Today is the day that a British man tried to bring down a corrupt and abusive British governmet by blowing up parliament. It is a day to remember that governments are instituted by the people, for the people, and not for the banks (like Goldman Sachs) or corporate pirates that pillage the government and the people. So, today, tomorrow, and for the rest of your lives, remember the Fifth of November.
A closer look at the religious laws of the time from the BBC and also at the oppression of Catholics in Protestant England, circumstances that all led up to the Jesuits' decision to attempt revolution.
Remember, remember the fifth of November, The gunpowder treason and plot, I know of no reason Why the gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot.
Also known as the herb of grace, and rue, rosemary has deep associations with penance, resurrection, nativity and joy. In Europe, it is considered the Christmas herb. In its native land (the Mediterranean area) rosemary grows as a tall hedge. Legend has it that rosemary shrubs grow to 6 feet tall in 33 years (the height and age of Christ) but ceases it vertical growth once it is 6 feet so as never to stand taller than Jesus did. Another tale says that during the flight to Egypt, the Virgin Mary draped her blue cloak over a white flowering rosemary bush to dry. The blooms have been blue ever since to represent Mary’s blue cloak. "Legend abounds around this lovely perennial known as the "herb of remembrance." It is said that rosemary will grow particularly well in gardens tended by strong-willed women. Greek scholars wore a bit of the pungent herb in their hair when engaged in study as an aid to increase concentration."
His golden locks time to silver turned; O time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing; His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned, But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing; Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen; Duty, faith, love are roots, and ever green. His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; And, lovers' sonnets turned to holy psalms, A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, And feed on prayers, which are age's alms; But though from court to cottage he depart, His saint is sure of his unspotted heart. And when he saddest sits in homely cell, He'll teach his swains this carol for a song; "Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, Curst be the souls that think her any wrong." Goddess, allow this aged man his right, To be your beadsman now, that was your knight. ~ by George Peele
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