Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Jun | 25 | Finding Fertile Ground
TRAINING
Finding Fertile Ground
PREAMBLE :-
A disciple is not above his teacher, but everyone who is perfectly trained will be like his teacher. Luke 6:40
I was watching ‘84 Charring Cross Road’ a great story about literature and the more important relationships of love and care that can be built around books, around words. I really like that movie, tinged with the cheeky humor of Brooks and played out by the type writer antics of Bancroft his wife. How did she and even he and this script ever get together? I am glad they did.
I think it was all those table laid out leather bound books in the antiquarian bookshop that took me back to 1980 in Matlock Bath Derbyshire, where as a Bible College student, along with others, I was invited into an old hall where a now dead Pastors library, having been donated to the college, was laid out on the table, and where the bowels of his former love lay strewn along the Formica tops like an autopsy performed by a mad man, or a clown on drugs. Even so, I was hungry for his dead entrails. I still am. But I find myself increasingly alone in that hunger.
PERFORMANCE TIPS:
This piece covers a range of subjects from the love of Theological books, the worship of God, the suffering of the Pastors wife, wrong priorities in ministry maybe and maybe the greater priorities if ministry and worship as well. It is to be said with some pathos and some regret, and providing the question of, “AND THAT’S SIFFICIENT!?” is said with some subtle condemnation, then I think you will have got the emotional mix correct. Remember, that question should be really emphatic? Questionably emphatic! Now there’s a thought.
Finding Fertile Ground
PREAMBLE :-
A disciple is not above his teacher, but everyone who is perfectly trained will be like his teacher. Luke 6:40
I was watching ‘84 Charring Cross Road’ a great story about literature and the more important relationships of love and care that can be built around books, around words. I really like that movie, tinged with the cheeky humor of Brooks and played out by the type writer antics of Bancroft his wife. How did she and even he and this script ever get together? I am glad they did.I think it was all those table laid out leather bound books in the antiquarian bookshop that took me back to 1980 in Matlock Bath Derbyshire, where as a Bible College student, along with others, I was invited into an old hall where a now dead Pastors library, having been donated to the college, was laid out on the table, and where the bowels of his former love lay strewn along the Formica tops like an autopsy performed by a mad man, or a clown on drugs. Even so, I was hungry for his dead entrails. I still am. But I find myself increasingly alone in that hunger.
PERFORMANCE TIPS:
This piece covers a range of subjects from the love of Theological books, the worship of God, the suffering of the Pastors wife, wrong priorities in ministry maybe and maybe the greater priorities if ministry and worship as well. It is to be said with some pathos and some regret, and providing the question of, “AND THAT’S SIFFICIENT!?” is said with some subtle condemnation, then I think you will have got the emotional mix correct. Remember, that question should be really emphatic? Questionably emphatic! Now there’s a thought.
----------O----------
I remember the damp white plastered gold and gilded room
And the book packed bow legged trestled tables overlaid with words.
The lions and tigers of the faculty had
Already sliced off the sirloins of their own selection and now we
The poor Hyenas of Hermeneutics, were left to
Crawl over the carcass
I felt like a cockroach on the corpse of a fallen soldier
An unknown comrade
Unbuttoning his battle tunic top and reaching into the inside
Holy pockets and pulling out pictures of his beloved children and
His wife all covered on blood.
Yes, I remember.
All the books were covered in blood.
“You can have as a many as you want.
Just make a donation for his widow”
All that tea, I thought,
All that tea and Jaffa cakes
Served faithfully from a rose patterned black enameled tin tray
To other black-shoed and tight-lipped ministers of religion and
Women sniffling up the tears among his books, where for years
His widow, his help meet, his poor confidant and
Washer of his feet
His camel kneed prayer partner
His widow
Left in grey and
Waiting loneliness, and
Like his books
All neatly laid out by the
Bible College Fishmongers
Was also left abandoned
I can still smell those full and filleted pages, even today and
As my own time now races on and
Thinking
I will probably pip her at the post
I muse about his sad and sallow-cheeked widow
I figured that she did not miss his children.
Neither will mine.
For she had, over the years, been jealous of the attention
He had heaped upon them. After all,
He had touched them more than her and
Tenderly so,
So tenderly.
