Of that sort of Dramatic Poem which is call’d Tragedy.


Tragedy, as it was antiently compos’d, hath been ever held the
gravest, moralest, and most profitable of all other Poems:
therefore said by Aristotle to be of power by raising pity and fear,
or terror, to purge the mind of those and such like passions, that is
to temper and reduce them to just measure with a kind of delight,
stirr’d up by reading or seeing those passions well imitated. Nor is
Nature wanting in her own effects to make good his assertion: for
so in Physic things of melancholic hue and quality are us’d against
melancholy, sowr against sowr, salt to remove salt humours.
Hence Philosophers and other gravest Writers, as Cicero, Plutarch
and others, frequently cite out of Tragic Poets, both to adorn and
illustrate thir discourse.  The Apostle Paul himself thought it not
unworthy to insert a verse of Euripides into the Text of Holy
Scripture, I Cor. 15. 33. and Paraeus commenting on the
Revelation, divides the whole Book as a Tragedy, into Acts
distinguisht each by a Chorus of Heavenly Harpings and Song
between.  Heretofore Men in highest dignity have labour’d not a
little to be thought able to compose a Tragedy.  Of that honour
Dionysius the elder was no less ambitious, then before of his
attaining to the Tyranny. Augustus Caesar also had begun his
Ajax, but unable to please his own judgment with what he had
begun. left it unfinisht.  Seneca the Philosopher is by some thought
the Author of those Tragedies (at lest the best of them) that go
under that name.  Gregory Nazianzen a Father of the Church,
thought it not unbeseeming the sanctity of his person to write a
Tragedy which he entitl’d, Christ suffering. This is mention’d to
vindicate Tragedy from the small esteem, or rather infamy, which
in the account of many it undergoes at this day with other common
Interludes; hap’ning through the Poets error of intermixing Comic
stuff with Tragic sadness and gravity; or introducing trivial and
****** persons, which by all judicious hath bin counted absurd; and
brought in without discretion, corruptly to gratifie the people. And
though antient Tragedy use no Prologue, yet using sometimes, in
case of self defence, or explanation, that which Martial calls an
Epistle; in behalf of this Tragedy coming forth after the antient
manner, much different from what among us passes for best, thus
much before-hand may be Epistl’d; that Chorus is here introduc’d
after the Greek manner, not antient only but modern, and still in
use among the Italians. In the modelling therefore of this Poem
with good reason, the Antients and Italians are rather follow’d, as
of much more authority and fame. The measure of Verse us’d in
the Chorus is of all sorts, call’d by the Greeks Monostrophic, or
rather Apolelymenon, without regard had to Strophe, Antistrophe
or Epod, which were a kind of Stanza’s fram’d only for the Music,
then us’d with the Chorus that sung; not essential to the Poem, and
therefore not material; or being divided into Stanza’s or Pauses
they may be call’d Allaeostropha.  Division into Act and Scene
referring chiefly to the Stage (to which this work never was
intended) is here omitted.

It suffices if the whole Drama be found not produc’t beyond the
fift Act, of the style and uniformitie, and that commonly call’d the
Plot, whether intricate or explicit, which is nothing indeed but such
oeconomy, or disposition of the fable as may stand best with
verisimilitude and decorum; they only will best judge who are not
unacquainted with Aeschulus, Sophocles, and Euripides, the three
Tragic Poets unequall’d yet by any, and the best rule to all who
endeavour to write Tragedy. The circumscription of time wherein
the whole Drama begins and ends, is according to antient rule, and
best example, within the space of 24 hours.



The ARGUMENT.


Samson made Captive, Blind, and now in the Prison at Gaza, there
to labour as in a common work-house, on a Festival day, in the
general cessation from labour, comes forth into the open Air, to a
place nigh, somewhat retir’d there to sit a while and bemoan his
condition. Where he happens at length to be visited by certain
friends and equals of his tribe, which make the Chorus, who seek
to comfort him what they can ; then by his old Father Manoa, who
endeavours the like, and withal tells him his purpose to procure his
liberty by ransom; lastly, that this Feast was proclaim’d by the
Philistins as a day of Thanksgiving for thir deliverance from the
hands of Samson, which yet more troubles him.  Manoa then
departs to prosecute his endeavour with the Philistian Lords for
Samson’s redemption; who in the mean while is visited by other
persons; and lastly by a publick Officer to require coming to the
Feast before the Lords and People, to play or shew his strength in
thir presence; he at first refuses, dismissing the publick officer with
absolute denyal to come; at length perswaded inwardly that this
was from God, he yields to go along with him, who came now the
second time with great threatnings to fetch him; the Chorus yet
remaining on the place, Manoa returns full of joyful hope, to
procure e’re long his Sons deliverance: in the midst of which
discourse an Ebrew comes in haste confusedly at first; and
afterward more distinctly relating the Catastrophe, what Samson
had done to the Philistins, and by accident to himself; wherewith
the Tragedy ends.


The Persons

Samson.
Manoa the father of Samson.
Dalila his wife.
Harapha of Gath.
Publick Officer.
Messenger.
Chorus of Danites


The Scene before the Prison in Gaza.

Sam:  A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of Sun or shade,
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toyl,
Daily in the common Prison else enjoyn’d me,
Where I a Prisoner chain’d, scarce freely draw
The air imprison’d also, close and damp,
Unwholsom draught: but here I feel amends,
The breath of Heav’n fresh-blowing, pure and sweet,
With day-spring born; here leave me to respire.
This day a solemn Feast the people hold
To Dagon thir Sea-Idol, and forbid
Laborious works, unwillingly this rest
Thir Superstition yields me; hence with leave
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease,
Ease to the body some, none to the mind
From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm
Of Hornets arm’d, no sooner found alone,
But rush upon me thronging, and present
Times past, what once I was, and what am now.
O wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold
Twice by an Angel, who at last in sight
Of both my Parents all in flames ascended
From off the Altar, where an Off’ring burn’d,
As in a fiery column charioting
His Godlike presence, and from some great act
Or benefit reveal’d to Abraham’s race?
Why was my breeding order’d and prescrib’d
As of a person separate to God,
Design’d for great exploits; if I must dye
Betray’d, Captiv’d, and both my Eyes put out,
Made of my Enemies the scorn and gaze;
To grind in Brazen Fetters under task
With this Heav’n-gifted strength? O glorious strength
Put to the labour of a Beast, debas’t
Lower then bondslave! Promise was that I
Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver;
Ask for this great Deliverer now, and find him
Eyeless in Gaza at the Mill with slaves,
Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke;
Yet stay, let me not rashly call in doubt
Divine Prediction; what if all foretold
Had been fulfilld but through mine own default,
Whom have I to complain of but my self?
Who this high gift of strength committed to me,
In what part lodg’d, how easily bereft me,
Under the Seal of silence could not keep,
But weakly to a woman must reveal it
O’recome with importunity and tears.
O impotence of mind, in body strong!
But what is strength without a double share
Of wisdom, vast, unwieldy, burdensom,
Proudly secure, yet liable to fall
By weakest suttleties, not made to rule,
But to subserve where wisdom bears command.
God, when he gave me strength, to shew withal
How slight the gift was, hung it in my Hair.
But peace, I must not quarrel with the will
Of highest dispensation, which herein
Happ’ly had ends above my reach to know:
Suffices that to me strength is my bane,
And proves the sourse of all my miseries;
So many, and so huge, that each apart
Would ask a life to wail, but chief of all,
O loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
Blind among enemies, O worse then chains,
Dungeon, or beggery, or decrepit age!
Light the prime work of God to me is extinct,
And all her various objects of delight
Annull’d, which might in part my grief have eas’d,
Inferiour to the vilest now become
Of man or worm; the vilest here excel me,
They creep, yet see, I dark in light expos’d
To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong,
Within doors, or without, still as a fool,
In power of others, never in my own;
Scarce half I seem to live, dead more then half.
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark, total Eclipse
Without all hope of day!
O first created Beam, and thou great Word,
Let there be light, and light was over all;
Why am I thus bereav’d thy prime decree?
The Sun to me is dark
And silent as the Moon,
When she deserts the night
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Since light so necessary is to life,
And almost life itself, if it be true
That light is in the Soul,
She all in every part; why was the sight
To such a tender ball as th’ eye confin’d?
So obvious and so easie to be quench’t,
And not as feeling through all parts diffus’d,
That she might look at will through every pore?
Then had I not been thus exil’d from light;
As in the land of darkness yet in light,
To live a life half dead, a living death,
And buried; but O yet more miserable!
My self, my Sepulcher, a moving Grave,
Buried, yet not exempt
By priviledge of death and burial
From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs,
But made hereby obnoxious more
To all the miseries of life,
Life in captivity
Among inhuman foes.
But who are these? for with joint pace I hear
The tread of many feet stearing this way;
Perhaps my enemies who come to stare
At my affliction, and perhaps to insult,
Thir daily practice to afflict me more.

