The New Freethinker
John Grubby who was short and stout
And troubled with religious doubt,
Refused about the age of three
To sit upon the curate's knee;
(For so the eternal strife must rage
Between the spirit of the age
And Dogma, which, as is well known,
Does simply hate to be outgrown).
Grubby, the young idea that shoots,
Outgrew the ages like old boots;
While still, to all appearance, small,
Would have no Miracles at all;
And just before the age of ten
Firmly refused Free Will to men.
The altars reeled, the heavens shook,
Just as he read of in the book;
Flung from his house went forth the youth
Alone with tempests and the Truth.
Up to the distant city and dim
Where his papa had bought for him
A partnership in Chepe and Deer
Worth, say twelve hundred pounds a year.
But he was resolute. Lord Brute
Had found him useful; and Lord Loot,
With whom few other men would act,
Valued his promptitude and tact;
Never did even philanthrophy
Enrich a man more rapidly:
'Twas he that stopped the Strike in Coal,
For hungry children racked his soul;
To end their misery there and then
He filled the mines with Chinamen
Sat in that House that broke the Kings,
And voted for all sorts of things --
And rose from Under-Sec. to Sec.
With scarce a murmur or a check.
Some grumbled. Growlers who gave less
Than generous worship to success,
The little printers in Dundee,
Who got ten years for blasphemy,
(Although he let them off with seven)
Respect him rather less than heaven.
No matter. This can still be said:
Never to supernatural dread
Never to unseen deity,
Did Sir John Grubby bend the knee;
Nor was he bribed by fabled bliss
To kneel to any world but this.
The curate lives in Camden Town,
His lap still empty of renown,
And still across the waste of years
John Grubby, in the House of Peers,
Faces that curate, proud and free,
And never sits upon his knee.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Related quotes
Gone, Gone Again
Gone, gone again,
May, June, July,
And August gone,
Again gone by,
Not memorable
Save that I saw them go,
As past the empty quays
The rivers flow.
And now again,
In the harvest rain,
The Blenheim oranges
Fall grubby from the trees
As when I was young
And when the lost one was here
And when the war began
To turn young men to dung.
Look at the old house,
Outmoded, dignified,
Dark and untenanted,
With grass growing instead
Of the footsteps of life,
The friendliness, the strife;
In its beds have lain
Youth. love, age, and pain:
I am something like that;
Only I am not dead,
Still breathing and interested
In the house that is not dark:-
I am something like that:
Not one pane to reflect the sun,
For the schoolboys to throw at -
They have broken every one.
poem by Edward Thomas
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John and Freddy
JOHN courted lovely MARY ANN,
So likewise did his brother, FREDDY.
FRED was a very soft young man,
While JOHN, though quick, was most unsteady.
FRED was a graceful kind of youth,
But JOHN was very much the strongest.
"Oh, dance away," said she, "in truth,
I'll marry him who dances longest."
JOHN tries the maiden's taste to strike
With gay, grotesque, outrageous dresses,
And dances comically, like
CLODOCHE AND Co., at the Princess's.
But FREDDY tries another style,
He knows some graceful steps and does 'em -
A breathing Poem - Woman's smile -
A man all poesy and buzzem.
Now FREDDY'S operatic PAS -
Now JOHNNY'S hornpipe seems entrapping:
Now FREDDY'S graceful ENTRECHATS -
Now JOHNNY'S skilful "cellar-flapping."
For many hours - for many days -
For many weeks performed each brother,
For each was active in his ways,
And neither would give in to t'other.
After a month of this, they say
(The maid was getting bored and moody)
A wandering curate passed that way
And talked a lot of goody-goody.
"Oh my," said he, with solemn frown,
"I tremble for each dancing FRATER,
Like unregenerated clown
And harlequin at some the-ayter."
He showed that men, in dancing, do
Both impiously and absurdly,
And proved his proposition true,
With Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly.
For months both JOHN and FREDDY danced,
The curate's protests little heeding;
For months the curate's words enhanced
The sinfulness of their proceeding.
At length they bowed to Nature's rule -
Their steps grew feeble and unsteady,
Till FREDDY fainted on a stool,
And JOHNNY on the top of FREDDY.
"Decide!" quoth they, "let him be named,
Who henceforth as his wife may rank you."
"I've changed my views," the maiden said,
"I only marry curates, thank you!"
