Hi Y'all
I like this board but the pages are still too small..
Originally 7 verses, it now amounts to 20 short verses of comment about WT authority. It is journalistic at best, but that seems appropriate to the subject - don't you think? I can think of a couple of witnesses from my past who would have enjoyed this - only a couple!
Phil0
There are little bits of Brooklyn
In every little land
Where every nationality
Pass tracts from hand to hand
So witnesses work up and down
The streets from door to door
Spreading bits of Brooklyn,
As their fathers did before
They pound the broken bell-pushes
The doormats and the paving
They clatter gate and letterbox
A warning and a saving
And scratch s8s and crumpled maps
To mark their territory
And call back if they left a mark
Or a book with anybody
In every congregation
There are ‘types’ and there are ‘ones’
There are suits and there are dresses
There’s lame and blind and dumb
The talented monologist
The reader of God’s word
The singer of the kingdom songs
All love it to be heard
And everywhere beneath the sun
They love it to be heard
And even when the wicked one
Sends rain they're undeterred
And though the homes they call on
Are only houses through the day
They carry out their righteous work
Regardless anyway
In every study group you find
A dogged rambling one
Who stretches all material
On sex and Christendom
And one who does her pre-study
Whom no one wants to hear
And one who makes best use of time
Dozing in his chair
With Sunday morning meetings
From the front there comes a talk
Propped behind the lectern
Someone teaches how to walk
He holds God’s word aloft for all
In leather and golden leaf
While he reads his notes from Brooklyn
Kept discreetly underneath
Families are protected
From unnatural desires
The Christian home a haven is
When vigilance never tires
Be assured and be restrained
Even couples newly wed
For you, little bits of paper
Have been scattered on the bed
So discreet they are and careful
With their dearest closest friends
They whisper nothing risqué
Lest their joys one day should end
In a quiet inner room
Among the wise and grey of hair
And they be judged unworthy
When with little bits compared
When evil finds their children
It's tyranny exposed
A flood of warm repentance
Will ensure the case is closed
Because all the hours in service
And neighbourly apathy
Would be wiped out in a moment
By such adverse publicity
Charged to stay within the law
They pay their tax and dues
It sets them clear of worldliness
Their obedience is their food
But when it's for the kingdom
Fraud is praiseworthy indeed
And they glory in infringing
The superior decrees
So they smuggle wads of currency
'Cross national frontiers
They traffic in bible books
For busy pioneers
Both Caesar's deceivers
And his loyal subjects true
They learn to act whichever role
Brooklyn tells them to
Do you wonder at the daring?
Of those cropped Society men?
That double lives and honour
Have incorporated them
But they kneel to a God of truth
So present, brief, and past
That the call to ship the paper
Is the highest call at last
Still no part of the world they are
No sharing in it have they known
No pagan heritage can mar
No ancient evil seed be sewn
For they are clean of holidays
And celebrating birth
No festive cheer will interfere
With their ministry on earth
All can answer questions
For they duly have been taught
They hold their hands above their heads
Like truly Christians ought
They start by saying, "I believe…"
But then they fear and doubt
So they find the numbered paragraph
And read the answer out
Every six-month visit
From the Circuit Overseer
Brings the nearness of the final day
For those who know God fear
Yet as the years rush past
How those great men younger seem
And another generation shrugs
And passes off the scene
Now the ageing baby-boomers
Bravely take the bread and wine
Filling up the places
Of the evil slave and dine
They bear a heavy cross for this
By every name one stands
But the little bits of paper
Take each cross to Uncle Sam's
And the Holy Spirit brings them
In the blinking of an eye
And a geo-stationary angel
Guards them as they fly
To be received in Brooklyn
And among the hours compiled
The bits are kept partitioned in
The 'Professed Anointed' file
From time to time one falters
On the narrow road to joy
Forgetting that the mind
Is for his betters to employ
Restoring him to little thoughts
Is troublesome and next
He's shunned for asking questions
Not written in the text
In every body of elders
In every backroom session
For every kingdom incident
In every congregation
There are little bits of Brooklyn
That are floating in the air
Where two or more are gathered
Note: these little ones are there
Yes, a little piece of Brooklyn
Reaches every little land
And these little bits of paper
Pass each way from hand to hand
This is what God's purpose is
For every tribe and tongue
For Brooklyn’s bits of paper
Are from Him to everyone
End