I noted that, unlike me
He never left a mark on his kids
But occasionally I would find an old note
Pressed between the leaves
An address, a receipt for four shillings and sixpence
Some sermon points in blue ink
Spent cartridges of shots long since fired
After thirty years and more than thirty addresses
I have given away many of my own children now for they
Were too expensive to take with me, and
In the cold recession, this greater depression of today
My own library has shrunk and so
Like the so called liberated
Across my nation, the fertility rate of
The blood stained page has also
Diminished
In ignorance
We die
We die
In ignorance
Thus, I have little meat to leave and
Fewer still are the Hyenas of Hermeneutic who
Would want to pick over them, for they have grown much wiser
Standing mostly now on two legs, bathing in some
Flat palmed closed eyed and gently rocking
Solitary celestial presence
Swaying to the branded bongos of a benefice beauty
AND THAT’S SUFFICIENT!?
I’ve never got it myself
For it looks to me like
The Selfish pleasuring of the soul
Whereas, when on my knees
Over a cup of tea even
My heavily tattooed children always eventually brought me and,
It seemed
All the other open eyed bent kneed worshippers
To the strange comfort of Holy ground
Where we would often find ourselves before Him
Palms down
Crawling
On All fours
Though my widow shall be poor
My greater concern
God help me
Is that my kids won’t be taken into care
Not even for a small donation
For all the men of that trade
The Blacksmiths and
The Fishmongers
The Verbal Undertakers and all
The lovers of bloodstained paper
Have vanished
I remember the damp white plastered gold and gilded room
And the book packed bow legged trestled tables overlaid with words.
The lions and tigers of the faculty had
Already sliced off the sirloins of their own selection and now we
The poor Hyenas of Hermeneutics, were left to
Crawl over the carcass
I felt like a cockroach on the corpse of a fallen soldier
An unknown comrade
Unbuttoning his battle tunic top and reaching into the inside
Holy pockets and pulling out pictures of his beloved children and
His wife all covered on blood.
Yes, I remember.
All the books were covered in blood.
“You can have as a many as you want.
Just make a donation for his widow”
All that tea, I thought,
All that tea and Jaffa cakes
Served faithfully from a rose patterned black enameled tin tray
To other black-shoed and tight-lipped ministers of religion and
Women sniffling up the tears among his books, where for years
His widow, his help meet, his poor confidant and
Washer of his feet
His camel kneed prayer partner
His widow
Left in grey and
Waiting loneliness, and
Like his books
All neatly laid out by the
Bible College Fishmongers
Was also left abandoned
I can still smell those full and filleted pages, even today and
As my own time now races on and
Thinking
I will probably pip her at the post
I muse about his sad and sallow-cheeked widow
I figured that she did not miss his children.
Neither will mine.
For she had, over the years, been jealous of the attention
He had heaped upon them. After all,
He had touched them more than her and
Tenderly so,
So tenderly.
I noted that, unlike me
He never left a mark on his kids
But occasionally I would find an old note
Pressed between the leaves
An address, a receipt for four shillings and sixpence
Some sermon points in blue ink
Spent cartridges of shots long since fired
After thirty years and more than thirty addresses
I have given away many of my own children now for they
Were too expensive to take with me, and
In the cold recession, this greater depression of today
My own library has shrunk and so
Like the so called liberated
Across my nation, the fertility rate of
The blood stained page has also
Diminished
In ignorance
We die
We die
In ignorance
Thus, I have little meat to leave and
Fewer still are the Hyenas of Hermeneutic who
Would want to pick over them, for they have grown much wiser
Standing mostly now on two legs, bathing in some
Flat palmed closed eyed and gently rocking
Solitary celestial presence
Swaying to the branded bongos of a benefice beauty
AND THAT’S SUFFICIENT!?
