Ballad
A WONDERFUL age
Is now on the stage:
I'll sing you a song, if I can,
How modern Whigs,
Dance forty-one jigs,
But God bless our gracious Queen Anne.
The kirk with applause
Is established by laws
As the orthodox church of the nation.
The bishops do own
It's as good as their own.
And this, Sir, is call'd moderation.
It's no riddle now
To let you see how
A church by oppression may speed;
Nor is't banter or jest,
That the kirk faith is best
On the other side of the Tweed.
For no soil can suit
With every fruit,
Even so, Sir, it is with religion;
The best church by far
Is what grows where you are,
Were it Mahomet's ass or his pigeon.
Another strange story
That vexes the Tory,
But sure there's no mystery in it,
That a pension and place
Give communicants grace,
Who design to turn tail the next minute.
For if it be not strange,
That religion should change,
As often as climates and fashions;
Then sure there's no harm,
That one should conform.
To serve their own private occasions.
Another new dance,
Which of late they advance,
Is to cry up the birth of Pretender,
And those that dare own
The queen heir to the crown,
Are traitors, not fit to defend her.
The subject's most loyal
That hates the blood royal,
And they for employments have merit,
Who swear queen and steeple
Were made by the people,
And neither have right to inherit.
The monarchy's fixt,
By making on't mixt,
And by non-resistance o'erthrown;
And preaching obedience
Destroys our allegiance,
And thus the Whigs prop up the throne.
That viceroy is best,
That would take off the test,
And made a sham speech to attempt it;
But being true blue,
When he found 'twould not do,
Swore, damn him, if ever he meant it.
'Tis no news that Tom Double
The nation should bubble,
Nor is't any wonder or riddle,
That a parliament rump
Should play hop, step, and jump,
And dance any jig to his fiddle.
But now, sir, they tell,
How Sacheverell,
By bringing old doctrines in fashion,
Hath, like a damn'd rogue,
Brought religion in vogue,
And so open'd the eyes of the nation.
Then let's pray without spleen,
May God bless the queen,
And her fellow-monarchs the people;
May they prosper and thrive,
Whilst I am alive,
And so may the church with the steeple.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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The Vicar Of Bray
In good King Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant;
A furious High-Church man I was,
And so I gain'd preferment.
Unto my flock I daily preach'd,
Kings are by God appointed,
And damn'd are those who dare resist,
Or touch the Lord's anointed.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
When Royal James possess'd the crown,
And popery grew in fashion;
The penal law I houted down,
And read the declaration:
The Church of Rome, I found would fit,
Full well my constitution,
And I had been a Jesuit,
But for the Revolution.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
When William our deliverer came,
To heal the nation's grievance,
I turned the cat in pan again,
And swore to him allegiance:
Old principles I did revoke,
Set conscience at a distance,
Passive obedience is a joke,
A jest is non-resistance.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
When glorious Anne became our queen
The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory:
Occasional conformists base,
I damn'd, and moderation,
And thought the Church in danger was,
From such prevarication.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
When George in pudding time came o'er,
And moderate men looked big, sir,
My principles I chang'd once more,
And so became a Whig, sir:
And thus preferment I procur'd,
From our faith's great defender,
And almost every day abjur'd
The Pope, and the Pretender.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
The illustrious House of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I lustily will swear,
Whilst they can keep possession:
For in my faith, and loyalty,
I never once will falter,
George, my lawful king shall be,
Except the times should alter.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
poem by Anonymous Americas
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My Wedding Day
The Ice Queen, as everyone knows is my mother
a year after I left the Ice Queens dugeon I met
someonewe decided to get married.
I did not want to, but a invitation was to her.
THE ROYAL ICE QUEEN
MOTHER
r.s.v.p. stated will be able
I had been brought up in the
Catholic Church.
I had not been going to church.
So I felt like I did not have the right
to ask the church to bless
my marriage.
I would not experience the joy
my two sisters had.
Holding my fathers arm and walking
to the man I loved.
I would never have the memories of
hearing the words ''Who gives
this woman''?
And to hear my fathers answer,
'' I DO''
He was not there, the minute
I became a new wife.
He'd missed the most important
day in my life.
I know he did not do this by
his choice.
'' IT CAME FROM THE
ROYAL ICE QUEEN MOTHER''
herself.
My two older sisters had
beautiful church wedding.
My twin brother, brought
is then unborn son to his
formal wedding.
