Four In The Furnace (Bible Poems For Children)
In a far away
land,
Lived a wicked
king.
He prayed to
idols and things.
He told his
people,
Where the idol
stood.
They must pray,
and be good.
Into a furnace,
you will go,
If you, do not bow
low.
Three christian
men, lived there,
Believed in God,
All the way from
Israel they
trod.
Bow, the king,
told them so,
We believe in God,
our answer is no.
Make a fire, hot
as can be.
Who is your God?
We shall see.
Into the furnace,
you will go,
I'll test your God,
then we will know.
In the furnace, the
king saw four.
Quickly, he shouted,
open the door.
Your God is in the
furnace, I see,
I now, resign my
decree.
poem by Heather Burns
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Old Revolution
I finally broke into the prison,
I found my place in the chain.
Even damnation is poisoned with rainbows,
all the brave young men
they're waiting now to see a signal
which some killer will be lighting for pay.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.
I fought in the old revolution
on the side of the ghost and the King.
Of course I was very young
and I thought that we were winning;
I can't pretend I still feel very much like singing
as they carry the bodies away.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...
Lately you've started to stutter
as though you had nothing to say.
To all of my architects let me be traitor.
Now let me say I myself gave the order
to sleep and to search and to destroy.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...
Yes, you who are broken by power,
you who are absent all day,
you who are kings for the sake of your children's story,
the hand of your beggar is burdened down with money,
the hand of your lover is clay.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Revolution
I finally broke into the prison,
I found my place in the chain.
Even damnation is poisoned with rainbows,
All the brave young men
Theyre waiting now to see a signal
Which some killer will be lighting for pay.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
You whom I cannot betray.
I fought in the old revolution
On the side of the ghost and the king.
Of course I was very young
And I thought that we were winning;
I cant pretend I still feel very much like singing
As they carry the bodies away.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...
Lately youve started to stutter
As though you had nothing to say.
To all of my architects let me be traitor.
Now let me say I myself gave the order
To sleep and to search and to destroy.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...
Yes, you who are broken by power,
You who are absent all day,
You who are kings for the sake of your childrens story,
The hand of your beggar is burdened down with money,
The hand of your lover is clay.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bible Stories: Esther (Part IIA)
In reward for his great service,
Haman, son of Hammedatha,
Was raised to the highest rank,
Second to just the King himself;
All servants and all officials
Would kneel and bow their head to him
As per the royal order then;
But Mordecai would ne’er do this;
All wondered why he thus behaved;
Being a Jew was his excuse.
When servants told Haman of this,
He was much angered by the news;
He planned to punish Mordecai,
And destroy every Jew that lived!
All Jews would be killed in one day-
The thirteenth day of Adar month,
In the twelfth year of the King’s reign.
Haman brain-washed the king and said:
“Scattered among your kingdom, Sir,
Are certain people with own laws,
Who do not obey King’s orders.
Haman would pay a heavy sum
In silver to the treasury,
If King issued a new decree
To have them destroyed in one day.
They were a hurdle to progress;
The king handed his signet ring
To Haman, as he impressed him;
He empowered him to act fast;
Calling all scribes, then Haman wrote
An order on the King’s behalf
And sealed it with the royal ring:
“All Jews in all the provinces
Both young and old, of both sexes
Would face mass annihilation;
Their goods would be confiscated! ”
The king’s decree was sent to all
The Governors of his kingdom,
To make forthwith preparations.
poem by John Celes
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King of Storms
I am the Storm King,
hear my decree!
The heavens like vikings
shall storm all you see!
Watch the people flee.
I am the Storm King,
the floodgates shall open!
The rain is striking,
slaves driven down the Slope 'n
down to the sea.
I am the Storm King,
I have made my empire.
Hear my bow sing.
I will drown out your fire.
I am the Storm King,
and you shall be made to see.
It is not wise to be double-crossing.
I am the Storm King.
Hear my decree.
poem by Soren Valentine
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Steel on Steel
Strength in each and every part
needs no paltry poet's art
to picture peerless tensile worth
which rhymes through time in class apart
to show glow's incandescent birth.
Hammers heated chain links bind
furnace features, anvil mind,
steel represents upon this Earth.
From forceful freedom's furnace find
fragility, flaws left behind.
18 October 2011
poem by Jonathan Robin
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I Think Hes Hiding
If the big boy comes tomorrow
Therell be no more teardrops
Therell be no more sorrow
If the big boy comes tomorrow
Will he take you with him?
Have you been good?
Have you been bad?
If you havent lived the way you should
Youll wish you had
When the big boy brings his fiery furnace
Will he like what he sees
Or will he strike the fire and burn us?
Oh, hes so great
And hes so straight
And you know hes watching
Have you been good?
