Grace comes from the hand
Of the Benevolent God
Able to transport Man
From this lowly trod
Trod, trod, trod was the feet
Of this celestial child
Who rests in this sweet
of his mercy, complied
The peace that is pure
So thick and so real
Possesses the lasting allure
Of an eternal appeal
Clink Clink Clink
Where the bloodshed is decadent
From their brink
Where the difference is evident
Though I doubt not the peace from within,
I do not understand the war from without.
For though, from this world,
you may desire to flee,
Even the mightiest saint
And the behemoth of the sea
Falls, without a complaint
I've come to see
The mystery of grace
The event of the tree
Keeping the devils pace
To live in the clouds is a wonderful embrace,
To bask with Bonaventure, Claire and Ignatius
But to deal with the family of kindly face
Is a cancer in the hole of the innocent patients
When one man's father's don't follow,
These and other rules of being
It leads even the man, as great as Apollo
To wonder if this life is worth living.
Blessed are the poor, cries the Lord above
Blessed are your poor, says the Lord as a rule
But unfortunately, I can't seem to shove
This idea in the book of my solitary school
But Lord, is this not my own pride?
I ask this season
That I must know what is inside
The divine reason
Can the rich afford the grace that is needed?
To live without sin, without ignorance, without fears
While the poor are only superseded
With more poor, more blindness, and more tears
Mammon was the problem, but what was I proud of
Yes, not to acquire, but to be from the start
For in my ignorance I shunned your Divine Love
Thinking bad manners exist not for the smart
Now, they certainly exist
and I would like to repeat
though I am no nativist
nor am among the elites
Those, In which genius is found in the brains,
And the burden of life is lightly yoked.
When familial love is in the veins,
and you O Lord are readily invoked.
To be able to say,
in true empathy
“Oh poor, how sad it is they pay
a shame they have this leprosy”
To look at the child, so painfully beaten
To say, “how sad, she, he, there, that one
To see a young one, so awfully cheated
Deep Purple thuds, a bundle of his"
You gave me your healing balm
“What I know about the poor”
I cannot see your divine palm
“Silently, you love them more”
“Blessed are the poor”
This is man's grandeur