This is the Time

This is the Time

This is the time
To feed the flame
And glorify
His holy name.

This is the time
To weed out sin
And weep and cry
For how we’ve been.

This is the time
Let go the past
Go forth and climb
For what will last

This is the time
To hear God’s call
The bells will chime
You’ll build strong walls

This is the time
To save the lost
And heal the lame
And embrace the cross.

This is the time
With hearts so strong
With purpose high
To sing new songs

This is the time
To change your heart
The Spirit rises
Revival starts

~Day Williams

Socialism Quotes


Socialism can be summed up in a single sentence: Hate the man that is better off than you are.

Charlie Kirk

Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires.
RONALD WRIGHT, America & Americans

Socialism in general has a record of failure so blatant that only an intellectual could ignore or evade it.
Thomas Sowell

Socialists cry “Power to the people”, and raise the clenched fist as they say it. We all know what they really mean–power over people, power to the State.
MARGARET THATCHER, speech to Conservative Central Council, March 15, 1986

In socialism of the future . . . what counts is the whole, the community of the Volk. The individual and his life play only a subsidiary role. He can be sacrificed–he is prepared to sacrifice himself should the whole demand it.
ADOLF HITLER, attributed, Hitler: Memoirs of a Confidant

Socialism is like Neil Diamond music. It’s not good and belongs in the past, yet there’s a group of people who think that it will eventually catch on if only they keep playing it.
JEFFREY EVAN BROOKS, attributed, “Socialism: The Next Social Revolution,” Alternate History Discussion Board, October 12, 2013

Socialism is the philosophy of failure, the creed of ignorance and the gospel of envy.
WINSTON CHURCHILL, speech at the Scottish Unionist Conference, Perth, Scotland, May 28, 1948

The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of blessings; the inherent virtue of socialism is the equal sharing of miseries.
WINSTON CHURCHILL, speech in the House of Commons, “Demobilisation”, October 22, 1945

The strongest argument for socialism is that it sounds good. The strongest argument against socialism is that it doesn’t work. But those who live by words will always have a soft spot in their hearts for socialism because it sounds so good.
Thomas Sowell

Failure is a big part of a free market’s success. People fail to live up to their potential, or to carry out all their good intentions, in all kinds of economic and political systems. Capitalism makes them pay a price for their failures, while socialism, feudalism, fascism and other systems enable personal failures, especially by those at the top, to be ignored.
Thomas Sowell

Socialism provides safety in numbers. And that’s OK, if you don’t mind trading your name–your identity and individualism–for a number.
JAROD KINTZ, 99 Cents for Some Nonsense


October 4: “St. Francis of Assisi” by Day Williams



(1181 or 1182–1226)

Francis of Assisi 



So humble was the Lord that He was born

A babe in manger’s straw one starry night

In Bethlehem, a King in poverty,


Not raised in palaces adorned with gold,

The homes of earthly kings whose holiness

Flickers like candles when the breezes blow.


“Remember that the Lord takes care of birds,

And clothes the flowers in their finery.

Not even Solomon was dressed like these,”


Christ Jesus told the crowds who followed him

In Galilee, “and you are worth more than

Sparrows, who cannot fall unseen, unknown,


Or unappreciated by the Lord,

Father of day and night, of earth and sky.

As he takes care of these, whose breaths are few,


So will the Lord supply your needs, you men

Seeking for worldly wealth and man’s esteem.

Increase your faith, and walk in holiness,


Surrendering the flesh and its desires,

In poverty of spirit, trusting God.”

When humble men receive the Word of God


In truth and love, as Francis did, their lives

Transform from formless coal to diadems.

I shall relate, dear reader, how this man,


An ordinary youth, was touched by God

And grew in holiness until the signs

That followed him were miracles, the signs


Of supernatural design, as when

He bled the wounds of Christ in hands and feet.

