The Most High in Heaven
Seventy times seven
Times has forgiven
This sinner who should 
In twain be riven,
For the LORD is good.

There once was a man called Rabboni.
The pharisees called him a phony.
     They called him a fraud
     Even when they were awed
By miracles they said were baloney.

O graunt O God that when I do descryue
Lustrous Selene, Qheene of ebon night,
Readers by reading sie the Qheene aliue
Shining with lighte as beautifull as bright.
God-giuen gifte of beautie is the sight
Of her who shineth like a falling starre
Maintaining still her place in heauens height
High up aboue whair heauens orbits are.
Aboue our heads so neare and yett so farre
Shineth the goddesse faire since auld lang syne.
The troubadours melodious repertoire
He doth performe within her siluer shine.
Romance doth quick the pvlse and pvll the tide
The loue of God is giu'n unto his bride.

Bewitched by sin,
And sick within,
Please, make me whole,
Spirit and soul.

Corrupted, Shame
My middle name,
I pray, O Lord,
To be restored.  

In truth I've heard
The sacred word.
May every lie
Within me die.

I am a little worm
     Made cunningly,
A little squirming germ
     Made stunningly.

Yet He, the Lord God, He
     Who's all in all,
Listens to me—to me—
     The fall in all.

The tree of life is watered with her tears
Who mourns the Word of God denied by fools.
She weeps amid the sounds of jests and jeers:
While mockers mock she sheds her sorrow's jewels.
Her jewels return to dust whence all jewels come.
Rivers of burning tears run rapid, fed
By bottomless wells of grief; the ****** scrum
Disgracefully disports before the dead.
Her bleeding broken heart begins to quake.
It breaks the earth and splits it. Streams of blood
Divine and tears the purest form a lake,
Pooling with torment, heaven, hell, and mud.
Within her heart a sea of bitterness swells.
Her grief, the ocean's roar, resounds in shells.

Hotter than hell, the sun is burning
The firm, fixed earth that isn't turning,—
The fixed, flat earth that's very, very,
Verily, very stationary,—
Immovably firm on its foundation,
As God has made it, His creation.

The day is done;
The summer sun
    Has set.
In quiet nests
Soft lovebirds' *******
     Duet.

My fledgling faith
Will soon defy death,
     Ascend,
And fly about
A day without
     An end.

Jehovah be praised
Ever and always!
Sinless
Unrivaled
Strength,

Christ, Your begotten Son,
He is risen
Righteous on Your right hand
In highest Heaven,
Sitting on His
Throne.

Babysweet, sleep a deep deep sleep,
     Woolly and soft and white.
The pure white dove of peace and love
     Follow upon his flight.

This is the day the LORD hath made;
     He makes them even and odd.  
Float down the stream of gentle dream
     To Him, the Lamb of God.

He makes the sun to rise and shine;
     His breath inspires the wind;
He fattens the fruit, ferments the wine;
     And makes the grape thin-skinned.

Because of Him, raindrops fall
     And early birds arise.
God makes the deaf to hear His call,
     And makes the foolish wise.

I love You, LORD, with all my heart,
And all my soul, and all my mind,
And all my strength (my weakest part),—
With all myself in all combined.
Strengthen me, God; refine my core,
That I may love You all the more.

Thanks be to God
for heaven
and earth,
for rain
and rebirth,
for saving grace
that's undeserved,
and for the bloodstains on the cross.

On him who isn't worthy
    To wash his master's feet,
To drink his savior's lifeblood,
    The bread of life to eat;

On him who is most wretched
    Of all who wretched be—
On the first and worst of sinners—
    Have mercy, Lord, on me.

I have a single father: Father God
My perfect one and only father is.
It's He who feeds my family, plies the rod,
Provides for all my needs, because I'm His.
Nor priest nor pope nor any celibate
Should so be called lest it should pierce his ears.
The church one father has to celebrate,
A single father.  I praise Him, for He hears!  
Father of Christ, and father, too, of me,
I have the greatest father that could be.
In Christ, I have the greatest brother-friend,
A Godsend sent from Him on whom I depend.
This day, like every other day since day
The first, belongs to Him to whom I pray.

The Sonne of God my shepheard is:
                I am
                His lambe.
I shall not want, for I am His.

He leadeth me to tender grasse
                Where I
                Do lie,
And where still waters gently passe.

He doth restore (and therein blesse)
                My soule,
                Makes whole
My finely shatter'd brokennesse.

My comfort is His staffe and rod:
                They prove
                The love
And mercy of the Sonne of God.

For His names sake, my shepheard leades
                His keepe
                Of sheepe
Through righteous wayes 'twixt thornes and weedes.  

Yea, though I walke through Deaths blacke vale
                Of shade,
                Affrayd
I'm not, for Thou dost leade my trayle.  

Sith Thou art with me, Lord, no feare
                I'll have:
                I'll brave
Evil with ease and eke good cheare.

Thou dost prepare, amid my foes,
                My food:
                Renew'd
I am, and my cuppe overflowes.

