Lines on Corner Stone
Impromptu lines delivered at the laying of the corner store
of the church on Culloden road, with Masonic honors.
In this quiet spot, this day of June,
Which will not be forgotten soon,
For when your little church on hill
You overflowingly did fill,
You then resolved there should arise
Church worthy of your enterprise.
You've laid foundation broad and deep,
And showers of blessing may you reap.
Craft of King Hiram and St. John
Have come to lay the corner stone,
At the call of our Grand Master, *
Who, was invited by your pastor.
With Silver trowel all so fair
He laid foundation on the square.
May you be blessed with christian love,
And we all meet in Lodge above.
poem by James McIntyre
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Related quotes
Today... 'Foundation laid in Zion
There on Zion's mount stands a foundation stone
upon which the church through the ages has grown.
A cornerstone that the Lord Jehovah laid.
A tried and tested stone that will not fade.
How firm a Foundation we have in the Lord
as He builds The Living Church upon His Word.
No other foundation will ever suffice
for we stand upon Christ's perfect sacrifice.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
Today... 'Builder
A Master Builder is still plying His trade
and has laid a foundation none else could have laid.
For Christ is the eternal Foundation Stone
and He's building in a way never before known.
Each building block He uses is a living stone
for each one He has given His life to own.
All are united by His love and built up to be
the Church of His body for the world to see.
(see also the additional information below in the Poet's box)
Sex & The Church
Though the idea of compassion
Is said to be
The union of christ
And his bride, the christian
Its all very puzzling
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
All the great mystic religions
Put strong emphasis, on
Redeame this spiritual qualities
Of sex of sex
Chrstianity
Has been pretty modern
About sex
Of sex of sex of sex of sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
I think there is a union
Between the flesh and the spirit
Its sex and the church
Sex and the church
All religions mother
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lines on Thamesford
Delivered at Masonic concert, Thamesford-Grand Master
Col. Moffat in the chair.
The middle branch of Thames doth flow
O'er pebble bed, and it doth glow
And sparkle like silver in the sun,
As it through pasture lands doth run.
In dam is ample water stored,
To drive flour mills in Thamesford ;
Besides the power of the stream,
Saw mills and flax are drove by steam.
Our mind it doth with pleasure fill,
To see fine brick church on each hill.
And that substantial one of stone
Owned by congregation of St. John.
poem by James McIntyre
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The Little Church Round the Corner
'Bring him not here, where our sainted feet
Are treading the path to glory;
Bring him not here, where our Saviour sweet
Repeats for
us
his story.
Go, take him where such things are done
(For he sat in the seat of the scorner),
To where they have room, for we have none,--
To the little church down the corner.'
So spake the holy man of God,
Of another man, his brother,
Whose cold remains, ere they sought the sod,
Had only asked that a Christian rite
Might be read above them by one whose light
Was, 'Brethren, love one another:'
Had only asked that a prayer be read
Ere his flesh went down to join the dead,
While his spirit looked with suppliant eyes,
Searching for God throughout the skies.
But the priest frowned 'No,' and his brow was bare
Of love in the sight of the mourner,
And they looked for Christ and found him--where?
In that little church round the corner.
Ah! well, God grant when, with aching feet,
We tread life's last few paces,
That we may hear some accents sweet,
And kiss, to the end, fond faces.
God grant that this tired flesh may rest
('Mid many a musing mourner),
While the sermon is preached and the rites are read
In no church where the heart of love is dead,
And the pastor's a pious prig at best,
But in some small nook where God's confessed,--
Some little church round the corner.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Salford Parsonage
Lines delivered at housewarming of Salford Parsonage.
Your pastor's fame first got abroad
By his success on Culloden Road ;
He filled the church so that the fold
No longer it the flock would hold.
But soon a larger church did rise,
With fine neat tower points to the skies;
When you o'erwhelmed with ruin dire
Did lose your parsonage by fire.
