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Wednesday, March 29, 2017

How Planned Parenthood Abortionist Deals With Infants Born Alive

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Abortionist prepares to kill the baby of a  23-year-old woman Abortionist prepares to kill the baby of a 23-year-old woman

Behold the monsters we’ve become.

This is what the civilized 'age of enlightenment' looks like?


So when do we apologize to pagan Rome for regarding its final days as the most decadent in history, when ours are so much worse?

When do we admit that we’re just as sick and twisted as any Nazi eugenicist, the account of whose perversity once terrorized our society? Now, we are worse than Nazis.

Given what America has become—in which the words “perversion” and “evil” and “innocence” have lost their meaning completely—won’t God soon need to apologize to Sodom and Gomorrah?

Scientist Gerhard Domagk said, "Whatever contributes to the preservation of life is good; all that destroys life is evil”—unless, that is, we’re talking about Planned Parenthood doctors, folks who laugh as they tear babies apart, sell the little bloody body parts, and then get paid for the “good work they do” by every single one of us.

God forgive us for the demonic lunatics we’ve become.

Ballad to Our Lady of Tears

A prayer for the unborn 

by Therese Ickinger
(Reprinted from The Remnant, 1976)

O Mary, Mother of all men
Remember how one day
You rocked a little Boy to sleep
In a cradle filled with hay.

Remember how you held Him,
The long and weary night,
You fled from Herod’s soldiers
In Egypt’s dismal flight.

How the lonely stars looked down.
How the night was long;
With hoof beats in the distance
But in your heart a song.

You trod the darkness round you
You warmed the sands so cold
You lulled the winds to whispers
And turned the tears to gold.

When God was very little
And Life was very new,
With death a lurking shadow
He chose to cling to you.

He chose not Heaven’s legions,

Nor Michael’s sword of flame,
To shield Him in the darkness;
He chose your tender name.

Your tender arms to hold Him,
Your tender eyes so deep
Your tender voice to comfort
And sing His soul to sleep.

Look down again in pity
O Mother of Our Lord
Upon a world where children still 
Must flee from Herod’s sword.

Where Moloch claims his victims still
And still the price is paid
Where lust is crowned and love is drowned
And death a grim charade.

Where little ones are torn apart
Or burned with hateful brine
Where murder in a velvet coat
Is a social valentine.

These little hands, these little feet,
These little eyes and ears,
O Mother, see their misery 
Baptize them in your tears.

They have never known the sunshine
Nor felt the cool of rain
Their heritage is horror
Their first caress is pain.

They were the breath of springtime.
The promise April gave,
Til winter’s vultures ravished-
Their cradle is their grave.

And now before the Father
Some ask: whose can these be?
Please wrap your arms around them,
Say: these belong to me.

For love of Him who was little too,
Who traded Heaven to be with you,
Take these children torn apart
To the playground of your heart.

Bruised and swollen, crucified
On the cross of human pride;
May their bodies perfect rise,
Take their souls to paradise.

Let them not for want of grace
Linger in a darkened place.
Ask your Son to give them joy,
He was once a little Boy.

Now and at the hour of death,
May they feel your gentle breath;
Tuck them in a bed of white,
O Mother, sing to them tonight!

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Last modified on Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Michael J. Matt | Editor

Michael J. Matt has been an editor of The Remnant since 1990. Since 1994, he has been the newspaper's editor. A graduate of Christendom College, Michael Matt has written hundreds of articles on the state of the Church and the modern world. He is the host of The Remnant Underground and Remnant TV's The Remnant Forum. He's been U.S. Coordinator for Notre Dame de Chrétienté in Paris--the organization responsible for the Pentecost Pilgrimage to Chartres, France--since 2000.  Mr. Matt has led the U.S. contingent on the Pilgrimage to Chartres for the last 24 years. He is a lecturer for the Roman Forum's Summer Symposium in Gardone Riviera, Italy. He is the author of Christian Fables, Legends of Christmas and Gods of Wasteland (Fifty Years of Rock ‘n’ Roll) and regularly delivers addresses and conferences to Catholic groups about the Mass, home-schooling, and the culture question. Together with his wife, Carol Lynn and their seven children, Mr. Matt currently resides in St. Paul, Minnesota.