Have you been bad?
If you havent lived the way you should
Youll wish you had
Come on, big boy
Come and save us
Come and look at what weve done
With what you gave us
Now Ive heard it said
That our big boys dead
But I think hes hiding
I think hes hiding
I think hes hiding
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Furnace
The furnace of noise is obliterating,
Heat surges like a bird’s cry,
The crying of the furnace is like venom.
Heat is audible now, it never whispers here;
Rippling heat like hell is lowering the limbs,
Soft voices are heard from afar to attack your body.
Fainter, and still fainter, the voices run,
Vast is the thudding, gentle clicks,
So that floating happens from the hot air.
To turn this down is obviously dreadful,
But silence is absent in every way.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Child Of The King
I’ve never been a cheerleader,
Or a beauty queen.
Still, I’m a child of the king.
I’ve never pulled up in a stretch limousine.
Still, I’m a child of the king.
I’ve never been asked
To sit on the front row
Or been catered to
because of a title that I hold.
Still, I’m a child of the king.
I’ve never been bejeweled
With a lot of bling bling
Or shopped at Saks Fifth Avenue
For the finest of things.
Still, I’m a child of the king.
I’ve never gotten a Ph.D.
Or sailed on a yacht on the open blue sea.
Still, I’m a child of the king.
I’ve never wrote a check
For a million dollars spent
Or gotten an invitation
To meet the President.
Still, I’m a child of the king.
I’ve never lived in a house;
That has a spiral staircase
Or worn a dress with a gold trim lace.
Still, I’m a child of the king.
I’ve never traveled the world
In my own private jet
Or had my meals brought to me;
By a butler name Lafayette
Still, I’m a child of the king.
I’ve never owned cattle
On a hundred acre land.
Or walked into a room
And all had to stand.
Still, I’m a child of the king.
And still;
I’m a child of the king!
Copyright©2010 by-Phyllis Strong
(...having nothing, and yet possessing everything.2Cor.6: 10)
poem by Phyllis Strong
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Racing Wind Destination Unknown
gotta go now gotta go soon
racing wind destination unknown
embracing journey knowing arrivals
are but staging grounds foundations
preparing new growth departures
this life our testing by fire purification
embrace fire embrace life embrace decisions
iron ore not tested purified by fire
can never be furnace cast finest steal
yes know this ore is tortured in furnace
only in struggle testing soul is purification
achieved in soul journey to state nirvana
motivated by pain perceived great passion
all sentient beings face trial transformation
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Bible Stories: Daniel, Bel and the Dragon
When King Astyages died,
Cyrus of Persia became king;
Daniel was his honored companion.
The Babylonians’ idol was Bel;
Each day, they offered twelve bushels of flour,
Forty sheep and fifty gallons of wine;
The king too worshipped Bel;
But Daniel worshipped his own God!
When the King asked Daniel,
‘Why don’t you worship Bel? ’
Daniel answered he didn’t revere
Any man-made idols,
But worshipped the One, living God,
Who’d created heaven and the earth.
The king asked him, “Isn’t Bel’s a living God?
He eats and drinks each day”
But Daniel told him not to be deceived;
The idol was just inner clay,
And outer brass that never ate nor drank.
The angered King ushered the priests,
And ordered them to prove
That Bel ate /drank each day;
If so, Daniel would die for blasphemy;
If not, all of them would be killed;
The priests agreed to prove the same;
There were seventy priests, their wives and children.
The king entered the temple;
The priests asked him to place the food
And wine himself, and shut the door,
And seal it by his signet ring;
The priests didn’t care as below the statue,
They had a secret route through which they went
In and out, devouring the offerings.
When the food had been placed,
Then Daniel sifted ashes all
O’er the temple-floor;
With the help of servants,
in the king’s presence and left;
The door was sealed by the king’s ring.
At night, the priests and others secretly
went in and ate everything;
Next day, the king with Daniel came
And opened the sealed temple door,
But found that the food had vanished!
The king shouted aloud to Bel,
“You’re great and undeceiving God.”
But Daniel laughed and showed the king
The footsteps on the temple’s floor;
The king agreed that it was that of
men, women and children.
The enraged king then seized the priests
They showed the secret route;
They were all put to death;
The king gave Daniel the temple of Bel;
Daniel destroyed both Bel and the temple.
The Babylonians revered a dragon;
The king asked Daniel, “Isn’t this a living God? ”
But Daniel said that he worshipped
Only his one, living God;
If permitted by the king,
He would slay the dragon
by sword or club.
So, Daniel fed the dragon
Cakes containing pitch, fat and hair;
The dragon consumed it all
and burst open dead!
The angered Babylonians
Spread word that the king had turned a Jew;
They demanded that Daniel
Be put into a lion’s den;
Compelled, the king did as they urged.
