Labor not for the meat that perishes,
Which the swank, the swine eat in lofty parishes.
For your hour has come to now arise.
Yes, youre young, but dont despise.
For My grace and glory do I now give thee.
To stand up, to stand forth, and cause all men to see.
That there is a God in heaven who came and died.
He was ridiculed, rejected, and even despised.
The masses thought they knew full well.
Yet they were shown to know little.
Dried up in dead religion with not a lick of spittle.
What little they had they put it in My face.
For they were long beguiled and out of the race.
Nevertheless even for them I died,
That they too one day would learn to not compromise.
For religion is My archenemy.
That you surely must see.
For I have come that you might have liberty,
Even life abundantly.
So do not settle into religious captivity.
Religion is a robber, a brutal evil.
It comes on behalf of its devilish author
Disguised with pleasantries
Bestowing flattery
Preaching peace and seducing with all subtlety.
Not knowing My Word
Many suck it in and think it nice.
But afterward it leaves them empty and bound.
Thats its price.
So awake, awake, awake My friend!
This dead religion is coming to an end.
And I will soon leave My throne in Paradise.
To run toward earth to get My Church,
The tiny remnant, who have paid the price.
Soon they will be taken away with Me
To receive their prize.
For their labor is sweet, their devotion real.
Their zeal contagious, and prayers I feel.
The hour is come, time is about up.
Therefore make the most of every minute
And dont shut up!
For now is the time to speak and to shout
To tell all the world what Im about.
Awake the Church!
Awake the nation!
Plead with them with divine inspiration.
Tell the Church before it can go up
It must grow up!
Tell the nation that I miraculously gave her birth
But if she neglects me much longer
It will get far worse.
So seize the moment.
Claim the prize.
Each and every soul is precious
Before My eyes.
I cannot take it much longer.
Ill soon come back.
So evangelism fervor
Do not lack.
Your nation is nearly dead spiritually
Yet not on her knees.
Perhaps another attack
And shell remember Me.
Perhaps not even with that
For she has grown plump and oh so fat.
Fat for the fiddle,
Which the devil now plays.
Ready for the frying pan
For destructions on the way.
So make haste
And dont delay!
For unless you can call her to repentance
Your nation shall surely pay.

by Paul Davis - poet and prophet