An Apology For The Clergy,
How well these Laymen love to gibe,
And throw their Jests on Levi's Tribe!
Must One be toil'd to Death, they cry,
Whilst other Priests are yawning by?
Forgetful that He reaps the Gain,
Why should They waste their Lungs in vain?
When Men were weak enough to prize
The Christian Scheme, as good and wise,
To think there was an Heav'n and Hell;
To pray and preach did very well:
When Mortals look'd beyond the Grave,
A Priest, for Conscience sake, might slave:
But in this learned Realm and Age,
Where Faith is beaten off the Stage;
This happy Realm, where Reason reigns,
And scorns to drag Religion's Chains;
Where free--born Britons, ev'ry Day,
Sit down to feast, and rise to play;
And, since their Money buys their Meat,
Won't thank their God for what they eat;
Where e'vn some Chaplains fill their Place
Politely, without saying Grace:
If here, (where Reason swells so high,
It dares all other Pow'rs defy)
The Priests are, like the Laymen, wise,
Nor hope Reversions in the Skies;
Why should they deign to preach, or pray,
For any View -- but present Pay?
poem by Mary Barber
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Related quotes
The Distracted Puritan
Am I mad, O noble Festus,
When zeal and godly knowledge
Have put me in hope
To deal with the Pope
As well as the best in the college?
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
In the house of pure Emanuel
I had my education,
Where my friends surmise
I dazel'd my eyes
With the sight of revelation.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
They hound me like a bedlam,
They lash'd my four poor quarters.
Whilst this I endure,
Faith makes me sure
To be one of Foxes martyrs.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
These injuries I suffer
Through antichrist's perswasion.
Take off this chain!
Neither Rome nor Spain
Can resist my strong invasion.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
Of the beast's ten horns (God bless us!)
I have knock'd off three already;
If they let me alone
I'll leave him none;
But they say I am too heady.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
When I sack'd the seven-hill'd city
I met the great red dragon;
I kept him aloof
With the armour of proof,
Though here I have never a rag on.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
With a fiery sword and target,
There fought I with this monster;
But the sons of pride
My zeal deride,
And all my deeds misconster.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
I un-hors'd the Whore of Babel
With the lance of Inspiration;
I made her stink,
And spill the drink,
In her cup of abomination.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
I have seen two in a vision
With a flying book between them.
I have been in despair
Five times in a year,
And been cur'd by reading Greenham.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
I observ'd in Perkins' tables
The black line of damnation;
Those crooked veins
So stuck in my brains,
That I fear'd my reprobation.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
In the holy tongue of Canaan
I plac'd my chiefest pleasure,
Till I prick'd my foot
With an Hebrew root
That I bled beyond all measure.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
I appear'd before the Archbishop
And all the high Commission;
I gave him no grace,
But told him to his face
That he favour'd superstition.
Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
poem by Richard Corbet
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X-ing Off The Days
(C.Gray)
You walk all over anyone who dares to be a friend,
Screen and yell because you deem them unenlightened,
High upon your horse you preach and preach and preach,
Love thy fellow humans all your filthy little creeps.
X-ing off the days,
X-ing off the days
I nearly broke my back as I was handing back for you,
Half the time was hell and half a waste of time,
High upon your horse you preach and preach and preach,
Love thy fellow humans all your filthy little creeps.
X-ing off the days,
X-ing off the days.
I do not know the answer to the universe I fear,
So drown me cold and go and find your perfect man my,
dear,
High upon your horse you preach and preach and preach,
Love thy fellow humans all your filthy little creeps,
X-ing off the days,
X-ing off the days.
song performed by by Queen Adreena
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man In Chains
Ive only myself to blame,
Now that Im tangled up in chains,
So you say, ooh, so you say
Caught in this human cage,
Trapped, and Im fired up with rage
And somebodys got to pay
I can never talk about it,
I can never say what I want to say
So Ill take your tip and Ill bite my lip
And hope it goes away
You say Im a man of straw
Well, baby, Im gonna break your law
Then its war, ooh, yes its war
Love on a thin white line,
Love that was just a waste of time,
Oh, not anymore
I can feel it coming at me,
I can feel it coming like the wind
But, Im locked away and Im bound to stay,
So no one can get in
Im a man in chains, Im a man in chains
Oh, Im a man in chains, Im a man in chains
I only pray that before I die,
Just like a phoenix I will rise and fly
Tell me whos to blame,
Oh, Im a man, now Im a man in chains
There must be a reason why
Youre pulling the wool down on my eyes
Its a lie, its a lie
Dragging this ball and chain,
Oh, how long can I take this pain?
