On a picture of Harvey Birch
I know not if thy noble worth
My country's annals claim,
For in her brief, bright history
I have not read thy name.
I know not if thou e'er didst live;
Save in the vivid thought
Of him who chronicled thy life,
With silent suffering fraught.
Yet, in thy history I see
Full many a great soul's lot;
Who joins that martyr-army's ranks,
That the world knoweth not;---
Who cannot weep "melodious tears,"
For fame or sympathy;
But who, in silence, bear their doom,
To suffer and to die;---
For whom no poet's harp is struck,
No laurel wreath is twined;
Who pass unheard---unknown, away,
And leave no trace behind;---
Who, but for their unwavering trust
In Justice, Truth, and God,
Would faint upon their weary way,
And perish by the road.
Truth, Justice, God! Oh mighty faith,
To bear us up unharmed;
The gates of Hell may not prevail
Against a soul so armed.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Nation In Tears
Beloved, weep and hold back nothing
Cry and wipe away no tears
For this will stand!
In the times tested by the present
And never fades from the memories of history
Weep, beloved weep
Smile not when the soul grieves
For the hour comes
When you smile, the fruit of tears
That sprouts out of emotions poured
Therefore, cry oh dear Uganda!
Remember the past glory,
And focus on the coming salvation
But you must still cry
And your rival will know!
When truth awakes, it will listen
And the eyes of justice will see
The heart of destiny will prevail
And the soul of reality will dawn
On a nation in tears
poem by Timothy muggaga
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Justice Peace Truth & Love
For justice, truth and peace to flow
Love too has fruit to bear
United must become all four
And practiced everywhere
True justice cannot stand alone
It needs of truth and peace
When love becomes the corner stone
Sweet fruit will never cease
Let's drink The Truth as sweet old wine
Let love live not in vane
Mix justice now with peace divine
Allow harmony reign
For justice without love is nought
Peace without truth’s a lie
Until the world this fact is taught
Condemned she’s bound to die
To facts of life she must be wise
Her children need to see
Until they look with open eyes
Salvation cannot be
When truth and peace they understand
When love becomes her root
When justice lifts her outstretched hand
She’ll bear the sweetest fruit
Let candour be a constant guide
Integrity wear a crown
Impartiality reign inside
With love as wedding gown
Allow love’s wisdom steadfast rule
Truth’s knowledge change one’s heart
Let peace become our daily tool
Let justice play her part
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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I Dare Not
1.
I hear strange voices in the air.
My pulses leap, I tear my hair
In rage, rebellion, and despair;
Yet dare not speak.
2.
I am for right, my foes for wrong,
But they are legion, they are strong,
And I am one amid the throng,
Alone and weak.
3.
What ear would hear me if I cried?
What comrades rally to my side?
What force have I to stem the tide?
What right have I?
4.
Though I should plunge in flood and flame,
Though I should suffer shame and blame,
The world would triumph all the same —
And I should die.
5.
Why should I join the hopeless fray?
Why should I waste my little day?
Oh, why should I be called to pay
So vast a price?
* * * *
6.
Have courage, craven soul of mine!
The light within thee is divine,
And others need to see it shine,
Let that suffice.
7.
Others beside thee quake and quail
Before the terrors that prevail;
Thy captive kindred faint and fail
As well as thou.
8.
But when thy lifted front they see,
They will take heart and soar with thee;
It is thy help to set them free
They wait for now.
9.
Give to those silent sufferers each
What inspiration he can reach;
Give righteous treason honest speech,
That all may hear.
10.
This god of custom that we dread,
This social code that weighs like lead,
What is it worth, when all is said?
What is't to fear?
11.
When with a faithful eye one sees
That they whose will we live to please,
Crush right with might for love of ease,
And selfish greed.
12.
When infinite night and silence lower
O'er such brief span of human power,
These poor conventions of an hour
Seem poor indeed.
13.
Be brave, my soul! The world may frown,
And its brute fashions bear thee down,
But Truth will swim, whate'er may drown,
And Truth will live.
14.
