A man is very apt to complain of the ingratitude of those who have risen far above him.
quote by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The general cry is against ingratitude, but the complaint is misplaced, it should be against vanity; none but direct villains are capable of willful ingratitude; but almost everybody is capable of thinking he hath done more that another deserves, while the other thinks he hath received less than he deserves.
quote by Alexander Pope
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Cry
Why do you cry? He has risen.
Why are you weeping? He's not dead.
Why do you cry? he has risen.
Why are you weeping? He's not dead.
He paid it all on that lonely highway(hayyyy). And his anointing I can feel. He shed his blood (ohh ohh ohh). For my
transgressions (ohh ohh ohh). And by his stripes we are healed.
Why do you cry? He has risen.
Why are you weeping? He's not dead.
So as you go through lifes journey(neeeee). Don't you worry lift up your head. Don't you cry (ohh ohh ohh) stop your weeping
(ohh ohh ohh) He has risen He's not dead.
[Chorus]
Don't cry
wipe your eyes
He's not dead.
(ohh ohh ohh ohh)
Don't weep
He's not asleep
Je-hovah
He's not dead
(ohh ohh ohh ohh)
Don't cry
wipe your eyes
He's not dead
[with modulation repeat 4x's]
song performed by by Kirk Franklin from The Rebirth Of Kirk Franklin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Trip To Auschwitz
I did not complain when my toes succumbed to numbness.
I did not complain when the bitter wind threw itself against me.
I did not complain when the thick mud ruined the flares of my jeans.
In comparison to the tragedy that has befallen here.
I have nothing of value to lose.
What is value?
What can I consider a true loss?
Nothing.
In comparison to the holocaust.
poem by Rachel Henley
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Must I Complain, O God, I Pray?
When you made me by love thine,
And called me sweetly by my name,
And wrote it in your palm divine,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
When you chose me for job fine,
And gave me breath in special way,
And made me walk on earth, ravine,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
When you led me through hill, vale,
And desert, plain, seasons umptine,
And kept me safe through flood and hale,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
When you watched o'er me night, day,
And fed, clothed, sheltered me all life,
And held me by right hand en way,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
When you suffered, died on cross,
And resurrected on third day,
And wait for me with Father Boss,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
When you are Almighty God,
And love to see my soul back pure,
And fair in judgment, just in rod,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
Fondly dedicated to my dear elder sister,
Miss. Noeline Mary Clemencia BSc., B.T.,
On her birthday today
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-02-'12
poem by John Celes
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I complain of my own nothingness
I COMPLAIN OF MY OWN NOTHINGNESS
I complain of my own nothingness
And I ask God for Help.
Am I a hypocrite or just a fool?
Or perhaps more kindly put
A person of the eternal human contradictions?
I complain of my own nothingness
And ask God for Help.
God Who has given me so much,
Why did You also have to give me
My sense of my own nothingness, also?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Body
the eyes complain
about the brows that
they dont curve
the right way
the lips complain
about the teeth
that they are not
uniform in stature
for a real show
the heart complains
about the libido that
it is too tiresome
and cyclical to
entertain
the brain grumbles
about itself for being
too slow to absorb
the world
the fingers complain
about the itching back
that it is too far away
to scratch
and the legs,
they cannot even run
as fast as they wish
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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We Complain
We complain
When in other countries people are in pain
We complain
And on the other side, conditions are inhumane
We complain
Many people want to ascertain
I don't eat cheese
While in other countries people die of disease
I don't want to clean my room
While many people starve just wanting food to consume
My mom just gave me 50 dollars and thats not enough
In different places people can't even pay for rent; life is tough
We complain
Many people, their life they can't sustain
Parents their kids they can't maintain
On Christmas people can't even buy a candy cane
People feeling like they're drowning in acid rain
And we complain
People out there who can't even afford to watch an ad campaign
People hiding on the streets because of shame
Because themselves are the ones to blame
Many things they detain
People out there who wish they were slain
People who wear the same clothes with the same little stain
People sleeping out in the rain
People who have given up and just start to cut their vein
When some people work and get their paycheck, they feel nothing they gain
Without insurance they gotta be careful because there's nothing they can sprain
Many people like in Africa have nothing to eat, not even a little grain...
