One preacher turned me on, another turned me off.
quote by Barry White
Added by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Preacher Needs More Ram
I took the modem off the podium...
Just before the preacher sneezed!
I asked a doctor in a pew...
If the sneeze would spread disease?
And Doctor Blye looked in my eyes,
As if I was there for church.
I looked him up and down and said,
'I am here doing research! '
I came to hook the preacher up,
To a new connection!
He wanted all his emails sent...
And downloaded to the chatrooms.
I came to hook the PC up for online sessions!
But the preacher is displeased...
'Cause the modem seems to need,
More ram!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
I came to hook the preacher up,
To a new connection!
He wanted all his emails sent...
And downloaded to the chatrooms.
I came to hook the PC up for online sessions!
But the preacher is displeased...
'Cause the modem seems to need,
More ram!
oh Oh OHHH....
I'm in the house of the Lord,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Son Of A Preacher Man
(john hurley / ronnie wilkins)
Billy-ray was a preachers son
And when his daddy would visit hed come along
When they gathered round and started talkin
Thats when billy would take me walkin
A-through the back yard wed go walkin
Then hed look into my eyes
Lord knows to my surprise
The only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man
Yes he was, he was, mmm, yes he was
Being good isnt always easy
No matter how hard I try
When he started sweet-talkin to me
Hed come and tell me everything is all right
Hed kiss and tell me everything is all right
Can I get away again tonight?
The only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man
Yes he was, he was, lord knows he was
How well I remember
The look that was in his eyes
Stealin kisses from me on the sly
Takin time to make time
Tellin me that hes all mine
Learnin from each others knowing
Lookin to see how much weve grown
And the only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man
Yes he was, he was, oh, yes he was
He was the sweet-talking son of a preacher man
I guessed he was the son of a preacher man
Sweet-lovin son of a preacher man
Ahh, move me
song performed by Dusty Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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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,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning
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Preacher Man
(Gary Rossington-Johnny Van Zant-Rickey Medlocke-Hughie Thomasson)
You know i'm dirty because it's in me
Life's not easy
And it's the heart that i won't change
I wouldn't be the same
You see me one day and then the next day
I don't wanna play
I'm not the same dog you have known
It's not written in stone
Well am i right or wrong
Lookin' out for number one
I never stay too long
I'm there and then i'm gone
I'm not the preacher man
Oh can you understand
It's a game of win or lose
I've got an evil eye
You know sometimes i might lie
Oh i'm not the preacher man
Yeah-Yeah-Yeah
Saint was a sinner
Ain't he a winner
And did you hear him say
I didn't lie just as well
It's all in the head
Oh ain't it funny
How little money
Cheap talkin' honey
Can turn a sunny day to gray
Well am i right or wrong
Lookin' out for number one
I never stay too long
I'm there and then i'm gone
I'm not the preacher man
Oh can you understand
It's a game of win or lose
I've got an evil eye
You know sometimes i might lie
Oh i'm not the preacher man
Aah aah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah
Aah aah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah
I'm not the preacher man
Oh can you understand
It's a game of win or lose
I got an evil eye
You know sometimes i might lie
Oh i'm not the preacher man
I'm not the preacher man
Oh can you understand
It's a game of win or lose
[...] Read more
song performed by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tale XV
ADVICE; OR THE 'SQUIRE AND THE PRIEST.
A wealthy Lord of far-extended land
Had all that pleased him placed at his command;
Widow'd of late, but finding much relief
In the world's comforts, he dismiss'd his grief;
He was by marriage of his daughters eased,
And knew his sons could marry if they pleased;
Meantime in travel he indulged the boys,
And kept no spy nor partner of his joys.
These joys, indeed, were of the grosser kind,
That fed the cravings of an earthly mind;
A mind that, conscious of its own excess,
Felt the reproach his neighbours would express.
Long at th' indulgent board he loved to sit,
Where joy was laughter, and profaneness wit;
And such the guest and manners of the hall,
No wedded lady on the 'Squire would call:
Here reign'd a Favourite, and her triumph gain'd
O'er other favourites who before had reign'd;
Reserved and modest seemed the nymph to be,
Knowing her lord was charm'd with modesty;
For he, a sportsman keen, the more enjoy'd,
The greater value had the thing destroyed.
Our 'Squire declared, that from a wife released,
He would no more give trouble to a Priest;
Seem'd it not, then, ungrateful and unkind
That he should trouble from the priesthood find?