Be bold to speak at Truth's behest,
And, though thou suffer without rest,
Yet still thy gain shall be the best
That life can give.
poem by Ada Cambridge
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On The Death Of Pushkin
He fell, a slave of tinsel-honour,
A sacrifice to slander's lust;
The haughty Poet's head, the noblest,
Bowed on his wounded breast in dust.
No longer could his free soul suffer
The vulgar world's low infamy;
He rose against the world's opinion,
And as a hero, lone fell he.
He fell! To what avail the sobbing--
The useless choir of tears and praise?
Wretched the stammering excuses!
The Fates have spoke,--no power allays!
Have ye not at all times together
His sacred genius baited sore,
The silent fury fanned to flaming,
Delighted in your work before?
O be triumphant! Earthly torment
The Poet soul did fully bear,
Extinguished are the lights inspired,
The laurel crown lies leafless there!
The murderer contemptuous gazing
Did stedfastly his weapon aim,
No swifter beat his heart, Assassin!
Nor shook his lifted hand for shame.
No wonder; from a distance came he
As an adventurer unknown,
For worthy title, star of order--
Stood but his mad desire alone.
Sneering and self-complacent mocked he
The rights and customs of our land,
He could not understand our glory,
Against which he has raised his hand.
'Hence is he, hence! His song out-rung,
The Singer even as the song he sung;
Who of a hot, heroic mood,
In death disgraceful shed his blood!'
Why did he leave his home life tranquil,
To seek the envious market place,
Where each free flame is suffocated,
Expose him to the assassin base?
The human breed, who had known better
Since earliest years of youth, than he--
Why did he trust the false pretending
Of malice and hypocrisy?
Ah, of his laurel wreath you robbed him,
Gave him a martyr's crown instead,
And now the cruel thorns have pierced him
E'en to the blood of his proud head!
His last days were for him envenomed--
Through senseless fools' contempt aggrieved,
He died revenge a'thirst, accusing
That every hope his heart deceived!
Mute evermore the magic echoes,
That ne'er shall wonders more reveal,
The Poet's home is dark and narrow--
Upon the Singer's lips a seal.
But ye, sons insolent and shameless--
Defamers, faithless fathers, ye!
Who trod the pure soul of another
Beneath your feet, who zealously
Press to the Tsar's throne with your driveling
For fame and freedom, hatred steeled!
Well may you sneer at truth and justice,
The law provides you screen and shield,
Only a higher law shall sentence!
A mighty Judge beyond assail
Avenge the Poet's death on his slayers,
The Highest Judge who does not fail!
So then calumniate with brazen courage,
Your hatred's fury nought restrains--
Since your dark blood could ne'er atone for
One drop within the Poet's pure veins.
poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
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CORY AQUINO, Mother of Philippine Democracy
CORY AQUINO, Mother of Philippine Democracy
melvin banggoollay
C-orazon C. Aquino, popularly known as Tita Cory
A symbol of truth and fearless love of country
that with her charm, she inspired the country
to fight for freedom, to restore our lost democracy.
O-n her desire to fight for justice for her Ninoy
She offered herself to be of service to every pinoy
with an antarnish honor, dignity and unselfish ploy
of serving with prudence, truth, justice full of joy..
R-ighteous was her ways with virtues of prayer
She had exemplified with undying faith forever
To the Living God she adored with faithful prayers
and untarnished service to the Filipinos as a mother.
Y-es, she is the mother of Philippine Democracy
That even upon her death, she inspired the country
to continue fighting for real justice and sovereignty
A legacy she nurtured with undying love of country.
A woman of great virtues so worthy for emulation
Blessed yet she remained simple in all occasion,
In all her ways while serving and healing this nation
from all the pains and evils of every administration.
Q-ueen of the Filipinos truly worth dying for
For she loved this nation will all faith and honor
and with unwavering love to serve with valor,
and justice upholding truth and equality for all,
U-nited this nation for a just and noble call
for the name of justice and fairness for all
that even this may cause her death or downfall
She never hesitated to stand for the Filipinos call.
I-ntegrity of this President is beyond compare
for it was sheltered with faith to serve so clear
as she always acted with prudence only to fulfill
her duties to the Filipinos even times may go uphill.
