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The following is a poem written by Judge Roy Moore from Alabama. Judge Moore was recently sued by the ACLU for displaying the Ten Commandments in his courtroom foyer.
AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL
America the Beautiful, or so you used to be. Land of the Pilgrims' pride; I'm glad they'll never see. Babies piled in dumpsters, Abortion on demand, Oh, sweet land of liberty, your house is on the sand.
Our children wander aimlessly poisoned by cocaine, Choosing to indulge their lusts, when God has said abstain. From sea to shining sea, our Nation turns away From the teaching of God's love and a need to always pray.
We've kept God in our temples, how callous we have grown. When earth is but His footstool, and Heaven is His throne. We've voted in a government that's rotting at the core, Appointing Godless Judges who throw reason out the door,
Too soft to place a killer in a well deserved tomb, But brave enough to kill a baby before he leaves the womb. You think that God's not angry, that our land's a moral slum? How much longer will He wait before His judgment comes?
How are we to face our God, from Whom we cannot hide? What then is left for us to do, but stem this evil tide? If we who are His children, will humbly turn and pray; Seek His holy face and mend our evil way:
Then God will hear from Heaven and forgive us of our sins, He'll heal our sickly land and those who live within. But, America the Beautiful, if you don't - then you will see, A sad but Holy God withdraw His hand from Thee.
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Don't despair...God has been dealing with unthankful wicked men for centuries.
The same thing was felt by Madame Jeanne Guyon...another believer in France in the late 1600s...before God raised up The United States For His Glory. The sentiments that God gave to her are very similar to those that God gave to Judge Moore.
Jesus said, "Fear not...only believe."
God Neither Known nor Loved by the World
Ye linnets, let us try, beneath this grove, Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise! In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove, For all the world is blind, and wanders from his ways.
That God alone should prop the sinking soul, Fills them with rage against his empire now: I traverse earth in vain from pole to pole, To seek one simple heart, set free from all below.
They speak of love, yet little feel its sway, While in their bosom many an idol lurks; Their base desires, well satisfied, obey, Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his works.
'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more; Your fellowship, ye warblers! suits me best: Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore, Profaned by modern tongues, and slighted as a jest.
My God, who form'd you for his praise alone, Beholds his purpose well fulfill'd in you; Come, let us join the choir before his throne, Partaking in his praise with spirits just and true.
Yes, I will always love; and, as I ought, Tune to the praise of love my ceaseless voice; Preferring love too vast for human thought, In spite of erring men, who cavil at my choice.
Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts, Lord of my soul! that they might all be thine? If thou approve - the zeal thy smile imparts, How should it ever fail! can such a fire decline?
Love, pure and holy, is a deathless fire; Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze: Eternal love a God must needs inspire, When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his praise.
Self-love dismiss'd - 'tis then we live indeed - In her embrace, death, only death is found: Come, then, one noble effort, and succeed, Cast off the chain of self with which thy soul is bound.
Oh! I could cry, that all the world might hear, Ye self-tormentors, love your God alone; Let his unequall'd excellence be dear, Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all your own!
They hear me not - alas! how fond to rove In endless chase of folly's specious lure! 'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove, I taste the sweets of truth - here only am secure.
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I was blessed to meet Judge Moore, and there is no man that I respect more. When he spoke to a group of Home School parents, it was almost like a sermon. He gave me a copy of this poem, and I gave him some. I've written a poem about him. I'll put it in this poetry section right away. God bless, Lionel
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