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In the third century after Christ the faith continued to spread.

quote by Kenneth Scott Latourette
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Believer's Principles : Chap. IV.

Faith and Sense Natural, compared and distinguished.

When Abram's body, Sarah's womb,
Were ripe for nothing but the tomb,
Exceeding old, and wholly dead,
Unlike to bear the promis'd seed:

Faith said, 'I shall an Isaac see;'
'No, no,' said Sense, 'it cannot be;'
Blind Reason, to augment the strife,
Adds, 'How can death engender life?'

My heart is like a rotten tomb,
More dead than ever Sarah's womb;
O! can the promis'd seed of grace
Spring forth from such a barren place?

Sense gazing but on flinty rocks,
My hope and expectation chokes:
But could I, skill'd in Abram's art,
O'erlook my dead and barren heart;

And build my hope on nothing less
That divine pow'r and faithfulness;
Soon would I find him raise up sons
To Abram, out of rocks and stones.

Faith acts as busy boatmen do,
Who backward look and forward row;
It looks intent to things unseen,
Thinks objects visible too mean.

Sense thinks it madness thus to steer,
And only trusts its eye and ear;
Into faith's boat dare thrust its oar,
And put it further from the shore.

Faith does alone the promise eye;
Sense won't believe unless it see;
Nor can it trust the divine guide,
Unless it have both wind and tide.

Faith thinks the promise sure and good;
Sense doth depend on likelihood;
Faith ev'n in storms believes the seers;
Sense calls all men, ev'n prophets, liars.

Faith uses means, but rests on none;
Sense sails when outward means are gone:

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poem by Ralph Erskine
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Faith and its role

There are two kinds of faith people live with:
Faith in lordship and faith in fellowship;
The first is that someone will do for you
And the second is others won't fail you.

With faith in the shepherd, the sheep follow.
With faith in the fellow sheep, the sheep feed.
Without faith in system, you can't follow.
Without faith in others, you can't transact.

Faith in God, faith in fate and faith in luck
Would weaken the faith you have in yourself.
Faith in love, faith in trade and faith in helps
Would slacken the cognizance you possess.

Faith can't be dispensed with altogether.
Faith in the unknown has no guarantee.
Faith in the known has no certainty
But can strengthen their faithfulness to you.

Faith in parents and faith in teachers,
Faith in doctors and faith in medicine
And faith in judges and in justice
Denounced altogether, one cannot exist.

Faith in spouses and faith in children,
Faith in siblings and faith in servants
And faith in professional ethics
Abandoned altogether, one cannot thrive.

Without faith, promises bear no meanings.
Without faith, guarantees have no bearings.
Without faith, investments will have no life.
Only with faith could life be felt secure.

Faith might crack when it is misplaced.
Faith might break when it's sabotaged.
Faith might crash when it's blindfolded.
Yet, one has to vouch for faith in life.

Faith comes from ignorance of things.
Faith comes from lack of influence.
Faith comes in helpless conditions.
Faith exercises no control yet.

Have faith in you and accept the outcome.
Have faith in others and give allowance.
Have faith in future and shelve the distress.
Faith vacated, worries will occupy.
19.02.2012

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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In The 21st Century

When the river runs dry, what will we say
Na na na na na na na na hey hey
In the 21st century
Oh when the river runs dry, what will we do
Na na na na na na na na oh-hoo
In the 21st century
When the river runs dry, what will we wear
Na na na na na na na na where?
To the 21st century
Now some people sing, some people say
Na na na na na na na na hey hey
Get up off your knees and pray
Pray that the earth dont tire, of the way that were puttin her down
Hope that the universe dont say Im still expanding but your time is up
Some people sing, some people sigh
Na na na na na na na na why?
Why cant we live in peace
Some people sing, some people say
Na na na na na na na na hey hey
In the 21st century
Hope that the earth dont tire, of the way that were puttin her down
Hope the universe dont say - stop spinning around
Hope the world dont say that weve got no place to go
Hope the universe dont say Ill be expanding for a while, you? no!
In the 21st century
In the 21st century
In the 21st century
In the 21st century
In the 21st century
21st century
21st century
21st century
21st century
21st century
In the 21st century
21st century
When the river runs dry, what will we say
Na na na na na na na na hey hey
21st century
The 21st century
The 21st century
The 21st century
Oh when the river runs dry, what will we do
Na na na na na na na na oh-hoo

song performed by Men Without Hats
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bishop Blougram's Apology

