by Frank Weltner. All Rights Reserved.
Psalms of Christian Identity & The Gospel of the House
The Holy Grail
I am the Nordic People. I am like snow,
Pure white. You know me as the Holy Grail.
I am the blood of Christ, sent down through years
Across the Seas, to plough these prairie fields.
My sons rise tall above the corn, sky high
Like Godís own sons. They stand forever near,
Forever ready with the sword and gun
To fend off evil and support the good
I am myself the father of the son.
My sons reflect my mirrored eyes of Christ
Upon their blue-eyed faces, and their seeds
Are strong and saintly, for these seeds beget
A billion Jesus souls throughout these lands.
Their progeny shall float through Heavenís Gates.
The Cup of Procreationís Seeds
My cup is clouded with the face of Christ
Who peers into my eyes and speaks of things
To come. These lands shall see the feet of saints
Whose sons shall bend the metal of the earth
Into great ships that sail the skies and stars
Into a new millennial frost. Upon
The wizened shield upon this cup of souls
Where Jesus peers at my sweet face, I see
Our futures flooding out upon the lands
Where timeís continuum speaks of saintly sons
With farms beneath a thousand planetsí stars,
Where men and boys become new angels strong
And eyes of Jesus grow through loins of iron
That part the virgin soils of endless worlds.
The Grail of Jesus rises on a plain
In whirling grace as powerful as Godís soul.
It rises high into the circling cloud
And sucks within its realm all trees and men
Whose fate it is to lie within its path.
Tornadoes come and go upon these lands,
And in their swirling eye, swim up the souls
Of men into the grace of God. That hole
Within the cup of whirling mass imparts
To us the fear of God Himself whose hands
Swirl through the stem of that great cloud
Whose funneled noise shall rip asunder manís
Miniscule tamperings upon these plains.
I pray I will ascend through one to God.
The Riverís Flow
The river by my farm is but the blood
Of Christís own suffering. These lands within
Its banks are sifted through its pulsing heart.
Its soul, like mine, is swirling in these seas
Of tenuous passing. We are like time itself.
Through loveís engulfing thighs we pass the blood
Of Christ through Nordic flesh and chaliced streams.
My seed is Christís, and so is yours. For we
As white as snow from Europeís side were torn
And spewed across the driving seas between
The spear of destiny that split the sides
Of Christís own people, those who stay the course
In Europeís cradle and in Western Lands
Where Christ has guided us by prophetís verse.
Magdalene, My Mother
She is the mother of us all, the Queen
Whose flesh enjoined the flesh of God
Himself, whose seed cast seed across the steppes
Of Europeís grassy plains. Sweet Magdalene,
The wife of Christ, my ancient Father, Who
Escaped the crossís cruel pike that wrent
His side where Holy Water ran with Grace
Into the worldís wounds. His flesh I see
Upon my arms and legs, his eyes and hair
I see within each glossy mirror where
I peer upon myself, reflecting grace within
My being, I, a Theo morph, a man
From Jesus born, whose flesh and blood
I am, whose ancient soul I reflect.
Thou Shall Not Commit Adultery
Men here within these lands conspire. They want
Adulteration of Christís blood within
These Holy Lands of God, for they are not
Of Him, but of the Devil. In their hearts
The Synagogue of Satan dwells which John
Of Patmos said would try to rule this world
And steal from Jesusí body all His Life and love.
In Revelation 2 point 9 God said,
"I know thy works, and tribulation, and
Thy poverty (though you are rich and lie).
I know the blasphemy of them who say
That they are Jews, but are not Jews but are
The Synagogue of Satan," those who seek
Adulteration of the Race of Christ.
The Body of Christ
Christís body swims within my blood. It keeps
Me safe and warm. My childrenís blood is true
To Him for I have married true. My wife
Is of the blood of Christ. Her seed and mine
Encircled these new men we bore upon
These lands of ours which Christ has given us
Fulfilling promises within His Bibleís books.
This Eden is the place where Christís own flesh
And blood shall live and breed in purity.
These brownish people shall not stay here long. They
Are of Satanís flesh, not mine. My children know
Them as the enemies of God, who try to be
Like us, yet never can attain our Grace.
For we are chosen, born from Magdalene
And Christ, her husband, We are Godís own Sons.
The Tares of Wheat and the Bloodied Harvest Time
A good man planted wheat. By Grace of God,
It sprouted high into the Sunís gold eye.
An evil man came in and planted tares,
Which are the weeds of useless changing times,
Whose evil ways to men seem good and yet
To God are never good. The blades of wheat
Adulterated in a mass of weeds.
As Jesus said, "This field of tares describes
The world itself. The wheat is Christianity.
The weeds are Satanís people planted here
Within my Churchís heart. Weíll harvest first
The wheat, then kill the people whose vile weeds
Were placed inside my church to minister
The ways of evil men, to ruin the good.
The Father Son and Holy Spirit is "the fish"
Or "Ichthyus" by which our peopleís ways
Where known in Roman Times. Upon the Sea
Of Galilee were cast the nets of Christ.
A multitude of fish who are the saved,
Or "Christians", snared their fins within those nets
Which those Disciples drew into the air
Before the cross upon which sails attached
Their little boat to Godís own self, drawn up
Into the blinding eye of God whose Grace
Imparted hope unto their new estate.
We are the fish drawn to that net and hurled
Across the seas to this America where we
Are blood of Christ and not of Satanís kind.
The Burn of Harvest
Mat 13:40 As therefore the tares are gathered
and burned in the fire;
so shall it be in the end of this world.
Godís hand shall harvest all the souls whose blood
Is white as snow through Christís own line and cast
In Hellís grand fires diversityís foul seeds
Whose darkened skins are but the mark of Cain.
"As therefore tares are gathered to be burned
Within the fire of tribulation, so shall be
Those times known at the worldís end" Ö those times
Are but that Pyrhic Victory of Satanís grand
Deceit whereby the souls of mud men born
Of Cain, the Son of Satanís Spawn in Eveís
Foul womb despoiled by Satan's seed
Are burned in effigy and then in haste.
Through Christ and Magdalene's own blood shall Grace
Within this nationís field of tares be saved.