Domestic Peace
Why should such gloomy silence reign,
And why is all the house so drear,
When neither danger, sickness, pain,
Nor death, nor want, have entered here?
We are as many as we were
That other night, when all were gay
And full of hope, and free from care;
Yet is there something gone away.
The moon without, as pure and calm,
Is shining as that night she shone;
But now, to us, she brings no balm,
For something from our hearts is gone.
Something whose absence leaves a void--
A cheerless want in every heart;
Each feels the bliss of all destroyed,
And mourns the change--but each apart.
The fire is burning in the grate
As redly as it used to burn;
But still the hearth is desolate,
Till mirth, and love, and PEACE return.
'Twas PEACE that flowed from heart to heart,
With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven,
And gave us language to impart
The blissful thoughts itself had given.
Domestic peace! best joy of earth,
When shall we all thy value learn?
White angel, to our sorrowing hearth,
Return--oh, graciously return!
poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Monday Night May 11th 1846 / Domestic Peace
Why should such gloomy silence reign;
And why is all the house so drear,
When neither danger, sickness, pain,
Nor death, nor want have entered here?
We are as many as we were
That other night, when all were gay,
And full of hope, and free from care;
Yet, is there something gone away.
The moon without as pure and calm
Is shining as that night she shone;
but now, to us she brings no balm,
For something from our hearts is gone.
Something whose absence leaves a void,
A cheerless want in every heart.
Each feels the bliss of all destroyed
And mourns the change - but each apart.
The fire is burning in the grate
As redly as it used to burn,
But still the hearth is desolate
Till Mirth and Love with Peace return.
'Twas Peace that flowed from heart to heart
With looks and smiles that spoke of Heaven,
And gave us language to impart
The blissful thoughts itself had given.
Sweet child of Heaven, and joy of earth!
O, when will Man thy value learn?
We rudely drove thee from our hearth,
And vainly sigh for thy return.
poem by Anne Brontë
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Lord Of The Dance
I am the Lord of the dance
I dance beneath the sky
On a clear night
I can see the stars
Shining above the sky
I am the Lord of the dance
God rewards me everyday
I dance for my Lord
The sky is clear
The moon is shining in the sky
This is a beautiful fall night
The peace fills my mind and my heart
I feel at peace
It is good to know that God cares
I want to serve my lord with all my heart
I am God’s Child
I am gifted
God brings peace into my heart
I am the lord of the dance
He gave me peace
He gave me life
He gave me health
He gave me a spirit
He gave me a mind
He gave me a body
He gave me hope
He open’s my ear
And let me hear the sound of silence
He gave me eyes
For me to see more of him
I trust the Lord with all my heart
I am the Lord of the dance
I was born a Christian
And I will die as a Christian
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Return To Silence
Return to silence
We need no violence
Fighting for freedom in a restless world
We are praying for peace
Without pain and disease
Heal the world and close your eyes
Return to silence
Return to silence
We need no violence
Fighting for freedom
Return to silence
Praying for peace
Pain and disease
Where is a real paradise
Where is the land without lies
We just have to find a better way
The loss of heaven is the price we pay
No more nightmares each and every day
We don't need any wars
People wanna change course
They want the union of love
Where's a heavenly place
For the whole human race
Without weapons and wars
Every being on earth, needs a dream in his soul
We need our freedom, let loose of control
The older we get the less we see our way
We think of the past, but now we are trapped
And if I want to know why, we are trying to deny
The loss of heaven's road, is the price we have to pay
Stop violence, let's come to one's sense
Return to innocence
Somewhere inside, we still feel to be a child
Where the eyes are big and the problems being mild
If we try to go against, the current of events
Sometimes we gonna loose but we have to take the chance
Always have in mind, things should change in peace
Searching for someone to help, the sad and lonely trough
It can be me or you, so what we gonna do
I have a clue, for me and for you
song performed by by DJ Bobo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sabbath Queen
The sun has already disappeared beyond the treetops,
Come let us go and welcome the Sabbath Queen,
She is already descending among us, holy and blessed,
And with her are angels, a host of peace and rest,
Come, O Queen,
Come, O Queen,
Peace be unto you, O Angels of Peace.'
We have welcomed the Shabbat with song and prayer,
Let us return home our hearts full of joy.
There, the table is set, the lights are lit,
Every corner of the house is shining with a divine spark.
A good and blessed Shabbat.
A good and blessed Shabbat.
Come in peace, O Angels of Peace.
Sit among us, O pure Shabbat Queen, and enlighten us with your splendor.
Tonight and tomorrow–then you may pass on.