Chor:  This, this is he; softly a while,
Let us not break in upon him;
O change beyond report, thought, or belief!
See how he lies at random, carelessly diffus’d,
With languish’t head unpropt,
As one past hope, abandon’d
And by himself given over;
In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds
O’re worn and soild;
Or do my eyes misrepresent?  Can this be hee,
That Heroic, that Renown’d,
Irresistible Samson? whom unarm’d
No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast could withstand;
Who tore the Lion, as the Lion tears the Kid,
Ran on embattelld Armies clad in Iron,
And weaponless himself,
Made Arms ridiculous, useless the forgery
Of brazen shield and spear, the hammer’d Cuirass,
Chalybean temper’d steel, and frock of mail
Adamantean Proof;
But safest he who stood aloof,
When insupportably his foot advanc’t,
In scorn of thir proud arms and warlike tools,
Spurn’d them to death by Troops.  The bold Ascalonite
Fled from his Lion ramp, old Warriors turn’d
Thir plated backs under his heel;
Or grovling soild thir crested helmets in the dust.
Then with what trivial weapon came to Hand,
The Jaw of a dead ***, his sword of bone,
A thousand fore-skins fell, the flower of Palestin
In Ramath-lechi famous to this day:
Then by main force pull’d up, and on his shoulders bore
The Gates of Azza, Post, and massie Bar
Up to the Hill by Hebron, seat of Giants old,
No journey of a Sabbath day, and loaded so;
Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up Heav’n.
Which shall I first bewail,
Thy ******* or lost Sight,
Prison within Prison
Inseparably dark?
Thou art become (O worst imprisonment!)
The Dungeon of thy self; thy Soul
(Which Men enjoying sight oft without cause complain)
Imprison’d now indeed,
In real darkness of the body dwells,
Shut up from outward light
To incorporate with gloomy night;
For inward light alas
Puts forth no visual beam.
O mirror of our fickle state,
Since man on earth unparallel’d!
The rarer thy example stands,
By how much from the top of wondrous glory,
Strongest of mortal men,
To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fall’n.
For him I reckon not in high estate
Whom long descent of birth
Or the sphear of fortune raises;
But thee whose strength, while vertue was her mate
Might have subdu’d the Earth,
Universally crown’d with highest praises.

Sam:  I hear the sound of words, thir sense the air
Dissolves unjointed e’re it reach my ear.

Chor:  Hee speaks, let us draw nigh.  Matchless in might,
The glory late of Israel, now the grief;
We come thy friends and neighbours not unknown
From Eshtaol and Zora’s fruitful Vale
To visit or bewail thee, or if better,
Counsel or Consolation we may bring,
Salve to thy Sores, apt words have power to swage
The tumors of a troubl’d mind,
And are as Balm to fester’d wounds.

Sam:  Your coming, Friends, revives me, for I learn
Now of my own experience, not by talk,
How counterfeit a coin they are who friends
Bear in their Superscription (of the most
I would be understood) in prosperous days
They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their head
Not to be found, though sought.  Wee see, O friends.
How many evils have enclos’d me round;
Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me,
Blindness, for had I sight, confus’d with shame,
How could I once look up, or heave the head,
Who like a foolish Pilot have shipwrack’t,
My Vessel trusted to me from above,
Gloriously rigg’d; and for a word, a tear,
Fool, have divulg’d the secret gift of God
To a deceitful Woman : tell me Friends,
Am I not sung and proverbd for a Fool
In every street, do they not say, how well
Are come upon him his deserts? yet why?
Immeasurable strength they might behold
In me, of wisdom nothing more then mean;
This with the other should, at least, have paird,
These two proportiond ill drove me transverse.

Chor:  Tax not divine disposal, wisest Men
Have err’d, and by bad Women been deceiv’d;
And shall again, pretend they ne’re so wise.
Deject not then so overmuch thy self,
Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides;
Yet truth to say, I oft have heard men wonder
Why thou shouldst wed Philistian women rather
Then of thine own Tribe fairer, or as fair,
At least of thy own Nation, and as noble.

Sam:  The first I saw at Timna, and she pleas’d
Mee, not my Parents, that I sought to wed,
The daughter of an Infidel: they knew not
That what I motion’d was of God; I knew
From intimate impulse, and therefore urg’d
The Marriage on; that by occasion hence
I might begin Israel’s Deliverance,
The work to which I was divinely call’d;
She proving false, the next I took to Wife
(O that I never had! fond wish too late)
Was in the Vale of Sorec, Dalila,
That specious Monster, my accomplisht snare.
I thought it lawful from my former act,
And the same end; still watching to oppress
Israel’s oppressours: of what now I suffer
She was not the prime cause, but I my self,
Who vanquisht with a peal of words (O weakness!)
Gave up my fort of silence to a Woman.

Chor:  In seeking just occasion to provoke
The Philistine, thy Countries Enemy,
Thou never wast remiss, I hear thee witness:
Yet Israel still serves with all his Sons.

Sam:  That fault I take not on me, but transfer
On Israel’s Governours, and Heads of Tribes,
Who seeing those great acts which God had done
Singly by me against their Conquerours
Acknowledg’d not, or not at all consider’d
Deliverance offerd : I on th’ other side
Us’d no ambition to commend my deeds,
The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the dooer;
But they persisted deaf, and would not seem
To count them things worth notice, till at length
Thir Lords the Philistines with gather’d powers
Enterd Judea seeking mee, who then
Safe to the rock of Etham was retir’d,
Not flying, but fore-casting in what place
To set upon them, what advantag’d best;
Mean while the men of Judah to prevent
The harrass of thir Land, beset me round;
I willingly on some conditions came
Into thir hands, and they as gladly yield me
To the uncircumcis’d a welcom prey,
Bound with two cords; but cords to me were threds
Toucht with the flame: on thi

All is dark except I see
These extended arms in front of me
They are waving, trembling
I barely have the sight to see
These open hands in front of me
They are reaching, searching
I hardly have the light to see
These stretching fingers in front of me
They are straining, grasping

As I watch, how strangely familiar I find
These arms, these hands, these fingers
What could fill them
That would still them?
As I look, I realize that they’re mine
these arms, these hands, these fingers
What could hold them
That would console them?

In this darkness, am I the only one who sees
The struggle in front of me?
It is desperate, helpless

All is numb except I feel
This empty space inside of me
It is widening, deepening
I only have the sense to feel
This growing hunger inside of me
It is pressing, aching
My nerves are acute just to feel
This enduring famine inside of me
It is agonizing, deadly

This pain worsens with the sight of
These arms, these hands, these fingers
What would occupy them
That would satisfy them?
I am feeling exhausted by the fight of
These arms, these hands, these fingers
What could nourish me
That would flourish me

In this void, am I the only one aware
Of the pain inside of me?
I am in anguish, pleading

Through the darkness, I finally see
Two different hands reaching out to me
They are calloused, scarred
Closing this void, I begin to feel
Such merciful love consuming me
It is boundless, overflowing
I find new life the moment I take
These hands that defeated death for me
It is abundant, eternal

The fullest joy He freely offers with
His arms, His hands, His fingers
His love fills me
Peace stills me
His gentleness holds me
Grace consoles me
To this joy I’ll always cling with
My arms, my hands, my fingers
His presence occupies me
Truth satisfies me
His word nourishes me
Hope flourishes me

In those depths, why was I so unaware
Of Him standing right in front of me
He is my stronghold, Deliverer