No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk.
A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith!
We ought to have our Abbey back, you see.
It's different, preaching in basilicas,
And doing duty in some masterpiece
Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart!
I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes,
Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere;
It's just like breathing in a lime-kiln: eh?
These hot long ceremonies of our church
Cost us a little—oh, they pay the price,
You take me—amply pay it! Now, we'll talk.

So, you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs.
No deprecation—nay, I beg you, sir!
Beside 't is our engagement: don't you know,
I promised, if you'd watch a dinner out,
We'd see truth dawn together?—truth that peeps
Over the glasses' edge when dinner's done,
And body gets its sop and holds its noise
And leaves soul free a little. Now's the time:
Truth's break of day! You do despise me then.
And if I say, "despise me"—never fear!
1 know you do not in a certain sense—
Not in my arm-chair, for example: here,
I well imagine you respect my place
(Status, entourage, worldly circumstance)
Quite to its value—very much indeed:
—Are up to the protesting eyes of you
In pride at being seated here for once—
You'll turn it to such capital account!
When somebody, through years and years to come,
Hints of the bishop—names me—that's enough:
"Blougram? I knew him"—(into it you slide)
"Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day,
All alone, we two; he's a clever man:
And after dinner—why, the wine you know—
Oh, there was wine, and good!—what with the wine . . .
'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk!
He's no bad fellow, Blougram; he had seen
Something of mine he relished, some review:
He's quite above their humbug in his heart,
Half-said as much, indeed—the thing's his trade.
I warrant, Blougram's sceptical at times:
How otherwise? I liked him, I confess!"
Che che, my dear sir, as we say at Rome,
Don't you protest now! It's fair give and take;
You have had your turn and spoken your home-truths:
The hand's mine now, and here you follow suit.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Advice To Believe In Christ

BELIEVE in Christ, for thy Protector cry,
God offers him to all, both far and nigh,
Receive the gracious offer, and don't fail;
Or else, thou shalt the loss of him bewail.

The man, who Christ with heart sincere receives,
And with a lively faith in him believes,
Christ will on him his saving grace bestow,
To live like the blest saints, whilst here below.

Christ shall to him his holy Spirit give,
That he, new-born, may a new creature live;
Christ shall quite change, and mould the man anew,
From a rash rebel to a subject true.

He gives his grace, our gloomy minds to light -
He gives his Word, to make us walk aright -
To rule us, he his holy Spirit grants -
He gives himself, to make up all our wants -

So that no soul in Christ can well believe,
Who shall not grace and strength from him receive,
To emulate the conduct of the just ;
If right his faith, and confident his trust.

The grace of God, and a supernal pow'r,
Faith plucks from heav'n - to make a man give o'er,
And thoroughly abhor, his evil ways,
And lead a life of virtue all his days.

Unless thy faith extorts this grace divine,
And makes the renovated creature shine,
It is in vain;- it answers to no end,
Unless it serves thy errors to amend.

A lively faith does grace from Christ attract,
And strength to put thy theory in act :
All its old sins it utterly forsakes,
And of th' whole man a renovation makes.

Howe'er corrupt the nature that's in thee -
However weak thy intellects may be -
Believe in Christ, invoke his holy name,
And, when he pleases, he can change the same.

Although the Jailer was a sinful soul -
Thou Paul was, once, as sinful, on the whole -
And though Manasses was still worse agen -
Yet they, thro' Christ, were made quite diff'rent men.