Says FREDDY, "Here is goings on!
To bust myself with rage I'm ready."
"I'll be a curate!" whispers JOHN -
"And I," exclaimed poetic FREDDY.
But while they read for it, these chaps,
The curate booked the maiden bonny -
And when she's buried him, perhaps,
She'll marry FREDERICK or JOHNNY.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Mom And Dad
These walls once knew the laughter
Of children happy and gay
Of mom and dad with humble thanks
To God who blessed them on their way
Then came the war, Johnnie had to go
I remember the tears we shed
And precious memories that lingered on
After news came the boy was dead
The rest of us left one by one
Until mom and dad were alone
They seemed to weather the time
As the years rolled on and on
The Angels came for mother's soul
It's been about three years ago
Then dad seemed to wither away
Until the Lord said he must go
Yes this old house is empty now
All her glory passed and gone
The shutters and doors are crumbling
As are walls once filled with song
But I shall never forget the raising
That came from mom and dad
They led us children to the Lord
When I was but a strip of a lad
I want to thank you again Lord
For mom and dads special care
They filled my life with love and joy
In this old house of yesteryear
poem by Louis H. Thompson
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God is Unchanging
He is the Father of unchanging lights
The River of Life and flowing Grace
Alpha and Omega, our God of might
Eternal LORD of the human race.
There is no shadow or iota of Doubt
His Word says there is all about Truth
He changes not and we can't live without
The Light of His Word, from which we bear fruit.
Times may change and many will deceive
Some will say His Word is obsolete today
Say that God loves all men and forgives
They make their own view to suit their way.
God changes not and so does His Word
The Rock of Ages for a man will not bend
He gave His Word for the good it accords
It will stand firm and strong to the very end!
'The words that I have spoken to you are Spirit and they are Life.'
JOHN 6: 63
'Sanctify them by the Truth, Your Word is Truth.'
JOHN 17: 17
'Your Word, oh LORD, is eternal; it stands firm in the heavens.'
PSALM 119: 89-90
---
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
June 9,2012
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Me
I don't 'belong' to anyone,
As far as I can see
I am an individual
And no one's property;
I won't be owned by anyone,
Nor will I bend the knee,
A servant not, no matter what,
Nor ever will I be;
I'm not in thrall to anyone,
My master, I will be,
A unique human being,
I'm John, and simply me.
(Written Sept 2012)
poem by John Carter Brown
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‘To the Slaughter-house’- A Cattle-song!
To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we cows all go;
We gave men milk and butter, ghee;
They want our beef now;
We’ve no other go.
To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we oxen go;
We tilled their lands and milled oil-seeds;
They want our hide now;
We’ve no other go.
To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we sheep all go;
We grazed their meadows, eating grass;
They want our mutton now;
We’ve no other go.
To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we cattle go;
We served mankind as God said so;
Selfish men want our flesh now;
We’ve no other go.
To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we animals go;
Jostled, huddled, unfed, crowded;
Men want our lives now;
This is our last ride, we all know;
We’ve no other go.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-20-2008
poem by John Celes
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On Finding the The Holy Bible
O God,
If I had found the bible earlier,
How much better it would have been for me!
I wouldn’t have been the kind of guy I’d been
In yester-years, when I was just a lad;
If I had found the bible earlier,
I could have been a much better person
Than what I am just now, in middle-age!
Anyway, Lord, I’m happy I had found
The sacred book at least now; O help me
To read each word and every line clearly
And understand its meaning properly;
And follow instructions given by You,
All through the rest of my life religiously.
And spread the Gospel to the world of men
Remaining ignorant of the one God,
The one, living, Most high and Creator
Of Universe; of things known and unknown.
Whose love alone has given us human form;
With soul and semblance to His own image!
We live on earth and every moment passed,
All by Your kindness, blessings, love and care.
God, help me remember the lines by heart,
Reproduce them spontaneously for life,
So that, I can never sin anymore,
Nor go astray from the Road to Heaven!
O Lord,
The Holy Bible is my food and drink
To my soul, long athirst and hungry;
And yearning for peace and eternal rest,
And freedom from a mad, material world!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-6-2006
poem by John Celes
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Yes, I was a parish priest for five years. I was a curate in a large working class parish in Bristol and the Vicar of a village in Kent.
quote by John Polkinghorne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Late Sir John Ogilvy
Alas! Sir John Ogilvy is dead, aged eighty-seven,
But I hope his soul is now in heaven;
For he was a generous-hearted gentleman I am sure,
And, in particular, very kind unto the poor.
