My Father’s House: A Poem about Freedom

I wrote this poem back in June, not knowing how this election would turn out.  Iluther-table-prayer thank God that the pro-baby-murderers did not win the day.  I pray that God continues to have mercy on our nation and draw us to repentance.

In the meantime, let us meditate on what our real freedom entails.  True freedom is found in the house where fathers train their children in the fear and instruction of the Lord.  It is found in the house where mothers reinforce what fathers teach and fight to defend.

And this is not just a moral instruction.  It is an instruction in the fear, love, and trust of God.  So lest we become nothing but moral crusaders in the face of perverts and the morally bankrupt, may we remember what it truly is that makes our father’s house free.  Here’s a poem about that house.

Whence comes the purpose for my fight
In word or deed contending?
What virtue makes my battle right?
Whose home am I defending?
They say my duty is to vote –
To “get out,” “rock,” or so they wrote.
“It doesn’t matter,” they proclaim,
“Whom you will choose. Just play the game,
Your greatest right commending.”

But all this does is obfuscate
The goal of my election
To meet my foes beside the gate
And urge my home’s protection.
My father’s house is my concern.
His virtue is for which I yearn.
It is the ground of liberty
To learn from mom and dad for free,
Receiving wise correction.

Now, this estate will I contend
Is part of God’s creation.
Thus it is good that we defend
From wicked deviation
By those who’d make our culture bare
Of father’s rule and mother’s care.
Though most will not our God embrace
We seek good order for our race,
Each in his noble station.

My voice is granted not by him
They call my father’s brother,
Who at this godless culture’s whim
Would draft my wife or mother.
No, Sam’s authority derives
From God whose power always strives
To keep His order good and true
Despite what nagging women do.
He gets it from none other.

‘Twas first to parents God so true
Gave earthly pow’r, commanding,
“Be fruitful; have dominion too.”
Thus nature’s still demanding
This crucial structure of the home
Lest sons and daughters wayward roam.
‘Tis not the state’s authority
To undermine what makes us free,
A father’s rule disbanding.

My voice is found not in the waves
Of popping-culture’s teaching,
Which sophomoric thinking raves
Will free us from the preaching
Of those who guide us how to think
And keep our wits lest we too sink
Into the empty plots of men.
These waves recede so yet again
Their voice is empty screeching.

Nor is my voice found in a vote
Among a mob endorsing
A culture void of dads, which smote
Their infants while enforcing
Polluted wombs within their wives,
Planned barrenness throughout their lives.
My voice is found when dads assert
What loving mothers won’t desert –
The truth they’re reinforcing.

A son learns tact; a daughter grows
To emulate her mother
Who guards her younglings, for she knows
Her husband will defend her.
For such a voice speaks louder still
Than all the mob’s fanatic will.
The father does not speak alone,
But takes the cause of all his own.
Their wants become his bother.

But what of those who never wed?
Should they be void of pleasure
To have their voices heard and fed
True freedom in full measure?
Yet even single gals and lads,
When they avoid the passing fads,
Promoting what their fathers taught
And keeping what their mothers wrought,
Sustain their culture’s treasure.

The truest voices of the free
Are stronger than the voting
Of crowds who in their misery
Elect the one promoting
Their own destructive policies,
Which undermine their liberties.
For though they win today’s campaign
And pour their festival’s Champaign,
They’ll perish in their gloating.

So take good courage, you who mourn
Your culture’s dying ember.
Your freedom’s virtue ne’er is torn
From those who ne’er surrender
The wisdom taught by father’s will,
Which mother did in us instill.
But still, be warned, lest you in vain
Pursue what’s good without the gain
Of God’s own mercy tender.

Man’s freedom dimly imitates
With sin-stained imperfection
What every Christian celebrates
In Jesus’ resurrection.
While sin corrupts a father’s home,
His rule reflects what God has shown.
True liberty our Father gives
When e’er His children He forgives
And chastens with instruction.

A father who is good and right
In outward word and action
Gains nothing if he spurns the Light
Who made full satisfaction
For all his sins, which bring to naught
The morals he his kids has taught.
But nonetheless the structure’s good,
That fathers govern, as they should,
Their homes in each ones faction.

So as we fight for liberty
Amidst a dying nation
May we not lose what makes us free
In God’s own Incarnation.
For even if the we win the day
Our works are vain and soon decay
If we don’t fear and trust the Lord
Who died to save us from the sword
Of righteous condemnation.

But say we lose the culture war,
And witness homes forsaken
To please the scoffer and the whore;
Our hearts will not be shaken!
For still we know that God is true.
He will our aching hearts subdue.
For hidden under all deceit
The wicked foes will all retreat
From Christ. We’re not forsaken.

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