N-o one could ever be like thee in this nation's history
For you will forever be remembered by all humanity
As a mother of the Filipinos who died for democracy
As a leader with undying love for this nation's sovereignty.
O-n this day, we hail your name with all honor and glory
as we fervently pray for your eternal rest with Ninoy's company
along with the saints, angels and the Holy Mother Mary
As you will be blessed by God you have served so faitfully.
poem by Melvin Banggollay
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Tennyson
How beautiful to live as thou didst live!
How beautiful to die as thou didst die,—
In moonlight of the night, without a sigh,
At rest in all the best that love could give!
How excellent to bear into old age
The poet's ardor and the heart of youth,
To keep to the last sleep the vow of truth,
And leave to lands that grieve a glowing page!
How glorious to feel the spirit's power
Unbroken by the near approach of death,
To breathe blest prophecies with failing breath,
Soul-bound to beauty in that latest hour!
How sweet to greet, in final kinship owned,
The master-spirit to thy dreams so dear,
At last from his immortal lips to hear
The dirge for Imogen, and thee, intoned!
How beautiful to live as thou didst live!
How beautiful to die as thou didst die,—
In moonlight of the night, without a sigh,
At rest in all the best that love could give!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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An Echoing Truth
In a world of right and wrong, we have Truth, that echoes strong,
And from the world’s ancient past, God’s Truth shall forever last,
To be for men a guide and light, for discerning wrong from right;
God’s Guiding Truth for every need, when souls choose to heed.
God’s Word echoes loud and clear, as men of true wisdom fear,
God who reigns above the earth, who gives The Word true worth,
God, Who spoke this world in place, opens hearts by His Grace,
And with that Grace He will impart, Eternal Truth into man’s heart.
A Book, that many seldom read, has the Truth that all men need,
While others never even heard, the Eternal Truths in God’s Word;
Eternal Truths that man can trust, which were written for all of us,
Truth revealed to all the world, which all believers need to herald.
This truth’s more than knowledge of, The One who reigns above,
But what He had did for everyone, sending Christ, His Only Son,
His Truth, revealed to every nation, leads a soul to His Salvation,
When they come to Jesus Christ, that soul, receives Eternal Life.
Open The Word and you will see, Truth about our present reality,
And you will see through history, others pointing men to eternity,
How Godly men of old would tell, others about Heaven and Hell,
Knowing all are just one breath, away from Eternal Life or Death.
(Copyright ©06/2010)
The Open Door
O Mystery of life,
That, after all our strife,
Defeats, mistakes,
Just as, at last, we see
The road to victory,
The tired heart breaks.
Just as the long years give
Knowledge of how to live,
Life's end draws near;
As if, that gift being ours,
God needed our new powers
In worlds elsewhere.
There, if the soul whose wings
Were won in suffering, springs
To life anew,
Justice would have some room
For hope beyond the tomb,
And mercy, too.
And since, without this dream
No light, no faintest gleam
Answers our 'why';
But earth and all its race
Must pass and leave no trace
On that blind sky;
Shall reason close that door
On all we struggled for,
Seal the soul's doom;
Make of this universe
One wild answering curse,
One lampless tomb?
Mine be the dream, the creed
That leaves for God, indeed,
For God, and man,
One open door whereby
To prove His world no lie
And crown His plan.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Justice With No Lie
An innocent man
lies his head down to rest
not wanting to wake
to the morning sun
Instead wanting to wake
in a parallel universe
where truth and justice
is number one
In the real world
his days seem like years
they eat away at his
mind body and soul
If a witness would lie
he knows he might die
before truth and justice
Would see the light
but he's got to keep up the fight
All he wants
is justice with no lie
so come forward
and let truth and justice
shine it's light
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Where is justice gone?
Where is the justice in the world?
Where is honesty, has it been hurled?
Where is truth and justice hiding?
Why do the backstabbers always win?
Why are lies heard so truth is put in the bin?
We need the justice truth to win please.
To allow us all to live honestly at ease.