To his call with generous bounty
You built best parsonage in county,
But some good people in the town
At this idea they might frown.
Unless we made this correction :
The best in a rural section ;
Your pastor he doth vigorous push,
He's not afraid to enter bush.
And 'tis a fact there's very few
With him can stick of timber hew ;
Ready for to superintend,
Or a helping hand to lend.
When bold man's wanted at the front,
You've but to call on Reverend Hunt;
In pulpit he conviction darts,
And points the way to troubled hearts.
But solemn thoughts we won't employ,
As this is all a scene of joy ;
Maids and matrons all charming
Do grace this pleasant house-warming.
Here people come from near and far
To purchase goods at this bazar ;
And all is happiness and glee
At festival of this soiree.
poem by James McIntyre
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What Do You Call it?
What do you call it, when you have a disability,
And once your were at a church, and now you're not;
But no one from the church comes but say excuse me,
I cannot be there, I no longer can cope, did I put them in a spot?
What do you call it, is it an excuse, or am I contagious at all?
If your in a wheelchair, Being in a church my problem is small;
Why can't look past the chair, and see my need, today,
Even a phone call would help, but their heart says no way.
What do they call it, If some one is not so very well,
And can't get to church, pain is bad, they won't hear when I tell;
That I need fellowship from folks, so I don't shrink,
But they don't listen, their brains just don't think.
What does God call it, to leave a Christian alone,
That isn't very well, and yet, no one will ring on the phone;
I thought the Lord taught us, think of others first,
And when one is unwell, they shouldn't allow their bubble to burst.
Please Lord! Help me to have fellowship in some way,
When I can't get to church, they'd come some day;
It hurts to be left, with no calls, cards, or visitors as well,
Please Lord, make them think, to make my phone to bell.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Psalm 118 part 3
v.22,23
C. M.
Christ the foundation of his church.
Behold the sure foundation-stone
Which God in Zion lays,
To build our heav'nly hopes upon,
And his eternal praise.
Chosen of God, to sinners dear,
And saints adore the name;
They trust their whole salvation here,
Nor shall they suffer shame.
The foolish builders, scribe and priest,
Reject it with disdain;
Yet on this Rock the church shall rest,
And envy rage in vain.
What though the gates of hell withstood,
Yet must this building rise;
'Tis thy own work, almighty God,
And wondrous in our eyes.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Masonic
The prominent names connected with Masonary are Kings
Solomon and Hiram and Saint John, the parent Lodge
is King Hiram in Ingersoll, and Saint John is the off-spring.
Both masters in 1884 are legal gentlemen.
Craft of King Hiram and Saint John
They figurative work on stone,
King Hiram he is the old sire
And he was famous King of Tyre.
But great as King upon a throne
Is the good, kind, true Saint John ;
Cathedrals did craftsmen raise,
Fills all our mind now with amase.
No modern chisel hath the power
To trace such leaf, and bud, and flower ;
But though our structures now are rude
Let us all make the mortar good.
And this injunction never spare
To have the work both plum and square,
And it must have no crack or flaw
So masters will lay down the law.
Of all our work this is the chief,
To give the needy ones relief ;
And with truth and brotherly love
We sublime structure raise above.
The greatest honor has been won
By that great builder, Solomon,
And craftsmen o'er the world do sing
The praises of that mighty King.
poem by James McIntyre
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His True Church
I know many religious people, and one Church with no steeple,
A church that’s built with no walls, built on only believing souls,
Built upon an Eternal Foundation, that being our very Salvation,
Built upon The One Cornerstone, and that is Jesus Christ alone.
Many, who worship in a building, to Truth alone, are unyielding,
Building a church on tradition, God’s Truth, with man’s addition,
Added to the work finished by, Jesus Christ who reigns on high,
Ignoring His words “it is finished”, Grace by many is diminished.
Men making a way to Heaven, not by grace but religious leaven,
Building church in a human way, as they lead many souls astray,
As many souls weekly perch, in the pews of a manmade church,
Relying on their religious activity, to help them work into eternity.