But somebody has to try, yeah
Oh, I can feel the pressure on me,
I can feel it taking me from the start
Sticks and stones will smash my bones,
But never break my heart
Im a man in chains, Im a man in chains
Oh, Im a man in chains, Im a man in chains
I only pray that before I die,
Just like a phoenix I will rise and fly
Tell me whos to blame,
Oh, Im a man, now Im a man in chains
I can never talk about it,
Oh, I can never say what I want to say
So Ill take your tip and Ill bite my lip
And hope it goes away
Im a man in chains, Im a man in chains
Oh, Im a man in chains, Im a man in chains
I only pray that before I die,
Just like a phoenix I will rise and fly
Tell me whos to blame,
Oh, Im a man, now Im a man in chains
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. October
GAMBLING AT MONACO
A jewelled kingdom set impregnable
In gardens green which front the violet sea,
A happy fortress shut and guarded well,
And cradled ever on the mountain's knee:
Here Monsieur Blanc, sad prince of industry,
Has reared the palace which men call his hell:
And here in autumn days, when winds blow free,
Pleasure shall lead us to sin's citadel.
Alas for vice! Yet, who dares moralize,
In the hushed rooms, where fortune reigns alway?
Her solemn priest, with chink of coin, replies
``Messieurs, faites votre jeu. Le jeu est fait.''
Who dares be wise, lest wisdom's self be vexed?
For all who come to preach remain to play.
Nay, leave poor vice, say I, her pleasant text,
Nor grudge her Heaven in this world with the next.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Catholic Priesthood and ‘Year of the Priests’
‘The sheep are calling;
The flocks are swelling;
Good shepherds are a dearth,
Upon the mighty earth! ’
All sheep need good shepherds;
Sans shepherds good, they are mere herds,
That cannot find the pastures green,
With grass that’s fit on global scene.
Good shepherds know each sheep by name;
They do not work for pay or fame;
They know the wolf’s, many a game;
Their staff protects the sheep that’s lame!
Priests are the good shepherds of God;
They woo the souls away from rod;
They serve by being celibate,
And show humanity, God’s Gate.
They say the Holy Mass each day;
They preach and fast, fervently pray;
They drive the devils out, away,
Suffer for Jesus, come what may!
They change bread to body of Christ;
They change the wine to blood of Christ;
They forgive sins like Jesus Lord;
They tell the world the Divine Word.
Priesthood is one of sacraments;
Priests know the Old, New Testaments;
Their work is worth more than all gold;
They bring more souls unto God’s fold!
This is the ‘Year of Catholic priest’.
Lord Jesus waits with His great Feast;
Happy are souls, even the least;
God saves all sinners from the Beast.
Priests take vows for a divine role –
To lead souls to God’s Abode – goal.
Those worldly ones are merely fools!
God chooses priests to be pure souls.
‘Priesthood is passion great for Christ –
The profession that’s one highest;
The goal of men who are wisest –
Who live for Jesus’ sake, diest.’
Dedicated to all Catholic Priests world-over,
On behalf of ‘Holy Family Church Parish, Perundurai, TN, India.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 28-6-2009
poem by John Celes
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Life of a Roman Catholic Priest
A priest is nearest Christ;
A priest is Christ at times;
A priest is almost Christ;
A priest is most divine.
A priest is God’s shepherd;
A priest must tend to flock;
A priest must be like ‘rock’;
A priest should ne’er defrock.
A priest communes with God;
A priest draws hope from Lord;
A priest shows love of Christ;
A priest carries His Cross!
A priest is tempted too;
A priest has falls in life;
A priest falters also;
A priest has strength from Christ.
A priestly job is tough;
A priest’s life can turn rough;
A priest has strife enough,
But has to smile and laugh!
A priest helps harvest souls;
A priest has many roles;
A priest has but one goal –
To drink from Christ’s own bowl!
Pray that more priests should come;
May priests curb their freedom;
May priest usher Kingdom;
A life for Christ’s welcome.
Fondly dedicated to Rev. Fr. Xavier Claudius,
Beloved Parish priest, ‘Holy Family Church, Perundurai
Copyright by Dr John Celes 25-7-2010
poem by John Celes
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Hymn 134
Religion vain without love.
