By Danial Warner -- opens on new page
A PRAYER FOR AMERICA
Oh,beautiful–yet on thy hands are stains of helpless blood;
The blood of those who have no name, yet precious gifts of God!
America, America! thy murderous sin deplore!
Awake, repent, while there is time,
Choose LIFE forevermore!
Oh, beautiful–yet violence the halls of learning dim;
Where once God’s Word was taught, is not a mention made of Him!
America, America! Did anyone fore-see
What depth of sorrow, grief and loss
Would in thy classrooms be?
Oh, beautiful, where statesmen stood, “In God we trust” inscribed
Above their heads, now greed, deceit, and treachery abide!
America, America! where are thy patriots true?
Whose love for God and country reign,
And justice is in view!
Oh, beautiful, yet families are torn by sin and strife,
Where once a man and woman vowed togetherness for life!
America, America! thy safety and success
Cannot remain where marriage fails,
And homes are in distress!
Oh, beautiful, whose highest courts God’s mandates once upheld;
Yet in the name of tolerance thy conscience now is stilled!
America, America! how can thy peace remain
When vile affections scorn God’s plan
And purity is slain?
Oh, beautiful, when God was Lord across thy fruited plain,
His blessing–benefits afford, its absence–grief and pain.
America, America! cry out to God in prayer!
Tear down thy idols, flee from sin,
Once more His blessing share!
Angela G. Gellenbeck
The Cause for Freedom
Within my mind there strode one day
A person young and blithe;
Beside him walked an elder one
Upon the road of life.
They paused before a brilliant flag;
Twas red and white and blue;
A symbol of their liberty
Upon the breeze, it flew.
The younger’s heart was filled with pride
His eyes began to shine,
His heart beat fast within his chest
To see his banner’s line
He said unto the elder one
“Should I not do my part?
Oh, let me fight for freedom, sir
Put stars upon my heart.”
The elder’s face was old and gray;
Long years had told their tale
“Come with me, Son, I’ll show you how
To serve your country well.
“We are not of this world, you know,
We’re strangers passing through
But I will show you how to be
A soldier brave and true.”
Along another road, they strode,
The youth was at a loss
Until they reached a well-worn plain
And saw the shadow of a cross.
Twas rugged from the toll of years
Red blood had stained the wood.
Another sign of liberty
Before them strong it stood.
The elder’s heart was filled with joy
His eyes began to shine;
His heart beat fast beneath his chest,
This was his BANNER fine.
He turned and said unto the youth,
“Yes, you want to do your part;
I’ll let you serve your captain well,
First, you must give your heart.
“You wish to fight for freedom, Son?
The noblest cause of all;
Yes, you must fight your bravest
For the freedom of the soul.
“Your captain is the finest one,
He’ll teach you how to find
The enemies called self and pride
And sins of every kind.
“And when life’s battle’s over, Son,
I’m sure you will have found
You’ll not bear stars upon your heart
You’ll wear them in your crown.”
Rene’ Sallee, 2/16/1991, age 16
Prayer in School
Now I sit me down to school
Where praying is against the rule,
For this great nation under God
Finds public mention of Him odd.
Any prayer a class recites
Now violates the Bill of Rights.
Any time my head I bow
Becomes a federal matter now!
Teach us of stars or pole and equator
But make no mention of their Creator.
Tell of exports in Denmark and Sweden
But not one word on what Eve did in Eden.
The law is specific, the law is precise,
Praying out loud is no longer nice.
Praying out loud in a public hall
Upsets believers in nothing at all.
In silence alone can we meditate,
And if God should get the credit, great!
This rule, however, has a gimmick in it;
You’ve got to be finished in less than a minute.
So all I ask is a minute of quiet,
If I can work a prayer in, then I’ll try it.
If not, O Lord, this plea I make,
Should I die in school, my soul you’ll take.
Faith and Victory 1984
SCRIPTURE REFERANCE FOR WHAT CHURCH
For as the body is one, and hath many members, and all the members of that one body, being many, are one body: so also is Christ. For by one Spirit are we all baptized into one body, whether we be Jews or Gentiles, whether we be bond or free; and have been all made to drink into one Spirit.