“I will build my Church” He said, that was Christ, who is the Head,
Head of His True Church on earth, filled with souls, by New Birth,
All members being Born Again, into His Church, not one of men,
You’ll find, you no longer search, as a member of God’s Church.
Jesus is the Way, Truth and Life, as Head of the Church of Christ,
And each of us is a living stone, built through faith in Christ alone,
His Church He proceeds to build, to complete as His Father willed,
Leading the only True Church friend, as others shall see in the end.
The Divine Thing that made itself the foundation of the Church does not seem, to judge by his comments on the religious leadership of his day, to have hoped much from officers of a church.
quote by Charles Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Have Steeples. Some Don't
What do I think of church?
'Yes! '
Church?
Like in 'church' church?
'Yes! '
Well...
Some have steeples.
Some don't.
Some have people.
Some wont.
Some are religiously political.
And some are politically religious.
My vehicle is my church.
And that's all I care about.
'Oh?
So your 'car' is your church? '
Oh.
No no!
My 'body' is my church.
It is my sanctuary.
Now...
Keep in mind,
I am not devoted to keep it as pure,
As it should be.
But I do the best I can,
Not to be led away by temptation.
But everyday I pray to be forgiven,
Of those 'sins' I know I should not enjoy!
However...
You can find me anytime,
Self righteously defending...
My point of view.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We are Seven
--------A Simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
--Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."
Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."
"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.
"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.
"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.
"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."
"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
poem by William Wordsworth
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A Concert-Impromptu
The following impromptu was delivered in the Methodist Church Concert, March, 1883.
It was expected that several announced in bills world take part, but from various
causes they were not present. We were unexpectedly requested to fill one of the
vacencies. Doctor Gardiner delivered an address, showing how he had triumphed o'er
the great snow drifts during the remarkably severe winter then passing away, that we
thought his courage and perseverance was worthy of being commemorated in verse; and
the music of the White Brothers though simple, is natural, touching and sweet, and
reaches the heart more easily than some of the highly artistic styles now in vogue,
on arising, we first gave some recitations from the Poets and concluded with the
following Impromptu. It was of course impossible for me to have anticipated any of
the above occurrences, as the Doctors speech took the turn it did from the remarks
of a previous speaker.
poem by James McIntyre
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His Church Can Rise Up
Today The Church can rise above, through God’s power and His Love.
She can rise up to the task at hand, and for The Lord can take a stand.
My friend, even in the darkest nights, we can rise up to greater heights.
For we can rise up in Christ’s Victory, as we march forward to Eternity.
Jesus Christ will build His Church, and build it upon The Savior’s worth.
She’s not built upon an earthly frame, but built upon Her Savior’s Name.
Jesus Christ the very Cornerstone, guides His Church from His Throne.
For His Church, Jesus Christ alone, is her foundation and the capstone.
He’s the Groom and we’re the Bride, and His Church will not be denied.
He’s creating a Holy Priesthood friend, of whose service will never end.
We my friends are the living stones, bought and placed by Christ alone,
We’re being built into a spiritual house, by the Church’s Eternal Spouse.
Even though darkened forces rail, the gates of Hades shall not prevail.
Christ’s Victory we can proclaim, through the power of His Holy Name.
We need to rise up above the night, and lift up high Christ’s Holy Light.
We can rise above every situation, and point the world to His salvation.
Very soon The Church will surly rise, to meet The Savior up in the skies,
Dear friend Satan is the defeated foe, and this we need to let men know.
So we need to rise up and tell all men, that Satan is the one condemned,
And when they join The Church of Christ, they too shall gain Eternal Life.
(Copyright ©04/2006)
Agnes And The Hill-Man
TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH.
Agnes went through the meadows a-weeping,
Fowl are a-singing.
There stood the hill-man heed thereof keeping.
Agnes, fair Agnes!