They were formal weddings
Gowns and Tucks.
All the silver trays
were pulled out for theirs.
The bar, was free you didn't
have to pay.
I love my sibling.
But why couldn't the
THE ROYAL ICE
QUEEN MOTHER
attend her youngest daughters,
little informal wedding?
But my little informal
wedding in that little
brown stone church
went on
.
It was a very beautiful
wedding.
on that very cold winter
night.
This all happened thirty
five years ago
We go each February
seventeenth.
We stand on the steps
and kiss and hug.
This has had happened for the
last thirty five years.
NO THANKS TO THE
ROYAL ICE QUEEN
MOTHER''
herself.
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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Queen For A Day
Queen for a day, queen for a night
Dressed head to toe, so youd never know its me, its me
Ribbons and lace, shoes made of glass
Rouge on my face, off to the dance
To dance
To dance and dance and dance and dance
Queen for a day, queen for a day
Queen for a day, queen for a night
Just time to find the man who could be so right
Queen for a day, ribbons and lace
Shoes made of glass, rouge on my face
To dance and dance and dance and dance
And dance the night away
Gonna dance the night away
Gonna be a queen for a day
Wanna dance the night away
What Id give to be a queen for a day
Gonna dance and dance and dance
Gonna dance and dance and dance
Queen for a day, queen for a day
Queen for a day, queen for a day
Queen for a day, queen for a night
Just time to find the man who could be
So right, so right
Queen for a day, queen for a night
Ribbons and lace suit me just fine
So fine, so fine
I shall be queen for a day
I shall be queen for a day
Can you make me a queen for a day
Queen for a day
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Religion
Let Romanists all at the Confessional kneel,
Let the Jew with disgust turn from it,
Let the mighty Crown Prelate in Church pander zeal,
Let the Mussulman worship Mahomet.
From all these I differ—truly wise is my plan,
With my doctrine, perhaps, you'll agree,
To be upright and downright and act like a man,
That's the religion for me.
I will go to no Church and to no house of Prayer
To see a white shirt on a preacher.
And in no Courthouse on a book will I swear
To injure a poor fellow-creature.
For parsons and preachers are all a mere joke,
Their hands must be greased by a fee;
But with the poor toiler to share your last "toke"*
That's the religion for me.
Let Psalm-singing Churchmen and Lutheran sing,
They can't deceive God with their blarney;
They might just as well dance the Highland Fling,
Or sing the fair fame of Kate Kearney.
But let man unto man like brethren act,
My doctrine this suits to a T,
The heart that can feel for the woes of another,
Oh, that's the religion for me.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Parody On The Recorder’s Speech To His Grace The Duke Of Ormond, 4th July, 1711
THE RECORDER'S SPEECH EXPLAINED BY THE TORIES
An ancient metropolis, famous of late
For opposing the Church, and for nosing the State,
For protecting sedition and rejecting order,
Made the following speech by their mouth, the Recorder:
First, to tell you the name of this place of renown,
Some still call it Dublin, but most Forster's town.
THE SPEECH
May it please your Grace,
We cannot omit this occasion to tell,
That we love the Queen's person and government well;
Then next, to your Grace we this compliment make,
That our worships regard you, but 'tis for her sake:
Though our mouth be a Whig, and our head a Dissenter,
Yet salute you we must, 'cause you represent her:
Nor can we forget, sir, that some of your line
Did with mildness and peace in this government shine.
But of all your exploits, we'll allow but one fact,
That your Grace has procured us a Popery Act.
By this you may see that the least of your actions
Does conduce still the most to our satisfactions.
And lastly, because in the year eighty-eight
You did early appear in defence of our right,
We give no other proof of your zeal to your Prince;
So we freely forget all your services since.
It's then only we hope, that whilst you rule o'er us,
You'll tread in the steps of King William the glorious,
Whom we're always adoring, tho' hand over head,
For we owe him allegiance, although he be dead;
Which shows that good zeal may be founded in spleen,
Since a dead Prince we worship, to lessen the Queen.
And as for her Majesty, we will defend her
Against our hobgoblin, the Popish Pretender.
Our valiant militia will stoutly stand by her,
Against the sly Jack, and the sturdy High-flier.
She is safe when thus guarded, if Providence bless her,
And Hanover's sure to be next her successor.
Thus ended the speech, but what heart would not pity
His Grace, almost choked with the breath of the City!
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Jubilee
Bells across the Nation will ring.
