believes he does what he can
Toward the reclaiming and saving of souls.
And may be he does-may be he does!
I don't say he doesn't, but may be he does!
I saw his candidate sipping his beer,
Wiping his moustache and lapping his jaws;
And I said to myself, 'It's decidedly queer,
If this is the man that should help make our laws.'
But may be he is-may be he is!
I won't say it outright, but may be he is!
I saw an old drunkard fall in the street:
I saw my Christian man mournfully pass,
And mournfully say to the sot at his feet:
'I have done what I could for such wrecks, but, alas!'
Well, may be he had-may be he had!
I don't say he hadn't, but may be he had!
I know a party that's forming to-day,
Made out of men that are loyal and brave:
They will sweep liquor taxes and tariffs away,
For they never will vote for a drinking old knave.
You see if they do! you see if they do!
I don't say I know, but you see if they do!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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What We Want
We have scores of temperance men,
Bold and earnest, brave and true,
Fighting with the tongue and pen,
And we value what they do.
But, my friends,
To gain our ends,
You must use the ballot, too.
When we tell about our cause,
Politicians only smile;
While they mould and make our laws,
What care they for rank or file?
"Preach and pray,"
They sneer and say;
"We'll make liquor laws the while."
We want men who dare to fling
Party ties and bonds away;
Who will cast them off, and cling
To the RIGHT, and boldly say,
"No beer bloats
Shall get our votes."
Then shall our cause gain the day.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Where Are The Temperance People? In Reply To A Query
Where are the temperance people?
Well, scattered here and there:
Some gathering in their produce
To show at the autumn fair;
Some threshing wheat for market,
And others threshing rye,
That will go to the fat distiller
For whiskey by-and-by.
And some are selling their hop crops
At a first-rate price, this year,
And the seller pockets the money,
While the drunkard swallows the beer.
And some 'staunch temperance workers'(?)
Who'd do anything for the cause,
Save to give it a dime or a moment,
Or work for temperance laws,
May be seen from now to election,
Near any tavern stand
Where liquor flows in plenty,
With a voter on either hand.
And these temperance office-seekers
That we hear of far and near
Are the ones who furnish the money
That buys the lager-beer.
But these are only the black sheep
Who want the temperance name
Without living up to the precepts,
And so bring themselves to shame.
And the true, brave temperance people,
Who have the cause at heart,
Are doing the work that's nearest,
Each his allotted part:
Some lifting the fallen drunkard,
Some preaching unto men,
Some aiding the cause with money,
And others with the pen.
Each has a different mission,
Each works in a different way,
But their works shall melt together
In one grand result, some day.
And one, our chief (God bless him),
Is working day and night:
With his sword of burning eloquence,
He is fighting the noble fight.
Whether in lodge or convention,
Whether at home or abroad,
He is reaping a golden harvest
To lay at the feet of God.
Where are the temperance people?
All scattered here and there,
Sowing the seeds of righteous deeds,
That the harvest may be fair.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vote for the Future of Big Bird
Please vote for the future of our children.
Vote to fund PBS, an oasis of knowledge, get even
On Election Day. Vote for Sesame Street,
Vote for Main Street, not Wall Street.
Vote for the re-election of the President,
Who supports student loans for our college students.
Vote for the man who is a strong proponent
Of investing in America, and in the future of our citizens.
The Hedge Fund Managers have sufficient money;
The wealthy ought to pay their fair share of taxes accordingly.
Vote for Big Bird and Main Street,
An tell Wall Street that the party is over,
No more business as usual; it is over.
Give a chance to Big Bird and Main Street.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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The Seven Sisters
Or, The Solitude Of Binnorie
SEVEN Daughter had Lord Archibald,
All children of one mother:
You could not say in one short day
What love they bore each other.
A garland, of seven lilies, wrought!
Seven sisters that together dwell;
But he, bold Knight as ever fought,
Their Father, took of them no thought,
He loved the wars so well.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,
And from the shores of Erin,
Across the wave, a Rover brave
To Binnorie is steering:
Right onward to the Scottish strand
The gallant ship is borne;
The warriors leap upon the land,
And hark! the Leader of the band
Hath blown his bugle horn.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
Beside a grotto of their own,
With boughs above them closing,
The Seven are laid, and in the shade
They lie like fawns reposing.
