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Asiatic Moorish Missionaries

Poetry

The Foundation
MSTA
Our Religious Authoritave Books
Reflections of the Prophet Noble Drew Ali
The Law
Moorish Lessons
For the Uniting of Asia

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Alas! The Goal is Set


We have sat by the side of a low rugged road,

On a chest filled with shining gold

With our arms uplifted towards the drowsing horde,

And with a prayer from the depths of our soul.

We have begged for the comforts of all other man

At the cost of a great race pride

When all we get, we give to them

But for ourselves we refuse to provide.

We have opened the vaults that contain all the wealth,

And have borne it till our frames now bend,

We have delivered the burden at the cost of our health,

While laboring for all other men.

As we worked in fields they taught us a way,

For a time we refused to leave it

Up from the earth we brought wealth day by day

Which was ours but we did not receive it.

They taught us to ASK and all would be given,

We were beggars but still we could give,

They say that=s the course which leads to heaven,

But it is finished when we cease to live.

Our life's blood's pier in the country's foundation,

We have died that other=s might live,

Our sisters go begging in the fields of damnation,

Because their brothers have nothing to give.

Alas! Nay, not alas, but yet €“

There is time and we must atone,

Our vision is clear and the prophet has come,

If it is death let it be for our own.


Richard H. Ross Bey

Moorish Guide National Edition Vol. 1, No. 4, Page 4.

September 21, 1928.




Come All Ye Asiatics!

Come all ye Asiatics

And learn what I have learned

For this road I am traveling,

You=ll find it has no turn.

Come get your card and button

Show the people of this land

It=s the way you can be a citizen

A real woman or man.


Put on your fez and turban,

And don't feel ashamed,

Our God Allah will bless you

If you own your own principle and name.



Let the Prophet be your leader

Let Allah be your guide,

Let the temple be your hiding place,

Come Asiatics and get inside.

Sister Harper El

from Moorish Guide National Edition

Vol. 1, No. 14, Page 4.

March 1, 1929.



Dio de mio

There's peace within thy walls B Almighty Allah

The prayers of Israel's children soothe my mind;

And all the restlessness of me is calmed;

My futile heartaches vanish as I pray

The loneliness that haunted all my days,

E=en when I mingle with the crowds, is gone.



I feel the force and strength of calm companionship,

Uniting me with all Thy quiet strength.

Oh all these years I battled with myself,

Denying fiercely there was any God B Allah;

And all I found was emptiness in life,

Until today when something led me here,

And midst the prayers of Israel I find peace.



My Allah B and Allah of all my fathers

hear my supplication B In the coming year

be with me, with me when the road is dark with doubt,

Be with me when the haunting loneliness

Would crush my spirit down into the depths.

Oh! Never let me know the emptiness.

Juanita M. Richardson Bey

from Moorish Guide National Edition

Vol. 1, No. 11, Page 4.

January 15, 1929.



From Here and There: For an Asiatic Girl

When at evening our mother Earth lay down

And on her breasts that are hills there came

A shadow like that dusk the ages have Spread softly on your forehead and pale arms,

Then always at eve-hour I visioned you

Always as if through some pale sheet of dusk

That grew between us, I could barely see

Your olive-skinned limbed people aching up the years

And I could dream your bosom only through

That film -- hear your sweet laugh only to know

My folks can never share its sweetness, nor

Your crooning words, your fragrant wit they=ve thrust

You from their temples where some carved mock god

Leers at his bigot-children and priests

And sick with knowing how my people, and

Your people have played crassly with frail things,

(Leaving us here to weep among the shards)

I kissed our Mother Earth -- This we can have

In common, anyway -- and then I cried

AThy children are not perfect yet,

Oh Allah.


Juanita M. Richardson Bey

from Moorish Guide National Edition

Vol. 1, No. 9, Page 4. November 30, 1928.




Service: Dedicated to Alderman L.B. Anderson


Let me serve a friend or brother

While my part in life I play

Though unknown to me my neighbor

Let me serve him without delay.



Let my service bring me pleasure

When I give a helping hand

Let me build on earth a treasure,

Through service to my fellow man.



Though I hold in life a station

That seems low and too obscure

May I have the consolation

That when serving I endure.



Though I rise to fame and honor,

Far above the common mass

Never let there come an hour

Bidding service and I pass.



Let my service bring me glory,

In it let me find reward

On every page of my life=s story

Service let me there record.



Never let me faint nor falter

When the call to serve has come,

Let every day that makes me older

Find at its close a service done.



When I=ve finished my life=s story,

And into the great unknown must pass

May my service be the glory

From it write my epitaph.


Richard H. Ross Bey

from the Moorish Guide National Edition

Vol. 1, No. 3, Page 4.

September 14, 1928.



The Thundering Voice





Like thunder and clashes of lightning,

Striking upon the kingdom of heavenly land

Like a whip that has made blunders of its sayings,

Has come forth a voice of mirth,

That will still Thy form with Divine words of Allah

Seek ye not elsewhere for the house of refuge

Oh ye Moors residing in America

Ye that are ready shall walk straight

And narrow path for uplifting,

Of fallen humanity in America

We that are still wandering unprepared,

Shall walk the crooked path of destruction,

Oh ye that have fallen blind from the clashes

Of thunder and lightning,

You shall awake too late to enter the house of refuge.


Sister Harper El

from Moorish Guide National Edition

Vol. 1, No. 14, Page 4.

March 1, 1929.







Why the Prophet Came


The warning from the tombs of destruction,

From the earth he sallied forth

To liberate the oppressing sins of mind

Clear confusion, then he wanders on,

Fighting against the mentals of cement walls

That are built with bricks and mortar of ignorance,

For the Prophet to destroy.

We have cried and wept for the descending of Jesus,

Why not hear his voice?

The incarnated one of Allah

Who has come to enlighten the unrest bodies

Against menace and destruction.

The Prophet Noble Drew Ali has come to acquire

Victory for the Moors in America

Though dark and dreary it seems,

Yet there is light to be seen

For the reigner to shelter us in arms

That is powerful, but invisible

for the sheltering of demands

Triumph is ours.

Calamity for the unbelievable one,

Allah, the Father,

Noble Drew Ali, the Prophet son of Allah,

May the weak look up to the beautiful heavenly land,

Of Peace and Rest.


Sister Harper El

from Moorish Guide National Edition

Vol. 1, No. 14, Page 4.

March 1, 1929









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