Undiscovered Soul
R.sambora
She was standing at the station
Small town suitcase in her hand
There were dreams she found inside her
That no one cared to understand
She never talks about her childhood
So much past to leave behind
Shes so scared to go
But still she says goodbye.
When you walk that road
You walk alone
Just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
When you only hope
Is to find a home
Just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
In the great unknown.
Born and raised in poverty
Daddy died when he was young
All the fears that raged inside him
His spirit need to overcome
Each day he tears down the reflection
Of who he used to be
And with a little luck
Hell rise eventually.
When you walk that road
When you walk alone
Just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
When you only hope
Is to find a home
Just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
The great unknown.
Solo
In the search of our salvation
Relentlessly we climb
Just looking for a reason
In creations grand design
If patience is a virtue
Then let us humbly begin
Well be here waiting
til our ship comes sailing in.
When you walk that road
We walk alone
Just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
When you only hope
Is to find a home
Youre just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
The great unknown
The great unknown
Dont want to walk through life
And undiscovered soul.
Searching for the road
Looking for a home
In the great unknown
Dont want to walk through life
An undiscovered soul
Searching for a home
Looking for a road
In the great unknown
Dont want to walk through life
An undiscovered soul
Patience, virtue, identify, soul
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Justice is the One who gives Life on Me
For the people who seek for comfort or dead mercy,
Their fairness sob and yet still strife for their right,
I rage against the death of justice before it will be.
My eyes shed tears, my heart crumpled tenderly
Cries of beggar and poor who gleamed on my sight,
For only Justice is the one who gives life on me.
The soul who screams, murdered by hatred and fury,
By means of politics, they were killed and cause blight
I rage against the death of justice before it will be.
Such criminals must be punish and injured severely,
Either they’ll tell the truth or lie, a freedom to fight,
For only Justice is the one who gives life for me.
Unjust power, ways of government over sovereignty,
To rule the nation seeking in dark the hopes in light
Yet, rage against the death of justice before it will be.
Hearts and souls are estranged on life that’s so unlucky,
And unfair and believers grasp on their faith; hold on tight,
And rage against the death of justice before it will be,
For only Justice, Justice and Justice…
Which the one who gives life to me.
poem by Raymond Cabrera
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The Picture Of Sappho
I.
THOU! whose impassion'd face
The Painter loves to trace,
Theme of the Sculptor's art and Poet's story--
How many a wand'ring thought
Thy loveliness hath brought,
Warming the heart with its imagined glory!
II.
Yet, was it History's truth,
That tale of wasted youth,
Of endless grief, and Love forsaken pining?
What wert thou, thou whose woe
The old traditions show
With Fame's cold light around thee vainly shining?
III.
Didst thou indeed sit there
In languid lone despair--
Thy harp neglected by thee idly lying--
Thy soft and earnest gaze
Watching the lingering rays
In the far west, where summer-day was dying--
IV.
While with low rustling wings,
Among the quivering strings
The murmuring breeze faint melody was making,
As though it wooed thy hand
To strike with new command,
Or mourn'd with thee because thy heart was breaking?
V.
Didst thou, as day by day
Roll'd heavily away,
And left thee anxious, nerveless, and dejected,
Wandering thro' bowers beloved--
Roving where he had roved--
Yearn for his presence, as for one expected?
VI.
Didst thou, with fond wild eyes
Fix'd on the starry skies,
Wait feverishly for each new day to waken--
Trusting some glorious morn
Might witness his return,
Unwilling to believe thyself forsaken?
VII.
And when conviction came,
Chilling that heart of flame,
Didst thou, O saddest of earth's grieving daughters !
From the Leucadian steep
Dash, with a desperate leap,
And hide thyself within the whelming waters?
VIII.
Yea, in their hollow breast
Thy heart at length found rest!
The ever-moving waves above thee closing--
The winds, whose ruffling sigh
Swept the blue waters by,
Disturb'd thee not!--thou wert in peace reposing!
IX.
Such is the tale they tell!
Vain was thy beauty's spell--
Vain all the praise thy song could still inspire--
Though many a happy band
Rung with less skilful hand
The borrowed love-notes of thy echoing lyre.