Bands will play; people will sing.
The Nation will rise up to its feet,
And people will party in the street.
People will come together as one,
For a time of festivity and of fun.
People will jump up out of their seats,
To dance along with the various beats.
This is our Nation's one big chance
For a show of Pomp and Circumstance.
Flags will be waved and bunting unfurled,
For the biggest celebration in all the world.
The huge crowds will all clap and cheer,
As our Queen celebrates her 60th year.
People will be hoping to catch a glimpse
Of Her Majesty, and of Philip, her Prince.
People will come from many a mile;
Upon their faces will be a big smile.
There will be a sea of rainbow faces;
People of all religions and of all races.
Over the palace, the Red Arrows will fly,
As everyone's eyes look up to the sky.
It will be the biggest party we've ever seen.
Long may she reign: God save the Queen!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Queen of Kush
The queen of Kush
[you are my queen]
Keen and kind
The queen of ancient times
and the modern age
Her majesty
The beauty is her crown
And the wisdom is her throne
Her colour is fair and tan
Her glow is coated with gold
her eyes are source
for magic light of moon
Her secret tale of kigdom
is a talisman moot
her dark and black hair
twisted curly
as they loony and loose tail
tangled hair of her
And her walk is dance
and her dance is with rhythm
The rhythm of my drums
The queen of two lands
and two rivers of mine
The queen of highlands
and meadows lush of my lands
The queen; mother of mankind
Her majesty
The sovereign queen of Kush
her legacy is
The legancy of Sheba
and legacy of nefertiti
call her the QUEEEEEEEEEN! !
queen of KOOOOOOOOOOOOOsh
I call her the QUEEEEEEEn
of my heart!
poem by Sallam Yassin
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Gypsy Queen
Dance on gypsy queen
And if its all night,
Its alright
Rave on, let your love
Come tumbling down
And if you let your love come tumbling down,
Its alright
Dance on, you know its all right
Gypsy queen
Dance on, you know its all right
Gypsy queen
Rave on, there beneath the silvery moon
Dont stop your carburetor
Let your car run
And if it starts to rain
Keep on dancin in the rain
And if its all night
Its alright
Dance on, you know its all right
Gypsy queen
Dance on, you know its all right
Gypsy queen
Ooh la la la la la la la la la la
Dance dance dance the night away
Ooh la la la la la la la la la la
Dance dance dance the night away
Come on come on come on let me hear you say
Youre gonna dance on gypsy queen
Stars shine down on you
And its alright
Ooowee I wanna throw my arms around you
Im so glad Ive found you
Gypsy queen
Dance on, you know its all right
Gypsy queen
Dance on, you know its all right
Gypsy queen
Etc.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peace And Dunkirk
Spite of Dutch friends and English foes,
Poor Britain shall have peace at last:
Holland got towns, and we got blows;
But Dunkirk's ours, we'll hold it fast.
We have got it in a string,
And the Whigs may all go swing,
For among good friends I love to be plain;
All their false deluded hopes
Will, or ought to end in ropes;
'But the Queen shall enjoy her own again.'
Sunderland's run out of his wits,
And Dismal double Dismal looks;
Wharton can only swear by fits,
And strutting Hal is off the hooks;
Old Godolphin, full of spleen,
Made false moves, and lost his Queen:
Harry look'd fierce, and shook his ragged mane:
But a Prince of high renown
Swore he'd rather lose a crown,
'Than the Queen should enjoy her own again.'
Our merchant-ships may cut the line,
And not be snapt by privateers.
And commoners who love good wine
Will drink it now as well as peers:
Landed men shall have their rent,
Yet our stocks rise cent, per cent.
The Dutch from hence shall no more millions drain:
We'll bring on us no more debts,
Nor with bankrupts fill gazettes;
'And the Queen shall enjoy her own again.'
The towns we took ne'er did us good:
What signified the French to beat?
We spent our money and our blood,
To make the Dutchmen proud and great:
But the Lord of Oxford swears,
Dunkirk never shall be theirs.
