Liberation is not deliverance.
quote by Victor Hugo
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Hope Of Deliverance
I will always be hoping, hoping.
You will always be holding, holding
My heart in your hand. I will understand.
I will understand someday, one day.
You will understand always,
Always from now until then.
When it will be right, I dont know.
What it will be like, I dont know.
We live in hope of deliverance from the darkness that surrounds us.
Hope of deliverance, hope of deliverance.
Hope of deliverance from the darkness that surrounds us.
And I wouldnt mind knowing, knowing
That you wouldnt mind going, going along with my plan.
When it will be right, I dont know.
What it will be like, I dont know.
We live in hope of deliverance from the darkness that surrounds us.
Hope of deliverance, hope of deliverance.
Hope of deliverance from the darkness that surrounds us.
Hope of deliverance, hope of deliverance.
Hope of deliverance from the darkness that surrounds us.
Hope of deliverance, hope of deliverance.
Hope of deliverance from the darkness that surrounds us.
Hope of deliverance, hope of deliverance.
Hope of deliverance from the darkness that surrounds us.
song performed by Paul McCartney
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Comment As A Poem
The self-righteous Calvinists
who speak peace to Arminians
would say that we hold to 'doctrinal regeneration.'
'Doctrinal regeneration, ' they say,
is the view that knowledge of a certain doctrine
or set of doctrines is a prerequisite to salvation.
A new self! That is the effect of regeneration -
… created to be like God in true righteousness.
The salvation is a deliverance from the wrath of God,
deliverance from sin and guilt,
deliverance from Satan
and deliverance from death and hell.
But it is not only a deliverance from something -
it is also a deliverance unto something -
unto God, unto fellowship with God,
unto service to God,
and unto enjoyment of eternal life.
The Atum as the heart and tongue of Ptah
who is defined as: The Unknown God,
The Self-begotten God (Umvelinqani/mutangakugara) ,
The God of Gods,
The First Cause,
The Principle of Principles is also
the mind or spirit of Ptah.
Thus Atum is the first manifestation
of the Unknown God.
The God does not regenerate in self.
Therefore, only the universe regenerates in self.
So, God can be alone, separating good from bad
for recreating the Universe.
The Big Bang Theory describes very well...
@ Written by MARIETA MAGLAS in commenting my recent posting 'Street peoples journal'.
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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Words of liberation for my nation
Chains of slavery are still over my people.
Notorious minds still over power innocent minds.
What can free the black child, what can free my nation?
I ask in pain and suffering in the dark jail cells,
What can free me from mental slavery?
How to know right from wrong?
How to think free and build a free society?
The solution is in the words of liberation, the words of wisdom.
I write and recite a revolution, my revolution my poetry.
I do n’t need praises or worship but only recognition and understanding of the people to words of liberation, understanding of poetry.
I stand before you to present poetry,
I stand before you to present the words of liberation to my nation.
Poetry that builds, poetry that destroys.
Poetry that destroyed the impious minds of colonists in Rhodesia.
I speak of poetry that built freedom in South Africa.
When I speak of poetry I mean the true meaning of words.
Words of wisdom,
Words of freedom,
Words of liberation,
Words to free my nation.
The words of liberation to my nation
Words of liberation to free my generation
Poetry-poetry-poetry-poetry-poetry.
poem by zimi Nakeni
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Lead Me On
Shoulder to the wheel
For someone elses selfish gain
Here there is no choosing
Working the clay
Wearing their anger like a ball and chain.
Fire in the field
Underneath a blazing sun
But soon the sun was faded
And freedom was a song
I heard them singing when the day was done
Singing to the holy one.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
Waiting for the train
Labelled with a golden star
Heavy hearted boarding
Whispers in the dark
Where are we going--is it very far?
Bitter cold terrain
Echoes of a slamming door
In chambers made for sleeping, forever
Voices like thunder in a mighty roar
Cry to the lord.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
Man hurts man
Time and time, time again
And we drown in the wake of our power
Somebody tell me why.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
Lead me on
[...] Read more
song performed by Amy Grant
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A Saga Of Freedom Complete
How is freedom conceived?