He was a Christian gentleman in every degree,
And, for many years, was an M.P. for Bonnie Dundee,
And, while he was an M.P., he didn't neglect
To advocate the rights of Dundee in every respect.
He was a public benefactor in many ways,
Especially in erecting an asylum for imbecile children to spend their days;
Then he handed the institution over as free,--
As a free gift and a boon to the people of Dundee.
He was chairman of several of the public boards in Dundee,
And among these were the Asylum Board and the Royal Infirmary;
In every respect he was a God-fearing true gentleman,
And to gainsay it there's nobody can.
He lived as a Christian gentleman in his time,
And he now lies buried in the family vault in Strathmartine;
But I hope his soul has gone aloft where all troubles cease,
Amongst the blessed saints where all is joy and peace.
To the people around Baldovan he will be a great loss,
Because he was a kind-hearted man and a Soldier of the Cross.
He had always a kind word for every one he met,
And the loss of such a good man will be felt with deep regret
Because such men as Sir John Ogilvy are hard to be found,
Especially in Christian charity his large heart did abound,
Therefore a monument should be erected for him most handsome to behold,
And his good deeds engraven thereon in letters of gold.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Born Again?
Yippee!
I'm free!
I don't agree
With the contrite heart
And the bended knee!
I'm throwing off the religious fetters
Of the folks who thought they were my betters:
Morality is a disease
So I'm doing just whatever I please:
I've had enough of cautious talk,
It's time to run and not to walk!
Yippee!
I'm free!
I don't agree
With the contrite heart
And the bended knee!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Sonnet: What Joy!
I lost a book and found it at long last;
The joy when I saw it again was great;
I lost many other things in the past;
I searched my house entire like a feat!
I lost my poem new and almost cried;
My heart just leapt with joy when I found it;
I lost my wealth-details and almost died;
God gave them back after I prayed a bit.
What joyful tears filled father’s eyes when came
His prodigal son after many years!
What joy afilled a mother’s heart when blame-
Afreed daughter returned home without fears!
The joy that fills heaven when souls are saved
Cannot be imagined by minds God gave!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-6-2006
poem by John Celes
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Now I lay Me
When I pass from earth away,
Palsied though I be and gray,
May my spirit keep so young
That my failing, faltering tongue
Frames that prayer so dear to me
Taught me at my mother's knee:
'Now I lay me down to sleep,'
(Passing to Eternal rest
On the loving parent breast)
'I pray the Lord my soul to keep;'
(From all danger safe and calm
In the hollow of His palm
'If I should die before I wake,'
(Drifting with a bated breath
Out of slumber into death,)
'I pray the Lord my soul to take.'
(From the body's claim set free
Sheltered in the Great to be.)
Simple prayer of trust and truth
Taught me in my early youth-
Let my soul its beauty keep
When I lay me down to sleep.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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‘holy Family Church House-warming, Perundurai, T.n.’
Excerpt from Dr John Celes’ Welcome Speech
(to be held on 05-02-2010)
The Shepherd comes to meet his flock,
And bless the church that’s newly built,
Wherein an older church had stood on rock –
A sacred ground of prayer for Catholics!
Let’s welcome him; let’s welcome him, ye sheep!
He brings with him his staff that protects us;
This is the time our hearts with joy must weep;
The anointing will give us greater bliss.
Let’s thank the Lord for giving us this house
Of prayer to worship the ‘King of kings’;
Let everyone take Jesus Christ as spouse,
And tread the road to heaven as earthlings.
The Church though small looks splendidly laid out;
It has been christened ‘Holy Family Church’;
Our parish is a small one without doubt,
Nevertheless, peeps in internet-search!
The flock is one led by our parish priest,
Father Claudius, a dynamic, young man!
Who works hard without mistakes in the least;
‘May God give him good health and long life-span! ’
Our heart-felt thanks to Bishop and all souls
Who gave the land for building the new Church;
Our hearty thanks to all who played new roles,
And doled the sums that can now help to preach.
God made it possible to build His house!
Let’s worship Him with masses, hymns and pray;
Let’s reach the world at the click of a mouse!
And preach the Word of God by night and day.
