Quotes about serving, page 4
Serving From Above
Indeed my friend and very soon, we’ll fly above the sun and moon.
Up to a celestial abode above, eternally surrounded by God’s love,
When at the end of our earthly road, we’ll enter our heavenly abode,
Where we will begin our new journey, which, shall last for all eternity.
We will enter The New Jerusalem, that is all believers, not just some,
That is all believers found in Christ, who shall enter Into Eternal Life,
This as we enter into eternal rest, now, freed from every earthly test,
But, the rest shall not be our end, as we serve Christ eternally friend.
How we serve and where we will go, this, believers have yet to know,
However, we know, prepared for us, is a Mansion, with Christ Jesus,
A home that we truly don’t deserve, from which, The Lord we’ll serve,
Serving Christ, The King of kings, as God guides us in eternal things.
We will start in the Millennium, going to and from The New Jerusalem,
As Jesus Christ is King on Zion’s Hill, as The Word Christ does fulfill,
The Church shall judge Israel, as the Nation is restored per God’s will,
Fully restored by God’s own Hand, back to their own Promised Land.
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poem by Bob Gotti
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Well Done
“Well done”, words we long to hear, as the time of Judgment is near,
To the fine and faithful servant, from the One, Who’s fully observant,
Of everything we do and say, as we live for Him on The Narrow Way,
Living each moment in His sight, as we attempt to be for God a light.
Soon we’ll stand at the Bema Seat, where our lives, God shall repeat,
As all our service, God will replay, after we moved from night to day,
Not the judgment of our salvation, but, service, by God’s Evaluation,
Showing the motives of our heart, from the time our service did start.
It shall be a time of tears and joy, when Divine Fire, God will employ,
Purging from all deeds the dross, when for Christ we bore our cross,
As hearts were deceitful at times, so we strayed, from God’s design,
Serving sometimes with fleshly lust, even when in God, we truly trust.
So all our hay, wood and stubble, shall be burned as spiritual rubble,
That’s all those deeds tainted by sin, in our efforts while serving Him.
While all the gems, silver and gold, God will have our eyes to behold,
As our service, rendered to be pure, for through the fire, it will endure.
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poem by Bob Gotti
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Battle of Will & Exhaustion, Mother & Child
Two knights surrounded by dinosaurs
are cornered in the kitchen--all threat and bluster.
Action figures always act
even as night tries to soothe them under.
I am the one who laid a nervous hand
on a child's exhausted threat and bluster.
The bunk bed creaks as the story settles,
as night's cool hand tries to soothe us. Under
a Seussian drone I am thinking, anxious,
about someone with a nervous hand.
Will he sleep? Will he sleep? When will he sleep?
The bunk bed creaks as the shipboard settles.
What is the myth of a woman alone
who's thinking through Seuss? Her thoughts are drones
serving a terrible queen of their own.
Can she sleep? Will she sleep? When will she sleep?
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poem by Jenny Factor
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Hill top
On green grass near hill top sat one poet
Seized with serious thought but very quiet
He was lean and thin but on simple diet
He mastered an art in composing the duet
He had masterly skill but not looking smart
Thoughts were slowly entering part by part
It was not age of cars but small wheeled cart
This was only refuge where he had very good start
He wondered at God’s beautiful creation
Was it not serving right place for recreation?
Who has time for observation and thinking?
Hated and killing with moral slowly sinking
Will my simple creation serve the purpose?
If not serving well then what should I suppose?
Should I leave it to fate and continue?
Offer something concrete with ideas new
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Winston Churchill My Kind Of Host
Let us party with Winnie
Winston Churchill.
Perhaps we might partake
of brandy and cigars?
I rather liked the wine tipped
rum flavoured cigars as a lad.
Winnie is my kind of host
Champagne Pol Roger.
Winnie offers guests unlimited
Champagne, Cigars and Brandy.
Champagne chilled a little please
room temperature simply appalls.
Champagne in the refrigerator
an hour and a half before serving please.
Or into the ice bucket with a suitable
ice-water mixture, at least twenty minutes,
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Few Accept Invitations to Debate
The stinging of truth is going to hurt.
It will not popularize those who speak it,
With free tickets to be issued...
And a complimentary serving hand and foot done,
At DisneyWorld.
An avoidance of truth is more likely expected.
People wonder 'why' their misdeeds have adverse affects.
Why their direct show of disrespect...
And active participation in racistness reflects upon them!
Research groups are solicited...
To associate any connection of racism to their quality of life.
When someone blind can sense the signs,
Of approaching traffic without assistance.
Who conducts these surveys?
And from what funding source are they paid.
I'm curious...and my mind wants to know!
People don't understand this experience called life at all.
To initiate an ill affect...
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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CORY AQUINO, Mother of Philippine Democracy
CORY AQUINO, Mother of Philippine Democracy
melvin banggoollay
C-orazon C. Aquino, popularly known as Tita Cory
A symbol of truth and fearless love of country
that with her charm, she inspired the country
to fight for freedom, to restore our lost democracy.
O-n her desire to fight for justice for her Ninoy
She offered herself to be of service to every pinoy
with an antarnish honor, dignity and unselfish ploy
of serving with prudence, truth, justice full of joy..
R-ighteous was her ways with virtues of prayer
She had exemplified with undying faith forever
To the Living God she adored with faithful prayers
and untarnished service to the Filipinos as a mother.
Y-es, she is the mother of Philippine Democracy
That even upon her death, she inspired the country
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poem by Melvin Banggollay
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Parade-Song of the Camp-Animals
Elephants of the Gun-Teams
We lent to Alexander the strength of Hercules,
The wisdom of our foreheads, the cunning of our knees.
We bowed our necks to service--they ne'er were loosed again,--
Make way there, way for the ten-foot teams
Of the Forty-Pounder train!
Gun-Bullocks
Those heroes in their harnesses avoid a cannon-ball,
And what they know of powder upsets them one and all;
Then we come into action and tug the guns again,--
Make way there, way for the twenty yoke
Of the Forty-Pounder train!
Cavalry Horses
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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Pre-Medicated
Looking around and observing those once inflated,
By temptations that elated.
And draped some with sugarplumes on their plate!
And couldn't wait to prance around...
With easily obtained 'things' either given or found,
To satiate a frosting licked...
Off an everlasting cake!
Almost!
They received a 'breezy' coasting to boast!
And they did...
Until their glides hit thorns with splinters on skids.
Turning a boasted lust into toast!
Pre-medicated.
From a charaded fate.
It seems today heartbreak is the maker.
It has taken too long,
For my peace of mind to come.
And I am surprised I have not run...
From all the moaning around me,
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Vashti
I sometimes take you in my dreams to a far-off land I used to know,
Back in the ages long ago; a land of palms and languid streams.
A land, by night, of jeweled skies, by day, of shores that glistened bright,
Within whose arms, outstretched and white, a sapphire sea lay crescent-wise.
Where twilight fell like silver floss, where rose, the golden moon half-hid
Behind a shadowy pyramid; a land beneath the Southern Cross.
And there the days dreamed in their flight, each one a poem chanted through,
Which at its close was merged into the muted music of the night.
And you were a princess in those days. And I — I was your serving lad.
But who ever served with heart so glad, or lived so for a word of praise?
And if that word you chanced to speak, how all my senses swayed and reeled,
Till low beside your feet I kneeled, with happiness o'erwrought and weak.
If, when your golden cup I bore, you deigned to lower your eyes to mine,
Eyes cold, yet fervid, like the wine, I knew not how to wish for more.
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poem by James Weldon Johnson
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