And we complain
poem by Bianca Edwards
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Army Of Me
Stand up
You've got to manage
I won't sympathize
Anymore
And if you complain once more
You'll meet an army of me
You're allright
There's nothing wrong
Self-sufficience please!
And get to work
And if you complain once more
You'll meet an army of me
You're on your own now
We won't save you
Your rescue-squad
Is too exhausted
And if you complain once more
You'll meet an army of me
song performed by by Bjork from Post
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sad Sadducees
The Sadducees
were sad you see.
They did not like what Peter said
that Jesus had risen from the dead.
But the lame man walked
and the people talked.
For by the risen power of Jesus' name
The man was healed and no longer lame.
Easter Day, II
So in the sinful streets, abstracted and alone,
I with my secret self held communing of mine own.
So in the southern city spake the tongue
Of one that somewhat overwildly sung,
But in a later hour I sat and heard
Another voice that spake another graver word.
Weep not, it bade, whatever hath been said,
Though He be dead, He is not dead.
In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
Weep not beside His tomb,
Ye women unto whom
He was great comfort and yet greater grief;
Nor ye, ye faithful few that wont with Him to roam,
Seek sadly what for Him ye left, go hopeless to your home;
Nor ye despair, ye sharers yet to be of their belief;
Though He be dead, He is not dead,
Nor gone, though fled,
Not lost, though vanished;
Though He return not, though
He lies and moulders low;
In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
Sit if ye will, sit down upon the ground,
Yet not to weep and wail, but calmly look around.
Whate’er befel,
Earth is not hell;
Now, too, as when it first began,
Life is yet life, and man is man.
For all that breathe beneath the heaven’s high cope,
Joy with grief mixes, with despondence hope.
Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief;
Or at least, faith unbelief.
Though dead, not dead;
Not gone, though fled;
Not lost, though vanished.
In the great gospel and true creed,
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Gen Generic Genes
for love generation
cutting edges a pledge
earth risen dough
a clay risen pot
gen generic means
for love generation
beauty made vow
in a heartful spot
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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He's alive!
He's alive! He's back from the dead!
He has risen just like He said.
Conquering death and the grave.
Rising with mighty power to save.
He's alive! Come with me and see.
For He has won the victory.
Rejoice with me as the good news I tell
He's risen triumphant over death and hell.
If you say that he is guilty of ingratitude, you need say no more.
If ordinary people complain that I speak too much of myself, I complain that they do not even think of themselves.
quote by Michel de Montaigne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Death Song
THE sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day,
But glory remains when their lights fade away:
Begin, you tormentors ! your threats are in vain,
For the son of Alknomook will never complain.
Remember the arrows he shot from his bow,
Remember your chiefs, by his hatchet laid low:
Why so slow? do you wait till I shrink from the pain?
No; the son of Alknomook shall never complain.
Remember the wood, where in ambush we lay,
And the scalps which we bore from your nation away:
Now the flame rises fast; you exult in my pain;
But the son of Alknomook can never complain.
I go to the land where my father is gone,
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son:
Death comes like a friend to relieve me from pain;
And thy son, O Alknomook, has scorn'd to complain.
poem by Anne Hunter
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Bury Me Where I Fall
Comr brush away these fists and i will tell you
Everything
I hope you know how long I'm lacking
So carve my name and take me to the strength udner it all
Then bury me where I fall
Push and Pull like sex machines, like sex machines
Push and pull like sex machines, like sex machines.
Qustioning if I should even be here
I won't make that same mistake
And taking to bed all these things that I hate
I will complain, I will complain
A bleeding light has made us all just want to wash away
and best believe I want it blinding
Under it all I bacl out holes and glorify disguise
still draining me from all this strife
Push and pull like sex machines, like sex machines
Push and pull like sex machines, like sex machines
Questioning if I should even be here
I won't make that same mistake
And taking to bed all these things that I hate
I will complain, I will complain
Stare at the sun
Staring at the sun...
Questioning if I should even be here
I won't make that same mistake
And taking to bed all these things that I hate
I will complain, I will complain
...Bury me where I fall.
song performed by by 36 Crazyfists
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ingratitude is treason to mankind.
quote by James Thomson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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