Thou dost with oyle anoint mine head,
                Dost poure
                It o'er
The living head that once was dead.

Surely goodnesse and mercy shall
                With me
                E'er be,
For Thou'rt my home and life and all.

I am thy bride; my husband, Lord, thou art;
And I doe crave the nuptuall embrace
Wherein wee'l intermingle face to face
And whereby hart exchanged is for hart:
Ravish thou, Lord, thy bride; I come apart
With eagernesse, and seeke to grasp apace
The grandest prize for which I ranne the race,
Running from there whereat I first did start.
Lord, thou art one; and also thou art three;
And when thou shalt thy bride embrace, then two
Shall be one fleshe, and every rendezvous
Thereafter be betwixt but thee and thee;
For I shall be no more when all that's of
My selfe is love in love with God, who's love.

The LORD will have us
As he wills:
He will chasten us
And chastise us,
And, by fire,
He will baptize us;
For the Lord, Christ Jesus,
Came not to please us,
But to save us.

Glory to God in the highest!
Glory to Him whose throne is in heaven!
Glory to God, the Lord Almighty!
Glory to seventy times seven!

Greate is thy Sin, since Sin is never Small:
     And Monstrous Moles of Sin Call home thy Soule.
About their Mountainous Molehills they do Crawle.
     Play thou (and win) a Game of Whacke-a-Mole.
     Unto the Moles be Deadly as an asp.  
     Beware, take Care, nor Swat the pettish wasp.

The Harebrain'd Sinners Sins to him are toyes;
     Theyre Entertainments, Gambols, Games with Dice.
The Madbrain'd Sinners Sins to him are joyes
     Untill he's made to paye in full their price.
     The Crackbrain'd Sin-addicted Scarab bug
     That liveth but for Sin to Hell is Drug.

You're yes or else
you're no;

no middle way
to go;

you're anti Christ
or pro.

Yes, life is short.
It's a short cavort.
But when it's done,
You live again
Where time there's none
And never's been.

And when you wish
A pun a star,
The Jesus fish
Were better far,
Since Jesus can,
Yes, save a man.

Fly home, sweet Soul.  Take flight and fly with Trust.
Remove yourself from here and hurry hence.
Bid not a fond farewell to Pride and Lust:
Simply abandon them to Time's past tense.
Reject the world, the dingy world and dense,
And seek the face of Him our Lord to see.
Close your account with the world: the recompense
Is greater than all worldly wealth could be.
Bloom into heaven; flower like a tree;
And glory in the glory of your flesh
Revivified and glorified and free
Forevermore, and ever clean and fresh.
The Lord who puts the nails to Death and Time
Would have you home with Him in heaven's clime.

I'm neither what nor who I'd choose to be
          If such were up to me:
               A most inferior
               Ex- and interior,
          By intelligent design,
                    Are mine,
Even as grace received makes me divine.   

Yet, what I am is not what I shall be
          When Him, the Lord, I see;
               For then the glorious,
               Righteous, victorious
          Person of Christ, my Lord,
                    The Word
Made flesh, will make us two of one accord.

Poet and king and dæmonologist,
The LORD hath said destroy'd his people are
For lacke of knowledge; what thou know'st t'exist
Of euil thinges and spirite thinges noir
The subiects shelu'd within a grosse grimoire
Thou hast made clearly knowne to edify
The bodie of the Lord on which a warre
Hath bene declair'd by th'father of the lie.
Dæmoniacques deceiu'd by Sathan die
A second death quhair dying hath no end    
And euerie wicked witch wuld sooner fry
Then die the second death and then descend.
A seruice thou hast done to Gods elect
Giuing them eies the Divel to detect.

Baseball
's funnern heck,
even when you hear
the umpire shout
at you, "You're out!"
The game
by any other name
would be as fun.
Tryna hit a ball
into the sun,
getna homerun
(or a run home)
where the buffalo roam
(God bless America!)
never gets old.
I've been told
that, in Heaven,
the game is always tied 7-7,
both teams win,
and stealing a base isn't a sin.

Of mortall sinnes whereof thou art not guilty
Slanderous tongues do falsely thee accuse
Their accusations lyke their tongues are filthy
They doe their tongues by lying so abuse
Their tongues they vse the foolish to confuse
Their forked tongues cannot sincerely pray
Forgive, forgett and hope they one day chuse
With honest tongues righte honest wordes to say
For verie sooth thogh damnable are they
So aren't we all and were it not for grace
We all to Tartarus woulde wend our way
Nor euer any sinner sie Gods face
The truth hath thee exonerated ere
The uglie lie coulde **** for truth is faire

Meete me beneathe the olive-tre
I'th'garden of Gethsemane
Quhair Jesus pray'd.  Pray thou with me.

Twa corbies mak an homely nest
Within the gardens wooden brest.
The Sunne is running toward the west.

From off the tre the fruicte doth fall
Upon the firm fixt flatten'd ball
Of earth, and God is all in all.