How is freedom won?
Freedom
is won
by common
people
with sudden
instantaneous
veneration
sacred sacrifice
uncommon
courage
uncommon
passion
hero lineage.
What is the nature of moments of heroic conception?
How is freedom born?
Freedom costs
paid for in birth blood
courage labour fear
a confusing scary tale
a violent revolution time
for many caught within
conflict situations
surge tragic events.
Freedom is bright hope
dream of a better tomorrow
for ourselves our children.
What is freedom a liberation from?
Freedom is a liberation from greed.
Freedom is putting
the needs of many
before bean counting
profit
privileges
of a few
who can never
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Law Maker
The horizon breaks, where a figure stands
Close your eyes and pray its a vision of gods command
Hes evil and mysterious
People fear his name
Hes not here for deliverance, no
Hes the lawmaker
He never speaks, but his task were told
To seek out souls of the sinners, hell trade for gold
Hes evil and mysterious
People fear his name
Hes not here for deliverance, no
Hes the lawmaker
Silver mountains wont save you from hell
The prince of darkness inside you will dwell
Oh your weakness your past
The lawmaker comes
Hes evil and mysterious
People fear his name
Hes not here for deliverance, no
Hes the lawmaker
Hes the lawmaker
song performed by Black Sabbath
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Deliverance
[Chorus]
I've been travelin for some time (echo)
With my fishin pole and my bottle of shine (echo)
On these long dark dusty roads (echo)
Lookin there's nowhere to go
I guess I gotta hide away, far away
Cause I gotta find a way, to find my way
I gotta hide away, far away
Cause I gotta find a way, to find my way
Ay-ay-ay ay-ay-ay aaay
[Verse 1: Bubba Sparxxx]
I left off of mama's with my thumb in the wind
The leaves on the ground, winter's comin again
Solid on the surface as I crumble within
But legends are made out of honorable men
So on the brink of death I still manage livin life
Cause so rarely in this world are these chances given twice
I indeed sold my soul, without glancing at the price
No instructions when I was handed this device
But with what I did get, I was more than generous
Put others over self on several instances
But I'm back on my feet without a hint of bitterness
And one way or another I shall have deliverance
So I say
[Chorus]
[Verse 2: Bubba Sparxxx]
Can you recall a time people loved you unconditionally?
Toast in the new south, this one is for history
Then I slipped fell and caused the number's injury
Called the same people and it's yo you just missed them B
This the formula, dammit Bubba you had it
Why'd you have to keep it Polo and New Balance?
Then they start to question whether you a true talent
Or just a redneck substance abuse addict
So then you hide away just to try to find your way
And now they back to callin you 200 times a day
I want all y'all to know, good or bad I'll remember it
And 10 million sold in the name of my deliverance
[Chorus]
[Verse 3: Bubba Sparxxx]
Nothing could atone for the pain you've endured
The blood you shed is still stained in your valor
You took your wealth and knowledge and gave it to the poor
Only to discover that your savior's manure
Accepted me as kin, put before your younger brother
They put a lot on us hardly knowin one another
I honestly can say that over time I've come to love you
Now we are brothers and together no one can touch us
It hauls me with regret I never met your baby girl
She's an angel on your shoulder helpin us to save the world
[...] Read more
song performed by Bubba Sparxxx
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Kikwit Town
By michael mcdonald and chester thompson
From a house comes the sound of an infant crying
People stand and stare at the door
They dare not go in
Where a child lies sobbing beside a lifeless body
Trying in vain to awaken the mother within
This chain of death has so many faces
From the frightened man to the pitiful child
Where is our deliverance here?
Will this not pass over?
Chorus:
I wont go back to kikwit town
I wont go back
I wont go back to kikwit town
I wont go back
They would not give us my fathers body
The men in orange suits started gathering round
They asked the names of all who live here
As they threw him down in hole and burned his house down
What have we done to deserve this?
Gods wrath has surely come
He lets the devil walk among us
He lets death into our homes
Where is our deliverance here
From this demon loosed upon us?
Chorus:
Is it not enough we live in this squalor?