To tell a true biography in verse


About the lives of persons great and small,

Through whom the Lord achieved a mighty end–

That is my goal, though I may pant and sweat


As donkeys do when burdened with their loads,

Hardened in summer sun, as they ascend

A rocky slope, for God called me to write


When decadence has spewed its stones and thorns

As one more century concludes– declines

The way a sprinter’s vigor wanes when heat


And effort drain the muscles’ strength away.

By grace, and not by any righteousness

Of mine, this verse shall triumph over times


Where people value flash of currency

More than denial of the self for God.

My purpose is to glorify the Lord,


To teach how He inspires the meek and weak,

No matter where they live or who they are,

For God works miracles through those who call


Upon the name of Jesus with pure hearts.

God calls to you and me, but we must have

The ears to hear, and hearts that will obey.


Francis’ Youth

Real men are Christians, worshipping in truth.

When Nicodemus came by night to ask

The Lord about His Kingdom, Jesus said,


“Unless a man is born again, he can’t

Enter the Kingdom of eternal life.”

“Can man return inside his mother’s womb?”


Questioned the Pharisee who longed to know

(Much like a chemist, with his charts and tubes

Inquires how catalysts react in tests)


The secrets hidden in the Kingdom’s vaults.

Christ answered by analogy of wind

(Which blows from here to there in mystery)


To God the Holy Spirit, who moves, warms,

Builds, edifies, delights, corrects, convicts

And carries men in ways we cannot grasp.


Why God chose Francis and how this young man

Was born again– these details are unknown.

But that this urban roustabout, who led


His friends in revelry, was stopped, entranced,

We have no doubt; and friends inquired if he

Had fallen for a girl, and been engaged.


“I have a love,” he said, “but do not know

Her name, or where she lives, or how she looks.”

That unknown love was Lady Poverty.


God planted seeds in Francis’ heart and soul,

And they would germinate in time, the way

A sperm may swim inside an egg, and lose


Its tail, the two now fused as one, one life

So small the naked eye may not discern

The doubling of the cells from blastocyst


To embryo then fetus curled within

The womb, one human life throughout the growth,

(Miraculous as walking on a lake,


Or healing one born blind with gentle touch,

Or, with few words, commanding winds to stop)

Until what once was tiny sperm and egg


Spurts forth between the mother’s legs, a child

Who cries in bloody birth, first breath, the hope

Another generation gives to earth


Where God, Creator of the sun and stars,

Eternal, righteous, and all-powerful,

Controls the phases of the moon and tides,


Consoles the downcast, governs atoms’ spins,

Shines on the righteous, grieves for the forlorn,

Performs his miracles for the elect,


The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit: God,

Who formed the mountains from the driest land,

And shaped Antarctica, the Arctic, North


And South America, Australia, Asia,

And Africa, who nurtures men of God,

Who guards and shelters people in His wings,


Makes nations rise and fall, and molds the hands

Of babies as they grow within the womb.

He sends His word like rain and snow to do


His purposes, and by His will he brought

This birth in Francis, son of pomp and wealth,

This second birth with which he wrestled


Like Jacob with the angel, for this birth

Was like a death, the death of self’s desires,

Through Jesus making nothing of himself,


As though a knight (which Francis had aspired

To be, a killer of the infidels),

As bodyguard, received the darts and spears


The enemy directed at the King,

So that the greater person might yet live.

Thus he became a knight of Christ, a knight


Who loved the poor so much that he himself

Became a humble man of poverty.

A grotto at San Damiano, near


Assisi, hid in solitude the youth

Who sought the face of God in prayers and tears,

Lamenting sins that seared his heart and soul,


In war between the spirit and the flesh

Which roared and raged until the peace of death.

In pilgrimage to Rome the beggars drew


His heart, and he exchanged his silks for rags

And mingled with the beggars, begging alms

In joy with them beside St. Peter’s tomb.


Disgusted by the sight of lepers, once

He had turned his back and held his nose

Until the mercy of the Lord renewed


His heart so that he loved as Jesus did.

