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Posts Tagged ‘Son’

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?

And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?

Bring me my  bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green and pleasant land.

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The safest place on earth should be the womb,
Wrapped by maternal love instilled by God above.
But love of self makes it a killing room.

It’s woman’s greatest glory and her plume
That God made her the one, to bear a daughter, son.
The safest place on earth should be the womb.

A child is weaved in her; she is the loom.
Conception’s grand event – new human’s great advent.
But love of self makes it a killing room.

A tiny bud is just a folded bloom
Woe to the gardener who snips – the murderer!
The safest place on earth should be the womb.

Too oft, the wicked rides upon her broom
And sweeps away the child that has her life defiled,
And love of self makes it a killing room.

There is no right to bring another doom.
The murder’s always wrong, e’en when it’s sung as song.
The safest place on earth should be the womb,
But love of self makes it a killing room.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

 

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God is a distant – Stately Lover –
Woos, as He states us – by His Son –
Verily, a Vicarious Courtship –
“Miles”, and “Priscilla”, were such an One – 

But, lest the Soul – like fair “Priscilla”
Choose the Envoy – and spurn the Groom –
Vouches, with hyperbolic archness –
“Miles”, and “John Alden” were Synonym –

 

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