1 Cor. 13:1-3.
Had I the tongues of Greeks and Jews,
And nobler speech, that angels use,
If love be absent, I am found,
Like tinkling brass, an empty sound.
Were I inspired to preach and tell
All that is done in heav'n and hell;
Or could my faith the world remove,
Still I am nothing without love.
Should I distribute all my store
To feed the bowels of the poor,
Or give my body to the flame,
To gain a martyr's glorious name;
If love to God and love to men
Be absent, all my hopes are vain;
Nor tongues, nor gifts, nor fiery zeal,
The work of love can e'er fulfil.
poem by Isaac Watts
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One Good Reason
Give me one good reason
That I should care
Give me one good reason
And Ill be there
Like a thief youve stolen
Like rain on a grave
Like a priest whos spoken
But failed to save
Now the air is empty
And the ground the same
Love has gone to be buried
Beside my name
Give me one good reason
That I should care
Give me one good reason
And Ill be there
Why couldnt you have told me
About your liars kiss
I cant believe youd leave me
At a time like this
And the wind is howling
And its a dying dream
And my faith is silent
While my doubts scream
Give me one good reason
That I should care
Give me one good reason
And Ill be there
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
That I should care
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
That I should care
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
That I should care
song performed by by Eagle Eye Cherry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Epilogue to the Tragedy of Cato
You see in ancient Rome what folly reign'd;
A folly British men would have disdain'd.
Here's none so weak to pity Cato's case,
Who might have liv'd, and had a handsome place;
But rashly vain, and insolently great,
He perish'd by his fault -- and not his fate.
Thank Heav'n! our patriots better ends pursue,
With something more than glory in their view.
Poets write morals -- priests for martyrs preach --
Neither such fools to practice what they teach.
Though your dear country much you wish to serve,
For bonny Britons 'tis too hard to starve;
Or what's all one, to any generous mind,
>From girls, champagne, and gaming, be confin'd;
Portius might well obey his sire's command,
Returning to his small paternal land;
A low estate was ample to support
His private life, far distant from the court!
Far from the crowd of emulating beaux,
Where Martia never wanted birthday clothes.
For you, who live in these more polish'd days,
To spend your money, lo! ten thousand ways;
Dice may run ill, or duns demand their due,
And ways to get (God knows) are very few;
In times so differing, who shall harshly blame
Our modern heroes, not to act the same?
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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The Truly Lost Ones
They cloak themselves with piety
Trying hard to gain holiness
But worship stones in Idolatry
Having no idea of God's real Presence.
You reason out that they are human
And as all men are prone to Sin
But God gave us His Word to understand
Transformation comes from within.
For Christ came to die on that Cross
That we may have mercy and forgiveness
All men have sinned and suffered loss
By His Death we gained heaven's access.
For it's by Grace we have been saved
Through Faith and not of good things we do
Religion changed all Truth God gave
And presented other gods to you.
Nuns and priests are truly the lost
Trying hard by good works to gain perfection
Denying the Truth Christ paid all that Cost
And by Him alone we receive Salvation.
'Yet to all who received Him, to those Who believed in His Name,
He gave them the power to be called children of God; children born not of natural descent not of human will, but born of God.'
John 1: 12-13
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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A Political Statement
i pray that corruption be murdered
let the culprits be free
i pray that dishonesty be hanged
let the judges rule
i pray for the the killing of tradition
let the love of money go hungry
i pray that the voices of the people be heard again
without any intervention
i pray that democracy shall bloom again
like a brand new day
i pray that the voices of conscience prevail
over the choking hands of money and fame
i pray for the death of tradition
for the triumph of innovation
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hymn 170
God incomprehensible and sovereign.
[Can creatures to perfection find
Th' eternal, uncreated Mind?
Or can the largest stretch of thought
Measure and search his nature out?
'Tis high as heav'n, 'tis deep as hell
And what can mortals know or tell?
His glory spreads beyond the sky,
And all the shining worlds on high.
But man, vain man, would fain be wise;
Born like a wild young colt, he flies
Through all the follies of his mind,
And swells, and snuffs the empty wind.]
God is a King of power unknown,
Firm are the orders of his throne;
If he resolve, who dares oppose,
Or ask him why or what he does?
He wounds the heart, and he makes whole
He calms the tempest of the soul;
When he shuts up in long despair,
Who can remove the heavy bar?