I’ve never got it myself
For it looks to me like
The Selfish pleasuring of the soul
Whereas, when on my knees
Over a cup of tea even
My heavily tattooed children always eventually brought me and,
It seemed
All the other open eyed bent kneed worshippers
To the strange comfort of Holy ground
Where we would often find ourselves before Him
Palms down
Crawling
On All fours
Though my widow shall be poor
My greater concern
God help me
Is that my kids won’t be taken into care
Not even for a small donation
For all the men of that trade
The Blacksmiths and
The Fishmongers
The Verbal Undertakers and all
The lovers of bloodstained paper
Have vanished
----------O----------
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Jan | 23 | Palms Down
BECOME
Palms Down
PREAMBLE :-
Suddenly, a hand touched me, which made me tremble on my knees and on the palms of my hands. Daniel 10:10
I was watching ‘84 Charring Cross Road’ a great story about literature and the more important relationships of love and care that can be built around books, around words. I really like that movie, tinged with the cheeky humor of Brooks and played out by the type writer antics of Bancroft his wife. How did she and even he and this script ever get together? I am glad they did.
I think it was all those table laid out leather bound books in the antiquarian bookshop that took me back to 1980 in Matlock Bath Derbyshire, where as a Bible College student, along with others, I was invited into an old hall where a now dead Pastors library, having been donated to the college, was laid out on the table, and where the bowels of his former love lay strewn along the Formica tops like an autopsy performed by a mad man, or a clown on drugs. Even so, I was hungry for his dead entrails. I still am. But I find myself increasingly alone in that hunger.
PERFORMANCE TIPS:
This piece covers a range of subjects from the love of Theological books, the worship of God, the suffering of the Pastors wife, wrong priorities in ministry maybe and maybe the greater priorities if ministry and worship as well. It is to be said with some pathos and some regret, and providing the question of, “AND THAT’S SIFFICIENT!?” is said with some subtle condemnation, then I think you will have got the emotional mix correct. Remember, that question should be really emphatic? Questionably emphatic! Now there’s a thought.
Palms Down
PREAMBLE :-
Suddenly, a hand touched me, which made me tremble on my knees and on the palms of my hands. Daniel 10:10
I was watching ‘84 Charring Cross Road’ a great story about literature and the more important relationships of love and care that can be built around books, around words. I really like that movie, tinged with the cheeky humor of Brooks and played out by the type writer antics of Bancroft his wife. How did she and even he and this script ever get together? I am glad they did.I think it was all those table laid out leather bound books in the antiquarian bookshop that took me back to 1980 in Matlock Bath Derbyshire, where as a Bible College student, along with others, I was invited into an old hall where a now dead Pastors library, having been donated to the college, was laid out on the table, and where the bowels of his former love lay strewn along the Formica tops like an autopsy performed by a mad man, or a clown on drugs. Even so, I was hungry for his dead entrails. I still am. But I find myself increasingly alone in that hunger.
PERFORMANCE TIPS:
This piece covers a range of subjects from the love of Theological books, the worship of God, the suffering of the Pastors wife, wrong priorities in ministry maybe and maybe the greater priorities if ministry and worship as well. It is to be said with some pathos and some regret, and providing the question of, “AND THAT’S SIFFICIENT!?” is said with some subtle condemnation, then I think you will have got the emotional mix correct. Remember, that question should be really emphatic? Questionably emphatic! Now there’s a thought.
----------O----------
I remember the damp white plastered gold and gilded room
And the book packed bow legged trestled tables overlaid with words.
The lions and tigers of the faculty had
Already sliced off the sirloins of their own selection and now we
The poor Hyenas of Hermeneutics, were left to
Crawl over the carcass
I felt like a cockroach on the corpse of a fallen soldier
An unknown comrade
Unbuttoning his battle tunic top and reaching into the inside
Holy pockets and pulling out pictures of his beloved children and
His wife all covered on blood.
Yes, I remember.
All the books were covered in blood.
“You can have as a many as you want.
Just make a donation for his widow”
All that tea, I thought,
All that tea and Jaffa cakes
Served faithfully from a rose patterned black enameled tin tray
To other black-shoed and tight-lipped ministers of religion and
Women sniffling up the tears among his books, where for years
His widow, his help meet, his poor confidant and
Washer of his feet
His camel kneed prayer partner
His widow
Left in grey and
Waiting loneliness, and
Like his books
All neatly laid out by the
Bible College Fishmongers
Was also left abandoned
I can still smell those full and filleted pages, even today and
As my own time now races on and
Thinking
I will probably pip her at the post
I muse about his sad and sallow-cheeked widow
I figured that she did not miss his children.
Neither will mine.
For she had, over the years, been jealous of the attention
He had heaped upon them. After all,
He had touched them more than her and
Tenderly so,
So tenderly.
