Real name: François-Marie Arouet.
Pen Name: Voltaire.
Born: 21 November, 1694. Paris, Kingdom of France.
Died: 30 May 1778 (aged 83). Paris, Kingdom of France.
Language: French.
Nationality: French.

He was well read, had great influence.
Monarchs - kings, queens, sought his presence.
Yes, he had long nights of woe,
Opposed with no little foes,
But, yea, he got his freedom - 
Had wealth, like he who ruled a kingdom.
His wisdom, nay, philosophy
Amounted to no small a fee.
His works, noted, both home and abroad,
Sought to bring glory, but not to the Lord.
He believed in some god I don't know of - 
And rejected the Lord of Hosts, yea, cast Him off.
He was recognized for criticising the Bible -
Turned the Holy, Precious Word to the ignoble.
He boasted that in a hundred years - 
Trivialising the Saviour's tears;
That the Word of God, even the Bible, would be a forgotten Book!
That's the height - History heard it, Men took it, like 'twas the hook.
But The Word of God can never pass away -
Though the night changed into day.
Wonder of all wonders -
Not long after he died, the Publishing House of the Bible, was his Home at Geneva.

Voltaire lay on his deathbed at eighty three,
Abandoned of God, you see,
And though, his life was long, pity -
He was on the way to an endless journey.
He died in such a terrible manner,
In agony and rejection, he died, a loner.
The Nurse, who was, to tend the Man,
Gave a troubling, bitter cry -
"For all the wealth of Europe, I will not see another atheist die!"

Dear Friend, God is as real as the air you breathe, though you may not see Him. Give Him your heart today.

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