“Come to the hill, fair Agnes, with me,
The reddest of gold will I give unto thee!”
Twice went Agnes the hill round about,
Then wended within, left the fair world without.
In the hillside bode Agnes, three years thrice told o’er,
For the green earth sithence fell she longing full sore.
There she sat, and lullaby sang in her singing,
And she heard how the bells of England were ringing.
Agnes before her true-love did stand:
“May I wend to the church of the English Land?”
“To England’s Church well mayst thou be gone,
So that no hand thou lay the red gold upon.
“So that when thou art come the churchyard anear
Thou cast not abroad thy golden hair.
“So that when thou standest the church within
To thy mother on bench thou never win.
“So that when thou hearest the high God’s name,
No knee unto earth thou bow to the same.”
Hand she laid on all gold that was there,
And cast abroad her golden hair.
And when the church she stood within
To her mother on bench straight did she win.
And when she heard the high God’s name,
Knee unto earth she bowed to the same.
When all the mass was sung to its end
Home with her mother dear did she wend.
“Come, Agnes, into the hillside to me,
For thy seven small sons greet sorely for thee!”
“Let them greet, let them greet, as they have will to do;
For never again will I hearken thereto!”
Weird laid he on her, sore sickness he wrought,
Fowl are a-singing.
That self-same hour to death was she brought.
Agnes, fair Agnes!
poem by William Morris
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Psalm 102 part 3
v.23-28
L. M.
Man's mortality, and Christ's eternity.
It is the Lord our Savior's hand
Weakens our strength amidst the race;
Disease and death at his command
Arrest us, and cut short our days.
Spare us, O Lord, aloud we pray,
Nor let our sun go down at noon;
Thy years are one eternal day,
And must thy children die so soon?
Yet in the midst of death and grief
This thought our sorrow should assuage:
Our Father and our Savior live;
Christ is the same through every age.
'Twas he this earth's foundation laid;
Heav'n is the building of his hand;
This earth grows old, these heav'ns shall fade
And all be changed at his command.
The starry curtains of the sky,
Like garments, shall be laid aside;
But still thy throne stands firm on high,
Thy church for ever must abide.
Before thy face thy church shall live,
And on thy throne thy children reign;
This dying world shall they survive,
And the dead saints be raised again.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Experiences at church
In the city I witnessed some men
going to church trying to follow God
with a true passion, a true commitment
to finding a blessing
and weary old ladies, children
and some men were bringing offerings
of money, action and time
and some just went there to express
how by wealth they have been blessed
gathering in cliques in little groups and circles,
discussing business, pleasure
and inconsequential things that are of interest to them
and I have witnessed other people,
who saw no need for churches
or for the services rendered by them,
any other than as places for
grand weddings
or to serve God or any higher being
as if they in the image of God
had become gods
and the whole wide world
belonged to them to exploit
and even other people
have got to serve them
and now that the church
to which they did at a time belong
had lost its power
with which it governed the country
from religion they were totally free.
Even if other people were gathering
for self serving reasons
I went to church
to get some kind of blessing
from the presence of the One
from whom all love comes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Antiphon (I)
Chorus: Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing
'My God and King.'
Verse: The heav'ns are not too high,
His praise may thither fly:
The earth is not too low,
His praises there may grow.
Chorus: Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing,
'My God and King.'
Verse: The church with psalms must shout
No door can keep them out:
But above all, the heart
Must bear the longest part.
Chorus: Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing,
'My God and King.'
poem by George Herbert
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The Church Is Built On Bloody Bones
The church is built on bloody bones,
Broken martyrs, burning homes;
The church is built on bloody bones-
Not singing angels, golden thrones.
The church is built on murder, rage,
Plunder, anger and pillage;
The church is built on murder, rage-
There's no escaping murders wage.
The church you choose informs your soul,
If you're shattered, if you're whole;
The church you choose informs your soul-
So be sure it's worthy goal.
poem by Patti Masterman
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