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As one who in his journey bates at noon,
Though bent on speed; so here the Arch-Angel paused
Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored,
If Adam aught perhaps might interpose;
Then, with transition sweet, new speech resumes.
Thus thou hast seen one world begin, and end;
And Man, as from a second stock, proceed.
Much thou hast yet to see; but I perceive
Thy mortal sight to fail; objects divine
Must needs impair and weary human sense:
Henceforth what is to come I will relate;
Thou therefore give due audience, and attend.
This second source of Men, while yet but few,
And while the dread of judgement past remains
Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity,
With some regard to what is just and right
Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace;
Labouring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop,
Corn, wine, and oil; and, from the herd or flock,
Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid,
With large wine-offerings poured, and sacred feast,
Shall spend their days in joy unblamed; and dwell
Long time in peace, by families and tribes,
Under paternal rule: till one shall rise
Of proud ambitious heart; who, not content
With fair equality, fraternal state,
Will arrogate dominion undeserved
Over his brethren, and quite dispossess
Concord and law of nature from the earth;
Hunting (and men not beasts shall be his game)
With war, and hostile snare, such as refuse
Subjection to his empire tyrannous:
A mighty hunter thence he shall be styled
Before the Lord; as in despite of Heaven,
Or from Heaven, claiming second sovranty;
And from rebellion shall derive his name,
Though of rebellion others he accuse.
He with a crew, whom like ambition joins
With him or under him to tyrannize,
Marching from Eden towards the west, shall find
The plain, wherein a black bituminous gurge
Boils out from under ground, the mouth of Hell:
Of brick, and of that stuff, they cast to build
A city and tower, whose top may reach to Heaven;
And get themselves a name; lest, far dispersed
In foreign lands, their memory be lost;
Regardless whether good or evil fame.
But God, who oft descends to visit men
Unseen, and through their habitations walks
To mark their doings, them beholding soon,
Comes down to see their city, ere the tower
Obstruct Heaven-towers, and in derision sets
Upon their tongues a various spirit, to rase
Quite out their native language; and, instead,
To sow a jangling noise of words unknown:
Forthwith a hideous gabble rises loud,
Among the builders; each to other calls
Not understood; till hoarse, and all in rage,
As mocked they storm: great laughter was in Heaven,
And looking down, to see the hubbub strange,
And hear the din:  Thus was the building left
Ridiculous, and the work Confusion named.
Whereto thus Adam, fatherly displeased.
O execrable son! so to aspire
Above his brethren; to himself assuming
Authority usurped, from God not given:
He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl,
Dominion absolute; that right we hold
By his donation; but man over men
He made not lord; such title to himself
Reserving, human left from human free.
But this usurper his encroachment proud
Stays not on Man; to God his tower intends
Siege and defiance:  Wretched man!what food
Will he convey up thither, to sustain
Himself and his rash army; where thin air
Above the clouds will pine his entrails gross,
And famish him of breath, if not of bread?
To whom thus Michael.  Justly thou abhorrest
That son, who on the quiet state of men
Such trouble brought, affecting to subdue
Rational liberty; yet know withal,
Since thy original lapse, true liberty
Is lost, which always with right reason dwells
Twinned, and from her hath no dividual being:
Reason in man obscured, or not obeyed,
Immediately inordinate desires,
And upstart passions, catch the government
From reason; and to servitude reduce
Man, till then free.  Therefore, since he permits
Within himself unworthy powers to reign
Over free reason, God, in judgement just,
Subjects him from without to violent lords;
Who oft as undeservedly enthrall
His outward freedom:  Tyranny must be;
Though to the tyrant thereby no excuse.
Yet sometimes nations will decline so low
From virtue, which is reason, that no wrong,
But justice, and some fatal curse annexed,
Deprives them of their outward liberty;
Their inward lost:  Witness the irreverent son
Of him who built the ark; who, for the shame
Done to his father, heard this heavy curse,
Servant of servants, on his vicious race.
Thus will this latter, as the former world,
Still tend from bad to worse; till God at last,
Wearied with their iniquities, withdraw
His presence from among them, and avert
His holy eyes; resolving from thenceforth
To leave them to their own polluted ways;
And one peculiar nation to select
From all the rest, of whom to be invoked,
A nation from one faithful man to spring:
Him on this side Euphrates yet residing,
Bred up in idol-worship:  O, that men
(Canst thou believe?) should be so stupid grown,
While yet the patriarch lived, who ’scaped the flood,
As to forsake the living God, and fall
To worship their own work in wood and stone
For Gods!  Yet him God the Most High vouchsafes
To call by vision, from his father’s house,
His kindred, and false Gods, into a land
Which he will show him; and from him will raise
A mighty nation; and upon him shower
His benediction so, that in his seed
All nations shall be blest: he straight obeys;
Not knowing to what land, yet firm believes:
I see him, but thou canst not, with what faith
He leaves his Gods, his friends, and native soil,
Ur of Chaldaea, passing now the ford
To Haran; after him a cumbrous train
Of herds and flocks, and numerous servitude;
Not wandering poor, but trusting all his wealth
With God, who called him, in a land unknown.
Canaan he now attains; I see his tents
Pitched about Sechem, and the neighbouring plain
Of Moreh; there by promise he receives
Gift to his progeny of all that land,
From Hameth northward to the Desart south;
(Things by their names I call, though yet unnamed;)
From Hermon east to the great western Sea;
Mount Hermon, yonder sea; each place behold
In prospect, as I point them; on the shore
Mount Carmel; here, the double-founted stream,
Jordan, true limit eastward; but his sons
Shall dwell to Senir, that long ridge of hills.
This ponder, that all nations of the earth
Shall in his seed be blessed:  By that seed
Is meant thy great Deliverer, who shall bruise
The Serpent’s head; whereof to thee anon
Plainlier shall be revealed.  This patriarch blest,
Whom faithful Abraham due time shall call,
A son, and of his son a grand-child, leaves;
Like him in faith, in wisdom, and renown:
The grandchild, with twelve sons increased, departs
From Canaan to a land hereafter called
Egypt, divided by the river Nile
See where it flows, disgorging at seven mouths
Into the sea. To sojourn in that land
He comes, invited by a younger son
In time of dearth, a son whose worthy deeds
Raise him to be the second in that realm
Of Pharaoh. There he dies, and leaves his race
Growing into a nation, and now grown
Suspected to a sequent king, who seeks
To stop their overgrowth, as inmate guests
Too numerous; whence of guests he makes them slaves
Inhospitably, and kills their infant males:
Till by two brethren (these two brethren call
Moses and Aaron) sent from God to claim
His people from enthralment, they return,
With glory and spoil, back to their promised land.
But first, the lawless tyrant, who denies
To know their God, or message to regard,
Must be compelled by signs and judgements dire;
To blood unshed the rivers must be turned;
Frogs, lice, and flies, must all his palace fill
With loathed intrusion, and fill all the land;
His cattle must of rot and murren die;
Botches and blains must all his flesh emboss,
And all his people; thunder mixed with hail,
Hail mixed with fire, must rend the Egyptians sky,
And wheel on the earth, devouring where it rolls;
What it devours not, herb, or fruit, or grain,
A darksome cloud of locusts swarming down
Must eat, and on the ground leave nothing green;
Darkness must overshadow all his bounds,
Palpable darkness, and blot out three days;
Last, with one midnight stroke, all the first-born
Of Egypt must lie dead.  Thus with ten wounds
The river-dragon tamed at length submits
To let his sojourners depart, and oft
Humbles his stubborn heart; but still, as ice
More hardened after thaw; till, in his rage
Pursuing whom he late dismissed, the sea
Swallows him with his host; but them lets pass,
As on dry land, between two crystal walls;
Awed by the rod of Moses so to stand
Divided, till his rescued gain their shore:
Such wondrous power God to his saint will lend,
Though present in his Angel; who shall go
Before them in a cloud, and pillar of fire;
By day a cloud, by night a pillar of fire;
To guide them in their journey, and remove
Behind them, while the obdurate king pursues:
All night he will pursue; but his approach
Darkness defends between till morning watch;
Then through the fiery pillar, and the cloud,
God looking forth will trouble all his host,
And craze their chariot-wheels: when by command
Moses once more his potent rod extends
Over the sea; the sea his rod obeys;
On their embattled ranks the waves return,
And overwhelm their war:  The race elect
Safe toward Canaan from the shore advance
Through the wild Desart, not the readiest way;
Lest, entering on the Canaanite alarmed,
War terrify them inexpert, and fear
Return them back to Egypt, choosing rather
Inglorious life with servitude; for life
To noble and ignoble is more sweet
Untrained in arms, where rashness leads not on.
This also shall they gain by their delay
In the wide wilderness; there they shall found
Their government, and their great senate choose
Through the twelve tribes, to rule by laws ordained:
God from the mount of Sinai, whose gray top
Shall tremble, he descending, will himself
In thunder, lightning, and loud trumpets’ sound,
Ordain them laws; part, such as appertain
To civil justice; part, religious rites
Of sacrifice; informing them, by types
And shadows, of that destined Seed to bruise
The Serpent, by what means he shall achieve
Mankind’s deliverance.  But the voice of God
To mortal ear is dreadful:  They beseech
That Moses might report to them his will,
And terrour cease; he grants what they besought,
Instructed that to God is no access
Without Mediator, whose high office now
Moses in figure bears; to introduce
One greater, of whose day he shall foretel,
And all the Prophets in their age the times
Of great Messiah shall sing.  Thus, laws and rites
Established, such delight hath God in Men
Obedient to his will, that he vouchsafes
Among them to set up his tabernacle;
The Holy One with mortal Men to dwell:
By his prescript a sanctuary is framed
Of cedar, overlaid with gold; therein
An ark, and in the ark his testimony,
The records of his covenant; over these
A mercy-seat of gold, between the wings
Of two bright Cherubim; before him burn
Seven lamps as in a zodiack representing
The heavenly fires; over the tent a cloud
Shall rest by day, a fiery gleam by night;
Save when they journey, and at length they come,
Conducted by his Angel, to the land
Promised to Abraham and his seed:—The rest
Were long to tell; how many battles fought
How many kings destroyed; and kingdoms won;
Or how the sun shall in mid Heaven stand still
A day entire, and night’s due course adjourn,
Man’s voice commanding, ‘Sun, in Gibeon stand,
‘And thou moon in the vale of Aialon,
’Till Israel overcome! so call the third
From Abraham, son of Isaac; and from him
His whole descent, who thus shall Canaan win.
Here Adam interposed.  O sent from Heaven,
Enlightener of my darkness, gracious things
Thou hast revealed; those chiefly, which concern
Just Abraham and his seed: now first I find
Mine eyes true-opening, and my heart much eased;
Erewhile perplexed with thoughts, what would become
Of me and all mankind:  But now I see
His day, in whom all nations shall be blest;
Favour unmerited by me, who sought
Forbidden knowledge by forbidden means.
This yet I apprehend not, why to those
Among whom God will deign to dwell on earth
So many and so various laws are given;
So many laws argue so many sins
Among them; how can God with such reside?
To whom thus Michael.  Doubt not but that sin
Will reign among them, as of thee begot;
And therefore was law given them, to evince
Their natural pravity, by stirring up
Sin against law to fight: that when they see
Law can discover sin, but not remove,
Save by those shadowy expiations weak,
The blood of bulls and goats, they may conclude
Some blood more precious must be paid for Man;
Just for unjust; that, in such righteousness
To them by faith imputed, they may find
Justification towards God, and peace
Of conscience; which the law by ceremonies
Cannot appease; nor Man the mortal part
Perform; and, not performing, cannot live.
So law appears imperfect; and but given
With purpose to resign them, in full time,
Up to a better covenant; disciplined
From shadowy types to truth; from flesh to spirit;
From imposition of strict laws to free
Acceptance of large grace; from servile fear
To filial; works of law to works of faith.
And therefore shall not Moses, though of God
Highly beloved, being but the minister
Of law, his people into Canaan lead;
But Joshua, whom the Gentiles Jesus call,
His name and office bearing, who shall quell
The adversary-Serpent, and bring back
Through the world’s wilderness long-wandered Man
Safe to eternal Paradise of rest.
Mean while they, in their earthly Canaan placed,
Long time shall dwell and prosper, but when sins
National interrupt their publick peace,
Provoking God to raise them enemies;
From whom as oft he saves them penitent
By Judges first, then under Kings; of whom
The second, both for piety renowned
And puissant deeds, a promise shall receive
Irrevocable, that his regal throne
For ever shall endure; the like shall sing
All Prophecy, that of the royal stock
Of David (so I name this king) shall rise
A Son, the Woman’s seed to thee foretold,
Foretold to Abraham, as in whom shall trust
All nations; and to kings foretold, of kings
The last; for of his reign shall be no end.
But first, a long succession must ensue;
And his next son, for wealth and wisdom famed,
The clouded ark of God, till then in tents
Wandering, shall in a glorious temple enshrine.
Such follow him, as shall be registered
Part good, part bad; of bad the longer scroll;
Whose foul idolatries, and other faults
Heaped to the popular sum, will so incense
God, as to leave them, and expose their land,
Their city, his temple, and his holy ark,
With all his sacred things, a scorn and prey
To that proud city, whose high walls thou sawest
Left in confusion; Babylon thence called.
There in captivity he lets them dwell
The space of seventy years; then brings them back,
Remembering mercy, and his covenant sworn
To David, stablished as the days of Heaven.
Returned from Babylon by leave of kings
Their lords, whom God disposed, the house of God
They first re-edify; and for a while
In mean estate live moderate; till, grown
In wealth and multitude, factious they grow;
But first among the priests dissention springs,
Men who attend the altar, and should most
Endeavour peace: their strife pollution brings
Upon the temple itself: at last they seise
The scepter, and regard not David’s sons;
Then lose it to a stranger, that the true
Anointed King Messiah might be born
Barred of his right; yet at his birth a star,
Unseen before in Heaven, proclaims him come;
And guides the eastern sages, who inquire
His place, to offer incense, myrrh, and gold:
His place of birth a solemn Angel tells
To simple shepherds, keeping watch by night;
They gladly thither haste, and by a quire
Of squadroned Angels hear his carol sung.
A ****** is his mother, but his sire
The power of the Most High:  He shall ascend
The throne hereditary, and bound his reign
With Earth’s wide bounds, his glory with the Heavens.
He ceased, discerning Adam with such joy
Surcharged, as had like grief been dewed in tears,
Without the vent of words; which these he breathed.
O prophet of glad tidings, finisher
Of utmost hope! now clear I understand
What oft my steadiest thoughts have searched in vain;
Why o