Is it not enough these sacrifices we make?
Are we not entitled to some mercy
On this short journey we take?
Chorus:
They said come down and answer all our questions
Its best for all if I turn myself in
But I know as sure as I walk through that hospital door
I will never see daylight again
What have we done to deserve this?
Gods wrath has surely come
He lets the devil walk among us
He lets death into our homes
Where is our deliverance here
From this demon loosed upon us?
Chorus:
song performed by Michael Mcdonald
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Nowhere Left To Stand!
angels made of dust,
stray dogs, homeless children.
righteousness invades,
who forgives the forgiven?
the hands on the clock prophesy,
and the darkness demands.
god stares back from the mirror,
moves with human hands.
empty houses on fire,
empty hearts strike with fear.
and all that remains,
words spoken, unseen tears.
pay the cost of the choice,
pay the price of a life.
but you cannot learn to live,
till you learn how to die!
faces without names,
names written in the sand.
praying for deliverance,
with nowhere left to stand.
when hatred takes form,
the identity revealed.
what we cannot bear to touch,
and wont admit we feel.
the candle burns on the table,
the self walks before.
we have to free ourselves,
before we unlock the door!
faces without names,
names written in the sand.
praying for deliverance,
with nowhere left to stand!
praying for deliverance,
with nowhere left to stand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Most Published Poet's = Christian Soldier's Love Poem
Humans have always had their need for love
Long before they could calculate the year.
Painting on the walls of caves and tombs
Stories of accomplishment, conquest and fear.
Life is a constant contest of struggle
Plagued by greed, love, war, work and debate.
Between all we love; those we tolerate
And some we can't help but hate.
I'd rather be loved and love in return
Then have a rich man's gold piled high.
Id rather be loved by someone worthy
With honor, compassion and no need to lie.
I'd rather be loved then be crowned a king
Of a vast empire of power and domain.
I'd rather be loved and never forgotten
Not alone, overwhelmed, and ashamed.
I'd rather be loved for my unselfish behavior
Eager to protect, provide and preserve.
I'd rather be loved for staying resolute
To my commitment to love and to serve.
I'd rather be loved for my awareness of duty
More than anything life can bestow me.
I'd rather be loved and receive God's grace
As I lay down my life before Thee.
FAITH, LOVE AND DELIVERANCE
A wise man gives up what he can't keep
To gain what he cannot lose.
All Through life we make our judgments
Praying for the right path to choose.
Believers feel God is a footstep away
With His love, forgiveness and power.
All we have to do is observe His word
And by divine intervention we flower.
Never be afraid to pray humbly to God
For His light to shine from your face.
The more we surrender and obey His will
The more we facilitate His Grace.
Life without faith, deliverance and love
Becomes a selfish person's hell.
By severing our Lord without question
[...] Read more
poem by Tom Zart
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My life has been a bit special, this is true. I participated in the liberation of my country. I was one of the organisers of its struggle for liberation. I likewise actively participated in all the struggles for liberation.
quote by Ahmed Ben Bella
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Get Your Biscuits In The Oven & Your Buns In The Bed
(kinky friedman)
You uppity women I dont understand
Why you gotta go and try to act like a man,
But before you make your weekly visit to the shrink
Youd better occupy the kitchen, liberate the sink.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Early every morning youre out on the street
Passing out pamphlets to everyone you meet.
You gave up your maiden form for lent
And now the front of your dress has an air scoop vent.
Every single brakeman thats ever come along
Had a little woman always tellin him that hes wrong.
Eve said to adam, heres an apple you horse
And delilah defoliated samsons moss.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Mean-hearted harpies are breaking all the laws
Tearing up their girdles and a-burning up their bras,
Now the air is dirty and the sex is clean
And your coffee makes my hair turn green.
So damn emancipated in your mind and your body,
Gonna have to cancel all your lessons in karate.
If you cant love a male chauvinist
Youd better cross me off your shopping list.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
song performed by Kinky Friedman
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Get Your Biscuits In The Oven And Your Buns In The Bed
(Kinky Friedman)
You uppity women I don't understand
Why you gotta go and try to act like a man,
But before you make your weekly visit to the shrink
You'd better occupy the kitchen, liberate the sink.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Early every morning you're out on the street
Passing out pamphlets to everyone you meet.