He frowns, and darkness veils the moon;
The fainting sun grows dim at noon;
The pillars of heav'n's starry roof
Tremble and start at his reproof.
He gave the vaulted heav'n its form,
The crooked serpent, and the worm;
He breaks the billows with his breath,
And smites the sons of pride to death.
These are a portion of his ways;
But who shall dare describe his face?
Who can endure his light, or stand
To hear the thunders of his hand?
poem by Isaac Watts
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A Cynics view a rant
Religion is about control.
Although they claim to save your soul.
The truth is it’s a power game
the priests of all creeds are the same.
Although the priests may well protest.
Your soul’s of little interest.
They want to tell you what to do.
If you believe their words are true
you will obey like silly sheep
Instead of walking you will creep.
Obey the rules they give to you
Exactly as they want you to
I am quite certain some believe
that what they promise they achieve
Because for you they intercede
Your place in heaven’s guaranteed
Another trick which they all use
The threat of Hell if you refuse
tobelieve all the words they say
That their way is the only way.
They label me a heretic
Because I know what makes them tick.
To most it’s just a power game
a way to achieve lasting fame.
They do not practice what they preach
and disbelieve the things they teach.
you may say I am cynical
but I reply I’m practical.
Their prime objective is to rise
as high up in their hierarchies
as it is possible to do.
Except perhaps for very few.
The godly men of every creed
Who do their best to meet the need
Of those who follow faithfully
and count no man an enemy.
11-Jan-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Shills
Shills of rancid lifeless priests
Indolent waves of amber hypocrisy
Religions of national honor
Ply your strife and pale armies
Here comes the fall of kings
Hide from the poor and sick
Wave your banners and flags
The hypnotized children of temples
They have chains of religion without God
Sharia law is repressive and of men
Follow men rather than love
False prophets
Only Jesus Christ sets free
Capitalism is a secular religion
My kingdom is not of this world
They try to tell you one country is better
They preach brands and money
Militarism, imperialism, colonialism
Steal the land or enslave the people
State religions are so evil
Nationalism the idolatry of power
God by the gun
Spirit of a mob
The shills of religion and states
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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How to Pray?
Pray incessantly;
Pray most fervently;
Pray with all your heart;
God will do His part!
Pray most sensibly;
Pray most effectively;
Pray deep from your heart;
Pray as if an art!
Pray for prolonged time;
Pray in any clime;
Pray by singing rhymes;
God’s answers chime!
Pray in holy place;
Pray with heav’nly gaze;
Pray for human race;
Pray in many ways.
Let prayers rise up high;
Let prayers pierce the sky;
Let prayers touch God’s heart,
As blessings divine start!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-14-2009
poem by John Celes
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Preach
cheating,
hating,
arrogance;
harassment, sadden
Insult, racism
murder, being disloyal,
all are hideous as well fatal;
causes conflict b/n people,
not to live in peace,
on our beautiful earth;
so every of you
my brothers, sisters
Fathers and mothers,
preach;
peace, love, faith
equality and justice,
For the sake of human
Not to let our world down.
preach, preach & preach.
poem by Anteneh Mekuria
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A Question Of Faith
Ill crawl for you
Hurt if you want to
Ill be the thing that you feed.
Im not asking
For love or redemption
Ill sell my guilt to your need.
Ill breathe for you
Die if you want to
Ill mourn with you by my grave.
I dare you to judge me
Now God has disowned me
Ive come to you to be saved.
They say I sold my soul.
We all reap what we sow.
Ill shine for you
Burn if you want to
Youll be the prize for my pain.
Ill kill your god
And pray for salvation
Ill be the in to your sane.
Ill lie for you
Be your conscience in you
Sacrifice reason for shame.
I wont ask for
Faith or forgiveness
Ill be the blood in your veins.
They say I lost my way
Ill wait for judgement day.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
Ill be your darkness
In the light
Ill be your vampire calling
In the dead of night
Ill be your demon
Shadow man
Ill be your one confession
And if I can
Ill be your nightmare
And scream for you
Ill be your one possesion
If you want me to
Ill be your secret
Memory,
Ill be your exhibition
Of atrocity.
They say I sold my soul.
We all reap what we sow.
They say I lost my way.
Ill wait for judgement day.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
They kneel down, praise god
Shout allelujah,
Lift up their eyes when they pray.
When children kill children
Dont it make them wonder?
Dont it make them question their faith?