But now, upstarting with affright
At noise of man and steed,
Away they fly to left, to rightÑ
Of your fair household, Father-knight,
Methinks you take small heed!
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
Away the even fair Campbells fly,
And, over hill and hollow,
With menace proud, and insult loud,
The youthful Rovers follow.
Cried they, 'Your Father loves to roam:
Enough for him to find
The empty house when he comes home;
For us your yellow ringlets comb,
For us be fair and kind!'
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
Some close behind, some side to side,
Like clouds in stormy weather;
They run, and cry, 'Nay, let us die,
And let us die together.'
A lake was near; the shore was steep;
There never foot had been;
They ran, and with a deperate leap
Together plunged into the deep,
Nor ever more were seen.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
The stream that flows out of the lake,
As through the glen it rambles,
Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone,
For those seven lovely Campbells.
Seven little Islands, green and bare,
Have risen from out the deep:
The fishers say, those sisters fair,
By faeries all are buried there,
And there together sleep.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
poem by William Wordsworth
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Christian soldier
The Christian Soldier,
The Christian soldier goes to fight, a war on evil, every day and night,
Fighting for what the Lord God says. Is only right, with all their might;
They fight the enemy, for peace and truth, yet they are so brave,
And Jesus showed why we go, when He died our souls to save.
The Christian soldier has his armor, his breast plate, and His helmet too,
Then comes feet shod with the preparation of peace, this is True
Truth and Mercy are on the soldiers side, for the enemies destruction,
And with it comes the sword of God, and we're safe under Gods redemption.
The Christian Soldier, those, who have been washed and bought with a price,
The price of the lamb, And we'll win the war, against the enemy who isn't nice;
We have the Words of Christ, bestowed on us, promises from above,
They're full of Wisdom, truth, and justice, they were given to us in love.
poem by Margaret Haig
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I have this to say to the people: go the polls and vote for the candidate of your choice... This is your responsibility; do not neglect it.
quote by Hosni Mubarak
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With Nothing Better To Do
If we all knew at this moment,
Any action or decision we made...
Would have an adverse affect,
Ten years from now...
Would any of us hesitate,
To make that decision made?
Or would we all consult psychics,
And be afraid to breathe and/or move?
Since someone in the year 2019,
With nothing better to do than to pass judgement...
On all and/or any thought we have ever held,
Will hold us accountable.
Utlizing the best of their Christian beliefs.
So...
Let us all right now,
Be sure...
We know exactly what those consequences we face.
Or,
Like many are accustomed to do...
Excuse everything they've done,
Via selective memory or choose to pass the buck.
Utlizing the best of their Christian beliefs!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Thus Christian humanism is as indispensable to the Christian way of life as Christian ethics and a Christian sociology.
quote by Christopher Dawson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Is A Christian?
Who is a Christian in this Christian land
Of many churches and of lofty spires?
Not he who sits in soft upholstered pews
Bought by the profits of unholy greed,
And looks devotion, while he thinks of gain.
Not he who sends petitions from the lips
That lie to-morrow in the street and mart.
Not he who fattens on another's toil,
And flings his unearned riches to the poor,
Or aids the heathen with a lessened wage,
And builds cathedrals with an increased rent.
Christ, with Thy great, sweet, simple creed of love,
How must Thou weary of Earth's 'Christian' clans,
Who preach salvation through Thy saving blood
While planning slaughter of their fellow men.
Who is a Christian? It is one whose life
Is built on love, on kindness and on faith;
Who holds his brother as his other self;
Who toils for justice, equity and PEACE,
And hides no aim or purpose in his heart
That will not chord with universal good.
Though he be pagan, heretic or Jew,
That man is Christian and beloved of Christ.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Vote For Me
Vote for me, vote for me
I want the nomination for the presidency
Vote for me, vote for me
If I am elected, this is how it will be
Ill cut your tax in half
Ill make the russians laugh
Ill feed the hungry people everywhere
Ill bring the railroads back
New trains and new track
From waikiki to old deleware
Vote for me, vote for me
I want the nomination for the presidency
Vote for me, vote for me
If I am elected, this is how it will be
Ill give detroit one year
New cars that run on beer
Or anything except gasoline
Im looking to the sun
More power for everyone
And the cleanest sky that youve ever seen
Im not going to kid you, theres a lot to do
Little can I promise, its really up to you
But if we all work together
And I think we can
And if you want some new ideas
Then Im your man
Vote for me, vote for me
I want the nomination for the presidency
Vote for me, vote for me
If I am elected, this is how it will be
Ill work for global peace
And the sweet release
Of the love and human kindness in us all
I would give all Ive got
You just give me a shot
Somehow, I know that I can win the fall
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If it went on the ballot in Colorado, I would vote to lower the drinking age.
quote by Pete Coors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Looking To Start An Argument
Why is it that those pigeon-toed,
Walk like ducks with their butts stuck up?