You gave up your Maiden Form for Lent
And now the front of your dress has an air scoop vent.
Every single brakeman that's ever come along
Had a little woman always tellin' him that he's wrong.
Eve said to Adam, ?Here's an apple you horse?
And Delilah defoliated Samson's moss.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Mean-hearted harpies are breaking all the laws
Tearing up their girdles and a-burning up their bras,
Now the air is dirty and the sex is clean
And your coffee makes my hair turn green.
So damn emancipated in your mind and your body,
Gonna have to cancel all your lessons in karate.
If you can't love a male chauvinist
You'd better cross me off your shopping list.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
song performed by Kinky Friedman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Walk On Through
Ripping through your soul a desire to be out of control
--how does she feel tonight, tossing genders feeling out of sight
Trying to possess what her mother seemed to forget
--on a seesaw elevating, christian soul not hesitating
No need for education
--you liar, liar
Its time for liberation
--facing your fears
I know your name, and Ive see you
What youre gonna do so walk on through
I watched in colors, and I see you
What youre going through so walk on through
Walk, on through
Oh yes it seems like shes reading from some dirty magazine
--looking for exoneration, acts as though shes celebrating
Rising to the modern nation, cut down from observation
What I see I dont regret, Im not your tv .. tv pet
No need for education
--you liar, liar
Its time for liberation
--no looking back, no looking back
I know your name, and Ive seen you
What youre gonna do so walk on through
I watched in colors, and I see you
What youre going through so walk on through
Walk, on through
Listen, listen to my soul
Its what, what Ive come to be
Tell me, that you aint so cold
Ive got some individual, individuality now
No need for education
--you liar, your lies
Its time for liberation
--no looking back, no looking back no
You thrive on segregation
--facing your fears
I know your name, and Ive seen you
What youre gonna do so walk on through
I watched in colors, and I see you
What youre going through so walk on through
Walk
On walk
On through
song performed by Uranium 235
Added by Lucian Velea
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In Your Fidelity With The Word
in your fidelity with the word
despite what mood you keep on siding with the word
giving it a face
and a soul
and a certain motion like the planets in their orbits
what then? what shall all these words reward you?
a story to tell? a poem that you can read for all of those
who are weary on the journey?
a novel to spend time with
or kill it since it bores you to death?
yes, i must ask, what shall this fidelity give you
as a reward for your affections
and loyalty to its nuances, moods, and context?
is it the liberation of your soul from the prison of doubt?
oh, you keep on saying you are free.
is it the liberation of your mind from the unpopularity of reality?
oh, you keep saying you do not need it.
is it the liberation of your body from the shackles of your organs?
mind boggling, why should my organs be my prison?
is it this prolix that keeps you bored?
or is it simply the questions that keep on growing
that keeps you alive?
are you more interested in the answers?
i am just asking. Are there answers?
my dear, at the end, there are only questions.
These are the realities of our world. The open mind
is the gift. It is the reward to your fidelity
of the bosom of the word.
kiss it then, and make love to the beauty of the
question mark.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Women's Liberation
Talk to me about the feminist movement,
the gubba middle class
hetero sexual revolution
way back in the seventies
when men wore tweed jackets with
leather elbows, and the women, well
I don’t remember or maybe I just don’t care
or can’t relate.
Now what were those white women on about?
What type of neurosis was fashionable back then?
So maybe I was only a school kid; and kids, like women,
have got on thing that joins that schemata,
like we’re not worth listening to,
and who wants to liberate women and children
what will happen in an egalitarian society
if the women and the kids start becoming complacent
in that they believe they should have rights
and economic independence,
and what would these middle class kids and white women do
with liberation, with freedom, with choices of
do I stay with my man, do I fall in love with other
white middle class women, and it wouldn’t matter if
my new woman had kids or maybe even kids and dogs
Yes I’m for the women’s movement
I want to be free and wear dunlop tennis shoes.