1.

Is it a will o' the wisp, or is dawn breaking,
That our horizon wears so strange a hue?
Is it but one more dream, or are we waking
To find at last that dreams are coming true?

2.

Far off and faint, a golden line is streaking
The cloudy night that shrouds the life of man;
It is the sun that dim eyes have been seeking,
Through all blind pathways, since the world began.

3.

The sign to weary heart and waiting nation
That day will come to bring them their release
That, late or soon, through storm and tribulation,
Or with slow change, the earth shall rest in peace.

4.

That One, invoked, with half- despairing passion.
Through years and years of wrong, will right us then;
Will take away, in rude or gentle fashion,
The curse that man has laid on brother- men.

5.

Ah, blessed One! our souls go out to meet thee,
At whose feet Hope will fold her tired wing;
And yet we know not how we ought to greet thee,
And take the gifts thy bounteous arms will bring.

6.

Come not, O friend! with vengeful weapons, borrowed
Of them that warred against thee — sword and flame;
For all alike have suffered and have sorrowed,
And all alike have sinned against thy name.

7.

Come thou to men who groan in sore affliction
A breathing spirit of new life and grace;
Come in thy robes of light and benediction,
That all may recognize thy perfect face.

8.

Yet, as thou must, come soon, for them than need thee —
And thou wilt come — Deliverer great and strong!
Brighten, O tender dawn, though few may heed thee,
And bring the day that we have sought so long!

9.

No class strife then, each man against his neighbour,
No waste, no want, to breed the plague of crime;
No insolent pomp, no hard and sordid labour,
No wars, no famines, in that happier time!

10.

But pleasant homes, and good days growing better;
Contented hearts throughout the tranquil land,
That keep the law, in spirit and in letter,
Which we have been so dull to understand.

11.

And fruitful work, instead of barren duty,
With fruitful rest and leisure interweaved;
And life made bright with plenty and with beauty,
And souls made strong with noble aims achieved.

12.

Great Art, no more the plaything of the idle,
But nurse and handmaid to all human needs;
Great Nature, curbed no more with bit and bridle,
Nor men's religion crushed in bitter creeds.

13.

Nor sacred Love a crime, a jest, an error,
To keep or lose, to give or to suppress,
A secret shame, an anguish and a terror,
A curse to them that it was meant to bless.

14.

All round our narrow lives the tide encroaches,
Distant and dim, but spreading far and fast.
O Liberty, thy longed- for reign approaches
That is to give man's birthright back at last!
vasts;

15.

And must we go, who see the new age dawning,
While yet we suffer in the pangs of birth,
Nor breathe one breath of the divinest morning
That yet has come to bless our waiting earth?

16.

Oh, must we go, just when the day is growing?
Oh, must we waste with vast and vain desires,
Like sparks put out when viewless winds are blowing,
We, lit and quickened with supernal fires

17.

Are we to read no more the wondrous pages
Of this great tale that evermore goes on?
Will suns and stars light up eternal ages
With happier worlds — and we alone be gone?

18.

Never to learn the moral of the story —
Why we have toiled for what we must not keep,
Why we have fought to win no crown of glory,
Why we have sown what unborn hands will reap.

19.

Never to learn wherefore our Maker sent us
With these immortal passions in our breast.
Ah me! Ah me! Wherewith can we content us
To know so much, and not to know the rest!

When I look into the moon I see the only dependent part of me that still exists. Its as if the silence in her vocal cords spoke words of solitude. I gave her the only bio mechanical part of me that mattered.

The gears in my chest keep turning like clock work.
I count seconds into minutes and minutes into hours and hours into days. I keep thinking time is standing still while im still standing still.

I'm waiting, waiting on patience and as unjustified as it sounds I'm impatient. Dreams are just your natural thoughts heavily sedated, a sub-conscious reality based off the feelings we cant display them.

I don't consider myself a writer, I see the constant flow of words and as a kid it left me inspired. I'm more of the sub concious reality type. I drink coffee and outside of that I really don't have a life.

For me writing is self exspression without being judged by others.
I opinionate my feelings and organize them in ink. The papper is my empty canvas, my thoughts are my judgment, and the pen is the deliverer.

Sometimes writing is the only thing that can stitch my wounds, like the words curved inside my brain penetrating like the needlesof a tattoo. I wonder what will become me, in what paradox will I redeem the sum of me?

I just hope this bio mechanical heart ticks away. I hope people continue to be people with different mindsets and open steeples. I want love to be found and dreams to be created.

Kalvin Moon

O Savior, deliverer of my wasting life here.
Create in me strength to overcome my trials.
Teach me how to lay down my sins here.
For I want to be going to heaven after I pass away.
So do a mighty transforming inside of my life.
Rework my attitude, among my behavior too.
Transform me into your likeness Lord God.
Heal me, restore me, create in me a righteous heart.
Create in me a steadfast spirit, finish your work in me.

So an age ended, and its last deliverer died
In bed, grown idle and unhappy; they were safe:
The sudden shadow of a giant's enormous calf
Would fall no more at dusk across their lawns outside.

They slept in peace: in marshes here and there no doubt
A sterile dragon lingered to a natural death,
But in a year the spoor had vanished from the heath:
A kobold's knocking in the mountain petered out.

Only the scupltors and the poets were half sad,
And the pert retinue from the magician's house
Grumbled and went elsewhere. The vanished powers were glad

To be invisible and free; without remorse
Struck down the sons who strayed in their course,
And ravished the daughters, and drove the fathers mad.