When at a leper colony two miles

From his home town, the youth confessed to them,


“I hated you!  Forgive me, I beg you!”

He lingered, and before he left, he gave

Them coins and kissed each one upon the mouth.


Inside a crumbling chapel, as he knelt

And prayed before a wooden crucifix,

Christ’s figure called to him by name and said,


“Go, Francis, and repair my ruined church,”

And Francis started with a lamp and oil

To burn and to irradiate the cross


And figure, crucified, which ordered him

To build the Church which lay in disrepair.

Isaiah prophesied the Lord to be


An unattractive man, the same they said

Of Francis, rich man’s son who sold the cloths

Belonging to his father, so he could give


The money to rebuild the chapel’s walls.

His father sued in civil court, which had

No jurisdiction over him who took


His refuge with a priest in poverty.

His father asked the Bishop for relief,

Authority which Francis did respect.


As villagers assembled in the church

To see the verdict, Francis, worn and gaunt

From fasts and prayers, and called a lunatic,


Threw back the money to his father, and

(While he took off his silken clothes, and tossed

Them one by one away, until he stood


Without a stitch to cover up his skin),

Proclaimed his only Father was the one

In heaven, as the bishop covered him,


For sake of modesty, in his robe’s folds.

His father mocked and cursed him ‘til the day

That Francis asked a brother to pronounce


A blessing every time his father swore.

Thus he departed from the merchant’s life,

A rebel with a cause, the cause of Christ,


Because he aimed to follow Jesus’ rules,

Relying on the Lord to meet his needs

As He provided for the birds, who do


Not work nor store their food for future want.

He begged for alms, prayed, fasted, and acquired

Some followers, who had no food to eat


But scraps they begged from door to door despite

The scorn of villagers who called them mad,

These Friars Minor, Lady Poverty’s


Companions, worshippers, and advocates,

Who gave their goods away to follow Christ,

Whose missions brought Good News to pagan lands


Where some achieved the martyrdom they sought.

In God’s Creation is a unity,

A brotherhood with plants and animals,


With fire and water, earth and air, which he

Could feel and know from friendship with the Lord.

When Francis preached, the birds flocked round to hear,


They massed in branches of the nearby trees,

They landed on his arms and by his feet.

A sheep accompanied the saint to his


Communion; a cicada came when he would

Call, lighted on his hand, and sang the praise

Of God with him; a hare from Grecchio


Would follow Francis like a dog; a fish

At Lake Rieta swam to ask the saint

To bless it, for this man of God could speak


Of God to animals, who understood.

He tamed a wolf that terrorized a town

By feasting on its citizens; as one


Would speak to an unruly child, the saint

Spoke to the wolf, whose last two years were spent

As docile as a puppy in a pen,


And, when it died, the people mourned the loss.


The Stigmata

In August of twelve hundred twenty-four,

Led by the Poverello, one small group


Of faithful friars–Brothers Angelo,

Illuminato, Leo (trusted guide),

Masseo, and Rufino–prayed and left


The Portiuncula and trekked through fields

And Alpine meadowlands to Mount La Verna

To celebrate a holy day, the Feast


Of the Assumption of the Virgin to

Heaven, a tenet of the Catholic faith.

In prayer beside a hut the Saint, who made


Himself as nothing, serving Christ, received

The marks, the wounds that showed conformity

To Jesus’ agony at Calvary.


The Friar Leo witnessed Francis lift

Off ground as high as limbs and leaves of trees,

And level with a giant beech’s top,


When he conversed with Christ in solitude.

September fourteen in twelve twenty-four,

The Christians celebrated how the cross


Had been recovered from the infidels,

The Feast of Exaltation of the Cross,

And Francis fasted as he dwelt upon


The sufferings of Christ for humankind,

Reality more real than grass or birds,

Unbearable to face unless the heart


Is humble and contrite, firm, pure, and meek.