And we for our part will honor you by wearing beautiful clothing,
By singing zemirot, by praying, and by eating three meals.
And with complete rest.
And with pleasant rest.
Bless me with peace, O Angels of Peace.
The sun has already disappeared beyond the treetops.
Come let us accompany the Sabbath Queen’s departure.
Go in peace, holy and blessed.
Know that for six day we will await your return.
Yes, till next Shabbat.
Yes, till next Shabbat.
Go in peace, O Angels of Peace.
poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
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Worn Out
You bid me hold my peace
And dry my fruitless tears,
Forgetting that I bear
A pain beyond my years.
You say that I should smile
And drive the gloom away;
I would, but sun and smiles
Have left my life's dark day.
All time seems cold and void,
And naught but tears remain;
Life's music beats for me
A melancholy strain.
I used at first to hope,
But hope is past and, gone;
And now without a ray
My cheerless life drags on.
Like to an ash-stained hearth
When all its fires are spent;
Like to an autumn wood
By storm winds rudely shent,--
So sadly goes my heart,
Unclothed of hope and peace;
It asks not joy again,
But only seeks release.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Disappearance
It is doubtless
Like the sun rises up
Tomorrow in the eastern sky
Though you left
Saying return to night
Not an absence journey
Has been placed and gone
Gazing yet desperately but with hopes
From that day to today
As well used to
In a night; perhaps in a midnight
You will knock at the door
Murmuring a stanza in a song
My soul in sick
Burning in fire with night mares
It is a rainless thunder in white night
Make me afraid
It is sure
You will arrive
But I don't ask or tell
Where have you been and happened
What is said to your smile?
I am in a doubt for one thing;
Last the day of full moon
Night was so dark and silence
Moon did not appear even a star
But I hope you will appear
My son the moon
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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From The Cantata For N. F. S. Grundtvig
His day was the greatest the Northland has seen,
It one was with the midnight-sun's wonders serene:
The light wherein he sat was the light of God's true peace,
And that has never morning, nor night when it must cease.
In light of God's peace shone the
history
he gave,
The spirit's course on earth that shall conquer the grave.
Might of God's pure peace thus our
fathers'
mighty way
Before us for example and warning open lay.
In light of God's peace he beheld with watchful eye
The people at their work and the spirit's strivings high.
In light of God's pure peace he would have all learning glow,
And where his word is honored the 'Folk-High-Schools' must grow.
In light of God's peace stood 'mid sorrow and care
For Denmark's folk his comfort, a castle strong and fair;
In light of God's pure peace there shall once again be won
And thousand-fold increased, what seems lost now and undone.
In light of God's peace stands his patriarch-worth,
The sum and the amen of a manful life on earth.
In light of God's pure peace how his face shone, lifted up,
When white-haired at the altar he held th' atoning cup.
In light of God's peace came his word o'er the wave,
In light of God's pure peace sound the sweet psalms he gave.
In light of God's pure peace, as its sunbeam curtains fall
To hide him from us, stands now his memory for all.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Songs In The Masque Of Alfred: To Peace
O Peace! the fairest child of heaven,
To whom the sylvan reign was given,
The vale, the fountain, and the grove,
With every softer scene of love:
Return, sweet Peace! and cheer the weeping swain!
Return, with Ease and Pleasure in thy train.
poem by James Thomson
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Mirth And Mourning
'O cast away your sorrow;
A while, at least, be gay!
If grief must come tomorrow,
At least, be glad today!
'How can you still be sighing
When smiles are everywhere?
The little birds are flying
So blithely through the air;
'The sunshine glows so brightly
O'er all the blooming earth;
And every heart beats lightly,
Each face is full of mirth.'
'I always feel the deepest gloom
When day most brightly shines:
When Nature shows the fairest bloom,
My spirit most repines;
'For, in the brightest noontide glow,
The dungeon's light is dim;
Though freshest winds around us blow,
No breath can visit him.
'If he must sit in twilight gloom,
Can I enjoy the sight
Of mountains clad in purple bloom,
And rocks in sunshine bright?
'My heart may well be desolate,
These tears may well arise
While prison wall and iron grate
Oppress his weary eyes.'
'But think of him tomorrow,
And join your comrades now;
That constant cloud of sorrow
Ill suits so young a brow.
'Hark, how their merry voices
Are sounding far and near!
While all the world rejoices
Can you sit moping here?'
'When others' hearts most lightly bound
Mine feels the most oppressed;
When smiling faces greet me round
My sorrow will not rest:
'I think of him whose faintest smile
Was sunshine to my heart,
Whose lightest word could care beguile
And blissful thoughts impart;
'I think how he would bless that sun,
And love this glorious scene;
I think of all that has been done,
And all that might have been.