The Dutch-hearted Whigs may rail and complain;
But true Englishmen may fill
A good health to General Hill:
'For the Queen now enjoys her own again.'
poem by Jonathan Swift
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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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Queen Of The Publication
(j. farrar/t. snow/s. kipner)
Something strange is going on
And youre in the middle
Ill do anything to solve the riddle
Ive got a city editor
Put me on a deadline
If I dont come through
Im on the breadline
Ill invade your privacy
Please dont take it personally
Im oh so sorry
But the readers got a right to know
Youre gonna help the circulation grow
When I get the story right
Ill be queen of the publication
Ive got a hidden camera
A shadow on your tail
And Im tape recording every detail
All the walls have ears tonight
Theyre listening in case you might
Talk in your sleep
Im oh so sorry
But the readers got a right to know
Youre gonna help the circulation grow
When I get the story right
Ill be queen of the publication
In every supermarket checkout line
Theyll be staring at your face
Make you a legend in your own time
Give you triple column space
When I get the story right
Ill be queen
Ill be queen
Ill be queen
I get the story right
Ill be queen of the publication
Im oh so sorry
But the readers got a right to know
Youre gonna help the circulation grow
When I get the story right
Ill be queen
Ill be queen
Ill be queen
Im queen of the publication
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Famous Speech-Maker Of England Or Baron (Alias Barren) Lovel’s Charge At The Assizes At Exon, April 5, 1710
From London to Exon,
By special direction,
Came down the world's wonder,
Sir Salathiel Blunder,
With a quoif on his head
As heavy as lead;
And thus opened and said:
Gentlemen of the Grand Inquest,
Her majesty, mark it,
Appointed this circuit
For me and my brother,
Before any other;
To execute laws,
As you may suppose,
Upon such as offenders have been.
So then, not to scatter
More words on the matter,
We're beginning just now to begin.
But hold—first and foremost, I must enter a clause,
As touching and concerning our excellent laws;
Which here I aver,
Are better by far
Than them all put together abroad and beyond sea;
For I ne'er read the like, nor e'er shall, I fancy
The laws of our land
Don't abet, but withstand,
Inquisition and thrall,
And whatever may gall,
And fire withal;
And sword that devours
Wherever it scowers:
They preserve liberty and property, for which men pull and haul so,
And they are made for the support of good government also.
Her majesty, knowing
The best way of going
To work for the weal of the nation,
Builds on that rock,
Which all storms will mock,
Since Religion is made the foundation.
And, I tell you to boot, she
Resolves resolutely,
No promotion to give
To the best man alive,
In church or in state,
(I'm an instance of that,)
But only to such of a good reputation
For temper, morality, and moderation.
Fire! fire! a wild-fire,
Which greatly disturbs the queen's peace
Lies running about;
And if you don't put it out,
( That's positive) will increase:
And any may spy,
With half of an eye,
That it comes from our priests and Papistical fry.
Ye have one of these fellows,
With fiery bellows,
Come hither to blow and to puff here;
Who having been toss'd
From pillar to post,
At last vents his rascally stuff here:
Which to such as are honest must sound very oddly,
When they ought to preach nothing but what's very godly;
As here from this place we charge you to do,
As ye'll answer to man, besides ye know who.
Ye have a Diocesan,—
But I don't know the man;—
The man's a good liver,
They tell me, however,
And fiery never!
Now, ye under-pullers,
That wear such black colours,
How well would it look,
If his measures ye took,
Thus for head and for rump
Together to jump;
For there's none deserve places,
I speak't to their faces,
But men of such graces,
And I hope he will never prefer any asses;
Especially when I'm so confident on't,
For reasons of state, that her majesty won't
Know, I myself I
Was present and by,
At the great trial, where there was a great company,
Of a turbulent preacher, who, cursedly hot,
Turn'd the fifth of November, even the gun-powder plot,
Into impudent railing, and the devil knows what:
Exclaiming like fury—it was at Paul's, London—
How church was in danger, and like to be undone,
And so gave the lie to gracious Queen Anne;
And, which is far worse, to our parliament-men:
And then printed a book,
Into which men did look:
True, he made a good text;
But what follow'd next
Was nought but a dunghill of sordid abuses,
Instead of sound doctrine, with proofs to't, and uses.
It was high time of day
That such inflammation
should be extinguish'd without more delay:
But there was no engine could possibly do't,
Till the commons play'd theirs, and so quite put it out.
So the man was tried for't,
Before highest court:
Now it's plain to be seen,
It's his principles I mean,
Where they suffer'd this noisy and his lawyers to bellow:
Which over, the blade
A poor punishment had
For that racket he made.
By which ye may know
They thought as I do,
That he is but at best an inconsiderable fellow.
Upon this I find here,
And everywhere,
That the country rides rusty, and is all out of gear:
And for what?
