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The Spiritist Review - Journal of Psychological Studies - 1863 > March > Spiritist Poetry
Spiritist Poetry
Why lament?Spiritist group from Pau, medium Mr. T…
Man was created active, intelligent and free;
God made him the artisan of his own destiny.
He was given two paths to choose from:
One leads to evil, the other to a virtuous home.
The first is apparently smooth,
Easily covered without much strength,
Carelessly, indolently given to brutal
Instincts, hopelessly led by the impulsive fall.
It needs no more. The other one on the contrary,
Seeks continual effort, works endlessly,
Thorough vigilance, careful research,
Reason is prime, instincts on the leash.
Free, man can choose the first one,
Indefinitely groping the dark zone,
Having passion and brutality by guides,
Covering reason with instinct and spite.
However, he can also listen with his heart instead
A kind voice whispering to his ears: Shed
The light of progress on your way,
Leave immobility behind and pray.
Your destiny is in your hands:
Be the wandering shadow, without aim
Or like the joyful bride whose heart acclaims.
If you choose evil in this world
You may conquer pageantry, titles,
But an appeased and kind soul
That warmth in your heart will never grow.
Parties and celebrations in your course
Shall chase you in your remorse.
Stains, dissenting sounds at the station,
Hear the chants of triumph and real celebration.
Later, when the last hour has come,
When the Spirit finally leave its dome,
It is time to undress the moral self,
Where only the shinning truth dwells,
No place for lies or hypocrisies,
Your guilty life, your greatest enemy!
The ghost of your past is the shadow,
The executioner behind you.
Your crimes have you sentenced.
Rich and powerful you are now naked,
Abandoned, running away like the trembling
Hunt that cannot escape. The prey
Is now lost, nowhere to go.
The last scream of pride may perhaps blow
Your mind, and you say blasphemies against God
When your conscience is now the lord
Telling you out, loud and clear: No
More, stop now bad and blasphemous soul;
God created you active, intelligent and free
So that through this boundless power you may see
How evil can become goodness by the will
Of anyone that walks the good path until
The final prize is conquered,
The soul in heavens awarded.
That reward is waiting for you.
Don’t be sorry. Stand up and move.
Beg God for His presence around
You. When Work, fight and persistence abound
That will be heavens in you.
A protector Spirit
Note: We let go mistakes of poetry in favor of the idea.
Mother and son
Spiritist Society of Bordeaux, July 6th, 1862, medium Mr. Ricard
A beautiful baby rested in the cradle
Dressed pink and white; the young mother
Rocked the bed, so little,
Watching over with the eyes of an angel!
Oh! How beautiful you are my dear!
Sleep well, your mom is so near…
When time to wake has come
The first caress and kiss are mine.
Oh God, how beautiful this child is…
Take me instead but my son I cannot miss…
Lord, I beg you, leave my son alone
The little mouth has already mumbled: Mom!
Word so smooth and kind
Like a sunray in the spring.
A lovely word, a sweet harmony
That in our hearts reverberates heavenly!
Ah! When I have you in my arms, in the warmest;
Your heart beating on my breast,
I feel happy as if sharing the feast
Of God’s elected ones.
It is all mine… the child is my dream!
I want to live for her, my life’s gleam.
The vivifying sap of my love
Shall protect this cradle from death, or keep it away thereof…
God, I will soon see him walking
His first trembling steps, vacillating!
Oh! What a happy day! I wait with some
Fear that this day will never come!
And still out of my faith
I see him honored, virtuous and great,
Keeping from his early and timid days
The purity of heart that shall make him happy.
He is so beautiful, my God! If misfortune is
To hit my son please take my life for his!
Keep him under my love, I beg you,
The little mouth has already mumbled: Mom!
He is so cold… the lips colorless!
Wake up, dear son, you seem lifeless!
Come to my heart from where your life streams…
You are so cold… I am all shivers and fear!
Ah! It is all over! Life no more!
I am miserable! I lost the son that I adore!
Merciless God… I am so angry…
You are not just and Almighty!
What has this innocent angel done to you?
Why have you taken him from me so soon?
I now abjure the whole sacred belief…
To your eyes I have also found death…
-o-
“Mom, it is me! The escaping soul…
The Eternal has sent me back to you.
Live no more, Mom, this senseless rage;
Come back to God, I bring you faith!
Kneel before the Lord’s will.
Mom, in a distant time you killed
The very child that you born.
Kneel before his power!
You are now by God punished!
Take this book! It will sooth your pain,
This sacred book contains
The words of the Spirits!
If you read it, mom, with your heart lit
You will one day in heavens
Meet your son again!”
Your guardian angel