Daniel was inside the den
For six days with seven lions;
The lions were not fed anything;
They were denied the daily food
Of two human bodies and two sheep.
The prophet Habakkuk was in Judea;
While taking food to the reapers,
God sent an angel to him
And ordered him take dinner to Daniel;
Habakkuk told he had never seen Babylon,
The angel took him by his crown of head
And put him aloft the lion’s den with the food;
The prophet shouted to Daniel
To come and eat the food given by God;
Daniel thanked the Lord for his remembrance.
On seventh day, the king went to the den,
He thought that Daniel would be dead;
To his utter surprise, he was alive;
He took him out and praised
The one living God of Daniel.
He threw into the lion’s den;
All those who plotted against Daniel;
Immediately, they were all killed
And devoured by the hungry lions.
(4-11-2007)
poem by John Celes
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This Our Crucible Gifts
this is our crucible
our trial by fire
in molten furnace
we are smeltered
by conflict ordeals
we like ores dug
from yield earth
contain impurities
imperfections
character flaws
we fail to rise above
which limits nobility
of mind impedes us
from quest embracing
enlightening harmony
catalysis furnace
is severe ordeal
life trials killing
off fatal our soul
impurities as iron
ore is tortured
in blast furnace
so are we tortured
broken crushed
liquefied recast
reshaped into new
being like iron ore
we are born free
of dross slag purified
into finest pure steel
thus experience
insight vision
pierces perplexing
problematic realities
with pulse passion’s
need we gift
unguarded
“noblest prayers
to bestow upon
others an eternity
of light
in beautified
likeness of purity
immortality'
fleeting moments
Quotation from the poem ‘An Eternity Of Light’ by Terence George Craddock.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Power And Triumph Of Faith
Supported by the word,
Though in himself a worm,
The servant of the Lord
Can wondrous acts perform:
Without dismay he boldly treads
Where'er the path of duty leads.
The haughty king in vain,
With fury on his brow,
Believers would constrain
To golden gods to bow:
The furnace could not make them fear,
Because they knew the Lord was near.
As vain was the decree
Which charged them not to pray;
Daniel still bowed his knee,
And worshiped thrice a day:
Trusting in God, he feared not men,
Though threatened with the lion's den.
Secure they might refuse
Compliance with such laws,
For what had they to lose,
When God espoused their cause?
He made the hungry lions crouch,
Nor durst the fire his children touch.
The Lord is still the same,
A mighty shield and tow'r,
And they who trust his name
Are guarded by his pow'r:
He can the rage of lions tame,
And bear them harmless through the flame.
Yet we too often shrink
When trials are in view;
Expecting we must sink,
And never can get through.
But could we once believe indeed,
From all these fears we should be freed.
poem by John Newton
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The Burning Babe
AS I in hoary winter's night
Stood shivering in the snow,
Surprised I was with sudden heat
Which made my heart to glow;
And lifting up a fearful eye
To view what fire was near,
A pretty babe all burning bright
Did in the air appear;
Who, scorched with excessive heat,
Such floods of tears did shed,
As though His floods should quench His flames,
Which with His tears were bred:
'Alas!' quoth He, 'but newly born
In fiery heats I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their hearts
Or feel my fire but I!
'My faultless breast the furnace is;
The fuel, wounding thorns;
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke;
The ashes, shames and scorns;
The fuel Justice layeth on,
And Mercy blows the coals,
The metal in this furnace wrought
Are men's defiled souls:
For which, as now on fire I am
To work them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath,
To wash them in my blood.'
With this He vanish'd out of sight
And swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I called unto mind
That it was Christmas Day.
poem by Robert Southwell
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Refreshed
Refreshed,
Hastened,
Quickly;
And like my first day at school,
But the smoke of the land went up like the smoke of furnace.
I now see the woman in your dream!
And like the acts of your freindships around;
But, what does that say about your character?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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God's way of answering the Christian's prayer for more patience, experience, hope and love often is to put him into the furnace of affliction.
quote by Richard Cecil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Were King
I often wish I were a King,
And then I could do anything.
If only I were King of Spain,
I'd take my hat off in the rain.
If only I were King of France,
I wouldn't brush my hair for aunts.
I think, if I were King of Greece,
I'd push things off the mantelpiece.
If I were King of Norroway,
I'd ask an elephant to stay.
If I were King of Babylon,
I'd leave my button gloves undone.
If I were King of Timbuctoo,
I'd think of lovely things to do.
If I were King of anything,
I'd tell the soldiers, "I'm the King!"
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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These men of Faith
These men of Faith, these men of old,
Their lives they lived, they were so bold;
Trusting God, in the face of danger,
But their enemy, shunned them with anger.
