Monday, December 13, 2004

by Thelen Paulk

I had a dream the other night I didn't understand.
A figure walking through the mist with a flintlock in his hand.
His clothes were torn and dirty, as he stood there by my bed.
He took off his three cornered hat and speaking low, he said:

We fought a revolution, to secure our liberty.
We wrote the Constitution, as a shield from tyranny.
For future generations, this legacy we gave,
In this, the land of the free and the home of the brave.

You buy permits to travel, and permits to own a gun.
Permits to start a business, or to build a place for one.
On land that you believe you own, you pay a yearly rent.
Although you have no voice in choosing, how the money's spent.

Your children must attend a school that doesn't educate.
Your Christian values can't be taught, according to the state.
You read about the current news in a regulated press.
You pay a tax you do not owe, to please the foreign I.R.S.

Your money is no longer made of silver, or of gold.
You trade your wealth for paper, so your lives can be controlled.
You pay for crimes that make our Nation turn from God in shame.
You've taken Satan's number, as you've traded in your name.

You've given government control, to those who do you harm,
So they can padlock churches, and steal the family farm.
And keep our country deep in debt, put men of God in jail.
Harass your fellow countrymen, while corrupted courts prevail.

Your public servants don't uphold the solemn oath they've sworn.
They defy and rape the nation, and leave it's fabric tattered, torn.
Your leaders ship artillery and guns to foreign shores.
And send your sons to slaughter, fighting other people's wars.

Can you regain the freedom for which we fought and died?
Or don't you have the courage, or the faith to stand with pride?
Are there no more values for which you'll fight to save?
Or do you wish your children to live in fear as a slave?

People of the Republic arise and take a stand!
Defend the Constitution, the Supreme Law of the Land!
Preserve our Great Republic, and God Given Right!
And pray to God, to keep the torch of Freedom burning bright!

As I awoke he vanished, in the mist from whence he came.
His words were true, we are not Free, we have ourselves to blame.
For even now as tyrants trample each God Given Right,
We only watch and tremble, too afraid to stand and fight.

If he stood by your bedside, in a dream, while you're asleep,
And wonders what remains of our Rights he fought so hard to keep,
What would be your answer, if he called out from the grave;
IS THIS STILL THE LAND OF THE FREE AND HOME OF THE BRAVE?

Thursday, December 02, 2004

by Doug Phillips

More noble than the valiant deeds of shining knights of yore,
More powerful than terran plights that make the rich man poor,
More kingly than an earthly throne or a lion with his pride,
Is he whose babes sleep well at night, sure Daddy will provide.

There is a spirit in this land, and Jezebel's her name.
She's calling you to leave your home for power, fun, and fame,
She wants your wife, your children, too; she'll never compromise,
Until your house is torn in two by listening to her lies.

But though a hundred thousand million men may fall prey to her lures,
And wives en masse leave home in search of more fulfilling chores,
Though preachers praise and friends embrace her pagan plan of death,
Stand strong and quit you like a man with every blessed breath.

Stand strong and rise, O man of God to meet this noble call.
The battle is not new you see, it's been here since the Fall.
Your wife is your helpmeet, my friend, not another man's,
So care for her and keep her far from Mistress Jezebel's plans.

Protect, provide, and give to her your undivided life,
This is the dear one of your youth, your precious bride, your wife.
Rally to those tiny ones who trust you for their care,
A lifetime spent discipling them is a lifetime pure and rare.

For when they put their hand in yours and know a daddy's love,
You're showing them a picture of the Father from above.
So look not to worldly goals of gain or for your liberty.
Look only into their sweet eyes to find your ministry.

Devote your heart and sacrifice and make your manly mark,
There is none so great as he who finds his call as PATRIARCH!

by James Leigh Hunt

King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport,
And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court.
The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in their pride,
And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed:
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,
Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.

Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;
They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws;
With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another,
Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother;
The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air;
Said Francis then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there."

De Lorge's love o'er heard the King, a beauteous lively dame,
With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same;
She thought, The Count my lover is brave as brave can be;
He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me;
King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;
I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine.

She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled;
He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild:
The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place,
Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face.
"By Heaven," said Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat;
"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that."

by William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

(also prominent in the Emma Thompson screenplay version of "Sense and Sensibility" by Jane Austen)