The Church of the Last Days by Jo Ann Glasco
The Abandoned Rural Church by Mrs. H. A. Gregory, 1930
O Church by Frnakie Moore
God's Bride by Nicky Bianchini
The Church of the Last Days
Many established churches will close their doors
There will be no money to pay office help
No money to be made,
No money to be paid.
Some sanctuaries will be open for services only.
The buildings will become a shelter for the broken-hearted, destitute, and lonely.
They will become as spiritual hospitals for shipwrecked vessels who are trying to stay - survive.
When the hour becomes late, many will just be trying to stay alive.
Theologians and religious hierarchy will delete the original, supernatural gospel.
What is left will be soothing words without Spirit or power.
They will all continue sleeping through the last hours.
A new way is being prepared for the church of the latter days.
The temple will be restored in My people.
I will be found living in the saints, not in a building with a steeple.
My saints will form an army
A remnant of believers marching in one accord.
They are clothed in sanctified raiment and spiritual weapons to slay the devil's horde.
The overcomers will become the winners of the coming battle and tribulations;
They will be found standing victorious in the midst of chaotic devastations.
I have numbered My people and My mark is written on their foreheads;
Those who intercede with sighs and groans
Who give their lives and lay prostrate before My throne. Jo Ann Glasco
The Abandoned Rural Church
Once with reverent worshippers
This little church was crowded,
Sweet songs of praise rose on the air
And with nature's sounds were blended;
With songs of birds and murmured prayers
Of forest trees around it.
And with words of cheer and sympathy
As neighbor greeted neighbor.
They builded well, those pioneers,
And holy things remembered,
Although its building cost them much
Of labor, self denial.
They made of this a sacred place
Where weary hearts were strengthened,
And mourners sometimes came here too,
And laid away their loved ones.
But times have changed, the crowds pass on
In plane and speeding motor,
And in the rush of modern life
Is this little church forgotten.
The quaint old stile is broken now,
The place where lovers lingered,
And bats and birds and creeping things
Make this their habitation.
The tall trees still their vigil keep
Above the graves so lonely,
And sweet songs sing o'er them each day
And prayers still murmur softly.
This said tomorrow men will come
With hammers and with axes,
And tear down this church that they may use
For other things, the lumber.
NO NOBLE EFFORT, NO FINE THING,
UPON THIS EARTH IS WASTED.
And it may be good from here will reach
IN EVER WIDENING CIRCLES,
And children of those pioneers may still receive a blessing. Yet I drop a tear, dear little church
Of sad regret o'er your passing
These precious words were penned by Mrs. H. A. Gregory in approximately the year 1930. Although she apparently was speaking about a natural building which was about to be demolished at that time, it is easy to see a picture of organized religion which is being torn down in our time in history. From "Through the Veil" Issue 1, Summer 1996, Frankie Moore
You have become like a well educated and practiced mortician, trying to doctor up and beautify a dead body. Yes, I am speaking of that dead, many membered structure which at times, continues to move and speak just as if it were still living. This is because of the nerve impulses which have not yet subsided. Remember, however, just because there is motion, this does not mean there is life. The only thing that can make this dead body alive once again is My resurrection life. Keep this in mind as you try to revive those who are deceased.
Are dead bodies to be made glorious while in a state of decay? Be reasonable. My Father did not this ordain. So let the dead be dead. Yes! Let them be dead. . . so that I, even I, may raise them up again. For did I not say, "I am the resurrection and the life." You would do well to meditate on these things. Frankie Moore
The creation is groaning for a great event
For this is the reason why Jesus was sent.
All flowers and trees and all fleshly life
Wait for the revealing and wakened from sleep
This great revelation, it goes so deep
To make it plain, there's a glorious bride
She's walking through fire as gold is tried.
There's not spot, nor wrinkle, or blemish in her
With flesh and blood she does not confer!
Precious and closest to the heart of God
The ashes of the wicked she doth trod.
Made to be changed in the twinkling of an eye. . .
God's Glorious Bride Shall Never Die
The Bride answers: "We've waited and longed for your matchless love,
Jesus, your the Spirit from above... My heavenly dove!"
Poem by Nicky Bianchini
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