Nero: Deep cover another 187 on these hoes with my flows ya know I riddle like little Italy Punisher life Frank castle I slice ******* up like cattle I'm a lover but undercover like Eddie Griffin my brother I'll slice up ******* and leave they men in the trunk nervous with trauma twitches I'll cement up your shoes I'll use my pen to get the message to you headless hunters I'll be the soul edge and slice the heavens asunder I can feel it in my head and soul I'll reap with the flow and grow the flowers on the tombstone I'll make ya ***** moan and groan while I **** her in your stead while she gives me head I'm deciding who's the next to be blessed from the deliverer of death

DaSH: Kept the switchblade in a balled up fist
Probly ******
Off a lot of *******
But got longer lists
Like ******* who tasted blood soon after my ******* gotten licked
Threw up on my ****
And promptly dipped to get the shotgun grip
***** spit
Got me not wantin to work these long *** shifts
I know im sick
Smell my aroma tell its ebola when
I walk up in the room
Shut up talking and get a stronger whiff
Im the kid who was too demented to have gotten picked
For any extra curricular
Anyway I was busy plottin how to get to ya
Radio waves confuse em make em **** themselves
Silly me Billy Madison was happenin
And i was in the back with Chris Farley doin smack again
Rappers get smacked with used **** pads
A ****** *****
Is all I'll ever be in their eyes
But in mine,
All I see is bodies burning alive

A birth that was meant too be
It was strength surrounding the solid key
Our story involves Zeus
He was a God who sat High
His eyes were on the Earth below being living creatures such as I
Yet very powerful, mysterious and magical
Hercules was Zeus Son
A man having strength that will conquer the odds of many
The mythical uncanny
But Hercules has many tasks to perform
Before anyone can be considered a champion, there are feats being the norm
The test of one’s strength and withstanding endless struggles
Well some of the citizens of Elis had doubts that Hercules even existed and felt it was on a legend story
But far more than lightening bolts being the glory
Hercules proved over and over, he was more than muscles and brawn, but had a heart of gold that would always last
Hercules once lifted a statue that a mire mortal could never do weighing a ton
He was his own man among
Hercules illustrated he didn’t have a heavy heart, but strength in aiding the weak in lifting the burdens
Yet Hercules would be faced with many challenges beyond measure
One task would be defeating the Hydra, a two headed Monster
How does one being so small and having strength, but the challenge against something so large?
It will take tack, skill and a precision plan in order to defeat the Hydra into victory
So Hercules picked up a club and anything else that was available to think of
At first, it looked like Hercules was wearing down the Hydra, but the Hydra kept getting its second wind
It wasn’t until then
Hercules then applied intense strength on the Hydra, and the Monster finally crumbled down to the ground
There wasn’t any longer of the Hydra’s sound
Later it became task after task
But Hercules continued to reign supreme
Hercules became a champion, and his own king with the deliverer of strength and the defender of the weak.

where chains
and the bite of a whip
once dug into our backs
and our shoulders,
backpacks
now leave chafed ruts
in their stead.
taskmasters
bid us to bake our own bread
if we want to eat
pass this exam
if we want to keep
our families
we will be taken
and beaten
if we do not comply
GPA:
the silent
torturer.

I'm shaking with fear and I want to ****,
That unicorn I see that has all my pills,
Those pills that give me all the nice thrills,
From codeine to NyQuil to Advil,
People stare at me and shake and shiver,
Pulling out a knife while my hands quiver,
Stab it into some small child's liver,
Today I'm a mailman, a death deliverer,
That child's name was Jon,
I killed him while he was mowing a lawn,
He was Mexican and trying to get paid,
I guess I had to come around and make his day,
I said, "Yeet!" as I threw the kids body,
Down into the river and then I yelled, "Gotee!",
I'll feast on the rest of the child's flesh,
Jon was a nice meal, probably the best,
I didn't find my pills in Mr. Jon the unicorn,
I guess his mom gave birth to a ***** that was born,
Without the pill portal that he should've had,
Their family is terrible, all members must be bad,
Now I don't have my pills and I've just had a meal,
I guess the kids meat was a good enough appeal.

And the age ended, and the last deliverer died.
In bed, grown idle and unhappy; they were safe:
The sudden shadow of the giant's enormous calf
Would fall no more at dusk across the lawn outside.

They slept in peace: in marshes here and there no doubt
A sterile dragon lingered to a natural death,
But in a year the spoor had vanished from the heath;
The kobold's knocking in the mountain petered out.

Only the sculptors and the poets were half sad,
And the pert retinue from the magician's house
Grumbled and went elsewhere. The vanished powers were glad

To be invisible and free: without remorse
Struck down the sons who strayed their course,
And ravished the daughters, and drove the fathers mad.

in a house, where a bonsai tiger sleeps listening
to jack johnson's in between dreams
(realising his loathing for radio transmission
dynamics of advertisement and talk when
the album fills a full hour of ear drum concerns,
and in a house where upstairs frank zappa's
hot rats plays in unison to a man on a windowsill
musing: 'by god, zappa did a john coltrane
in a symbiosis with a love supreme; there's only
one vocal track on the album, the rest
is sheering saxes to grizzly.

poetry, esp. non rhyming poetry to detached it
from musicology, poetry is after all
the oldest musicology without instrument
as whether dicing tongues protruding
made sneezing a new wheezing or coughing
to beat-box rapping, i guess it's like that,
well, non-rhyming poetry that old rekindling
adolescence needs to be less "scientifically"
itemised with theories to identify a metaphor
for a metaphor: just take it in one gulp as the whole;
it needs a detachment to lose all inhibitions
of self-consciousness and carve a route into
exhibitions, pompous art of music, this poetry,
so if not rhythmic rhyming at least interested
in music: a strong rhythmic section makes music
interesting, esp. when the bass guitar
is as important as the drum-kit - and gets equal
expression, unlike all those air-guitar soloist
techniques within the framework of critique of
the famed phrase 'intellectual *******,
thinking, epitome of liverpool's jabbing and upper-cutting
because of a football score because of a referee decision,'
same thing in music: big hair, make-up, solos
of guitars with over-burdening vocals - i need the rhythm,
i need the rhythm to enter the labyrinth and scatter think
by way out, by the odd chance right choice.
so scientific theory died with the higg's boson,
god got a mention, no need for scientific theories,
with my x-ray vision i see everyone wearing laboratory
coats and pretending to not have rats' whiskers and tails,
it's over, we need all theories to move into
humanism's area, from science just practicality,
but as always, we have the merchants and middle-men
who will stall human endeavour for a higher price
being reached by politico dynamite exploding
in curbing the populace for a horse-blinders of
angry rubric divisions into economy theorised.
so if i told you otherwise, would you tell me
the winter be bleak? i find winter refreshing,
after all, only in winter can you see the celestial
marriage of moon and sun, seeing how the moon
appears in the daytime and in the night is missing.
with that famous debate about pinpointing god
(existence - out of every instance? that's hard),
i'm not going to guise myself in a theological disguise
of spider and spider's architecture to eat with
the spiderweb his digestive system inside-out:
like a poet to his unvocalised muse: this word
isn't complete, it's an abandoned poem,
and hence us, we come in with scissors and pliers,
hammers and nail, due to the incompleteness of
this world we have a momentary chance to fill
it with ourselves... that creationism fight v. darwinism
is too claustrophobic for me, so anyway:
if i said to you the romans were better poets than
the greeks because the greeks gave names to
their phonetic units: alpha to omega in between
iotas, then i'd tell you the romans didn't name
their letters to be befitting for scientific constants,
on the basis of do re mi fa so la,
and hence i'd tell you romans were better poets
and the greeks were better fathers of shakespeare,
and i'd tell you homer was a greek and fathered
the tree major sons in rome: ovid, virgil, horace.
then i'd tell you our age has to have a lightbulb moment,
after the 1st prometheus stole or simply gave fire
unto man in order to be gnawed by a hawk
gnawing on his liver (metaphorically, might have
been a heavy drinker, drinker's hawkish vision),
a 2nd prometheus must come:
i'm guessing with some sort of magnetism to capture
zeus' wrath of a lightning storm...
2nd prometheus is rather dull, let's use etymology
to drive out a name for this man:
lightning bringer (αστραπαραδευς) - derived
from lightning and the word *deliver, the deliverer
of a godly essence - of course other ambiguities
can be crafted, but putting two nouns together
to create a compound, like -1 + -1 = -2,
so two nouns put together don't really create a
new noun, but couple a noun with a verb
and it's like -1 - -2 = 1... hence i didn't use
the greek word deliverer (ελεθερωτις /
eletherotis).

storytelling was god’s first gift
to humanity,
a way to embalm our histories,
to dress them up
just as a mortician might paint
the dead
to give the illusion of life—
the mirage of
immortality on our own terms.

and so we become this patchwork of stories,
tales sewn into
the very fabric of human existence like
some great cosmic
game of telephone stretching across
13,000 generations
of **** sapiens who lived and loved
under the same
canopy of distant, blazing stars.

but like the stars, we too die; we
collapse upon
ourselves, upon the weight of
our genetic code
spooled out and stretched like thread
until there is
nothing left to give—no more DNA
to copy, just an
empty tomb, the stone rolled away.

if only death were a simple thing,
like how our brains
can go on autopilot on our commute to work.
i’d love for us to
be able to hand money to the bus driver
and say, smiling,
“all that is mine i carry with me,”
and board the
bus heading to Somewhere empty-handed.

in this fear of a Somewhere, we’ve
turned god’s
gift into a weapon, sharpened
our walking
sticks into spears, melted our
shields into
double-edged swords, named
one side faith
and the other side belief.  

we cut down those whose beliefs
are different
from ours without exception, as if billions
of years ago
we weren’t all carbon and hydrogen atoms
bonded
together, spinning slowly in the dark expanse of
a frigid universe,
the very foundation of the celestial blueprint.

as if millions of years ago we weren’t
a family
huddled by a fire while the fifth Ice Age
raged on
outside, making glaciers out of  mountains.
we sat together
and swapped stories, painting our lives on
cave walls
using sticks and crushed beetle shells.

in this century, we collect new converts like
captured pawns
on a chessboard, as if belief is a battlefield and
the price of
doubt is a one-way bus pass to a Somewhere
that tastes
like brimstone, milk, and honey licked clean
from a lion’s
ribcage: a hint of ash mixed with sweetness.

because all evil carries a hint of god,
doesn’t it?
he made figs and floods, broom trees
and plagues,
trumpets and leprosy, blessings and
curses. at night we
fear that no amount of weeping or
new covenants
will make the scales fall from our eyes.

so humans, in our finite wisdom
can only
say, “all that is mine i carry with me,”
and pray
to Yeshua, the deliverer, to Adonai, the
Lord, and
rest on the seventh day of our rebirth
so we can
wake at dawn and see that it was good.

some days we can be like Jonah in the
belly of a fish,
wise Solomon on his golden throne lined
with idols, Job
who cursed the day of his birth with every
breath, Naomi
whose bitterness begot the still-born name Mara,
so long as we
remember to carry that which belongs only to us:

love.