The Church he honour'd, and he gave the due
And full respect to every son he knew;
But envied those who had the luck to meet
A gentle pastor, civil and discreet;
Who never bold and hostile sermon penned,
To wound a sinner, or to shame a friend;
One whom no being either shunn'd or fear'd:
Such must be loved wherever they appear'd.
Not such the stern old Rector of the time,
Who soothed no culprit, and who spared no crime;
Who would his fears and his contempt express
For irreligion and licentiousness;
Of him our Village Lord, his guests among,
By speech vindictive proved his feelings stung.
'Were he a bigot,' said the 'Squire, 'whose zeal
Condemn'd us all, I should disdain to feel:
But when a man of parts, in college train'd,
Prates of our conduct, who would not be pain'd?
While he declaims (where no one dares reply)
On men abandon'd, grov'ling in the sty
(Like beasts in human shape) of shameless luxury.
Yet with a patriot's zeal I stand the shock
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Old Spense
You've seen his place, I reckon, friend?
'Twas rather kind ov tryin'.
The way he made the dollars fly,
Such gimcrack things a-buyin'--
He spent a big share ov a fortin'
On pesky things that went a snortin'
And hollerin' over all the fields,
And ploughin' ev'ry furrow;
We sort ov felt discouraged, for
Spense wusn't one to borrow;
An' wus--the old chap wouldn't lend
A cent's wuth to his dearest friend!
Good land! the neighbours seed to wunst
Them snortin', screamin' notions
Wus jest enough tew drown the yearth
In wrath, like roarin' oceans,
'An' guess'd the Lord would give old Spense
Blue fits for fightin' Pruvidence!'
Spense wus thet harden'd; when the yearth
Wus like a bak'd pertater;
Instead ov prayin' hard fur rain,
He fetched an irrigator.
'The wicked flourish like green bays!'
Sed folks for comfort in them days.
I will allow his place was grand
With not a stump upon it,
The loam wus jest as rich an' black
Es school ma'am's velvet bunnit;
But tho' he flourish'd, folks all know'd
What spiritooal ear-marks he show'd.
Spense had a notion in his mind,
Ef some poor human grapples
With pesky worms thet eat his vines,
An' spile his summer apples,
It don't seem enny kind ov sense
Tew call that 'cheekin' Pruvidence!'
An' ef a chap on Sabbath sees
A thunder cloud a-strayin'
Above his fresh cut clover an'
Gets down tew steddy prayin',
An' tries tew shew the Lord's mistake,
Instead ov tacklin' tew his rake,
He ain't got enny kind ov show
[...] Read more
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Movement Viii - Peace
Shanty
And so it was that you were born
Into this world one winter morning,
With a childish innocence you smiled at me
And I was born again.
Boy solo
Non nobis solum
Sed toti mundo
Boys choir
Nati,
Mundo nati.
Boy solo
Toti mundo nati.
Mens chorus
God is good
And he will be our savior,
All we need
Is in his power to give us.
Let the light that lies within
His heart
Illuminate our being.
Full chorus
God is good
And with this thought to guide us
We will live
In joyful contemplation.
Let the love that lives within your heart
Illuminate your being.
Preacher
What people want is a family life,
The strength of a home and a moat round the castle.
Pull up the drawbridge,
Staying at home with the family.
All people want is a family life,
Sometimes they find that it isnt so easy.
People can argue,
Life can be hard on a family.
Basses
Mums in the kitchen, she wont speak to dad.
Altos
Uncles ashamed of the good time he had.
Tenors
Brothers and sisters are lifting the roof
With the music they play all night.
Preacher
But people still want a family life,
Nothing replaces the love and affection.
Pull up the drawbridge
Tempers are frayed, but its like that.
Altos
[...] Read more
song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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Something Undeniable
As the Gospel Crusade was advertised far and wide,
A great number was expected to hear this fiery preacher,
The tent was erected and the lights were installed,
Then the seats were set up row upon row...
The choir rehearsed for half-an-hour
And a few Church stewards arrived
And a few local ministers followed suit,
Soon a prayer meeting began with many requests,
Healings, prophecies, words of knowledge,
A sincere hope the offering would cover the costs...
A guest pianist arrived, complaining about the weather,
A few going outside to see the thunder streaks above,
Some fretting about low attendance and the lost souls,
Others fretting about the offering even now...
Suddenly, the fiery preacher arrived and spirits rallied,
He moved among them like a politician full of smiles,
He shook hands here, there and everywhere,
Recognising ministers, calling them near to him,
Huddling together like generals going into battle...