We thank You God for giving us this place,
And worship Jesus Christ, as a family;
Let sweat of foreheads reinforce this base,
And help to rear this provident LILY!
Dedicated to: The Most. Rev. Dr. Thomas Aquinas M.A., DCL.,
Bishop of Coimbatore diocese
Rev. Fr. Xavier Claudius, the Parish priest and
All parishners of ‘Holy Family Church, Perundurai, T.N., ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-11-2010
poem by John Celes
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The Young Man Who Refused To Take Off His Shoes
A young man
wandering in the dark
with his heart bleeding
found himself
infront of the house
that was fully lighted.
A woman
who seemed to be
an upright person
opened the door
and pityingly lead the young man
to enter the house
but then stopped him
when she saw the young man entering
with his shoes on his feet.
The woman told the young man
to take off his shoes
but the young man refused
to do so.
'I'm sorry,
I cannot let you in
if you won't take off your shoes
it is my policy
that everyone must take off the shoes
when entering the house.'
But the young man
still refused
so the woman pushed
the young man away
from the door and told him,
'I cannot help you
if you won't follow my policy! '
and the woman shut the door.
The young man
who refused to take off his shoes
back in the dark
wandering
with his heart bleeding
...alone.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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The Phantom Curate
A bishop once - I will not name him see -
Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional;
From pulpit shackles never set them free,
And found a sin where sin was unintentional.
All pleasures ended in abuse auricular -
The Bishop was so terribly particular.
Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man,
He sought to make of human pleasures clearances;
And form his priests on that much-lauded plan
Which pays undue attention to appearances.
He couldn't do good deeds without a psalm in 'em,
Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in 'em.
Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,
Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity,
He sought by open censure to enhance
Their dread of joining harmless social jollity.
Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety)
The ordinary pleasures of society.
One evening, sitting at a pantomime
(Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him),
Roaring at jokes, SANS metre, sense, or rhyme,
He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him,
His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it,
A curate, also heartily enjoying it.
Again, 't was Christmas Eve, and to enhance
His children's pleasure in their harmless rollicking,
He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance;
When something checked the current of his frolicking:
That curate, with a maid he treated lover-ly,
Stood up and figured with him in the "Coverley!"
Once, yielding to an universal choice
(The company's demand was an emphatic one,
For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),
In a quartet he joined - an operatic one.
Harmless enough, though ne'er a word of grace in it,
When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it!
One day, when passing through a quiet street,
He stopped awhile and joined a Punch's gathering;
And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet,
To see that gentleman his Judy lathering;
And heard, as Punch was being treated penally,
That phantom curate laughing all hyaenally.
Now at a picnic, 'mid fair golden curls,
Bright eyes, straw hats, BOTTINES that fit amazingly,
A croquet-bout is planned by all the girls;
And he, consenting, speaks of croquet praisingly;
But suddenly declines to play at all in it -
The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it!
Next, when at quiet sea-side village, freed
From cares episcopal and ties monarchical,
He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed,
In manner anything but hierarchical -
He sees - and fixes an unearthly stare on it -
That curate's face, with half a yard of hair on it!
At length he gave a charge, and spake this word:
"Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may;
To check their harmless pleasuring's absurd;
What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may."
He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him,
The curate vanished - no one since has heard of him.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Psalm 2
The nations rage and the people plot
They shout in vain for they have not
They are a wrinkle, they are a spot
And the Lord He laughs from heaven
On My holy hill I have set my King
And around the world the church bells ring
My people bow down and I hear them sing
Of my glorious Son in heaven
Kiss the Son and bend the knee
He's the one who died to set you free
And with the Son you'll ever be
Eternally forever in heaven
poem by Frank McEleny
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The Legend Of The Horseshoe
WHAT time our Lord still walk'd the earth,
Unknown, despised, of humble birth,
And on Him many a youth attended
(His words they seldom comprehended),
It ever seem'd to Him most meet
To hold His court in open street,
As under heaven's broad canopy
One speaks with greater liberty.
The teachings of His blessed word
From out His holy mouth were heard;
Each market to a fane turn'd He
With parable and simile.
One day, as tow'rd a town He roved,
In peace of mind with those He loved,
Upon the path a something gleam'd;
A broken horseshoe 'twas, it seem'd.
So to St. Peter thus He spake:
"That piece of iron prythee take!"