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bible in Poetry: 1 Corinthians 9
The Rights of an Apostle:
1Am I not free, an apostle?
Have I not seen Jesus, our Lord?
Aren’t you the fruit of my labor,
For Jesus Christ, my savior, Lord?
2 Although to others not, may be
I am an apostle to you!
You’re seal of my apostleship.
3 This is my one defense to those
Who sit in judgment upon me.
4Don’t we have right to food and drink?
5Do not we have the right to take
A wife believing, that’s with us,
As do the other apostles,
The Lord's brothers and Cephas too?
6 Or only I and Barnabas
Must have to work for a living?
7Who serves as soldier without pay?
Who plants a vineyard on his own
And not ingest its luscious grapes?
Who tends a flock, drink not the milk?
8Do I say this merely from just
A human point of view, tell me?
Does not the Law say just the same?
9For, it is writ in Mosaic Law:
'Do not muzzle an ox while ’tis
Still treading out the grain for you.'
Is it of oxen only that
Then, God is so concerned about?
10 He says this for us, does not He?
Yes, this was written just for us,
Because when plough-man ploughs the field,
And thresher threshes, they do so
With hope, of share in harvest too.
11If we’ve sown seed in you spiritual,
Is it too much if we then reap
A material harvest from you?
12 If others have this right from you,
Shouldn’t we have it, then all the more?
But we didn’t use this right at all.
And on the contrary, we put
Up with all things rather than to
Hinder gospel of Jesus Christ.
13Do you not know that those who work
In temples get their food from them,
And those who serve at altars share
Whatev’r is offered upon them?
14 Similarly, the Lord commands
That those who preach the gospel should
Receive their living from the same.
15 But I haven’t used all of these rights.
And I don’t write this in the hope
That you will do such things for me.
I rather would die than have one
Deprive me of this boast some day.
16Yet, when I preach the gospel then,
I cannot boast: I have to preach.
Woe upon me if I do not!
17 If I do preach voluntarily,
I have reward awaiting me;
If not voluntarily then,
I’m discharging the trust on me.
18 What then is my reward? Just this:
In preaching gospel I offer
It free of charge, and therefore don’t
Make use of my rights doing so.
19 Though I am free, slave of no man,
I make myself a slave to all,
To win the many, possible.
20 To Jews, Jew-like, I too became,
To win over the hearts of Jews.
To those under the law, I turned
Like one under the law like them
(Although I’m not under the law) ,
So as to win those under law.
21To those who did not have the law,
I became like one without law
(Though I’m not free from laws of God
And I am under Christ's tenets) ,
So as to win those without law.
22 To weak persons, I became weak,
To win the weak. I have become
All things to men so that by all
Means possible, I might save some.
23 I do all this for gospel’s sake,
So that I may share its blessings.
24Do you not know that in a race,
Though all runners participate,
One only gets the prize at last?
Run in a way to get the prize.
25 All those who compete in the games
Are given training equally.
They train to get a crown on earth
That will not last for very long;
But we do it to get a crown
That lasts forever and ever.
26 Therefore I don’t run like a man
Who runs quite aimlessly in life;
I don’t fight like a man who beats
The air which he just cannot see.
27 I beat my body to enslave
It, and when I’ve preached to others,
I myself will qualified
To get the prize that’s meant for it.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 8-3-2007
poem by John Celes
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Pray A Little Faster
Breath deep and fill your lungs
In your native or in your second tounge
Pig-latin or pigeon
Just get religion
Pray a little faster
Cmon pray a little faster
Pray a little faster
We got to far to run
Forget about the girls and forget about the boys
Turn off the tv and put away your toys
You cant do what you want to do
So get out your voodoo
Come on
Pray a little faster
Pray a little faster
Pray a little faster
We got too far to run
Pray to the trees, pray to the sun
And if you dont believe, pray to the alien
Look up to heaven, yeah
And turn it up to 11
Cmon
Pray a little faster
Pray a little faster
Pray a little faster
We got too far to run
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God’s Expectations
Does God ask you to blindly pray?
Does God want you to only toil?
Does God tell that you act senseless?
God expects you to be quite wise!
The one who only prays is wrong;
The one who only works, insane;
The one, who thinks he’s clever, isn’t;
The one who follows Christ-soul-wise!
So, work with diligence on earth;
Be sensible in things you do;
Pray fervently whenev’r you can,
And listen to what conscience says!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-30-2006
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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