I noted that, unlike me
He never left a mark on his kids
But occasionally I would find an old note
Pressed between the leaves
An address, a receipt for four shillings and sixpence
Some sermon points in blue ink
Spent cartridges of shots long since fired
After thirty years and more than thirty addresses
I have given away many of my own children now for they
Were too expensive to take with me, and
In the cold recession, this greater depression of today
My own library has shrunk and so
Like the so called liberated
Across my nation, the fertility rate of
The blood stained page has also
Diminished
In ignorance
We die
We die
In ignorance
Thus, I have little meat to leave and
Fewer still are the Hyenas of Hermeneutic who
Would want to pick over them, for they have grown much wiser
Standing mostly now on two legs, bathing in some
Flat palmed closed eyed and gently rocking
Solitary celestial presence
Swaying to the branded bongos of a benefice beauty
AND THAT’S SUFFICIENT!?
I’ve never got it myself
For it looks to me like
The Selfish pleasuring of the soul
Whereas, when on my knees
Over a cup of tea even
My heavily tattooed children always eventually brought me and,
It seemed
All the other open eyed bent kneed worshippers
To the strange comfort of Holy ground
Where we would often find ourselves before Him
Palms down
Crawling
On All fours
Though my widow shall be poor
My greater concern
God help me
Is that my kids won’t be taken into care
Not even for a small donation
For all the men of that trade
The Blacksmiths and
The Fishmongers
The Verbal Undertakers and all
The lovers of bloodstained paper
Have vanished
----------O----------
I remember the damp white plastered gold and gilded room
And the book packed bow legged trestled tables overlaid with words.
The lions and tigers of the faculty had
Already sliced off the sirloins of their own selection and now we
The poor Hyenas of Hermeneutics, were left to
Crawl over the carcass
I felt like a cockroach on the corpse of a fallen soldier
An unknown comrade
Unbuttoning his battle tunic top and reaching into the inside
Holy pockets and pulling out pictures of his beloved children and
His wife all covered on blood.
Yes, I remember.
All the books were covered in blood.
“You can have as a many as you want.
Just make a donation for his widow”
All that tea, I thought,
All that tea and Jaffa cakes
Served faithfully from a rose patterned black enameled tin tray
To other black-shoed and tight-lipped ministers of religion and
Women sniffling up the tears among his books, where for years
His widow, his help meet, his poor confidant and
Washer of his feet
His camel kneed prayer partner
His widow
Left in grey and
Waiting loneliness, and
Like his books
All neatly laid out by the
Bible College Fishmongers
Was also left abandoned
I can still smell those full and filleted pages, even today and
As my own time now races on and
Thinking
I will probably pip her at the post
I muse about his sad and sallow-cheeked widow
I figured that she did not miss his children.
Neither will mine.
For she had, over the years, been jealous of the attention
He had heaped upon them. After all,
He had touched them more than her and
Tenderly so,
So tenderly.
I noted that, unlike me
He never left a mark on his kids
But occasionally I would find an old note
Pressed between the leaves
An address, a receipt for four shillings and sixpence
Some sermon points in blue ink
Spent cartridges of shots long since fired
After thirty years and more than thirty addresses
I have given away many of my own children now for they
Were too expensive to take with me, and
In the cold recession, this greater depression of today
My own library has shrunk and so
Like the so called liberated
Across my nation, the fertility rate of
The blood stained page has also
Diminished
In ignorance
We die
We die
In ignorance
Thus, I have little meat to leave and
Fewer still are the Hyenas of Hermeneutic who
Would want to pick over them, for they have grown much wiser
Standing mostly now on two legs, bathing in some
Flat palmed closed eyed and gently rocking
Solitary celestial presence
Swaying to the branded bongos of a benefice beauty
AND THAT’S SUFFICIENT!?
I’ve never got it myself
For it looks to me like
The Selfish pleasuring of the soul
Whereas, when on my knees
Over a cup of tea even
My heavily tattooed children always eventually brought me and,
It seemed
All the other open eyed bent kneed worshippers
To the strange comfort of Holy ground
Where we would often find ourselves before Him
Palms down
Crawling
On All fours
Though my widow shall be poor
My greater concern
God help me
Is that my kids won’t be taken into care
Not even for a small donation
For all the men of that trade
The Blacksmiths and
The Fishmongers
The Verbal Undertakers and all
The lovers of bloodstained paper
Have vanished
----------O----------
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
Jan | 09 | I Shall Have
I Shall Have
PREAMBLE: - Rev 3:12 says: 1 Tim 6:6,7 says: Now godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. NKJV.