For the body is not one member, but many.
If the foot shall say, Because I am not the hand, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body? And if the ear shall say, Because I am not the eye, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body?
If the whole body were an eye, where were the hearing? If the whole were hearing, where were the smelling?
But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him.
And if they were all one member, where were the body?
But now are they many members, yet but one body.
And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you.
Nay, much more those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary:
And those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour; and our uncomely parts have more abundant comeliness.
For our comely parts have no need: but God hath tempered the body together, having given more abundant honour to that part which lacked:
That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should have the same care one for another.
And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it; or one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it.
Now ye are the body of Christ, and members in particular. 1Co 12:12-28
Flee From Bable
Oftimes have poets sung of rest,
Sweet rest and peace in heaven.
Must souls forever toil below?
Is there no promise given?
Can it be possible that Christ
Can only do a part,
Forgive the past, but still leave sin
And weights within the heart?
No; Jesus said 'twas finished,
When He was crucified,
The work was all completed,
For which He lived and died.
He came to save the sinner
From guilt and all his sin,
And gives a Canaan rest, if we,
Believers enter in.
The yoke of Christ is all delight-
Not heavy tasks for us-
Imposed by Christ to weigh us down,
He did not mean it thus,
But we must give ourselves all up,
To let Him live our lives;
And crush out self within our hearts,
Till it no more survives.
We'll find His yoke is liberty,
When all the heart is pure,
When we, the second grace shall see,
And know the double cure.
O, glorious fountain! Precious blood!
It makes me white as snow.
His yoke is sweet; His burden love;
A heaven here below.
By D. S. Warner
THE WATERED LILIES
The Master stood in His garden,
Among the lilies fair,
Which His own right hand had planted,
And trained with tend'rest care.
He looked at their snowy blossoms,
And marked with observant eye
That the flowers were sadly drooping,
For their leaves were parched and dry.
"My lilies need to be watered,"
The Heavenly Master said;
"Wherein shall I draw it for them,
And raise each drooping head?"
Close to His feet on the pathway,
Empty, and frail, and small,
An earthen vessel was lying,
Which seemed no use at all;
But the Master saw, and raised it
From the dust in which it lay,
And smiled, as He gently whispered,
"This shall do My work today."
"It is but an 'earthen' vessel,
But it lay so close to Me;
It is small, but it is empty-
That is all it needs to be."
So to the fountain He took it,
And filled it full to the brim;
How glad was the earthen vessel
To be of some use to Him!
He poured forth the living water
Over His lilies fair,
Until the vessel was empty,
And again He filled it there.
He watered the drooping lilies
Until they revived again;
And the Master saw with pleasure.
That His labor had not been vain.
His own hand had drawn the water
Which refreshed the thirsty flowers;
But He used the earthen vessel
To convey the living showers.
And to itself it whispered,
As He laid it aside once more,
"Still will I lie in His pathway,
Just where I did before.
"Close would I keep to the Master,
Empty would I remain,
And perhaps some day He may use me
To water His flowers again."
"God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise;
and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty;
And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen,
yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are:
That no flesh should glory in His presence.
But of Him are ye in Christ Jesus,
Who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption:
That, according as it is written,
He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord"
(1 Corinthians 1:27-31).
Traveling on my Knees
Last night I took a journey
To a lande across the seas,
I didn't go by boat or plane----
I taveled on my knees.
I saw so many people there
in deepest depths of sin,
And jeus told me I should go
And there were souls to win.
But I aid"Jesus, I can't go
And work with such as these!"
He aanswered quickly, "Yes you can
By traveling on your knees."
He said You pray, and I'll meet the need,
you call, and I will hear,
Be concerned about lost souls
Of those both far and near."
And so I tried it, knelt in prayer,
Gave up some hours of ease.
I felt the Lord right by my side
While traveling on my knees.
As I prayed on, many souls were aved,
And twisted bodies healed
And I saw God's worker's strength renewed
While laboring on the field.
I said "Yes Lord, I have a job-----
My desire Thy will to please;
I can go and heed thy call
By traveling on my knees."
EPITAPHS - Faith and Victory 1933
One clay I read an epitaph engraved upon a stone.