'What has that got to do with anthropology? '
A lot.
Think about it.
'No...
I am not! '
IF you were a true Christian,
You would know these things.
'You're really looking to start an argument,
Aren't you?
Your total approach doesn't make any sense.'
Who said I was a Christian?
Even though I may possess those traits.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Christian Name
MY Christian name, my Christian name,
I never hear it now:
None have the right to utter it,
'T is lost, I scare know how.
My worldly name the world speaks loud;
Thank God for well-earned fame!
But silence sits at my cold hearth,--
I have no household name.
My Christian name, my Christian name,
It has an uncouth sound;
My mother chose it out of those
In Bible pages found:
Mother, whose accents made half sweet
What else I held in shame,
Dost thou remember up in heaven
My poor lost Christian name?
Brothers and sisters, mockers oft
Of the quaint name I bore,
Would I could leap back years, to hear
Ye shout it out once more!
One speaks it still, in written lines,
The last fraternal claim:
But the wide seas between us drown
Its sound--my Christian name.
I had a long dream once. Her voice
Might breathe the homely word,
And make it music--as love makes
Any name, said or heard.
O, dumb, dumb lips!--O, silent heart!
Though it is no ones' blame:
Now while I live I'll never hear
Her speak my Christian name.
God send her bliss, and send me rest!
If her white footsteps calm
Should track my bleeding feet, God make
To them each blood-drop balm!
Peace--peace. O mother, put thou forth
Thine elder, holier claim,
And the first word I hear in heaven
May be my Christian name.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Elizabeth II Diamond Jubilee
Time to show thanks to her Highness,
She's served her country with prowess,
Honour now all that's come to pass,
At street parties fill up your glass,
Toasts made to Elizabeth's health,
Unite realms of the commonwealth,
For that to which the queen made oath,
Respect and praise she is owed both,
There's a lavish use of bunting,
Everywhere's made to look spiffing,
Celebrations promptly begin,
Events for all to partake in,
On the Thames there grows excitement,
Crowds watch the Jubilee Pageant,
Marking 60 years on the throne,
A party of a lifetime's thrown.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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The Path To Rightousness
SOME FRIENDS WERE SEATED AT A BEER PARLOUR DRINKING BEER! ALL OF A SUDDEN A MAN WALKED IN AND SAID, MERRY MEN! A LIQUOR CONTEST IS ABOARD!
HOORAY! SHOUTED THE JOLLY FELLOWS! JUST THEN A PREACHER WALKED IN WITH HIS HOLY SCRIPTURES AND SHOUTED OUT FOR ALL TO HEAR, WIDE IS THE PATH THE LEADS TO DESTRUCTION! REPENT OF THY ALCHOHOLIC WAYS AND FOLLOW THE PATHS OF RIGHTOUSNESS!
JUST THEN A WELL KNOWN WHORE WALKED INTO THE PARLOUR AND ON SIGHTING THE PREACHER, SHE QUICKLY SEIZED HIM BY HIS BELT!
THE SURPRISED FELLOWS ALL CAME TOGETHER AND ENQUIRED OF HER, SAYING, WHAT BE THY PROBLEM THAT YOU TROUBLE THIS RIGHTOUS MAN? AND SHE REPLIED, HE HAS REFUSED TO PAY ME FOR MY SERVICES, THRICE I HAVE ALLOWED HIM MY PLEASURES ON CREDIT, BUT ALAS! TODAY HE MUST PAY!
THE STUNNED FELLOWS ALL BECAME SILENT AND WENT BACK TO THEIR BEER DRINKING!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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The Death Of Aliatar
FROM THE SPANISH.