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poem by Rees Prichard
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Christ at Carnival

THE hand of carnival was at my door,
I listened to its knocking, and sped down:
Faith was forgotten, Duty led no more:
I heard a wonton revelry in the town;
The Carnival ran in my veins like fire!
And some unfrustrable desire
Goaded me on to catch the roses thrown
From breast to breast, and with my own
Fugitive kiss to snatch the fugitive kiss;
I broke all faith for this
One wild and worthless hour,
To dance, to run, to beckon, as a flower
Maddens the bee with half-surrendering,
Then flies back in the air with petals shut.

Fainting with laughter and pursuit
I heard shrill winds leap out and sink again,
Tracking the green bed where the Spring hath lain,
And vanished from, whose feet made audible
Music among the tall trees on the hill.
Above me leaned a nightingale
Burdened and big with song, whose throat let fall
Long notes, so poignant and so musical,
I deemed his young mate, listening,
Heard him less passionately sing
Than I a-foot at Carnival!

Above the town, swart Night came rolling in
Upon her couch of heliotrope:
A new Moon, young and thin,
Lay like a Columbine
Teasing the spent hill, her old Harlequin,
She, who of late waned on the bitter sky,
Furtive and old, a woman without hope,
Begging in long-familiar streets, where Sin
Once seeking her, now shuddered and went by.

Caught in the meshes of a merry throng,
I stumbled through the lighted Market Place;
The lanterns swung an undetermined rose
In Night's convulsive face
As we were swept along
In crazy dance and song,--
On through the mirth-mad alleys of the town,
With shrill loud laughter tumbled roughly down,
Whirled up in swift embrace.
All, all went swinging, swaying in the revel,
Laughing and reeling, kissing each and all--
A crowd that wildest jesting did dishevel--
O mad night of Carnival!

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poem by Muriel Stuart
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Keep The Faith

When every trust you hold
And every truth you're told
Goes up in a cloud of smoke
And every lesson learned
Every corner turned
Ends up as a winding road
Don't be afraid
Sometimes you've got to talk into the dark
To find your way beyond the shadows
Shadows of your heart
(Oh oh oh)
(Keep the faith, Keep the faith)
Ohhh (Keep the faith)
Keep the faith, yeah yeah yeah
When you're still searchin'
(Keep the faith, keep the faith, keep the faith)
You've gotta just believe
And remember, remember to keep the faith
(Keep the faith, keep the faith, keep the faith)
Oh I don't know why
No matter how I try
I manage to lose my way
Covered up in doubt
No easy way out
Oooo takin' it day by day
I don't have the answers
Sometimes I, I don't know if I'm strong enough
But when I feel like givin' up
I've got to remind myself
Ohhh (oh oh oh)
(Oh oh oh)
(Keep the faith, Keep the faith)
Ohhh (Keep the faith)
Keep the faith, yeah yeah yeah
When you're still searchin'
(Keep the faith, keep the faith, keep the faith)
You've gotta just believe
And remember, remember to keep the faith
(Keep the faith, keep the faith, keep the faith)
(Oh no) You don't have to climb
(Oh no) Any mountain
(Oh no) You don't have to move
(Oh no) You don't have to see
(Oh no) You don't have to know
Yeahhh, oh just remember
(Oh oh oh)
(Keep the faith, Keep the faith)
Ohhh (Keep the faith)
Keep the faith, yeah yeah yeah
When you're still searchin'

[...] Read more

song performed by Jo Dee Messina
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Believer's Jointure : Chapter II.

Containing the Marks and Characters of the Believer in Christ; together with some further privileges and grounds of comfort to the Saints.

Sect. I.

Doubting Believers called to examine, by marks drawn from their love to Him and his presence, their view of his glory, and their being emptied of Self-Righteousness, &c.

Good news! but, says the drooping bride,
Ah! what's all this to me?
Thou doubt'st thy right, when shadows hide
Thy Husband's face from thee.