My wife and myself used run a young people’s group that met on Sunday evenings. Our own kids are grown up now but with some amusement we remember them and the kids of our youth group and God help us, even ourselves as teenagers and our completely unrealistic and dreamy desires! Most teenagers have no idea that they have to work for a living and that work is hard and stuff is expensive. Unless you are waiting for your rich parents to peg it and leave you the family jewels, then life shall be hard and expectations soon dashed or readjusted to dashing point. I think I need a drink!
PERFORMANCE TIPS:This is a poem of life contrast, expectant teenage years to the realism of the grave. The tone is taken directly from the journal of King Solomon himself, Ecclesiastes. Start happy and grinning, finish sad and astounded, bitter and 1 disappointed with all your work. It’s very much like real life, so as you get older you should read it better. Where’s that drink again?
As to speed, this is a 2/4 time poem. It takes a lot of breath and the wording of short 6 and 5 syllable staccato lines are going to leave you breathless, so do breathe deeply before you start, just after the first line which draws you nicely to the edge of the steep run down. At the line ‘When I’m older’, you must completely change the speed. Slow it down like a speeding wagon, suddenly turning into a very muddy lane. At the last, the final consonant of ‘Sssss’ needs to be said with the sound of a balloon having its final breath in the world before it exhausts itself into limp sagginess. O.K. here we go then:
I Shall Have
----------O----------
When I leave home I SHALL HAVE:
A four poster bed
And my own black cat
A word never said
And my own rubber hat
A scooter with a hooter
And a big red nose
A global ban on cabbage
And a new set of clothes
A large wad of notes
And me own spending money
A white sandwich toaster
And a pot of runny honey
A self-cleaning kitchen
With a pink swing bin
A bottle labeled ‘Perrier’
That’s really full of Gin
A pocket full of petals
And music on the breeze
A garden without nettles
And a teeny tiny sneeze
An ear that always listens
And a nice clean shoulder
A pair of big strong arms
To hold me when I’m older
When I’m older,
When I’m older
When I’m older still
I shall have a nurse
With a large green pill
A large brown box
Sealed with all my mirth
A six foot hole Full of stale wet earth
Oh when I leave,
When I leave,
I shall posses
2 A briefcase full of nothing
And a bag of
Emptinessssssssssssss
© 2012 Victor Robert Farrell
----------O----------
1 Ecclesiastes 2:22-23 says: For what has man for all his labor, and for the striving of his heart with which he has toiled under the sun? For all his days are sorrowful, and his work burdensome; even in the night his heart takes no rest. This also is vanity. NKJV
2 Ecclesiastes 2:18-20 says: Then I hated all my labor in which I had toiled under the sun, because I must leave it to the man who will come after me. And who knows whether he will be wise or a fool? Yet he will rule over all my labor in which I toiled and in which I have shown myself wise under the sun. This also is vanity. Therefore I turned my heart and despaired of all the labor in which I had toiled under the sun. NKJV
Anyhoo - I do hope you enjoyed the poem!
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Jan | 07 | Gorgeous
Gorgeous
PREAMBLE: - Rev 3:12 says: And I will write on him the name of My God and the name of the city of My God, the New Jerusalem, which comes down out of heaven from My God. And I will write on him My new name.
Graffiti is in essence an additional and external imprint on property. To many people it is simply vandalism, to others it is unique art form which at some level claims ownership and the right of communication. I like that. God has bought us back to him through the blood of Jesus Christ, and we are now His property through whom He wishes to communicate to seen and unseen worlds. The best way He does this is to write upon us His new name for us. This is one tattoo one piece of divine vandalism which I am pumped to possess. How about you?
PERFORMANCE TIPS:For me, I find this performed on a London East end accent to be very effective. I suppose think teenager! An old spray can is a great visual aid for this as well especially if it has one of those ball bearings in it, so that it makes a good old rattling noise when you shake it. If you haven’t got one, just mime the actions, people will get it. O.K. here we go then:
Gorgeous
----------O----------
God the graffiti artist
Says 1 “Yurrh….I lav ya!”