X.
FAME, to thy breaking heart
No comfort could impart,
In vain thy brow the laurel wreath was wearing;
One grief and one alone
Could bow thy bright head down--
Thou wert a WOMAN, and wert left despairing!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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To A Departed Spirit
From the bright stars, or from the viewless air,
Or from some world unreached by human thought,
Spirit, sweet spirit! if thy home be there,
And if thy visions with the past be fraught,
Answer me, answer me!
Have we not communed here of life and death?
Have we not said that love, such love as ours,
Was not to perish as a rose's breath,
To melt away, like song from festal bowers?
Answer me, answer me!
Thine eye's last light was mine - the soul thtat shone
Intensely, mournfully, through gathering haze -
Didst thou bear with thee to the shore unknown,
Nought of what lived in that long, earnest gaze!
Hear, hear, and answer me!
Thy voice - its low, soft, fervent, farewell tone
Thrilled through the tempest of the parting strife,
Like a faint breeze: - oh, from that music flown,
Send back
one
sound, if love's be quenchless life,
But once, oh! answer me!
In the still noontide, in the sunset's hush,
In the dead hour of night, when thought grows deep,
When the heart's phantoms from the darkness rush,
Fearfully beautiful, to strive with sleep -
Spirit! then answer me!
By the remembrance of our blended prayer;
By all our tears, whose mingling made them sweet
By our last hope, the victor o'er despair; -
Speak! if our souls in deathless yearnings meet;
Answer me, answer me!
The grave is silent: - and the far-off sky,
And the deep midnight - silent all, and lone!
Oh! if thy buried love make no reply,
What voice has earth! - Hear, pity, speak, mine own!
Answer me, answer me!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Red Signature
Looming thunder’s about to erupt by mouth
Not once but twice in secluded gloom
Salient fear couching in saucer’s blood bath
The fighting spirit’s unfolding in one soul to form
Latent vengeance engulfing life’s aftermath
So valiant lamenting nemeses to doom
Dare no devil, better justice must be fought
Here, mighty scepter’s eyes everyone must conform
Now, the echo of yesteryear’s maladies spread forth
Gasping and sucking were theirs for men in uniform
Detractors blindfolding justice; vying as if their cohort
For a defenseless subject their whims stood as to inform
The last thread of life now’s not in your hand but on both
Divulge the scalded truth they lawlessly hid as their own
Said, this courage maybe barred when they brought death
But the sympathy of this pen shall set my fallen justice bloom
[Long live the legacies of the Philippine Journalists whose courage remain incorruptible.]
poem by Edgar Rendon Eslit
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Sir Walter Scott
DEAD!—it was like a thunderbolt
To hear that he was dead;
Though for long weeks the words of fear
Came from his dying bed;
Yet hope denied, and would deny—
We did not think that he could die.
The poet has a glorious hold
Upon the human heart,
Yet glory is from sympathy
A light alone—apart;
But there was something in thy name,
Which touched us with a dearer claim
The earnest feeling borne to thee
Was like a household tie,
A sunshine on our common life,
And from our daily sky.
Thy works are those familiar things
From which so much of memory springs.
We talked of them beside the hearth,
Till every story blends
With some remembered intercourse
Of near and dearest friends,
Friends that in early youth were ours.
Connected with life's happiest hours.
How well I can recall the time
When first I turned thy page,
The green boughs closed above my head
A natural hermitage;
And sang a little brook along,
As if it heard and caught thy song.
I peopled all the walks and shades
With images of thine;
The lime-tree was a lady's bower,
The yew-tree was a shrine:
Almost I deemed each sunbeam shone
O'er banner, spear, and morion.
Now, not one single trace is left
Of that sequestered nook;
The very course is turned aside
Of that melodious brook:
Not so the memories can depart,
Then garner'd in my inmost heart.
The past was his—his generous song
Went back to other days,
With filial feeling, which still sees
Something to love and praise,
And closer drew the ties which bind
Man with his country and his kind.
It rang throughout his native land,
A bold and stirring song,
As the merle's hymn at matin sweet,
And as the trumpet strong:
A touch there was of each degree,
Half minstrel and half knight was he.