Though sin and guilt thy spirit faints,
And trembling fears thy fate;
But harbour not thy groundless plaints,
Thy Husband's advent wait.

Thou sobb'st, 'O were I sure he's mine,
This would give glad'ning ease;'
And say'st, Though wants and woes combine,
Thy Husband would thee please.

But up and down, and seldom clear,
Inclos'd with hellish routs;
Yet yield thou not, nor foster fear:
Thy Husband hates thy doubts.

Thy cries and tears may slighted seem,
And barr'd from present ease;
Yet blame thyself, but never dream
Thy Husband's ill to please.

Thy jealous unbelieving heart
Still droops, and knows not why;
Then prove thyself to ease thy smart,
Thy Husband bids the try.

The following questions put to the
As scripture-marks, may tell
And shew, what'er thy failings be,
Thy Husband loves thee well.

MARKS.

Art thou content when he's away?
Can earth allay thy pants?
If conscience witness, won't it say,
Thy Husband's all thou wants?

[...] Read more

poem by Ralph Erskine
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Christmas-Eve

I.
OUT of the little chapel I burst
Into the fresh night air again.
I had waited a good five minutes first
In the doorway, to escape the rain
That drove in gusts down the common’s centre,
At the edge of which the chapel stands,
Before I plucked up heart to enter:
Heaven knows how many sorts of hands
Reached past me, groping for the latch
Of the inner door that hung on catch,
More obstinate the more they fumbled,
Till, giving way at last with a scold
Of the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled
One sheep more to the rest in fold,
And left me irresolute, standing sentry
In the sheepfold’s lath-and-plaster entry,
Four feet long by two feet wide,
Partitioned off from the vast inside—
I blocked up half of it at least.
No remedy; the rain kept driving:
They eyed me much as some wild beast,
The congregation, still arriving,
Some of them by the mainroad, white
A long way past me into the night,
Skirting the common, then diverging;
Not a few suddenly emerging
From the common’s self thro’ the paling-gaps,—
—They house in the gravel-pits perhaps,
Where the road stops short with its safeguard border
Of lamps, as tired of such disorder;—
But the most turned in yet more abruptly
From a certain squalid knot of alleys,
Where the town’s bad blood once slept corruptly,
Which now the little chapel rallies
And leads into day again,—its priestliness
Lending itself to hide their beastliness
So cleverly (thanks in part to the mason),
And putting so cheery a whitewashed face on
Those neophytes too much in lack of it,
That, where you cross the common as I did,
And meet the party thus presided,
“Mount Zion,” with Love-lane at the back of it,
They front you as little disconcerted,
As, bound for the hills, her fate averted
And her wicked people made to mind him,
Lot might have marched with Gomorrah behind him.

II.
Well, from the road, the lanes or the common,

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poem by Robert Browning
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Zachaeus Upon The Sycamore Tree

Many of us have heard of Christ;
Some of us know Jesus so well;
Christ is always passing by nigh;
Should we not have a better glimpse?

By heart, we yearn to see Jesus;
We are all sinners in more ways;
Our ears await His loving call;
By spirit, we stay short for Christ!

God sees each human heart in depth;
He knows if it has love or hate;
He gives us chances for more faith;
Sometimes, He comes to us to speak.

A Sycamore helps us see Christ;
There are such trees by every lane;
But we must climb to see Christ well;
The Lord knows secrets of each heart!

Many in sins galore do lie;
Many do have a contrite heart;
For repentance to turn complete,
Penance must be in matching ways!

Why put off seeing Jesus Christ?
The Son of God came for sinners!
Just ask and He will surely come;
Search and you will find Him surely.

Christ longs to dine in each one's home;
He forgives sins by Cross' ease;
He changes lives once and for all;
Must not we reconcile with God?

'Tis easy climbing sycamores!
'Tis easy finding one such tree;
It helps to see Jesus clearly!
Why should we hesitate to climb?