'Tis not with gilded sabres
That gleam in baldricks blue,
Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez,
Of gay and gaudy hue--
But, habited in mourning weeds,
Come marching from afar,
By four and four, the valiant men
Who fought with Aliatar.
All mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
The banner of the Phenix,
The flag that loved the sky,
That scarce the wind dared wanton with,
It flew so proud and high--
Now leaves its place in battle-field,
And sweeps the ground in grief,
The bearer drags its glorious folds
Behind the fallen chief,
As mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
Brave Aliatar led forward
A hundred Moors to go
To where his brother held Motril
Against the leaguering foe.
On horseback went the gallant Moor,
That gallant band to lead;
And now his bier is at the gate,
From whence he pricked his steed.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
The knights of the Grand Master
In crowded ambush lay;
They rushed upon him where the reeds
Were thick beside the way;
They smote the valiant Aliatar,
They smote the warrior dead,
And broken, but not beaten, were
The gallant ranks he led.
Now mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
Oh! what was Zayda's sorrow,
How passionate her cries!
Her lover's wounds streamed not more free
Than that poor maiden's eyes.
Say, Love--for didst thou see her tears:
Oh, no! he drew more tight
The blinding fillet o'er his lids
To spare his eyes the sight.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
Nor Zayda weeps him only,
But all that dwell between
The great Alhambra's palace walls
And springs of Albaicin.
The ladies weep the flower of knights,
The brave the bravest here;
The people weep a champion,
The Alcaydes a noble peer.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Are We Falling Short?
A provincial premier should be appointed prime minister each year,
Because we don't vote for our prime minister by name right here,
We vote for someone in his party and sometimes we're not sure,
Because the party system can sometimes be very obscure.
Or in order to elect a prime minister, we should see his name,
On a special ballot because this is a serious game,
And the religion-like party system should be rearranged,
For individuals - not parties - and not considered strange.
I realize of course that this idea will be shot down,
Appointed high aristocrats want to keep their dressing gowns,
Proportional representation and binding referendums please,
Because the way things are now; it's the parties they appease.
They say that the Senate is a place of sober second thought,
Where unknown establishment appointees are never distraught,
Did I mention we need an elected Senate and High Court?
Because under our present system we seem to fall short.
poem by James Bredin
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THEY CAN'T WIN Apr 30th,2011
Those who don’t vote, think that nothing can change and they may be right,
Without plebiscites or propositions trying to be polite,
No binding referendums or proportional representation,
So why bother to be involved or vote or make a donation?
They are not allowed to vote for their prime minister by name,
Can’t have political recall and no matter what, so they can’t blame,
There are no set-date elections so no one knows the date for sure,
And the name on the ballot they can vote for, is extremely obscure.
Can’t vote for an appointed senator or Supreme Court judge,
Can’t even have these thoughts because nothing is allowed to budge,
Can’t have death with dignity because that would be a sin,
So why bother to vote because Canadians may not win?
poem by James Bredin
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Alcohol's Requiem Upon Prof. P. F. K., A Gifted Man, Who Died A Victim Of Strong Drink
Ho! ho! Father Death! I have won you another!
Another grand soul I have ruined and taken;
I, who am licensed by good Christian people,
Eat and eat at their souls till by angels forsaken:
I spoil them, I soil them, and past all reclaiming
They fall, sick with sins that are too black for naming.
Ho! ho! Father Death! count me as your best man:
I bring you more souls than famine or battle.
Let pestilence rage! it will last but a season,
And the soft voice of peace stills the cannon's loud rattle;
But I, pausing never, with ceaseless endeavor,
Night and day, day and night, I am toiling for ever.
Ho! ho! Father Death! I have brought you my thousands:
Good people help me, license, uphold me,
Gaze on some victim I stole from their household-
Gaze, and upbraid the foul demon that sold me.
Ah! but they helped him-argued and voted
Till license was granted, and I was promoted.
Ho! ho! Father Death! is he not a grand victim?
I bring you souls that are well worth the winning-
Noble and brave, with the rare gifts of heaven;
But I eat them away and pollute them with sinning.
Now, but for me there would be few above him,
Honored and prized by the dear ones who love him.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The grandest of all laws is the law of progressive development. Under it, in the wide sweep of things, men grow wiser as they grow older, and societies better.
quote by John Christian Bovee
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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