St. Peter's thoughts had gone astray,--
He had been musing on his way
Respecting the world's government,
A dream that always gives content,
For in the head 'tis check'd by nought;
This ever was his dearest thought,
For him this prize was far too mean
Had it a crown and sceptre been!
But, surely, 'twasn't worth the trouble
For half a horseshoe to bend double!
And so he turn'd away his head,
As if he heard not what was said,
The Lord, forbearing tow'rd all men,
Himself pick'd up the horseshoe then
(He ne'er again like this stoop'd down).
And when at length they reach'd the town,
Before a smithy He remain'd,
And there a penny for 't obtain'd.
As they the market-place went by,
Some beauteous cherries caught His eye:
Accordingly He bought as many
As could be purchased for a penny,
And then, as oft His wont had been,
Placed them within His sleeve unseen.
They went out by another gate,
O'er plains and fields proceeding straight,
No house or tree was near the spot,
The sun was bright, the day was hot;
In short, the weather being such,
A draught of water was worth much.
The Lord walk'd on before them all,
And let, unseen, a cherry fall.
St. Peter rush'd to seize it hold,
As though an apple 'twere of gold;
His palate much approv'd the berry;
The Lord ere long another cherry
Once more let fall upon the plain;
St. Peter forthwith stoop'd again.
The Lord kept making him thus bend
To pick up cherries without end.
For a long time the thing went on;
The Lord then said, in cheerful tone:
"Had'st thou but moved when thou wert bid,
Thou of this trouble had'st been rid;
The man who small things scorns, will next,
By things still smaller be perplex'd."
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Grounding
'and in he came with the sunshine, making my whole
world light up and every hour, every day, every month
was like a moment filled with joy and peace…..and I sat upon
the ground and gave praise, praise to the Lord …..' exclaimed
the preacher.
The boy at the back of the great hall sat quietly, busily picking his
nose, all the time contemplating which one of the girls
two plaits to cut off with the big red scissors he'd taken
earlier that day from his teachers desk.
'Amen' said the preacher.
'Amen' said the congregation.
'Amen' muttered the boy with the girls plait in
his grubby little hand.
and so endeth the sermon for that day.
poem by Ruth Walters
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House-warming
Our house anew is built at last,
Despite the struggles of the past!
A happy family now resides,
With Almighty God us besides!
Gone are the days of lack of space;
The new house wears a painted face;
Born is a harmony and peace
That God-willingly shouldn’t ever cease!
The house looks cozy and gorgeous;
The cost is anybody’s guess;
God bless our house and its in-mates,
As we journey to Heaven’s gates!
Our house must turn a happy home!
All brethren are always welcome;
Let love and prayer fill the air,
And faces wear smiles and laughter!
God bless this family and house;
Let Jesus Christ be King and spouse;
Let forgiving hearts show the world
That wounds will heal, however old!
Let brothers live and serve the Lord,
As per the teachings of God’s Word!
Let common blood and flesh stay strong,
And emanate a happy song!
Let parents feel proud of their sons!
‘Let parley work better than guns! ’
Let neighbors sense Christ’s own presence,
Within the house and o’er the fence!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-22-2009
poem by John Celes
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Hymn II
O HOLY FATHER! just and true
Are all Thy works and words and ways,
And unto Thee alone are due
Thanksgiving and eternal praise!
As children of Thy gracious care,
We veil the eye, we bend the knee,
With broken words of praise and prayer,
Father and God, we come to Thee.
For Thou hast heard, O God of Right,
The sighing of the island slave;
And stretched for him the arm of might,
Not shortened that it could not save.
The laborer sits beneath his vine,
The shackled soul and hand are free;
Thanksgiving! for the work is Thine!
Praise! for the blessing is of Thee!
And oh, we feel Thy presence here,
Thy awful arm in judgment bare!
Thine eye hath seen the bondman's tear;
Thine ear hath heard the bondman's prayer.
Praise! for the pride of man is low,
The counsels of the wise are naught,
The fountains of repentance flow;
What hath our God in mercy wrought?
Speed on Thy work, Lord God of Hosts!
And when the bondman's chain is riven,
And swells from all our guilty coasts
The anthem of the free to Heaven,
Oh, not to those whom Thou hast led,
As with Thy cloud and fire before,
But. unto Thee, in fear and dread,
Be praise and glory evermore.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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