Ignore the world that talks like fools!
Each soul must gain God's redemption;
Let's plead to God for forgiveness;
Let's fill heart with God's saving grace!

There is a price for redemption;
Jesus paid our ransom ahead;
We must walk in His righteous path;
We must enter the narrow gate!

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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The Ancient Banner

In boundless mercy, the Redeemer left,
The bosom of his Father, and assumed
A servant's form, though he had reigned a king,
In realms of glory, ere the worlds were made,
Or the creating words, 'Let there be light'
In heaven were uttered. But though veiled in flesh,
His Deity and his Omnipotence,
Were manifest in miracles. Disease
Fled at his bidding, and the buried dead
Rose from the sepulchre, reanimate,
At his command, or, on the passing bier
Sat upright, when he touched it. But he came,
Not for this only, but to introduce
A glorious dispensation, in the place
Of types and shadows of the Jewish code.
Upon the mount, and round Jerusalem,
He taught a purer, and a holier law,—
His everlasting Gospel, which is yet
To fill the earth with gladness; for all climes
Shall feel its influence, and shall own its power.
He came to suffer, as a sacrifice
Acceptable to God. The sins of all
Were laid upon Him, when in agony
He bowed upon the cross. The temple's veil
Was rent asunder, and the mighty rocks,
Trembled, as the incarnate Deity,
By his atoning blood, opened that door,
Through which the soul, can have communion with
Its great Creator; and when purified,
From all defilements, find acceptance too,
Where it can finally partake of all
The joys of His salvation.
But the pure Church he planted,—the pure Church
Which his apostles watered,—and for which,
The blood of countless martyrs freely flowed,
In Roman Amphitheatres,—on racks,—
And in the dungeon's gloom,—this blessed Church,
Which grew in suffering, when it overspread
Surrounding nations, lost its purity.
Its truth was hidden, and its light obscured
By gross corruption, and idolatry.
As things of worship, it had images,
And even painted canvas was adored.
It had a head and bishop, but this head
Was not the Saviour, but the Pope of Rome.
Religion was a traffic. Men defiled,
Professed to pardon sin, and even sell,
The joys of heaven for money,—and to raise
Souls out of darkness to eternal light,
For paltry silver lavished upon them.

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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Ridiculous

Skillfully tested, rhythmically possessed with rhymes
And when it was time, jah gave me the mic after he blessed it
He said share the loving, prepare them for the second coming
Beware of the false prophets, because they got my people buggn
Put on the full armor, cause you know these fools theyre gonna wanna
Talk behind your back, but stay away from the drama
You know that Im gonna keep you safe inside the palm of my hand
Cause you the man and thats word to your mama
So give it to em, its themselves that theyre fooln
Gotta head of the game too quick, what they lack is ol schooln
You know whos who, whether or not Im talking to your crew
Its up to you to keep it true, nuff respect due.
Chorus (x2):
Dem test me crew, but dem cant get with this
Dem all the same, talking wickedness (nonsense c 2nd time)
Your styles been played, and Im already sick of it
Them so ridiculous, them so ridiculous.
Original rude boy, we bring the styles
Aint heard this in a while, check the stats, review my profile
They dime a dozen, cant understand why all the fussn
Known for talking loud but they really saying nothing
With every word you poison my mental concept
Negative be the topic, somebodys got to stop it
And clear your mind and continue to come alive
And he love, we love, bring it back, come, rewind.
Chorus
To all my peoples that be keeping it real
They know the time and they know the deal
To all my peoples that are down with this crew
We keep it live cause this ones for you
Chorus
Christ
Youre not who they say you are
They made you the enemy
(christ-jah flesh; christ-light within; christ- beginning and the end)
Taken something so beautiful
Painted a new picture that makes me sick
(christ-witness; christ-living one; christ-first and the last)
Feed our minds confusion
Sweeten the taste of pollution.
(christ-word life; christ-resurrect; christ-everlasting jah)
Chorus:
Some people call you father
Maybe you could set me free
These people hate each other
But youve always been there for me
I refuse to be like you
Without life, caving in
(christ-jah flesh; christ-light within; christ- beginning and the end)
I surrender, giving up all that is me

[...] Read more

song performed by P.O.D.
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ballad Of Jesus Of Nazareth

I.

