Third Pull Poems
Check for weekly updates, we shall be adding one poem per week and one allegory per week.
The Man From All To Bear All
One time it was the serene day,
The morning as a rose spread forth:
Her wings deceivingly beautiful:
Her face admirably bright
But now, darkness and gloominess:
Sorrow has gathered her strength;
She braves her way as a mighty flood
To take a hold of man, yes, the son of man
She spoke comforts, she yielded diadems;
She suckled and still budded, glorifying:
The earth did it all, a mother to all,
As the morning did strengthen her.
One time it was the humble blade,
Springing, comforting, sweetly singing:
Grass and the herb yielding corn, and
The fruit tree great with fruit after her kind
Now briers, now thorns, now thistles:
All prick and brittle, piercing hard,
Hurting, offending, cursing, blaspheming:
The man from all to bear it all.
Oh, the blossom morning, when the sun rose!
The Wisdom of God to declare,
Bring to understanding all long-awaited -
The joys of many generations springing!
Then did the birds sing in fair branches,
Then did the fish choose her fair courses,
And the gentle dove directed her swift pinions
And the eagle did not keep back his strength
Declaring it, declaring all about it,
The Loving Father is Creator to all,
And will so remain when all is not:
The fair branches, reverberating, echoed, “Amen!”
Yet now tunes of grief prevail everywhere,
Sorrow is the master of ceremonies;
Grief rejoices and breaks forth into singing,
Mourning pours out her grievous sentences.
She spreads forth her weary wings, bemoaning herself,
Pouring out the bitterest composition ever sang:
Earthquakes, pestilences, famine, wars and woes,
There seems no end to the long, grievous funeral prose
It stretches into the far dark regions,
It disappears behind the gloomy galleys,
It is engulfed within the mysteries, the deep vales,
A dark blanket prevails, and none can tell.
Return, oh return ye jewels, return:
The morning breaks fair, bright and serene;
Let us all awake and hands join.
Complete our circle and bring forth our circuits
Then shall the morning break forth:
The lion shall lie down with the kid,
The ferocious beast shall be led by a lamb,
They shall not destroy nor hurt in the Holy Mountain
The great cattle! What a flock to behold!
The kine a-mowing, the calves a-skidding:
The horses! The choice zebra! The graceful deer!
And the humble, meek lamb leads the way
Prose: An irregular rhythmic pattern untypical of poetry; That which is ordinary, as different from that which is poetic.
Let not your dreams deceive you
All people on earth are in a deep slumber,
All that they are so busy with are the works of their hands:
Whether the poor or the rich, small or great, educated or illiterate;
They are yet to awake to Reality at the White Throne Judgement.
The rich will be there, his sweet dreams gone forever;
The poor will be there, his wearisome dreams gone;
The bond and afflicted too, his nightmares gone;
What then, when Reality shall unfold to declare it?
The pleasure seeker will be there, quite awake then,
He thought he was eating and merrying cheerfully;
But oh how his soul burneth with want and lack!
Unfolded will be the Reality that pleasure is a cheat.
The poor prostitute with her vanity dreams,
The beauty queen with her fanciful dreams,
The popularist with the images of applauding masses:
What a blow it will be upon all these as they awake to Reality!
The bishops and the cardinals from their dogmas
Well awake will be pondering the paths of life;
How their dreams made them hate instruction!
Facing the Truth, which they rejected, yet there It is!
Oh, and the kings and princes, their dreams so sublime!
But so bad, they will then wake up never to sleep again,
Yea, and never to enjoy such sweet dreams too;
But the horror of Judgement! What a Reality then!
The political men with veto power in their dreams,
They swayed the world to dance at their tune;
But little did they know that they were dreaming,
Now awake, facing the Great Judge they tremble!
All dreams gone, yea, and gone will be their lies, too,
Never men their culprits to be, and be deceived any longer;
Then Truth and Reality shining brighter and Brighter, so boldly,
Will convince all that they had simply been dreaming after all!