We know of one great man, Daniel, was his name,
To Pray at the open window, he always did the same;
Then some jealous men, had him enter lions den,
For his faith in God, and On God he did depend.
Another man was Elijah, who helped so many,
And he had trouble with Jezebel, a life of jealousy;
Also king Ahab, and a wicked and evil king too,
But for their evil doing, they died, oh yes! It's true.
The next great man of Faith, was Enoch,
He lived and spoke only for the Lord God;
He was so very close, he did walk upright,
And God took Him home, he lived by Faith not sight.
One more man of Faith, I need to tell about,
Was Abraham, and to a new home he was sent out;
Also when his son Isaac, was to be offered to the Lord,
But a ram was supplied, his faith shone, it's in His Word.
These men are an example, and we should follow too,
Trust God in the face of Danger, Trust Him thru' and thru';
These men of God trusted and never gave into sin,
Because they loved God so much, He lived within.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Burning Off
They're burning off at the Rampadells,
The tawny flames uprise,
With greedy licking around the trees;
The fierce breath sears our eyes.
From cores already grown furnace-hot -
The logs are well alight!
We fling more wood where the flameless heart
Is throbbing red and white.
The fire bites deep in that beating heart,
The creamy smoke-wreaths ooze
From cracks and knot-holes along the trunk
To melt in greys and blues.
The young horned moon has gone from the sky,
And night has settled down;
A red glare shows from the Rampadells,
Grim as a burning town.
Full seven fathoms above the rest
A tree stands, great and old,
A red-hot column whence fly the sparks,
One ceaseless shower of gold.
All hail the king of the fire before
He sway and crack and crash
To earth - for surely tomorrow's sun
Will see him white fine ash.
The king in his robe of falling stars,
No trace shall leave behind,
And where he stood with his silent court,
The wheat shall bow to the wind.
poem by Dorothea Mackeller
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St. Leonard
Of Frankish noble stock was born
Saint Leonard in 5th century.
His people were king’s courtiers
Of Clovis I, a pagan king;
He prayed to God for safe childbirth
and queen had a safe delivery.
The queen had joked to Leonard once
To stop an army’s invasion,
And Leonard prayed to living God,
And turned the battle’s tide, his side!
The king and many others got
Converted to Christianity;
Leonard had rode a donkey all day,
And got the land from king afree!
There-in, he built his monastery
And lived a hermit’s life austere
Preaching about the God, one true;
His brother Lifiard turned a saint!
Leonard then went to Limousin,
A forest where he lived alone,
a life of solitude and ate
just herbs and fruits found in the wild.
Converting those who came his way,
releasing prisoners by his sway,
he turned a saint and passed away.
They built some churches in his name:
the patron saint of prisoners all;
women in labor, locksmiths, miners.
Nov 6th is St. Leonard’s feast day.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-11-11
poem by John Celes
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Caribbean Wind
She was the rose of sharon from paradise lost
From the city of seven hills near the place of the cross.
I was playing a show in miami in the theater of divine comedy.
Told about jesus, told about the rain,
She told me about the jungle where her brothers were slain
By a man who danced on the roof of the embassy.
Was she a child or a woman, I cant say which
From one to another she could to easily switch
We went into the wall to where the long arm of the law could not reach.
Could I been used and played as a pawn?
It certainly was possible as the gay night wore on
Where men bathed in perfume and celebrated free speech.
And them caribbean winds still blow from nassau to mexico
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
Bringing everything thats near to me nearer to the fire.
She looked into my soul through the clothes that I wore
She said, we got a mutual friend over by the door,
And you know hes got our best interest in mind.
He was well connected but her heart was a snare
And she had left him to die in there,
There were payments due and he was a little behind.
The cry of the peacock, flies buzz my head,
Ceiling fan broken, theres a heat in my bed,
Street band playing nearer my God to thee.
We met at the steeple where the mission bells ring,
She said, I know what youre thinking, but there aint a thing
You can do about it, so let us just agree to agree.
And them caribbean winds still blow from nassau to mexico
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
Bringing everything thats near to me nearer to the fire.
Atlantic city by the cold grey sea
I hear a voice crying, daddy, I always think its for me,
But its only the silence in the buttermilk hills that call.
Every new messenger brings evil report
bout armies on the march and time that is short
And famines and earthquakes and hatred written upon walls.
Would I have married her? I dont know, I suppose.
She had bells in her braids and they hung to her toes
But I kept hearing my name and I had to be movin on.
I saw screws break loose, saw the devil pound tin,
I saw a house in the country being torn from within.
I heard my ancestors calling from the land far beyond.
And them caribbean winds still blow from nassau to mexico
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
Bringing everything thats near to me nearer to the fire.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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