St. Francis, who expected martyrdom,

Prayed toward the rising sun when suddenly


From heaven’s heights a seraphim with wings,

Six wings of flame, flew down to him who begged

Two graces from the Lord before he died:


To feel the Passion’s pains, and feel for Christ

The love that made Him sacrifice for us.

The seraphim was like a man, limbs nailed


Onto a cross, two wings across his face,

Two wings across his body, and two wings

With which he flew: Christ Jesus in this form


Revealed Himself to Francis, gazed at him,

Imprinted marks on him, then flew away.

St. Francis had received the marks of Christ:


His hands and feet were as though pierced with nails,

With round black heads upon the palms and on

The feet, and from the back of both his hands


And from the soles of both his feet bent points

Extruded, points of toughened flesh like nails.

From his right side flowed blood, blood


From his fifth wound, which looked as though a lance

Had pierced his side the way a soldier’s lance

Pierced Jesus’ side when He hung dead, dead God,


The Lord and Savior dead from broken heart

At Calvary outside Jerusalem,

Humiliated and forsaken Christ.


“Let no one cause me trouble, for I bear

The marks of Jesus on my body, friends,”

Wrote the Apostle Paul, and said no more


About the miracle to followers.

The first in more than a millennium

To gain the stigma of the Savior’s wounds,


St. Francis at first acted like St. Paul,

Reluctant to say much, until his friend

Illuminato told him, “God gives grace


To you, that you may edify your friends,”

And though he hid the wounds in bandages,

St. Francis showed the marks to friar friends,


The wounds that showed upon him even when

His Sister Death had taken him away.

Three hundred people since St. Francis have


Received stigmata, such as Padre Pio,

Teresa of Avila, Catherine of

Siena (an Italian patron saint)


Therese Neumann, and Veronica,

A miracle that skeptics can’t refute,

An intervention from above to show


The grace and glory of Christ crucified,

Beside which worldly riches count as trash.


His Last Two Years

His fast concluded and his body sick,


Despite the sea that stormed within his soul,

“You are the Holy One, the Lord,” he wrote

In happiness, then bid farewell to Mount


La Verna: “Peace to you, beloved mountain,

Which I shall never see again,” and bid

Farewell to Brothers Angelo, Sylvester,

St Francis 10mb

St. Francis Statue, Golden, CO


Masseo, and Illuminato: “Live

In peace, my children!  While my body goes

Away, my heart remains with you. Good-bye!”


As Jesus, entering Jerusalem,

The holy city where the prophets die,

Rode on a donkey, Francis rode upon


A donkey’s back for his return to home,

The Portiuncula, his forest home,

The humble chapel that he had rebuilt.


His fasts and penances, his loss of blood

From wounds that oozed his blood from bandaged hands,

Had weakened him, and nails within his feet


Made walking hard, if not impossible.

Yet still the Lord worked through the dying man,

Who healed an epileptic friar, cured


A boy whose wound healed over in the form

Of a red rose, and freed a woman who

Barked like a dog, possessed by demons’ snares.


A friend of Christ will cherish those for whom

Christ suffered on the cross of Calvary.

In joy the saint, now blind and weak, composed


A song, the Canticle to Brother Sun,

Exalting God in honor, glory, praise,

And blessing His Creation: Brother Sun


And Sister Moon, with humble thanks to God,

A song so beautiful that enemies,

Who heard the friars sing it, reconciled


And begged forgiveness in humility.

As Francis sang a Psalm, he died, and larks

Alighted on the roof as a white cloud


Carried a flaming star above the seas,

The Little Poor Man’s soul bound heavenward.

For sorrow after holy Francis died,


A pheasant from Siena would not eat,

And Sister Death transformed his body, limbs

As white as stars, wounds as black as nights


When clouds and branches pass across the moon.


His Last Days

For one like him, who sought to imitate

The Lord on earth in humble poverty,


To die and be with Christ was gain.