It matters not what place he drew
At first life's mortal breath,
Some say it was in Bethlehem,
And some in Nazareth.
But shame and sorrow were his lot
And shameful was his death.

The angels sang, and o'er the barn
Wherein the infant lay,
They hung a star, for they foresaw
The sad world's better day,
But well God knew what thyme and rue
Were planted by his way.

The children of the Pharisees
In hymn and orison
Worshipped the prophets, whom their sires
To cruel death had done,
And said, 'had we been there their death
We had not looked upon.'

While the star shone the angels saw
The tombs these children built
For those the world had driven out,
And smitten to the hilt,
God knew these wretched sons would bear
The self-same bloody guilt.

Always had he who strives for men
But done some other thing,
If he had not led a hermit life,
Or had not had his fling,
We would have followed him, they say,
And made him lord and King.

For John was clothed in camel's hair
And lived among the brutes;
But Jesus fared where the feast was spread
To the sound of shawms and lutes,
Where gathered knaves and publicans
And hapless prostitutes.

Like children in the market place
Who sullen sat and heard,
With John they would not mourn, nor yet
Rejoice at Jesus' word;
Had Jesus mourned, or John rejoiced,
He had been King and lord.

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poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Justin

DEDICATION

O POOR, sad hearts that struggle on and wait,
Like shipwrecked sailors on a spar at sea,
Through deepening glooms, if haply, soon or late,
Some day-dawn glimmer of what is to be,
Not knowing Christ, nor gladdened by His Love
5
And Life indwelling—to you I dedicate
These humble musings, praying that from above,
On you, being faithful found, the light may shine
Of Life incarnate and of Love divine.
Take, then, these thoughts, in loving memory
10
Of those dead hearts that brought it first to me.

DOWN by the sea, in infinite solitude
And wrapt in darkness, save when gleams of light
Broke from the moon aslant the hurrying clouds
That fled the wind, lay Justin, worn with grief,
And heart-sick with vain searching after God.

15
He heeded not the cold white foam that crept
In silence round his feet, nor the tall sedge
That sighed like lonely forest round his head;
His heart was weary of this weight of being,
Weary of all the mystery of life,
20
Weary of all the littleness of men,
And the dark riddle that he could not solve—
Why men should be, why pain and sin and death,
And where were hid the lineaments of God.
No voice was near. Behind, a lofty cape,
25
Whose iron face was scarred by many a storm,
Loomed threatening in the dark, and cleft the main,
And laid its giant hand upon the deep.
One grizzled oak tree crowned it, and the surf
Broke ever at its base, with ceaseless voice
30
Powerless to mar its silent majesty.
Sweet was the loneliness to Justin, sweet
Perturbèd nature, as in harmony
With the dark thoughts that beat upon his soul.
Nor speechless long he lay. The tide of grief,
35

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poem by Frederick George Scott
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Portrait

Youre not who they say you are
They made you the enemy
(christ-jah flesh; christ-light within; christ- beginning and the end)
Taken something so beautiful
Painted a new picture that makes me sick
(christ-witness; christ-living one; christ-first and the last)
Feed our minds confusion
Sweeten the taste of pollution.
(christ-word life; christ-resurrect; christ-everlasting jah)
Chorus:
Some people call you father
Maybe you could set me free
These people hate each other
But youve always been there for me
I refuse to be like you
Without life, caving in
(christ-jah flesh; christ-light within; christ- beginning and the end)
I surrender, giving up all that is me
Yielding to you
(christ-witness; christ-living one; christ-first and the last)
Shape me in my brokeness
Empower me forever
(christ-word life; christ-resurrect; christ-everlasting jah)
Chorus
Outro:
I know you will complete this work started in me
I need you more than ever now that I know who you are
I know you will complete this work started in me
I need you more than ever now that Ive come so far

song performed by P.O.D.
Added by Lucian Velea
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Kahlo-Christ Conjunctions - Sacrificed Flesh, Broken Bread, Emmaus Vision

[The curious or, better, interested reader may view the images alluded to in this essay at this website: http: //falconwarren.blogspot.com/2011/01/kahlo-christ- conjunctions-sacrificed.html]

Kahlo Strophes

As with love, also the bellows.

