A whip, a stick-
To whack and smack,
The folly out of her sons and daughters;
A hearty hugging pat on the back,
When they brought her joy and laughter.
An excellent cook (needed no recipe book),
All her dishes were seasoned with love;
Let me say at this time,
That a mother like mine -
Was a gift from God above.
Though now she's not -
God gave me thousands more,
Scattered across the world;
But they have their own sons,
Fruits of the womb,
My real Mother is none but the Lord.
Bless the Lord, Oh my soul;
And all that is within me,
Praise His Holy Name:
Who giveth thee brethren and love beyond measure,
Teachers and singers, such a valuable treasure;
Though now I know them not,
One day I shall meet them;
Their Faces I'll see, up in Eternity.
The whole world has them here and there,
Praising the Lord everywhere;
In many - a - tongue and dialect,
Nourishing the souls of God' Elect.
They charged to the four winds from Trinidad;
Confident in their strides, fearlessly did they go,
Having as it was the strength of a pedigreed horse;
Silently we did watch and wait for more;
Oh that the young generation will learn from the old,
The humility and sobriety to uphold;
That our weary souls may find their rest-
And through their singing we'll all be blest.
From America it poured;
It flowed like the waves from a tidal ocean -
The sweetest music keeping me in motion:
I thought it impossible when I first heard,
That worldly music contradicts the Word;
Now I sleep like a drunkard on my bed -
Playing Message Music on and on in my head;
I sit hypnotised each time I listem -
To the captivating chords of the American Christian.
Meddle not with the saints oh wicked one,
For the shout of the King is among them:
The Lord Himself jealously guards His Heritage,
As a great mother eagle does her precious brood;
The Lord uttered His Voice from His Holy Habitation,
With the shout of a lion, the roar of an old lion -
Could you but tremble?
Bless the Lord, oh my soul for who would have said:
That this and that man
Would have such and such kindred?
Praise the Lord ye trees, mountains and valleys,
Plains and fields, rivers and pools:
For of such people this world is just unworthy,
Yet is priviledged to kiss the soles of their feet.
Bless the Lord ye living creatures, small and great;
Flying, walking, barking, talking;
Grass, leaves, birds, bees;
Mice, elephants, locusts, ants.
Oh ye clouds, distill your rains in abundance;
Let everything that hath breath: Praise the Lord!
Bless the Lord, Oh my
Oh my dear and precious wife,
The prettiest lady in the world;
The fragrant flower of my life,
Whose beauty is good to behold:
Your voice is a melodious symphony,
Soothing the weary soul;
Your words bring comfort and harmony,
They are righteous all in all.
You were not deceived by your own beauty,
To trap lecherous lascivious lads;
But preserved yourself in absolute purity,
Waiting to fall into the right hands.
The wreckless wenches were filled with envy,
For thou art exceedingly fair;
Since nowadays such damsels like thee -
Such damsels are made of air:
Blest is the man who can see and embrace such,
Publicising that he's found a good wife;
Revealed by a Divine and Heavenly touch,
The second to Salvation in his life.
Much more would I have written to you my wife,
To see your beautiful blush from Afar;
Just that my dear and precious wife -
I don't know who you are!
P.S: (And don't reply!!)