The cult of self-denying poverty,

A fellowship of sharing in His pain,


An antidote to greed and strife within the Church,

Was timely to rebuild the Church’s faith.

St. Francis reawakened faith in Christ,


Revolted by relinquishment of goods,

Refused to follow after wind and dust,

And traded silk for sow’s ears, gaining God,


Who sits upon the throne from age to age.

He traded vanishing delights for joy

That lasts, the happiness of serving Christ.


The lives of Christians form dramatic plays,

Where Francis played a simple, humble part;

To imitate the Lord was Francis’ heart,


To follow Him in poverty, his art.



St Francis2.10mb



1 The king now urged his son and all his aides

               To murder David, but the son of Saul

               Was very fond of David 2 and he warned,

‟My father Saul is looking for a chance

               To murder you, so be on guard, go hide

               Tomorrow morning and stay there 3 while I

Go out and stand beside my father in

               The field where you are hiding. I will speak

               To him of you and I will tell you all

That I find out.” 4 Next morning Jonathan

               Was walking with the king and he spoke well

               Of David, saying, ‟He has never done

A thing to harm you. He has always helped

               You any way he could, 5 and risked his life

               When he went out to fight Goliath. God

Brought a great victory to Israel.

               You saw it and were glad, so why would you 

               Now murder one who’s innocent? There is

No reason for it!” 6 Finally the king

               Agreed and promised, ‟As the Lord‘s alive,

               He won’t be killed.” 7 So later Jonathan

Called David over to his side and told

               Him how the conversation went with Saul.

               He brought his friend to Saul, so David was             

With Saul as in times past, 8 yet once more war

               Broke out, and David led his troops against

               The Philistines, and slaughtered many of

The enemy, and put to flight their troops,

               9 But then an evil spirit from the Lord

               Came on King Saul as he was sitting in

His house, his spear in hand, and listening

               To David play the harp, so suddenly

               Saul hurled the spear 10 and tried to pin him to

Saul Tries to Kill David with His Javelin

The wall, but David dodged the spear and fled,

               Leaving the spear imbedded in the wall.

               11 King Saul sent men to keep a watch upon

His house and kill him in the morning when

               He left, but Michal, David’s wife, informed

               Him, ‟If you don’t escape tonight, you will

Be dead by morning,” 12 so she let him down

               Through a house window, and he fled, 13 then she

               Picked up an idol, laid it on the bed,

And covered it with blankets, with its head

               Upon a goat’s hair pillow. 14 When Saul sent

               The men to capture David, Michal said,

‟He’s sick and can’t get out of bed.” 15 Saul said,

               ‟Then bring him in his bed, so I can kill

               Him,” 16 but when they arrived to carry him

Away, there was the idol in the bed,

               And at the head was goat’s hair. 17 ‟Why have you

               Deceived me and allowed my enemy

To flee from here?” Saul questioned Michal. ‟I

               Had to,” she answered. ‟He said he would kill

               Me if I didn’t help him get away.”

18 In that way David got away and went

               To Ramah to see Samuel, and told

               Him all that Saul had done to him. Then he

And Samuel went on to Naioth and

               Resided there. 19 Saul heard that David was

               At Naioth and in Ramah, 20 and sent men

To capture him, but when they saw a group

               Of prophets prophesying, Samuel

               In charge, the Spirit of the Lord came on

Saul’s men, who also prophesied. Saul heard

               About it, 21 and he sent more men, and they

               Too prophesied. Saul sent his men a third

Time, and they also prophesied. 22 At last

               He went himself to Ramah and arrived

               At Secu’s giant well, demanding, ‟Where

Are Samuel and David?” They replied,

               ‟Naioth at Ramah,” 23 so Saul went off to

               Naioth at Ramah, but God’s Spirit came

Upon him on the way to Naioth. 24 He

               Tore off his robes and he lay naked all

               That day and night, and prophesied in front

Of Samuel. Saul’s men said, ‟It can’t be true.

               Is Saul, King Saul, among the prophets, too?”