Where the sun always sets
They arrived
Armed with nothing
But truth
The Bill of Rights
Courage
And faith
They came
To do the right thing
To show them a rising sun
And how it exists
For everyone
No matter what they were told
No matter the lies
No matter the hate
Yes
The rising sun was there
Eclipsed by fear
Morning in America
Blinded their eyes
And they knew not to look
It was not for them
And as they looked away
Their long nights were empty
Without peace
Without justice
Without sleep
Not even a dream
And yet they remained
Although silent
They knew
Because hope grows
In the dark
And as they tilled the garden
They did dare to cultivate
Hope
By awaiting
The deliverer
And when the truth
Perished
In their midst
Those who were privileged
To see the sun rise
Remained silent
Even though they knew
Of the truth
And how it could never live
But finally
The deliverer did arrive
Heralded not by a trumpet blast
But with God’s message
In his heart and mind
And man's own words
As they were written
In his hand
How all men are created equal
He came
With solemn righteousness
With words
And a dream
He came
And told us of unmerited pain
And of burning churches
Where anguished cries
Once again were not heard
And how those who remained silent
Were the key to the idea
Of America
Where liberty
And Justice
Is for all
Where the sun rises
And sets
For every man
And woman
But on that day
When the evangelists
Of civil liberties
Were tortured
Killed
And buried
So their mothers could only weep
Over unmarked graves
The sun did set
And failed once again
To rise
As the children wondered
Why am I different?

O come sweet Jesus Christ come,
You are the source of our bliss and happimesd
You are the path to peace and protection
the mighty deliverer and strength in times of our troubled day
The living water that quenches our yearning and taste
,the door that leads to perfect rest,
O come sweet Jesus come

O come sweet Jesus Come
Come and heal our wounds,
come take away our infirmities
,Come calm the raging storms in our lives
O come sweet Jesus come

Igho Odiete©
All right reserved

Words of honey and liquor would flow,
At temples along the rolling hills,
they would grow and ripen and
be uttered at sacrificial flame
If I was born in the vein of Apollo.

Words would meet paper
with crackling energy loaded, ready to burst,
robust in power and accompanied by crashes of thunder
If I were bred of the mighty Zeus.

My speech could flow like lapping tide
and slam against the sterns of braving ships
If I carried within,
the flowing will of Poseidon.

Perfectly forged syllables struck on metals
passionately burning. Resounding clangs
and crashes from my shop would ring,
If the strength of Hephaestus guided
my hammer swing.

But as portraits are painted and
are gone to wind,
Their light touch fleeting pass,
Remorse not felt but only desire
to express and to deliver,
to paint, drop off, and be gone.
My words dance with winged feet
and then exit in retreat, with a bow
and a dashing leap,
Disappearing down the street.

Caduceus snakes wrap about my pen
and whisper rhymes softly in my ear.
Rising laughs echo down the trail,
a man dashing to his next delivery.

Light feet dancing forward,
hand whirring from line to line
and his eyes posted firmly to
the nights sky,
The stars singing his Siren song.

forgot i was able
forgoe the sugar cane
horse towed them over the edge
coarse hair
coerced into the trap
willing and able
are you able?
are you billing me?
is this thrilling?
have we been feeling
the same?
come over here
something else over there
i'm forgetful
i'm a disgrace to the top
upper crust societors
upper cut so much science
tons of honor
tons more scholarly journals
hurtled over the canyon wall
carried by the wind to those unlistening
wishing they could hear you
sifting thorugh the river for rocks
to deliver you
giver of too many
stories we already know
tore off all of our clothes
promised tonight would be
different than so many
others i laughed at
others i couldn't have
summer is ours to be
somewhat more into fear
someone to hold you dear
come one come all to hear
believer of something more
deliverer of sudden storms
of folk tail magic token
now open your eyes to your own faults
now look to the sky and know the hawks
are staring down with hungry eyes
they're bearing down they see you in the crowd
falling allover selfish rags
hagship tailors
flag waving tagless sleeve cutters
closing shutters in your mechanism
exposed to low level flash bulbs
just enough to imprint the entire night into something more
we would never remember if not for your loose grip
where you fell to the floor
and
saved another for
the last night you swore you wouldn't take a sip

Oh! could I hope the wise and pure in heart
Might hear my song without a frown, nor deem
My voice unworthy of the theme it tries,--
I would take up the hymn to Death, and say
To the grim power, The world hath slandered thee
And mocked thee. On thy dim and shadowy brow
They place an iron crown, and call thee king
Of terrors, and the spoiler of the world,
Deadly assassin, that strik'st down the fair,
The loved, the good--that breath'st upon the lights
Of virtue set along the vale of life,
And they go out in darkness. I am come,
Not with reproaches, not with cries and prayers,
Such as have stormed thy stern insensible ear
From the beginning. I am come to speak
Thy praises. True it is, that I have wept
Thy conquests, and may weep them yet again:
And thou from some I love wilt take a life
Dear to me as my own. Yet while the spell
Is on my spirit, and I talk with thee
In sight of all thy trophies, face to face,
Meet is it that my voice should utter forth

Thy nobler triumphs: I will teach the world
To thank thee.--Who are thine accusers?--Who?
The living!--they who never felt thy power,
And know thee not. The curses of the wretch
Whose crimes are ripe, his sufferings when thy hand
Is on him, and the hour he dreads is come,
Are writ among thy praises. But the good--
Does he whom thy kind hand dismissed to peace,
Upbraid the gentle violence that took off
His fetters, and unbarred his prison cell?
Raise then the Hymn to Death. Deliverer!
God hath anointed thee to free the oppressed
And crush the oppressor. When the armed chief,
The conqueror of nations, walks the world,
And it is changed beneath his feet, and all
Its kingdoms melt into one mighty realm--
Thou, while his head is loftiest, and his heart
Blasphemes, imagining his own right hand
Almighty, sett'st upon him thy stern grasp,
And the strong links of that tremendous chain
That bound mankind are crumbled; thou dost break
Sceptre and crown, and beat his throne to dust.
Then the earth shouts with gladness, and her tribes
Gather within their ancient bounds again.
Else had the mighty of the olden time,
******, Sesostris, or the youth who feigned
His birth from Lybian Ammon, smote even now
The nations with a rod of iron, and driven
Their chariot o'er our necks. Thou dost avenge,
In thy good time, the wrongs of those who know

No other friend. Nor dost thou interpose
Only to lay the sufferer asleep,
Where he who made him wretched troubles not
His rest--thou dost strike down his tyrant too.
Oh, there is joy when hands that held the scourge
Drop lifeless, and the pitiless heart is cold.
Thou too dost purge from earth its horrible
And old idolatries; from the proud fanes
Each to his grave their priests go out, till none
Is left to teach their worship; then the fires
Of sacrifice are chilled, and the green moss
O'ercreeps their altars; the fallen images
Cumber the weedy courts, and for loud hymns,
Chanted by kneeling crowds, the chiding winds
Shriek in the solitary aisles. When he
Who gives his life to guilt, and laughs at all
The laws that God or man has made, and round
Hedges his seat with power, and shines in wealth,--
Lifts up his atheist front to scoff at Heaven,
And celebrates his shame in open day,
Thou, in the pride of all his crimes, cutt'st off
The horrible example. Touched by thine,
The extortioner's hard hand foregoes the gold
Wrong from the o'er-worn poor. The perjurer,
Whose tongue was lithe, e'en now, and voluble
Against his neighbour's life, and he who laughed
And leaped for joy to see a spotless fame
Blasted before his own foul calumnies,
Are smit with deadly silence. He, who sold
His conscience to preserve a worthless life,

Even while he hugs himself on his escape,
Trembles, as, doubly terrible, at length,
Thy steps o'ertake him, and there is no time
For parley--nor will bribes unclench thy grasp.
Oft, too, dost thou reform thy victim, long
Ere his last hour. And when the reveller,
Mad in the chase of pleasure, stretches on,
And strains each nerve, and clears the path of life
Like wind, thou point'st him to the dreadful goal,
And shak'st thy hour-glass in his reeling eye,
And check'st him in mid course. Thy skeleton hand
Shows to the faint of spirit the right path,
And he is warned, and fears to step aside.
Thou sett'st between the ruffian and his crime
Thy ghastly countenance, and his slack hand
Drops the drawn knife. But, oh, most fearfully
Dost thou show forth Heaven's justice, when thy shafts
Drink up the ebbing spirit--then the hard
Of heart and violent of hand restores
The treasure to the friendless wretch he wronged.
Then from the writhing ***** thou dost pluck
The guilty secret; lips, for ages sealed,
Are faithless to the dreadful trust at length,
And give it up; the felon's latest breath
Absolves the innocent man who bears his crime;
The slanderer, horror smitten, and in tears,
Recalls the deadly obloquy he forged
To work his brother's ruin. Thou dost make
Thy penitent victim utter to the air
The dark conspiracy that strikes at life,

And aims to whelm the laws; ere yet the hour
Is come, and the dread sign of ****** given.
Thus, from the first of time, hast thou been found
On virtue's side; the wicked, but for thee,
Had been too strong for the good; the great of earth
Had crushed the weak for ever. Schooled in guile
For ages, while each passing year had brought
Its baneful lesson, they had filled the world
With their abominations; while its tribes,
Trodden to earth, imbruted, and despoiled,
Had knelt to them in worship; sacrifice
Had smoked on many an altar, temple roofs
Had echoed with the blasphemous prayer and hymn:
But thou, the great reformer of the world,
Tak'st off the sons of violence and fraud
In their green pupilage, their lore half learned--
Ere guilt has quite o'errun the simple heart
God gave them at their birth, and blotted out
His image. Thou dost mark them, flushed with hope,
As on the threshold of their vast designs
Doubtful and loose they stand, and strik'st them down.