How many a lonely mountain glade
Lives in his verse anew,
Linked with associate sympathy,
The tender and the true;
For nature has fresh beauty brought,
When animate with life from thought.
'Tis not the valley nor the hill,
Tho' beautiful they be,
That can suffice the heart, till touched
As they were touched by thee;
Thou who didst glorify the whole,
By pouring forth the poet's soul.
Who now could stand upon the banks
Of thine own 'silver Tweed?'
Nor deem they heard thy 'warrior's horn,'
Or heard thy 'shepherd's reed?'
Immutable as Nature's claim,
The ground is hallowed by thy name.
I cannot bear to see the shelf
Where ranged thy volumes stand,
And think that mute is now thy lip,
And cold is now thy hand;
That, hadst thou been more common clay,
So soon thou hadst not passed sway,
For thou didst die before thy time,
The tenement o'erwrought,
The heart consumed by its desire,
The body worn by thought;
Thyself the victim of thy shrine,
A glorious sacrifice was thine.
Alas, it is too soon for this—
The future for thy fame;
But now we mourn as if we mourned
A father's cherished claim.
Ah! time may bid the laurel wave—
We can but weep above thy grave.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Lines to Frederika Bremer
"Hereafter, when I no more belong to earth, I should love to return to
it as a spirit, and impart to men the deepest of that which I have
suffered and enjoyed, lived and loved. And no one need fear me; should
I come in the midnight hour to a striving and unquiet spirit, it would
be only to make it more quiet, its night-lamp burn more brightly, and
myself its friend and sister." -- Miss Bremmer's Letter.
Hereafter! -- nay, thou has thy wish e'en here;
To many a striving spirit dost thou come,
Sweet lady, from thy far-off northern home,
Like a blest presence from another sphere,
And love and faith, the night-lamps of the soul,
Have burned with brighter flame at thy control.
A friend and sister art thou now to those
Who weep o'erburdened with life's weary load,
And faint and toil-worn tread the desert road;
To them thou beckonest from thy high repose:
Thou'st gained that steep where endless day appears,
That faith whose followers are baptized with tears.
There came no voices from thy distant shore;
We heard no echo of thy country's lyres,
We saw no gleaming of her household fires;
A cloud had hung thy land and language o'er,
Until thy pictured thoughts broke on our eyes
Like an Aurora of thy native skies.
Thy name is loved through all our fair wide land:
Where the log-cabins of our western woods
Are scattered through the dim old solitudes,
Where, glowing with young life, our cities stand,
There go thy white-winged messengers, as went
Of old the angels to the patriarch's tent.
My harp is tuneless and unknown to fame;
A few weak chords, alas! chance-strung and frail,
O'er which sweeps fitfully the passing gale.
Would it indeed were worthier of its theme,
That it might bear across the distant sea
The homage of unnumbered hearts to thee.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To
“Who would not be a poet?” thus I read
In thy proud sonnet, my poetic friend;
And unto this my full assent was given:
“There is not, cannot be, under all heaven,
Aught happier in itself than the witch, poetry.”
But “Who’d not be a poet?” here I pause
Forebodingly, my poet-friend,—because
“To see all beauty with his gifted sight,”
To love, like him, with all the soul,
To be, when life is morning-bright
The very creature of delight,—
Delight beyond control,—
Is still to be, in like degree,
Too sensible of misery
And loss and slight, and all the weeping shapes of dole.
And this is truth too, that with saddened heart
Oft must he from his fellows live apart;
For how can men whose every breath of life
Is drawn in the hot air, and mid the strife
Of pettiest interest, have a kindred heart
With him who hath built heavenward and apart
The structures of his mind, and looking thence
Over this world-thronged universe immense,
Is wont all such embroilments to deplore
As light-obscuring vapours—nothing more?
What ladder of experience can they build,
To mount with—up, into a nature filled
With beauty, or by mighty truths inspired,
Or one even with a bold ambition fired?
But least of all in such men can there be
Devotions chiming into sympathy
With some pure soul, unsuccoured and alone,
Struggled in weariness unwearied on—
Unwearied, day and night, and night and day,
Towards the far Mecca of its faith always.