And indigenous women, well surely, the liberation
of white women includes all women regardless . . .
It doesn’t, well that’s not for me to deal with
I mean how could I, a white middle class woman,
who is deciding how can I budget when my man won’t
pay the school fees and the diner’s card club simply
won’t extend credit.
I don’t even know if I’m capable
of understanding
Aborigines, in Victoria?
Aboriginal women, here, I’ve never seen one,
and if I did, what would I say,
damned if I’m going to feel guilty, for wanting something
better for me, for women in general, not just white
middle class Volvo driving, part time women’s studies
students
Maybe I didn’t think, maybe I thought women in general
meant, Aboriginal women, the Koori women in Victoria
Should I apologise
should I feel guilty
Maybe the solution is to sponsor
a child through world vision.
Yes that’s probably best,
I feel like I could cope with that,
Look, I’d like to do something for our Aborigines
[...] Read more
poem by Lisa Bellear
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The Manuscript of Saint Alexius
There came a child into the solemn hall
where great Pope Innocent sat throned and heard
angry disputings on Free-Will in man,
Grace, Purity, and the Pelagian creed--
an ignorantly bold poor child, who stood
shewing his rags before the Pope's own eyes,
and bade him come to shrive a beggar man
he found alone and dying in a shed,
who sent him for the Pope, "not any else
but the Pope's self." And Innocent arose
and hushed the mockers "Surely I will go:
servant of servants, I." So he went forth
to where the man lay sleeping into death,
and blessed him. Then, with a last spurt of life,
the dying man rose sitting, "Take," he said,
and placed a written scroll in the Pope's hand,
and so fell back and died. Thus said the scroll:
Alexius, meanest servant of the Lord,
son of Euphemianus, senator,
and of Aglaia, writes his history,
God willing it, which, if God so shall will,
shall be revealed when he is fallen asleep.
Spirit of Truth, Christ, and all saints of Heaven,
and Mary, perfect dove of guilelessness,
make his mind clear, that he write utter truth.
That which I was all know: that which I am
God knows, not I, if I stand near to Him
because I have not yielded, or, by curse
of recreant longings, am to Him a wretch
it needs Such grace to pardon: but I know
that one day soon I, dead, shall see His face
with that great pity on it which is ours
who love Him and have striven and then rest,
that I shall look on Him and be content.
For what I am, in my last days, to men,
'tis nothing; scarce a name, and even that
known to be not my own; a wayside wretch
battening upon a rich lord's charity
and praying, (some say like the hypocrites),
a wayside wretch who, harboured for a night,
is harboured still, and, idle on the alms,
prays day and night and night and day, and fears
lest, even praying, he should suddenly
undo his prayer and perish and be great
and rich and happy. Jesu, keep me Thine.
Father and mother, when ye hear of me,
[...] Read more
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Arabella Stuart
And is not love in vain,
Torture enough without a living tomb?
Byron
Fermossi al fin il cor che balzò tanto.
Pindemonte
I
'TWAS but a dream!–I saw the stag leap free,
Under the boughs where early birds were singing,
I stood, o'ershadowed by the greenwood tree,
And heard, it seemed, a sudden bugle ringing
Far thro' a royal forest: then the fawn
Shot, like a gleam of light, from grassy lawn
To secret covert; and the smooth turf shook,
And lilies quiver'd by the glade's lone brook,
And young leaves trembled, as, in fleet career,
A princely band, with horn, and hound, and spear,
Like a rich masque swept forth. I saw the dance
Of their white plumes, that bore a silvery glance
Into the deep wood's heart; and all pass'd by
Save one–I met the smile of one clear eye,
Flashing out joy to mine. Yes, thou wert there,
Seymour! a soft wind blew the clustering hair
Back from thy gallant brow, as thou didst rein
Thy courser, turning from that gorgeous train,
And fling, methought, thy hunting-spear away,
And, lightly graceful in thy green array,
Bound to my side; and we, that met and parted,
Ever in dread of some dark watchful power,
Won back to childhood's trust, and fearless-hearted,
Blent the glad fulness of our thoughts that hour,
Even like the mingling of sweet streams, beneath
Dim woven leaves, and midst the floating breath
Of hidden forest flowers.