And leans back, His head tilting
To the right….Just a bit…
And then in crimson red
Sprays my soul with names of glory!
2“JAH LIVES ERE!
JERU, JERU, JERUSALEM!
3CITY OF THE BRIGHTEST LIGHT
4CITY WHERE THERE IS NO NIGHT
NO FEARS
5NO TEARS
COZ
I WAS ERE!
6AND ERE IS WHERE I AM
I AM…IS ERE!”
And then He says
“Yeah….s’good.”
7And sets a new and living stone
In a living city
Marked with His sprays of red
The colour of heavens love
GORGEOUS
© 2012 Victor Robert Farrell
1Jeremiah 31:3 says: The Lord has appeared of old to me, saying: "Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love; Therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you. NKJV
2Psalms 68:4 says: Sing unto God, sing praises to his name: extol him that rideth upon the heavens by his name JAH, and rejoice before him. KJV
3Revelation 21:23 says: The city had no need of the sun or of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God illuminated it. The Lamb is its light. NKJV
4Revelation 21:22-27 says: But I saw no temple in it, for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple. The city had no need of the sun or of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God illuminated it. The Lamb is its light. And the nations of those who are saved shall walk in its light, and the kings of the earth bring their glory and honor into it. Its gates shall not be shut at all by day(there shall be no night there). And they shall bring the glory and the honor of the nations into it. But there shall by no means enter it anything that defiles, or causes an abomination or a lie, but only those who are written in the Lamb's Book of Life. NKJV
5Revelation 7:17 says: for the Lamb who is in the midst of the throne will shepherd them and lead them to living fountains of waters.* And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes." NKJV
Revelation 21:4-5 says: And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away." Then He who sat on the throne said, "Behold, I make all things new." And He said to me,* "Write, for these words are true and faithful."
6Hebrews 13:5 says: Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." NKJV
7 1 Peter 2:4-5 says: Coming to Him as to a living stone, rejected indeed by men, but chosen by God and precious, you also, as living stones, are being built up a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. NKJV
Anyhoo - Do hope you enjoyed the poem!
Friday, January 6, 2012
Jan | 06 | Ironsides
STRENGTH
God is our refuge and strength, A very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, Even though the earth be removed, And though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though its waters roar and be troubled, Though the mountains shake with its swelling. Selah There is a river whose streams shall make glad the city of God, The holy place of the tabernacle of the Most High. God is in the midst of her, she shall not be moved; God shall help her, just at the break of dawn. The nations raged, the kingdoms were moved; He uttered His voice, the earth melted. The Lord of hosts is with us; The God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah. Come, behold the works of the Lord, Who has made desolations in the earth. He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; He breaks the bow and cuts the spear in two; He burns the chariot in the fire. Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! The Lord of hosts is with us; The God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah. Psalms 46 NKJV
Cromwell’s New Model Army was never defeated, indeed, the whole of Europe feared them. A band of praying, born again Evangelical men, they went into battle with this one cry, “Jehova Sabaoth!” The Lord of Hosts! God is the Lord of every host. Whether they be planets or cancer cells, giant street gangs or German measles, all the trillions in full bank accounts or those startling figures shouting at you from bursting credit card bills. God is Lord over all. He is the Lord of ALL Hosts.
This hymn is to be sung to the tune ‘Aribeth’ ( Lion House )
----------O----------
Iron Sides
PREAMBLE :
God is our refuge and strength, A very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, Even though the earth be removed, And though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though its waters roar and be troubled, Though the mountains shake with its swelling. Selah There is a river whose streams shall make glad the city of God, The holy place of the tabernacle of the Most High. God is in the midst of her, she shall not be moved; God shall help her, just at the break of dawn. The nations raged, the kingdoms were moved; He uttered His voice, the earth melted. The Lord of hosts is with us; The God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah. Come, behold the works of the Lord, Who has made desolations in the earth. He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; He breaks the bow and cuts the spear in two; He burns the chariot in the fire. Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! The Lord of hosts is with us; The God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah. Psalms 46 NKJV Cromwell’s New Model Army was never defeated, indeed, the whole of Europe feared them. A band of praying, born again Evangelical men, they went into battle with this one cry, “Jehova Sabaoth!” The Lord of Hosts! God is the Lord of every host. Whether they be planets or cancer cells, giant street gangs or German measles, all the trillions in full bank accounts or those startling figures shouting at you from bursting credit card bills. God is Lord over all. He is the Lord of ALL Hosts.