Calavera*, the Future stands
hand to mouth, fingers to forehead
unfolding before still instatic shapes.
Hold desperately to frames before
these quaking perceptions.

She could not stop there,
had to flare out, dry paint,
and the dryer flesh peel down
to bone, a sexless esqueleto**,
skull no longer mustached,
a calavera, nothing more,
curved calcium reliant forever
upon canvas, what is congealed
there to fan and burn,
a 'cauda pavonis'***.

- the author, from the text below

*Skull
**Skeleton
***Peacock's Tail (an image in alchemy) .

'Poetry such as this attempts not just a new syntax of the word. Its revolution is aimed at the syntax of the mind itself. Its structuring of experience is purposive, not dreamlike. We are dealing with a self-induced, or naturally or mysteriously come by, creative state from which two of the most fundamental human activities diverge, the aesthetic and the mystic act. The creative matrix is the same in both, and it is that state of being that is most peculiarly and characteristically human, as the resulting aesthetic and mystic experience is the purist form of human act. There is a great deal of overlapping, today especially, when art is all the religion most people have and when they demand of it experiences that few people of the past demanded of religion....A visionary poem is not a vision. The religious experience is necessitated and ultimate.' - Kenneth Rexroth, World Outside the Window, the Selected Essays of Kenneth Rexroth, pg.255-256

Rexroth's words are pertinent to the images used in this essay, Kahlo's painting above is visionary, Grunewald's are religious, and several photos are both, and all are 'aimed at the syntax of the mind itself.. Its restructuring of experience is purposive, not dreamlike.' The images included in this essay, which is more a prose poem than regular prose, are meant to convey equally or more, at least as as much as, the words in their incantatory formations which may induce entrance into 'imaginal' spaces where word and image meet in a practical magic, inspire a felt understanding and perhaps gain a view or actual entrance into what ecstatic poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, calls 'the Greater Relation.'

I've decided to publish this piece-in-progress as it unwinds in spirals 'aimed at the syntax of the mind itself...its restructuring of experience' with the understanding that it may later appear in greatly altered form. In a real sense this writing writes itself; I try to heed, copy, then hone to the bone what might be wanting to be sung, for what is below, and often what I write, is more akin to music, a vocal/verbal lilt beyond a particular solid tilt of view of a world absolute, static logos.

Heraclitus noted thousands of years ago, 'All is flux.'

To this I would only add, and perhaps this is what all of my writing amounts to,

'All is reflux.'

Selah. WF

NYC,1/31/11

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poem by Warren Falcon
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21st Century War

another little lethal step
another little blatant threat
another political point to score
it’s a 21st century war

Standing here right on the brink
ain't gonna be the first to blink
so absolutely deadly sure
in a 21st century war

no one is innocent don’t pass the blame
don’t dare to shout “not in my name”
wherever you’re going from wherever you came
we’re all players in this deadly game

you can close your eyes but you cannot sleep
got a whirlwind storm to reap
now it’s right at your front door
it’s 21st century war

don’t hope for peace too late for that
come dance the two step tit for tat
now everybody takes the floor
it’s a 21st century war

don’t come crying don’t look sad
you can wish it ain’t so till it drives you mad
it ain’t too good but it ain’t all bad
just count the blessings that you’ve had

one step up two steps back
defend your right to massive attack
might is right in international law
it’s a 21st century war

how hard is it? what’s to learn
people we kill will kill in return
no one is safe anywhere anymore
it’s a 21st century war

get the gear and display the brand
get your head deep in the shifting sand
no need to listen with a gun in your hand
it’s the only language that they understand

no room for doubt no margin of error
who can you trust in the war on terror
say goodbye to the freedoms you’re fighting for
it’s a 21st century war

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poem by Tim Casswell
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The Believer's Jointure : Chapter I.