II
'Tis past!–I wake,
A captive, and alone, and far from thee,
My love and friend!–Yet fostering, for thy sake,
A quenchless hope of happiness to be,
And feeling still my woman's spirit strong,
In the deep faith which lifts from earthly wrong
A heavenward glance. I know, I know our love
Shall yet call gentle angels from above,
[...] Read more
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Paradise Lost: Book 12
As one who in his journey bates at noon,
Though bent on speed; so here the Arch-Angel paused
Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored,
If Adam aught perhaps might interpose;
Then, with transition sweet, new speech resumes.
Thus thou hast seen one world begin, and end;
And Man, as from a second stock, proceed.
Much thou hast yet to see; but I perceive
Thy mortal sight to fail; objects divine
Must needs impair and weary human sense:
Henceforth what is to come I will relate;
Thou therefore give due audience, and attend.
This second source of Men, while yet but few,
And while the dread of judgement past remains
Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity,
With some regard to what is just and right
Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace;
Labouring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop,
Corn, wine, and oil; and, from the herd or flock,
Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid,
With large wine-offerings poured, and sacred feast,
Shall spend their days in joy unblamed; and dwell
Long time in peace, by families and tribes,
Under paternal rule: till one shall rise
Of proud ambitious heart; who, not content
With fair equality, fraternal state,
Will arrogate dominion undeserved
Over his brethren, and quite dispossess
Concord and law of nature from the earth;
Hunting (and men not beasts shall be his game)
With war, and hostile snare, such as refuse
Subjection to his empire tyrannous:
A mighty hunter thence he shall be styled
Before the Lord; as in despite of Heaven,
Or from Heaven, claiming second sovranty;
And from rebellion shall derive his name,
Though of rebellion others he accuse.
He with a crew, whom like ambition joins
With him or under him to tyrannize,
Marching from Eden towards the west, shall find
The plain, wherein a black bituminous gurge
Boils out from under ground, the mouth of Hell:
Of brick, and of that stuff, they cast to build
A city and tower, whose top may reach to Heaven;
And get themselves a name; lest, far dispersed
In foreign lands, their memory be lost;
Regardless whether good or evil fame.
But God, who oft descends to visit men
Unseen, and through their habitations walks
To mark their doings, them beholding soon,
[...] Read more
poem by John Milton
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Samson Agonistes
Samson. A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade.
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toil,
Daily in the common prison else enjoined me,
Where I, a prisoner chained, scarce freely draw
The air, imprisoned also, close and damp,
Unwholesome draught. But here I feel amends—
The breath of Heaven fresh blowing, pure and sweet,
With day-spring born; here leave me to respire.
This day a solemn feast the people hold
To Dagon, their sea-idol, and forbid
Laborious works. Unwillingly this rest
Their superstition yields me; hence, with leave
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease—
Ease to the body some, none to the mind
From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm
Of hornets armed, no sooner found alone
But rush upon me thronging, and present
Times past, what once I was, and what am now.
Oh, wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold
Twice by an Angel, who at last, in sight
Of both my parents, all in flames ascended
From off the altar where an offering burned,
As in a fiery column charioting
His godlike presence, and from some great act
Or benefit revealed to Abraham’s race?
Why was my breeding ordered and prescribed
As of a person separate to God,
Designed for great exploits, if I must die
Betrayed, captived, and both my eyes put out,
Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze,
To grind in brazen fetters under task
With this heaven-gifted strength? O glorious strength,
Put to the labour of a beast, debased
Lower than bond-slave! Promise was that I
Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver!
Ask for this great Deliverer now, and find him
Eyeless in Gaza, at the mill with slaves,
Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke.
Yet stay; let me not rashly call in doubt
Divine prediction. What if all foretold
Had been fulfilled but through mine own default?
Whom have I to complain of but myself,
Who this high gift of strength committed to me,
In what part lodged, how easily bereft me,
Under the seal of silence could not keep,
But weakly to a woman must reveal it,
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poem by John Milton
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