Alas, I little thought that the stern power
Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus
Before the strain was ended. It must cease--
For he is in his grave who taught my youth
The art of verse, and in the bud of life
Offered me to the muses. Oh, cut off
Untimely! when thy reason in its strength,
Ripened by years of toil and studious search

And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught
Thy hand to practise best the lenient art
To which thou gavest thy laborious days.
And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth
Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes
And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skill
Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pale
When thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which thou
Shalt not, as wont, o'erlook, is all I have
To offer at thy grave--this--and the hope
To copy thy example, and to leave
A name of which the wretched shall not think
As of an enemy's, whom they forgive
As all forgive the dead. Rest, therefore, thou
Whose early guidance trained my infant steps--
Rest, in the ***** of God, till the brief sleep
Of death is over, and a happier life
Shall dawn to waken thine insensible dust.
Now thou art not--and yet the men whose guilt
Has wearied Heaven for vengeance--he who bears
False witness--he who takes the orphan's bread,
And robs the widow--he who spreads abroad
Polluted hands in mockery of prayer,
Are left to cumber earth. Shuddering I look
On what is written, yet I blot not out
The desultory numbers--let them stand.
The record of an idle revery.

A forward rush by the lamp in the gloom,
And we clasped, and almost kissed;
But she was not the woman whom
I had promised to meet in the thawing brume
On that harbour-bridge; nor was I he of her tryst.

So loosening from me swift she said:
“O why, why feign to be
The one I had meant—to whom I have sped
To fly with, being so sorrily wed,”
’Twas thus and thus that she upbraided me.

My assignation had struck upon
Some others’ like it, I found.
And her lover rose on the night anon;
And then her husband entered on
The lamplit, snowflaked, sloppiness around.

“Take her and welcome, man!” he cried:
“I wash my hands of her.
I’ll find me twice as good a bride!”
—All this to me, whom he had eyed,
Plainly, as his wife’s planned deliverer.

And next the lover: “Little I knew,
Madam, you had a third!
Kissing here in my very view!”
—Husband and lover then withdrew.
I let them; and I told them not they erred.

Why not? Well, there faced she and I—
Two strangers who’d kissed, or near,
Chancewise. To see stand weeping by
A woman once embraced, will try
The tension of a man the most austere.

So it began; and I was young,
She pretty, by the lamp,
As flakes came waltzing down among
The waves of her clinging hair, that hung
Heavily on her temples, dark and damp.

And there alone still stood we two;
She once cast off for me,
Or so it seemed: while night ondrew,
Forcing a parley what should do
We twain hearts caught in one catastrophe.

In stranded souls a common strait
Wakes latencies unknown,
Whose impulse may precipitate
A life-long leap. The hour was late,
And there was the Jersey boat with its funnel agroan.

“Is wary walking worth much pother?”
It grunted, as still it stayed.
“One pairing is as good as another
Where is all venture! Take each other,
And scrap the oaths that you have aforetime made.”

—Of the four involved there walks but one
On earth at this late day.
And what of the chapter so begun?
In that odd complex what was done?
Well; happiness comes in full to none:
Let peace lie on lulled lips: I will not say.

Anonymous  (1730s ?)

In good King Charles's golden days,
When Loyalty no harm meant;
A Furious High-Church man I was,
And so I gain'd Preferment.
Unto my Flock I daily Preached,
Kings are by God appointed,
And ****'d are those who dare resist,
Or touch the Lord's Anointed.

And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my Dying Day, Sir.
That whatsoever King may reign,
I shall be Vicar of Bray, Sir!

When Royal James possessed the crown,
And popery grew in fashion;
The Penal Law I hooted down,
And read the Declaration:
The Church of Rome I found would fit
Full well my Constitution,
And I had been a Jesuit,
But for the Revolution.

 And this is Law, &c.

When William our Deliverer came,
To heal the Nation's Grievance,
I turned the Cat in Pan again,
And swore to him Allegiance:
Old Principles I did revoke,
Set conscience at a distance,
Passive Obedience is a Joke,
A Jest is non-resistance.

  And this is Law, &c.;

When Royal Ann became our Queen,
Then Church of England's Glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory:
Occasional Conformists base
I ****'d, and Moderation,
And thought the Church in danger was,
From such Prevarication.

  And this is Law, &c.;

When George in Pudding time came o'er,
And Moderate Men looked big, Sir,
My Principles I changed once more,
And so became a Whig, Sir.
And thus Preferment I procured,
From our Faith's great Defender,
And almost every day abjur'd
The Pope, and the Pretender.

  And this is Law, &c.;

The Illustrious House of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I lustily will swear,
Whilst they can keep possession:
For in my Faith, and Loyalty,
I never once will falter,
But George, my lawful king shall be,
Except the Times should alter.

  *And this is Law, &c;.

Where go thee traveler, trailing in broken shadows?

Just another poet wandering down a mischievous path of deceit and beguiles.
Who be thee? Another shattered soul sauntering in denial?

Carry a name I do not, but you may call me whatever comes to your thoughts.

Cassandra. Deliverer of delight and heavenly sight, but caustic to those who try to consume her with the allure of night.

Cursory charm, a daring attempt to overtake the apex of my harnessed heart.

My penchant roars with a persistence that never rests!
Audacious lips of mine will eclipse your eyes as deep as an ocean and dark as wine.
Let our shadows combine, our fate intertwine to capture a moment of the divine.

Arrhythmic and blind your love needs redesign!
Otherwise I'll become another infatuation lost in time.

Here I stand austere without effrontery to burden our affair. What is it you'll have me declare?

First follow me into the infinite abyss.

What after I plunge into the nebulous mist?

Our hands we'll share in the company of crescent stares

God of mystery?
I don't think so!

A God who
Embraces
A transformer
Defender
Affirmer
Way clearer
Stand by you whatever-er.

A God who
Endures
A giver
Kisser
Hugger
Commender
Showing favour no matter-er

A God who
Comforts
A deliverer
Protector
Forgiver
Builder-upper-er
Never put downer.

A God who's
Proud of each of yer
His followers.

Schools of fish
Racing to the King's submerged hold
To pass a collective wish.

A procession led
Unfathomable leagues between the sky
To the One's bed.

From her birthcry rang
Sonic upon waves in all Seas
Bringing promise she sang.

In a voice that shamed
The very Sirens, their infamy
At birth she had tamed.

Tempests brewed in
Nine Seas and in denizens thereof
The palpable rush was no illusion.

Gargantuan fissures marked
The arrival of the Prophet,
As Dogfishes in the streets barked.

Coral caves echoed
News of the Deliverer
Back across the ocean and forth.

The Princess is birthed!
Rejoice! Swim to the King!
Of enthusiasm, was no dearth.

Millions of clans
Puffer, Cat and Gold, with servants in many
*****, Oysters and Clams.

Eels, flying overhead
With Mantas in quick pursuit
Each racing to meet the beloved.

The nobility too was en route
Great White, the Hammer and Tiger
Forgetting around them, all the food.

Clownfish prepared their jokes
Animatedly chuckling at the time
The king called them funny blokes.

From every nook and corner
Of every Ocean, and Sea
Burst life even in lakes and rivers.

Drifting slow yet steady
The convergence occurred at the King's Hold.
The feast now ready.

Reef and plankton
In a million hues waved like banners
Proclaiming the  royal standard.

Seahorses stood en garde
All semblance of a heavy cavalry
Songs were sung by the Bard.

Rows upon rows
Of aquatic subjects
Gazed upwards as the Herald bellowed.

All hail King Teal!
All hail the Princess!
The citizens went mad with zeal.

They raised their arms
As the King raised his own pair
Only to raise alarm.

The babe was godly
Hair as green as kelp
Translucent flesh glowing boldly.

Every colour ever known
Etched across her fins and legs
Majestic, regal, radiating joy unknownst.

Tears diluted the currents
As the folk witnessed their saviour
And cheered in a torrent

Of squeals, laughter and shouts
Praising till the land dwellers heard them
These fanatics most devout.

Thus was the day
Naifin was born into the Sea
Queen of Oceans, she was to be.