Containing the Privileges of the Believer that is espoused to Christ by faith of divine operation.

Sect. I.

The Believer's perfect beauty, free acceptance, and full security, through the imputation of Christ's perfect righteousness, though imparted grace be imperfect.

O Happy soul, Jehovah's bride,
The Lamb's beloved spouse;
Strong consolation's flowing tide,
Thy Husband thee allows.

In thee, though like thy father's race,
By nature black as hell;
Yet now so beautify'd by grace,
Thy Husband loves to dwell.

Fair as the moon thy robes appear,
While graces are in dress:
Clear as the sun, while found to wear
Thy Husband's righteousness.

Thy moon-like graces, changing much,
Have here and there a spot;
Thy sun-like glory is not such,
Thy Husband changes not.

Thy white and ruddy vesture fair
Outvies the rosy leaf;
For 'mong ten thousand beauties rare
Thy Husband is the chief.

Cloth'd with the sun, thy robes of light
The morning rays outshine:
The lamps of heav'n are not so bright,
Thy Husband decks thee fine.

Though hellish smoke thy duties stain,
And sin deforms thee quite;
Thy Surety's merit makes thee clean,
Thy Husband's beauty white.

Thy pray'rs and tears, nor pure, nor good,
But vile and loathsome seem;
Yet, gain by dipping in his blood,
Thy Husband's high esteem.

No fear thou starve, though wants be great,
In him thou art complete;

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poem by Ralph Erskine
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The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part II.

“Dame,” said the Panther, “times are mended well,
Since late among the Philistines you fell.
The toils were pitched, a spacious tract of ground
With expert huntsmen was encompassed round;
The inclosure narrowed; the sagacious power
Of hounds and death drew nearer every hour.
'Tis true, the younger lion 'scaped the snare,
But all your priestly calves lay struggling there,
As sacrifices on their altars laid;
While you, their careful mother, wisely fled,
Not trusting destiny to save your head.
For, whate'er promises you have applied
To your unfailing Church, the surer side
Is four fair legs in danger to provide;
And whate'er tales of Peter's chair you tell,
Yet, saving reverence of the miracle,
The better luck was yours to 'scape so well.”
“As I remember,” said the sober Hind,
“Those toils were for your own dear self designed,
As well as me; and with the selfsame throw,
To catch the quarry and the vermin too,—
Forgive the slanderous tongues that called you so.
Howe'er you take it now, the common cry
Then ran you down for your rank loyalty.
Besides, in Popery they thought you nurst,
As evil tongues will ever speak the worst,
Because some forms, and ceremonies some
You kept, and stood in the main question dumb.
Dumb you were born indeed; but, thinking long,
The test, it seems, at last has loosed your tongue:
And to explain what your forefathers meant,
By real presence in the sacrament,
After long fencing pushed against a wall,
Your salvo comes, that he's not there at all:
There changed your faith, and what may change may fall.
Who can believe what varies every day,
Nor ever was, nor will be at a stay?”
“Tortures may force the tongue untruths to tell,
And I ne'er owned myself infallible,”
Replied the Panther: “grant such presence were,
Yet in your sense I never owned it there.
A real virtue we by faith receive,
And that we in the sacrament believe.”
“Then,” said the Hind, “as you the matter state,
Not only Jesuits can equivocate;
For real, as you now the word expound,
From solid substance dwindles to a sound.
Methinks, an Æsop's fable you repeat;
You know who took the shadow for the meat:
Your Church's substance thus you change at will,

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poem by John Dryden
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