On God’s Law by Francis Quarles

………….Thy sacred law, O God,
……………Is like to Moses’ rod:
………If we but keep it in our hand,
………It will do wonders in the land;
….If we slight and throw it to the ground;
…Twill turn a serpent, and inflict a wound;
A wound that flesh and blood cannot endure,
….Nor salve, until the brazen serpent cure;
…I wish not, Lord, thou shouldst withold it;
…….Nor would I have it, and not hold it;
……………O teach me then, my God,
………………To handle Moses’ rod.

 

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The Closest To The True by Dennis Lange

Counterfeit coin (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

       The Closest To The True

In trickery, pretenders take as thieves.
They look to Eden, follow serpent’s style.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

The cheat, by crafty counterfeit achieves,
And rakes the real away to his own pile.
By trickery, pretenders take as thieves.

By sleight of hand, they hide what’s up their sleeves –
A Caesar stabbed by friend with Brutus smile.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

Another’s nest, the cuckoo lays and leaves
Its egg to warm, then hatch, then raise the while.
By trickery, pretenders take as thieves.

Two seeds, almost the same, bring shock or sheaves.
A tare in place of wheat wins some by wile.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

A man or devil sits around, conceives
A change, an imitation, subtle guile.
By trickery, pretenders take as thieves.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

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* Parable of the wheat and tares – Matt.13

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

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Battle-Hymn of the Republic by Julia Ward Howe

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword.
…His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
…His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:
“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
…Since God is marching on.”

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat:
O, be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant my feet!
…Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me;
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
…While God is marching on.

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