May I not
In opinion vary,
And think the contrary,
But it must create
Unfriendly debate,
And disunion straight;
When no reason in nature
Can be given of the matter,
Any more than for shapes or for different stature?
If you love your dear selves, your religion or queen,
Ye ought in good manners to be peaceable men:
For nothing disgusts her
Like making a bluster:
And your making this riot,
Is what she could cry at,
Since all her concern's for our welfare and quiet.
I would ask any man
Of them all that maintain
Their passive obedience
With such mighty vehemence,
That damn'd doctrine, I trow!
What he means by it, ho',
To trump it up now?
Or to tell me in short,
What need there is for't?
Ye may say, I am hot;
I say I am not;
Only warm, as the subject on which I am got.
There are those alive yet,
If they do not forget,
May remember what mischiefs it did church and state:
Or at least must have heard
The deplorable calamities
It drew upon families,
About sixty years ago and upward.
And now, do ye see,
Whoever they be,
That make such an oration
In our Protestant nation,
As though church was all on a fire,—
With whatever cloak
They may cover their talk,
And wheedle the folk,
That the oaths they have took,
As our governors strictly require;—
I say they are men—(and I'm a judge, ye all know,)
That would our most excellent laws overthrow;
For the greater part of them to church never go;
Or, what's much the same, it by very great chance is,
If e'er they partake of her wise ordinances.
Their aim is, no doubt,
Were they made to speak out,
To pluck down the queen, that they make all this rout;
And to set up, moreover,
A bastardly brother;
Or at least to prevent the House of Hanover.
Ye gentlemen of the jury,
What means all this fury,
Of which I'm inform'd by good hands, I assure ye;
This insulting of persons by blows and rude speeches,
And breaking of windows, which, you know, maketh breaches?
Ye ought to resent it,
And in duty present it,
For the law is against it;
Not only the actors engaged in this job,
But those that encourage and set on the mob:
The mob, a paw word, and which I ne'er mention,
But must in this place, for the sake of distinction.
I hear that some bailiffs and some justices
Have strove what they could, all this rage to suppress;
And I hope many more
Will exert the like power,
Since none will, depend on't,
Get a jot of preferment.
But men of this kidney, as I told you before.—
I'll tell you a story: Once upon a time,
Some hot-headed fellows must needs take a whim,
And so were so weak
(Twas a mighty mistake)
To pull down and abuse
Bawdy-houses and stews;
Who, tried by the laws of the realm for high-treason,
Were hang'd, drawn, and quarter'd for that very reason.
When the time came about
For us all to set out,
We went to take leave of the queen;
Where were great men of worth,
Great heads and so forth,
The greatest that ever were seen:
And she gave us a large
And particular charge;—
Good part on't indeed
Is quite out of my head;—
But I remember she said,
We should recommend peace and good neighbourhood, wheresoever we came;
and so I do here;
For that every one, not only men and their wives,
Should do all that they can to lead peaceable lives;
And told us withal, that she fully expected
A special account how ye all stood affected;
When we've been at St. James's, you'll hear of the matter.
Again then I charge ye,
Ye men of the clergy,
That ye follow the track all
Of your own Bishop Blackall,
And preach, as ye should,
What's savoury and good;
And together all cling,
As it were, in a string;
Not falling out, quarrelling one with another,
Now we're treating with Monsieur,—that son of his mother.
Then proceeded on the common matters of the law; and concluded:
Once more, and no more, since few words are best,
I charge you all present, by way of request,
If ye honour, as I do,
Our dear royal widow,
Or have any compassion
For church or the nation;
And would live a long while
In continual smile,
And eat roast and boil,
And not be forgotten,
When ye are dead and rotten;
That ye would be quiet, and peaceably dwell,
And never fall out, but p—s all in a quill.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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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.
If I Were a Queen
Three lasses in the evening dresses
were dreaming near the fire place.
With such a grace the first lass said:
If I were a queen I would weave a beautiful carpet
you had never seen before
and much much more.
I would like to confess, - said the second lass,
If I were a queen,
I would dance and sing for my king.”
If I were a queen, - said the third one,
I would give birth to five sons,
our life could be such a fun.
The moral of this fable:
Any lass is able
to become an enchantress
if she is loved by a king.
She can dance and sing,
she can move mountains,
make beautiful fountains,
fill the world with flowers
if she gets a queen’s powers.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
November the 8th,2010
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Awa' Whigs, Awa'
Chorus:
Awa', Whigs, awa'!