Laughing away like schoolboys, chuckling at anecdotes,
Spellbound by reports of new miracles God had given,
Praising the Lord this and praising the Lord that,
With hands held high proclaiming God's glory...
Then the guest came over and it was his turn to join in,
With stories of his own miracles to bless them with,
Oh, they were thrilled, like it was their birthdays,
All clustered side-by-side, trying to take it all in,
Hoping to share the tales when returning home...
The sweet hymns played soothingly in the background,
Yet not one singer dared to interrupt them,
But then the visitors were seen gathering outside,
Too timid to enter the Gospel Crusade tent...
Quick as a flash, the fiery preacher was there,
Gently inviting each one inside where it was warm and dry,
Within seconds, a few rows at the front were filled,
A quick nod to the choir and they lit up like sunshine,
Faces aglow, hymnbooks held high, voices of angels,
Yes, it was truly beautiful to see and to hear them,
With white robes as wondrous witnesses to the Lord...
More visitors had arrived, this time, a coach load full,
Some visitors just standing in awe, taking it all in,
While some noticed a few tables laid out with books,
[...] Read more
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Preacher
Its windows flashing to the sky,
Beneath a thousand roofs of brown,
Far down the vale, my friend and I
Beheld the old and quiet town;
The ghostly sails that out at sea
Flapped their white wings of mystery;
The beaches glimmering in the sun,
And the low wooded capes that run
Into the sea-mist north and south;
The sand-bluffs at the river's mouth;
The swinging chain-bridge, and, afar,
The foam-line of the harbor-bar.
Over the woods and meadow-lands
A crimson-tinted shadow lay,
Of clouds through which the setting day
Flung a slant glory far away.
It glittered on the wet sea-sands,
It flamed upon the city's panes,
Smote the white sails of ships that wore
Outward or in, and glided o'er
The steeples with their veering vanes!
Awhile my friend with rapid search
O'erran the landscape. 'Yonder spire
Over gray roofs, a shaft of fire;
What is it, pray?'-'The Whitefield Church!
Walled about by its basement stones,
There rest the marvellous prophet's bones.'
Then as our homeward way we walked,
Of the great preacher's life we talked;
And through the mystery of our theme
The outward glory seemed to stream,
And Nature's self interpreted
The doubtful record of the dead;
And every level beam that smote
The sails upon the dark afloat
A symbol of the light became,
Which touched the shadows of our blame,
With tongues of Pentecostal flame.
Over the roofs of the pioneers
Gathers the moss of a hundred years;
On man and his works has passed the change
Which needs must be in a century's range.
The land lies open and warm in the sun,
Anvils clamor and mill-wheels run,-
Flocks on the hillsides, herds on the plain,
The wilderness gladdened with fruit and grain!
But the living faith of the settlers old
[...] Read more
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Preacher Boy
Jeanne burns / billie holiday
He was lanky and tall as a beanpole
And he wind fanned my heart to a flame
As he looked to the sky
And theres no wonder why
For preacher boy was his name
With his old yaller dog there beside him
And his eyes throwin sparks in the sun
I grew faint from the heat
From my heart to my feet
When I knew preacher boy was the one
Then he didnt say much
Hes the silent kind
But his arms were strong
Just the same as his mind
And my knees grew weak
As I clung to him
My preacher boy, my preacher boy
But he heard the call
Now hes left me
For his faith was stronger than i
And thought we are apart
Yet hes still in my heart
My preacher boy, my preacher boy
My wonderful preacher boy
song performed by Billie Holiday
Added by Lucian Velea
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Daddy Was An Old Time Preacher Man
(Dolly Parton)
Daddy was an old time preacher man
He preacher the word of God throughout the land
He preached so plain a child could understand
Yes, Daddy was an old time preacher man
He told the people of he need to pray
He talked about God's wrath and judgement day
He preached about the great eternity
He preached hell so hot that you could feel the heat
Yes, Daddy was an old time preacher man
Aunt Leanona would get up to testify
And we'd sing "In The Sweet By And By"
The we'd sing "I'm On My Way To Canaan Land"
Yes, Daddy was an old time preacher man
Revivals and camp meetings went for weeks
Folks came from all around to hear him preach
Daddy said if one is saved it's worth it all
But the aisles were always filled at altar calls
Yes, Daddy was an old time preacher man
Daddy worked for God but asked for no pay
For he believed that God provides a way
We never had a lot but we got by
Guess it's 'cause the Lord was on Daddy's side
Yes, Daddy was an old time preacher man
song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Borough. Letter IV: Sects And Professions In Religion
'SECTS in Religion?'--Yes of every race
We nurse some portion in our favour'd place;
Not one warm preacher of one growing sect
Can say our Borough treats him with neglect:
Frequent as fashions they with us appear,
And you might ask, 'how think we for the year?'