The sentiment was tender, and I pondered there alone
Upon that silent message; though it carried thoughts serene,
The one it meant to honor most the carving had not seen.
Perhaps it was for living men, who passed that way, to read,
That through its inspiration they should do some lovely deed.
I thought to take some lessons, an engraver too, to be,
And carve some tender epitaphs for those who pass to see.
I shall not try on slabs of stone to scribble with my pen,
But I would write my epitaphs upon the hearts of men.
He may chance to be a stranger or life-long friend to me
On the tables of whose heart I write.
I care not who he be,
But let my little message there be wrought so deep and plain
By words of kindness, deeds of love,
It ever shall remain. — Ulysses Phillips.
Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
The Female of the Species
WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale—
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,—
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.
Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!
But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.
She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells—
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.
She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.
She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!—
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.
Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights,
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites,
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!
So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.
And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.
Thy Will Be Done
The eventide falls gently now,
By Kedron's side, o'er Olive's brow,
And thro' the gloom methinks I see
A lonely form in prayer for me.
The gentle tone, thro' stately trees,
Is borne upon the murm'ring breeze,
He bowed His head God's only Son
And meekly said, "Thy will be done."
In fervent prayer for you and me
He wrestled there in agony;
With drops of sweat, of crimson hue,
His brow was wet, as with the dew.
In tears He knelt, with troubled soul,
While there He felt death's sorrows roll;
Our sins He bore the Holy One
And said once more, "Thy will be done."
And then before His vision came
The crown of thorns, the cruel shame,
The scorn of those He sought to save,
The reeking cross, the silent grave.
"This bitter cup, O Lord, I pray,
Before I sup, take Thou away.
Yet answered still, as there He knelt,
"Not as I will, but as Thou wilt."
Gethsemane! O sacred place!
Once more I see my Savior's face;
It shines anew with glory now,
And angels smooth His pallid brow.
Oh, let me e'er this scene behold!
Oh, let me hear the story told
Of Him Who there the vict'ry won,
Who said in prayer, "Thy will be done!"
Clara M Brooks
Folks are asking every day
“To what church do you belong?”
I answer, “There is only one”
I think your question is wrong.”
“You mean what denomination?”
And I answer—“none.
I'm a member of the body
Of Jesus Christ, God's Son.”
You cannot join this body
You are added by the Lord.
Denominations are another thing.
You join them with a card.
The Church which is Christs body--
Demands, “Be born again!”
To join denominations--
Simply shake the preachers hand.
Let's forget denominations
And recognize one faith.
As one body, stand together,
I plead for Jesus' sake.
If we're regenerated
Washed in the blood of Christ,
There should be no division--
We're one in our Father's sight.
BY Mrs. L. T. Halsey
1 Corinthians 12: 12-27
Acts 2:47 & 20:28
REMEMBER JUDGE ROY MOORE
AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL
America the Beautiful, or so you used to be.
Land of the Pilgrims’ pride: I’m glad they’ll never see.
Babies piled in dumpsters, Abortion on demand.
Oh sweet land of liberty, your house is on the sand.
Our children wander aimlessly poisoned by cocaine
Choosing to indulge their lusts, when God has said Abstain.
From sea to shining sea our Nation turns away
From teaching of God’s love and a need to always pray.
We’ve kept God in our temples, how callous we have grown.
When earth is but His footstool, and Heaven is His throne.
We’ve voted in a government that’s rotting at the core,
Appointing Godless Judges; who throw reason out the door.
Too soft to place a killer in a well deserved tomb,
But brave enough to kill a baby before he leaves the womb.
You think that God’s not angry, that our land’s a moral slum?
How much longer will He wait before His judgment comes?
How are we to face our God, from whom we cannot hide?
What then is left for us to do, but stem this evil tide?
If we who are His children, will humbly turn and pray;
Seek His holy face and mend our evil way:
Then God. we’ll hear from Heaven;
And forgive us of our sins,
He’ll heal our sickly land and those who live within.
But America the Beautiful, if you don’t- then you will see,
A sad but Holy God withdraw His hand from Thee.
Judge Roy More, The 10 Commandment Judge