Yet thus the poet, armed only with the right,
To life’s dishonest battle oft must come,
To front instead of valour, mean despite,
With envy aye in emulation’s room,
Blotting heaven’s sacred light!
To see unblushing fortune’s minions doom
To obloguy, through some repute unholy,
Or to some vile and miserable estate,
All such as would not trample on the lowly,
And basely glorify the falsely great.
Yet if a thought like this
Should mar at times they tuneful bliss,
Stronger within thine earnest will
Be the spirit of sone, that still
Thou mayest sing of eloquent eyes
That are of sunny thoughts the every sunny skies;
Sweet dreams that swarm round honeyed lips,
Like honey-loving bees;
Glad birds, fresh flowers, clear streams, and trees
All starry bright with golden pips;
Or with a loud bold chime,
Sing of that braver time,
When world-wide justice from her Alpine chair
Shall read at length in the rich reddening skies
The gospel of her advent, and declare
The sacred sign of her epiphany there,
Amid the purple dyes;
While all true men, the bravely wise,
Shall seek her there with fearless feet and free
Where the prophet-peaks arise
Out of the shattering mist, the phantom sea
Of old iniquity!
Through dense and rare, shall seek her there,
Breathing with lion-lungs the clear keen mountain air
Of a supreme up-climbing, God-great liberty.
Then envy not the splendid wretchedness
Of Mammon’s dupes! Sing thy great rhymes
For those diviner spiritual times
Our country yet shall know, and, wisely knowing, bless.
Downward, through the blooming roofage
Of a lonely forest bower,
Come the yellow sunbeams,—falling
Like a burning shower:
So through heaven’s starry ceiling
To the hermit soul’s abode,
Comes the Holy Spirit,—earthward
Raying down from God.
poem by Charles Harpur
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wading Birds
Cranes and Herons fly in the twilight sky
A loon idles at a riverbank,
Full Moon peeps like a new coin to illuminate the dark side of life
And the ferryman shouts; 'Nobody wants to cross the river.'
* That both I and you have had to travel and trudge through the long round is owing to our not discovering, not penetrating the four truths.What four?
They are the noble truth of suffering, the noble truth of the origin of suffering, the noble truth of the cessation of suffering, and the noble truth of the way leading to the cessation of suffering. [The Buddha]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Psalm 143
Complaint of heavy afflictions in mind and body.
My righteous Judge, my gracious God,
Hear when I spread my hands abroad,
And cry for succor from thy throne;
O make thy truth and mercy known!
Let judgment not against me pass;
Behold, thy servant pleads thy grace:
Should justice call us to thy bar,
No man alive is guiltless there.
Look down in pity, Lord, and see
The mighty woes that burden me;
Down to the dust my life is brought,
Like one long buried and forgot.
I dwell in darkness and unseen,
My heart is desolate within
My thoughts in musing silence trace
The ancient wonders of thy grace.
Thence I derive a glimpse of hope
To bear my sinking spirits up;
I stretch my hands to God again,
And thirst like parched lands for rain
For thee I thirst, I pray, I mourn:
When will thy smiling face return?
Shall all my joys on earth remove?
And God for ever hide his love?
My God, thy long delay to save
Will sink thy pris'ner to the grave;
My heart grows faint, and dim mine eye;
Make haste to help before I die.
The night is witness to my tears,
Distressing pains, distressing fears;
O might I hear thy morning voice,
How would my wearied powers rejoice!
In thee I trust, to thee I sigh,
And lift my heavy soul on high;
For thee sit waiting all the day,
And wear the tiresome hours away.
Break off my fetters, Lord, and show
Which is the path my feet should go;
If snares and foes beset the road,
I flee to hide me near my God.
Teach me to do thy holy will,
And lead me to thy heav'nly hill;
Let the good Spirit of thy love
Conduct me to thy courts above.
Then shall my soul no more complain,
The tempter then shall rage in vain;
And flesh, that was my foe before,
Shall never vex my spirit more.
poem by Isaac Watts
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