They come to us as riders in a trade,
And with much art exhibit and persuade.
Minds are for Sects of various kinds decreed,
As diff'rent soils are formed for diff'rent seed;
Some when converted sigh in sore amaze,
And some are wrapt in joy's ecstatic blaze;
Others again will change to each extreme,
They know not why--as hurried in a dream;
Unstable, they, like water, take all forms,
Are quick and stagnant; have their calms and storms;
High on the hills, they in the sunbeams glow,
Then muddily they move debased and slow;
Or cold and frozen rest, and neither rise nor flow.
Yet none the cool and prudent Teacher prize.
On him ther dote who wakes their ectasies;
With passions ready primed such guide they meet,
And warm and kindle with th' imparted heat;
'Tis he who wakes the nameless strong desire,
The melting rapture and the glowing fire;
'Tis he who pierces deep the tortured breast,
And stirs the terrors never more to rest.
Opposed to these we have a prouder kind,
Rash without heat, and without raptures blind;
These our Glad Tidings unconcern'd peruse,
Search without awe, and without fear refuse;
The truths, the blessings found in Sacred Writ,
Call forth their spleen, and exercise their wit;
Respect from these nor saints nor martyrs gain,
The zeal they scorn, and they deride the pain:
And take their transient, cool, contemptuous view,
Of that which must be tried, and doubtless may be true.
Friends of our Faith we have, whom doubts like these,
And keen remarks, and bold objections please;
They grant such doubts have weaker minds oppress'd,
Till sound conviction gave the troubled rest.
'But still,' they cry, 'let none their censures spare.
They but confirm the glorious hopes we share;
From doubt, disdain, derision, scorn, and lies,
With five-fold triumph sacred Truth shall rise.'
Yes! I allow, so Truth shall stand at last,
And gain fresh glory by the conflict past: -
As Solway-Moss (a barren mass and cold,
Death to the seed, and poison to the fold),
The smiling plain and fertile vale o'erlaid,
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Preachers Daughter
[opens very soft and slow, to the tune of mona/shes the one]
I got a date with the preachers daughter
She give me life she bring me water.
Every sunday I watch her work
Pretty little (siff? ) in a pretty little church
Daddy gives her nod she takes collection
Daddy gives her nod she kneels by her side.
Well Id sell my soul for just one touch
The lord would too if he loved her half as much.
Well I got a date with the preachers daughter.
Her daddy say that the boys no good
Just want to raise some (coons? ) out through the back woods
Well baby better believe what your daddy say
Just wanna ramrod baby my life away.
Its a long walk to heaven and a road filled with sin
And they better open up the freeway to let me in.
cuz I got a date with the preachers daughter
Well now I dont care what the preacher say
Haaaaayyyy
[identical to haaaaayyyy, mona]
Well now I dont care what the preacher do
Haaaaayyyy
I dont care what the preacher like
Haaaaayyyy
I dont care what the preacher think
Haaaaayyyy
Leads me to water but wont let me drink.
He leads me to water but wont let me drink.
(big man)
[maracas start, music picks up, bruce starts yelling]
And now its (whole little world? ) on saturday night
Two boys fighting in a halo of light
Car door flung open and a radio loud
And everybody shouting and running around.
Two guys bloody and one I dont know
And all little girls shouting go billy go
Go billy go.
Well just as I got the preachers daughter ready for a light
And (missed a vh fire? ) and something aint right.
And like a she-devil howlin from the gates of hell
Goddam here come the preacher in his coupe deville
Burnin up the backroad kicking in the dirt
And oh baby preacher thinks he is church
Well now your lips they shine in the willow mist
And I swear Id take you down (young croft? ) for just one kiss
I got a date with the preachers daughter
I got a date with the preachers daughter
And its haaaaayyyyoooo
I got a date with the preachers daughter
Hmmmmm...
song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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On Anne Allen
The wind blew keenly from the Western sea,
And drove the dead leaves slanting from the tree--
Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith--
Heaping them up before her Father's door
When I saw her whom I shall see no more--
We cannot bribe thee, Death.