Awa', Whigs, awa'!
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,
Ye'll do nae guid at a'.
Our thristles flourish'd fresh and fair,
And bonie bloom'd our roses;
But Whigs cam like a frost in June,
An' wither'd a' our posies.
Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust -
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't,
An' write their names in his black beuk,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't!
Our sad decay in church and state
Surpasses my descriving.
The Whigs cam o'er us for a curse,
And we hae done wi' thriving.
Grim Vengeance lang has taen a nap,
But we may see him waukin -
Gude help the day when Royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin!
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Searching For a Church?
After your long and weary search, have you found the perfect church?
A simple church ruled by men; the perfect church you can’t condemn.
Or do they all appear the same, just another building with His Name?
And once inside you’re not sure, if you feel the presence of The Lord.
There’s only one true Church of God, upon this earth that all men trod.
That is The Church of Jesus Christ, and bought by Jesus, with His life.
God’s Church has no denomination, for in Christ is only one Salvation.
His Church has no walls my friend; it has a beginning but has no end.
Christ’s Church began at Pentecost, not for the righteous, but the lost.
His Church is made of sinful men, whom by God were all condemned.
But redeemed with a special price, when His Son became a sacrifice.
Then dipped into a cleansing flood; sinners purified by Christ’s Blood.
Are you looking to men to find, God’s forgiveness and peace of mind?
My friend, are you truly not that sure, where you can go to be secure?
Christ’s first Church had no steeple, and was filled with humble people.
Humble people who gave their life, to reach the world for Jesus Christ.
If you’re still searching for a church, you should end your weary search.
The Church is men like you and me, saved by Christ’s work on Calvary.
Nothing’s been added to the cross, except sinners who once were lost,
Since, they’ve entered in The Door, and now belong to Christ The Lord.
(Copyright ©04/2006)
From Gods Heart
(3/5/12)
I was imprisoned in a world without love
No birds sang their love melodies
There was no regrets, no remorse
No religion too.
Until I found a spark and then found you.
You are the creator and there is no one greater
The spark then became a fire and consumed
Me body and soul, and once again made me whole.
I rejoiced and started to dance and sing
And saw the beauties in everything.
My heart so full and about to explode
Like a helium balloon I wanted to hold.
People looked at me in shock and disbelief
As my love began to creep
It crept into one heart and then another
As we started to call each other sister and brother.
Gods love spread so fast, and people found
Their hearts at last.
It became like a tsunami that covered the earth
And " love" then gave birth.
Stars shone brighter than ever before
And new life sprouted from the ground
All stayed in awe, and didn't make a sound.
People started finding the religion that they lost
And now felt total remorse.
Asking themselves: " how could we have let this happen"?
This is not our way- and with faith we don't play.
Now it's spreading from nation to nation
And from heart to heart, and all humanity
Wants a part.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Lost It All
I lost it all
Waisting twenty years in a church
Thinking I was serving a God,
Too late did I realise
There was never a God in a church.
The God I knew made me
Lives right in my heart,
And my righteousness keeps Him there
.
I lost it all
Wasting so many years
Ahering to religious doctrines
Thought by religious hipocrites.
But too late did I realise
That religion has only been brought
To confuse us.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Time For Love
I have no time for love
All my time is for work
I have no time for Church
Though I love Religion
And God of the Religion
What do you say
Those Religious hipocrites pray
And I steal
Blessings are not just for those
Who kneel
But for the once who heed
What the Holy Book preach
But I do not care what you think
And I do not love you
I do not love Church
Though I love Religion
And God of the Religion
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Psalm 118
v.22-27
S. M.
An hosanna for the Lord's day; or, A new song of salvation by Christ.
See what a living stone
The builders did refuse;
Yet God hath built his church thereon,
In spite of envious Jews.
The scribe and angry priest
Reject thine only Son;
Yet on this Rock shall Zion rest,
As the chief corner-stone.
The work, O Lord, is thine,
And wondrous in our eyes;
This day declares it all divine,
This day did Jesus rise.
This is the glorious day
That our Redeemer made;
Let us rejoice, and sing, and pray,
Let all the church be glad.
Hosanna to the King
Of David's royal blood;
Bless him, ye saints, he comes to bring
Salvation from your God.
We bless thine holy word,
Which all this grace displays;
And offer on thine altar, Lord,
Our sacrifice of praise.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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