This hymn is to be sung to the tune ‘Aribeth’ ( Lion House )
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Jehova Sabaoth,
Our Lord of Mighty Hosts
O God of angel armies come and
Reign from coast to coast
Above our boasting needs
That heeds our quaking heart
Come strike our raging waters Lord
Make all our Red seas part
Jehova Sabaoth,
Come bare Your guns of war
Come crush the crouching demons
Now camped upon our shore
Rise up Victorious Son
Prepare our conquering meal
Place all our foes our cares and woes
Beneath our sharpened heel
Jesus our Mighty King,
Our heart and voice will sing
Proclaim Your care in answered prayer
And to Your name we’ll cling
Mark well O saints of God
Your cry and battle boast
The name that gives our heart riposte
Jehova Sabaoth
Mark well O saints of God
Your cry and battle boastjaN
The name His warriors love the most
Jehova Sabaoth
Our Lord of Mighty Hosts
O God of angel armies come and
Reign from coast to coast
Above our boasting needs
That heeds our quaking heart
Come strike our raging waters Lord
Make all our Red seas part
Jehova Sabaoth,
Come bare Your guns of war
Come crush the crouching demons
Now camped upon our shore
Rise up Victorious Son
Prepare our conquering meal
Place all our foes our cares and woes
Beneath our sharpened heel
Jesus our Mighty King,
Our heart and voice will sing
Proclaim Your care in answered prayer
And to Your name we’ll cling
Mark well O saints of God
Your cry and battle boast
The name that gives our heart riposte
Jehova Sabaoth
Mark well O saints of God
Your cry and battle boastjaN
The name His warriors love the most
Jehova Sabaoth
© 2012 Victor Robert Farrell
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Thursday, January 5, 2012
Jan | 05 | My Shining Towers
My Shining Towers
PREAMBLE: - Gen 11:4-5 says: And they said, "Come, let us build ourselves a city, and a tower whose top is in the heavens; let us make a name for ourselves.” You see, right from the get go, the incredible Godlike creative quality resident in mankind even after the fall, led us remake themselves, but of course, not in God’s image but in our very own not so house of fun warped mirror image pictured in our cracked and concaved broken little selves. We men especially are always driven to make a name for ourselves and I have met many a self-made man and tell you that most are some of the ugliest creatures you will ever come across. Self-made men [i]build ruins for themselves you see, and within those ruins they inhabit a golden barred dungeon with a [ii]Rapunzel like minaret from which all their accomplishments can be regularly published abroad.
PERFORMANCE TIPS:If you adopt a Terry Thomas like tone and intonation for this one you want go too far wrong. Think greasy, speak greasy.OK Here we go then:
My Shining Towers
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Come gaze upon my city
Within the land of Shinar
Have you ever seen a wall so long
And gates that are cut finer?
Finer than priceless diamonds
Now come raise your wondrous eyes
And open them more fuller
To see a sight that would make
The glitter of gold duller
Come see my city of shining towers
Reaching to the stars
Come see my soul of self-made man
Locked in golden bars
The key is me, The word is I
The way is self, All pleasing
But clothed my friends, in deference cloth
To make the smell more pleasing
Come gaze upon my city
Within the land of Shinar
Have you ever seen a wall so long
And gates that are cut finer?
© 2012 Victor Robert Farrell
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[i] Job 3:12-14 says : Why did the knees receive me? Or why the breasts, that I should nurse? For now I would have lain still and been quiet, I would have been asleep; Then I would have been at rest With kings and counselors of the earth, Who built ruins for themselves, NKJV
[ii] Rapunzel is a German fairy tale from the collection assembled by the Brothers Grimm, its best known line being "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair". You see, a witch had locked her in a high tower with no stairs or door, just one room and a window and the only way in was to climb up her locks of golden hair. It’s mostly men who are in these high towers nowadays!
Anyhoo - Do hope you enjoyed the poem!
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