She went abroad the falling leaves among,
She saw the merry season fade, and sung--
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
Freely she wandered in the leafless wood,
And said that all was fresh, and fair, and good--
She knew thee not, O Death.
She bound her shining hair across her brow,
She went into the garden fading now;
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
And if one sighed to think that it was sere,
She smiled to think that it would bloom next year!
She feared thee not, O Death.
Blooming she came back to the cheerful room
With all the fairer flowers yet in bloom--
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
A fragrant knot for each of us she tied,
And placed the fairest at her Father's side--
She cannot charm thee, Death.
Her pleasant smile spread sunshine upon all;
We heard her sweet clear laughter in the Hall--
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
We heard her sometimes after evening prayer,
As she went singing softly up the stair--
No voice can charm thee, Death.
Where is the pleasant smile, the laughter kind,
That made sweet music of the winter wind?
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
Idly they gaze upon her empty place,
Her kiss hath faded from her Father's face--
She is with thee, O Death.
poem by Edward Fitzgerald
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The Sacrifice Of Victor
What is sacrifice?
(we s... we s... we s... we sacrifice)
Npg in mass attack, sonny, please.
(we sacrifice)
Church if u will, please turn 2 the book of victor (we s, we s)
We like 2 start at the top if u dont mind
(we sacrifice)
(dont say it, preacher)
I was born on a blood stained table
Cord wrapped around my neck
Epilectic til the age of 7
I was sure heaven marked the deck
(we sacrifice)
I know joy lives round the corner
{joy for sale down on the corner} (we sacrifice)
One day Ill visit her Im gonna
{out on my block Im just a loner} (we sacrifice)
When she tell me everything {tell me}
Thats when the angels sing {sacrifice}
Thats when the victory is sho nuff {sho nuff down with the sacrifice}
(we sacrifice)
(help me)
(dont say it, preacher)
Mama held up her baby 4 protection
From a man with a strap in his hand
Ask the victor bout pain and rejection
U think he dont when he do understand
(we sacrifice)
I know joy lives round the corner
{joy for sale down on the corner} (we sacrifice)
One day Ill visit her Im gonna
{out on my block Im just a loner} (we sacrifice)
When she tell me everything {tell me}
Thats when the angels sing {sacrifice}
Thats when the victory is sho nuff {sho nuff down with the sacrifice}
(we sacrifice)
(help me)
{s.a.c.r.i.f.i.c.e}
(we-we-we sacrifice)
(dont say it preacher)
(sac-sacrifice)
(we-we-we sacrifice)
(we-we-we sacrifice)
(sacrifice... if u turn the page)
(dont say it, preacher)
1967 in a bus marked public schools
Rode me and a group of unsuspecting political tools
Our parents wondered what it was like 2 have another color near
So they put their babies together 2 eliminate the fear
We sacrifice yes we did
[...] Read more
song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks
1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,
That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass
Under the old trees with rosy fruit.
In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a
basket,
The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.
Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.
Fayne snatched for it and missed;
Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small
Finely cut features in a dance of delight;
Fayne with one sweep flung at his face
All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Don't You Hear Jerusalem Moan
Don't You Hear Jerusalem Moan
Don't you hear Jerusalem moan?
Don't never let a chicken get big enough to crow
Don't you hear Jerusalem moan?
Don't you hear Jerusalem moan?
Don't you hear Jerusalem moan?
Thank God there's a heaven and a ringing in my soul and my soul's got free
Don't you hear Jerusalem moan?
Well a hard-shell preacher you can tell him how he do
Well he chews his own tobacco and he drinks his own brew.
Well a Baptist preacher you can tell him by his coat
Has a bottle in his pocket that he can't hardly tote
Well a Cambellite preacher his soul is saved
Well he has to be baptized every other day
Well the Holy Roller preacher he sure is a sight
Well he gets em all a-rolling and he kicks out the light
Well the Presbyterian preacher he lives in town
His neck's so stiff he can't hardly look around.
song performed by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Lord of Misrule
In the London of James
We ran wild in the parks,
Assaulted the toffs,
Ruled the streets after dark,
We slit many noses,
Ungirdled each wench,
And lifted their kirtles on
Many a park bench.
They called us the Mohocks
We rambled each street,
Tipped many a chair
On its side in the street,
Caused mayhem and riot
And ran with the sword,
Put pastors to pleas
On their knees to the Lord!
When Christmas, it came in
A quiver of white,
We’d shiver, and wander
The streets every night,
While citizens revelled,
Stayed home, rich and poor,
Heaped coals at the hearth,
Locked and bolted each door.