Suffocation; the torture of life without breath
Debt; the torture of being trapped without way of getting out

We signed away our souls and our very livelihoods
So that we might find treasures deep into the earth
In vain we gave ourselves to this cause
We became bankrupted and we became slaves to our toil
We inhaled our work and it poisoned our bodies
We owed our souls to the company for which we worked

We dig deep into the earth
In search of ancient treasures formed long long ago
Seeking to find riches beyond belief and beyond compare
Beginning a noble crusade for good things
But then continuing on to become a misadventure where there is little redemption
Oh what an ignorant odyssey we had begun!

In a manmade cavern, we dig for riches
Our faces becoming covered with black soot
As we invest into the dreams of the treasures for which we dig
And yet then further and further falling into debt
Until we are not only suffocated merely by the soot of coal but also by our debts
And as if the danger of this mine were not enough before the the mines began to fall onto our very heads

We toil for years upon years in this dark mine of coal
Losing all we knew and all we were for the sake of unsatisfying treasure
Our friends die day after day suffocated by the matter of our toil
We inhale our work and our lungs become so filled and poisoned with the soot of the coal
Many could no longer breathe or bear the pain of the poison in their lungs
And then they die in the depths of the dark caves searching for treasure in vain

Not knowing we had signed a death wish
To toil deep into the depths of the mantle of the earth searching for forsaken treasure
Believing that we were searching for good things
That we truly were in the midst of a noble crusade
Not even knowing of the reality in which we stood
That there truly was a terrible hell in which we were living

To this point we knew not of the soot slowly suffocating our lungs
And we knew not of the blood pouring out of our wounds
We knew not of the utter blackness that covered our faces
Or that no oxygen flowed to our ever so needy lungs
We knew only of the importance of our mission
And the necessity to find the treasures for which we were sent out

But the reality of this deep and dark quarry was a hell never before known
And the unknown need of fresh air was as heavy as a newborns need for his mother's milk
Yet we knew not of the need for fresh air
For our eyes were set on the prize
To mine the treasure for which we had so long toiled
And we forgot of our need to live and seek good things

Not knowing the depths of our manmade cavern and our lostness
Our faces so covered with dried soot and blood
Longing for new air to freshen our dying lungs
And longing for Holy Water to wash clean our coal-filled and coal-covered bodies
Yet we knew not any of this
And we knew not of the depths of our pain and our suffering

Yet then one day we break through the surface of the earth
We see the light of the sun, and we see good things
The light of day shines onto us
And a cool breeze blows onto our faces
Then we take a collective breath of the new air
A breath of fresh air more satisfying than a thousand breaths in the depths of the horrid coal mine

We see something we had not seen in years, freedom
And as our eyes set upon the world which we had nearly forgotten
We see the beauty that we had indeed forgotten
We realize the hell that we had clearly been enduring
And in a moment it all becomes clearer than ever before
The treasure of the coal mine had so deceived our hearts and our judgement and our very sanity

For we knew not of the depth and gravity of the terror of the hell we were in
We thought we were simply searching for gold, but we had truly sold our souls
Digging deep into the depths of the planet toward the core
And we lost ourselves in the darkness and depravity of the shaft
Suffering in blindness and lostness, unable to find any good things
Until finally we found the Light from above

Our debts had been cleared and our bodies had been made new
How sweet the wind was upon our sweaty, soot-covered, bloodied faces as we emerged from the cave
And then we were washed clean of all of our pain and suffering
The blood was washed from our faces, and our wounds were healed
The soot from the thick coal was scrubbed from our flesh, and our poisoned lungs were healed
And we were freed from the terror of our suffering

For out of the depths of the earth with squinted eyes and limp limbs
We emerged into great Light never before seen
And as our eyes adjusted, so did our understanding
The understanding of just how lost we had been
And just how close to death we came with each and every day
But the breath of fresh air, and the sight of new light resurrected us

From the great horror of our past we were healed
And from our ever-growing debts we had been released
We were freed from our self-imprisonment and given new life
And not on our own accord in the slightest
But by the great love of Christ Jesus
For Jesus is our great deliverer

In the waste hour
Between to-day and yesterday
We watched, while on my arm--
Living flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone--
Dabbled in sweat the sacred head
Lay uncomplaining, still, contemptuous, strange:
Till the dear face turned dead,
And to a sound of lamentation
The good, heroic soul with all its wealth--
Its sixty years of love and sacrifice,
Suffering and passionate faith--was reabsorbed
In the inexorable Peace,
And life was changed to us for evermore.

Was nothing left of her but tears
Like blood-drops from the heart?
Nought save remorse
For duty unfulfilled, justice undone,
And charity ignored?  Nothing but love,
Forgiveness, reconcilement, where in truth,
But for this passing
Into the unimaginable abyss
These things had never been?

Nay, there were we,
Her five strong sons!
To her Death came--the great Deliverer came!--
As equal comes to equal, throne to throne.
She was a mother of men.

The stars shine as of old.  The unchanging River,
Bent on his errand of immortal law,
Works his appointed way
To the immemorial sea.
And the brave truth comes overwhelmingly home:--
That she in us yet works and shines,
Lives and fulfils herself,
Unending as the river and the stars.

Dearest, live on
In such an immortality
As we thy sons,
Born of thy body and nursed
At those wild, faithful *******,
Can give--of generous thoughts,
And honourable words, and deeds
That make men half in love with fate!
Live on, O brave and true,
In us thy children, in ours whose life is thine--
Our best and theirs!  What is that best but thee--
Thee, and thy gift to us, to pass
Like light along the infinite of space
To the immitigable end?

Between the river and the stars,
O royal and radiant soul,
Thou dost return, thine influences return
Upon thy children as in life, and death
Turns stingless!  What is Death
But Life in act?  How should the Unteeming Grave
Be victor over thee,
Mother, a mother of men?

The Stop & Shop strike v. Game of Thrones.
In Game what’s not made plain
is the condition of the people
compared with warriors and queens.
There’s no mention of land-clearance, tree-felling,
pruning, chopping, digging, hoeing,
weeding, branding, gelding, slaughtering,
salting, tanning, brewing, boiling,
smelting, forging, milling, thatching,
fencing and hurdle-making, hedging, road-mending and haulage.

As for the strike, most of us
supported the cashiers and clerks—
cutting benefits and pensions
when CEOs make millions.
A few pennies more
for ice cream and tofu
a leg up for our neighbors
and comrades in labor.
But don’t get greedy, power-hungry—
we don’t want the supermarket to go out of business
or the Army of the Dead to extinguish us.

A red-tailed hawk observes what small mammals, birds are in the
     clearcut,
awaits the moment to strike.
Three *****, two strikes, full count. Aaron pitched carefully, slow
     strikes and the opposing team scored.
Transit strike. Part-time tutor,
food deliverer, illegal immigrant,
school bus driver, supermarket bagger.
Let labor flow like capital! Full tank of gas!
In your dreams, you kick ***.
In your daydream, you’re breaking bones, killing mean dogs with bare
     hands .
In my childhood dreams, I fought side by side with my best buddies
against the Army of the Dead.
I wake up to a lightning strike and my dream incinerates.

The strike is over, like a thunderstorm.
Still a half dozen or so episodes of Thrones
before it sinks into the past.
Will women save the world?
Anything’s possible.
Nothing changes in Williamstown, Willie, except the seasons.
The wee hours, the bored minutes, the second guesses,
the town sewer department, the collector of taxes.
Pitcher’s elbow, runner’s knee, reader’s eye,
you live until you die.
That’s no answer.
Without the Mexican and Canadian borders
the White Walkers would dissolve like an aspirin in seltzer water.

The sun is up, the strike is over
next episode of Game is Sunday
the White Walkers attack
some of our favorite characters croak
but humanity survives
though the weather is ominous.
The habitable zone around the sun
is moving outward as the orb expands
getting hotter as it grows older.
Earth a billion years ago
was smack in the middle of the turf
but we’re now half-in, half-out
exposed to the sun’s ardor, agony,
a dragon eating its babies, torching cities.
We’re gonna hafta outsmart it
hold Labor Day barbecues on Mars.

I find I am hollow
Empty
Serene in the silence
Alone
My feet soundless, swift
My face unmemorable
My hand shook by men of passionate deceit
And I find myself filled with their purpose

Purpose of others drives me
Craving no prize, praising no God
Only me
Only violence
Soul pushed to the cages in the back of me
My body is honed
My weapon part of me

I fly but no wind follows
I break the unmendable
Harbinger of silence
Deliverer of death
Revealer of mortality
Ender
Money and treasure for blood and breath
Unrelenting, unavoidable

Hands choking pulse from veins
Slowing
Necks crack as they swing out of place
Breaking
Gun hot from parting lead bullet
Body heavy as it drops
Death will come swiftly to any, to all
Until I am emptied once more

Earl Jane
The deliverer;
Bringing heaven to earth.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication

Jesus Christ came to save Born to die raised to reign , One full of grace and truth I'm so glad he loves me to, A man just like me and you tried and tempted as you and I Oh, how our Heavenly Father loves us He loves us from heaven above to earth below a gloryful glow so bright and beautiful gift given to us, God only begotten son who was beaten and nailed to a cross blood & water dripping for you an me He was wounded the precious lamb of God, The devil thought he had him beat but He died for you and I raised from the dead I'm so glad He loves me and you when no other way was possible He became our Salvation, Redeemer & Deliverer.
I'm so glad He loves me an you
My Lord & Savior today and my soon coming King I hope you know him for He loves you and me.