A Ray Of Hair On The Head
The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; yes, the God of Luther, Wesley and Branham bless you all connected to this website. Quite a Forum! As I steal glances here and there...
Wonderful times, wonderful age, end time age, age of restitution of all things, age of perfection, age of the headstone, age of the super race church; we will have to go a mile higher in faith to strike it.
Look at where Branham was when he left, then look at where you are. Remember God means that you should climb higher still till you strike Enoch's pathway.
Quite a sacrifice you must put it! Not Bullocks, not goats, not sheep, but yourself! God wants a sacrifice today, and that sacrifice is you, if the rapture-faith has any meaning to my heart. Not a church member, but the member of the living immortal body of the Son of God.
That is my thirst, that is my earnest, that is my prayer, that is what I challenge myself with today. I am under that challenge, I need help, all to come together for help. Convicted I am. I must or die.
It is time I have to live what I believe and be a monument for Christ. No more vain literature, no more self-cheating. Let my faith speak and people around me will hear and respond. Look at Paul, Look at Peter, Look at Stephen, Look at Philip.... What a challenge for my soul. I have talked too much. No! I have cried too much! Why cry, speak! It's time for me to speak, or am I dreaming? Then may a good Samaritan me shake to awaken.
The God of Branham is the same today! Brothers and sisters, are you there! I am challenged. A living monument of Christ I should be. No more history! No more vain words! If God be with me He will vindicate Himself. Life is never still, but always lively, always frolic, always growing, always catching up, till great with fruit she sways. What of me? What of you? Oh, what of us. When will our words become it? "Let there be light... " Then light followed. That is a divine decree. Why not me? Why not you? What? He said it clearly, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness and let them rule all..." Sure Samson is in prison somewhere! He is grinding. It can't be otherwise! He compromised! "The Philistines are upon you Branham church...!" Oh, poor blind fellow!
Oh God, are you with me today as you were with Branham? Then let me today realize your realities before my eyes close in sleep, or is it in death? Just now, Oh Lord! Just once more remember this Samson! Oh, God my Lord, avenge my two eyes! Just this once, I cry to you! Remember this church and help me...
For myself, I mourn. Once I spoke and the dead rose. Once I spoke and the storm vanished. Once I spoke and it was done. All in me was life and power bearing witness of the resurrected Jesus Christ, for then I was a living Body, a church full of the eternal realities of the living God. But Behold now I am motionless, grinding in prison for the Gentiles. They make sport of me. They tease me. Children laugh at me. Women make merry of me; they play in dances as they cheer me... Woe, woe, woe is me!
Oh, what is that I feel? Something on my head or what? Dreaming or awake? For when my hand passes over my head, I realize there is some good amount of hair there, just enough to avenge my two eyes, I sure trust. Upon that, I lay all my hopes... Something is in the making, my Hebrew Brothers all around, please! My Hebrew sisters, take your tambourines! Something is in the making! It is dawning again! Time to shake away that Laodicean blanket anyhow! No more turning on your bed like a door on its hinges. Arise, pray...
Today is a showdown. With the Philistine nobles, I must die! The world must sink as a rise! Pharaoh must go down as I go up. Yep, am decided! No! Decided I must be if I have to once more live. For upon my head there is a ray of hope, oh no! a ray of hair. Today my Nazarite vow I must keep. It is a covenant divine, and divine it must remain.
Why should I wait any longer? God has spoken and once I have heard that salvation belongeth not to man, for also he is a brute beast, but it belongs to Him who the hills His hand framed, and whose voice the waves obey.
My brothers and sisters, are you still awake and pondering? Then let your hope grow fonder as you rise and let us go. It is too late to be still rolling in your Laodicean blanket, please! Make a stride, one, two, three... Oh, is it that easy! Once in tune with God's divine frequency, you can't help but resonate! The learned friends say, Vibrating in sympathy, but in the divine language we say, Being one with Him...
Let perfection be no more just a word in the mouth of the men of the pulpit, but let it now be a written epistle, read by every man with breath in his nostril, to take it to heart that the God of Branham did not die with him...
I am decided, no longer to linger... And you?