‘The fun has gone out of it, ’
Grumbled Long Will,
‘There’s no head to punch,
And no Doxie to spill,
The streets are quite empty
And quiet as the tomb,
There’ll be no glad rioting
This night, or soon! ’
So Bodger and Catchpenny,
Long Will and Gull,
Stood frowning at Patrick
Who scratched at his skull,
‘This time of the season
They’re playing the fool,
So let us join in with
The Lord of Misrule! ’
They stood up, delighted
And mad as a coot,
They capered and cantered
And Will played the flute,
Gull got him a Tabor and
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Lie Of All Lies
SOME YOUNG LADS SAT CHATTING MERRILY AND NOISILY WHEN A REVEREND PREACHER WALKED BY AND HE SAID TO THEM, WHAT BE THE CAUSE FOR THY NOISY CHATTER? HE ASKED AND THE CHILDREN REPLIED SAYING, PREACHER, WE HAVE PUT UP OUR SAVINGS FOR A WAGER! HE AMONGST US WHO TELLS THE GREATEST LIE WILL WIN THE WHOLE MONEY! THE PREACHER FROWNED AND SAID, LISTEN BOYS! IT IS NOT A GOOD THING TO TELL LIES! TAKE ME AS AN EXAMPLE! I HAVE NEVER TOLD A LIE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE! STATED THE PREACHER! AND THE BOYS QUICKLY GOT UP, PACKED UP THE COINS ON THE FLOOR AND HANDED IT TO THE PREACHER SAYING, YOU WIN SIR! YOURS WAS THE BIGGEST LIE WE HAVE EVER HEARD!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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Haunted By Tigers
NATHAN BEANS and William Lambert were two wild New England boys,
Known from infancy to revel only in forbidden joys.
Many a mother of Nantucket bristled when she heard them come,
With a horrid skulking whistle, tempting her good lad from home.
But for all maternal bristling little did they seem to care,
And they loved each other dearly, did this good-for-nothing pair.
So they lived till eighteen summers found them in the same repute,—
They had well-developed muscles, and loose characters to boot.
Then they did what wild Nantucket boys have never failed to do,—
Went and filled two oily bunks among a whaler's oily crew.
And the mothers,—ah! they raised their hands and blessed the lucky day,
While Nantucket waved its handkerchief to see them sail away.
On a four years' cruise they started in the brave old 'Patience Parr,'
And were soon initiated in the mysteries of tar.
There they found the truth that whalers' tales are unsubstantial wiles,—
They were sick and sore and sorry ere they passed the Western Isles;
And their captain, old-man Sculpin, gave their fancies little scope,
For he argued with a marlinspike and reasoned with a rope.
But they stuck together bravely, they were Ishmaels with the crew:
Nathan's voice was never raised but Bill's support was uttered too;
And whenever Beans was floored by Sculpin's cruel marlinspike,
Down beside him went poor Lambert, for his hand was clenched to strike.
So they passed two years in cruising, till one breathless burning day
The old 'Patience Parr' in Sunda Straits with flapping canvas lay.
On her starboard side Sumatra's woods were dark beneath the glare,
And on her port stretched Java, slumbering in the yellow air,—
Slumbering as the jaguar slumbers, as the tropic ocean sleeps,
Smooth and smiling on its surface with a devil in its deeps.
So swooned Java's moveless forest, but the jungle round its root
Knew the rustling anaconda and the tiger's padded foot.
There in Nature's rankest garden, Nature's worst alone is rife,
And a glorious land is wild-beast ruled for want of human life.
Scarce a harmless thing moved on it, not a living soul was near
From the frowning rocks of Java Head right northward to Anjier.
Crestless swells, like wind-raised canvas, made the whaler rise and dip,
Else she lay upon the water like a paralytic ship;
And beneath a topsail awning lay the lazy, languid crew,
Drinking in the precious coolness of the shadow,—all save two:
Two poor Ishmaels,—they were absent, Heaven help them!— roughly tied
'Neath the blistering cruel sun-glare in the fore-chains, side by side.
Side by side as it was always, each one with a word of cheer
For the other, and for his sake bravely choking back the tear.
Side by side, their pain or pastime never yet seemed good for one;
But whenever pain came, each in secret wished the other gone.
You who stop at home and saunter o'er your flower scattered path,
With life's corners velvet cushioned, have you seen a tyrant's wrath? —
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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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