'Those sparkling eyes, that blessed me so,
Are dim with weeping now;
And blighted hope and burning woe
Have ploughed that marble brow.
'What waste of youth, what hopes destroyed,
What days of pining care,
What weary nights of comfort void
Art thou condemned to bear!
'O! if my love must suffer so
And wholly for my sake
What marvel that my tears should flow,
Or that my heart should break!'
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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She Touches A Sad String Of Soft Recall
Return, return! all night my lamp is burning,
All night, like it, my wide eyes watch and burn;
Like it, I fade and pale, when day returning
Bears witness that the absent can return,
Return, return.
Like it, I lessen with a lengthening sadness,
Like it, I burn to waste and waste to burn,
Like it, I spend the golden oil of gladness
To feed the sorrowy signal for return,
Return, return.
Like it, like it, whene'er the east wind sings,
I bend and shake; like it, I quake and yearn,
When Hope's late butterflies, with whispering wings,
Fly in out of the dark, to fall and burn-
Burn in the watchfire of return,
Return, return.
Like it, the very flame whereby I pine
Consumes me to its nature. While I mourn
My soul becomes a better soul than mine,
And from its brightening beacon I discern
My starry love go forth from me, and shine
Across the seas a path for thy return,
Return, return.
Return, return! all night I see it burn,
All night it prays like me, and lifts a twin
Of palmèd praying hands that meet and yearn-
Yearn to the impleaded skies for thy return.
Day, like a golden fetter, locks them in,
And wans the light that withers, tho' it burn
As warmly still for thy return;
Still thro' the splendid load uplifts the thin
Pale, paler, palest patience that can learn
Nought but that votive sign for thy return-
That single suppliant sign for thy return,
Return, return.
Return, return! lest haply, love, or e'er
Thou touch the lamp the light have ceased to burn,
And thou, who thro' the window didst discern
The wonted flame, shalt reach the topmost stair
To find no wide eyes watching there,
No withered welcome waiting thy return!
A passing ghost, a smoke-wreath in the air,
The flameless ashes, and the soulless urn,
Warm with the famished fire that lived to burn-
Burn out its lingering life for thy return,
Its last of lingering life for thy return,
Its last of lingering life to light thy late return,
Return, return.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Return!
RETURN, return! all night my lamp is burning,
All night, like it, my wide eyes watch and burn;
Like it, I fade and pale, when day returning
Bears witness that the absent can return,
Return, return.
Like it, I lessen with a lengthening sadness,
Like it, I burn to waste and waste to burn,
Like it, I spend the golden oil of gladness
To feed the sorrowy signal for return,
Return, return.
Like it, like it, whene'er the east wind sings,
I bend and shake; like it, I quake and yearn,
When Hope's late butterflies, with whispering wings,
Fly in out of the dark, to fall and burn--
Burn in the watchfire of return,
Return, return.
Like it, the very flame whereby I pine
Consumes me to its nature. While I mourn
My soul becomes a better soul than mine,
And from its brightening beacon I discern
My starry love go forth from me, and shine
Across the seas a path for thy return,
Return, return.
Return, return! all night I see it burn,
All night it prays like me, and lifts a twin
Of palmed praying hands that meet and yearn--
Yearn to the impleaded skies for thy return.
Day, like a golden fetter, locks them in,
And wans the light that withers, tho' it burn
As warmly still for thy return;
Still thro' the splendid load uplifts the thin
Pale, paler, palest patience that can learn
Naught but that votive sign for thy return--
That single suppliant sign for thy return,
Return, return.
Return, return! lest haply, love, or e'er
Thou touch the lamp the light have ceased to burn,
And thou, who thro' the window didst discern
The wonted flame, shalt reach the topmost stair
To find no wide eyes watching there,
No wither'd welcome waiting thy return!
A passing ghost, a smoke-wreath in the air,
The flameless ashes, and the soulless urn,
Warm with the famish'd fire that lived to burn--
Burn out its lingering life for thy return,
Its last of lingering life for thy return,
Its last of lingering life to light thy late return,
Return, return.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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When There's Peace, And Love Within!
When love spills out of the heart, peace rushes in , where there's
peace, and love within! When confronting another individual with
peace, then love return, when there's peace, and love within! When
peace is lived love rushes within tenfold; when there's peace and
love, within! There for went servicing another in time of needs;
then love and peace is restored tenfold; when there's peace, and
love within! To reflect ones on moral standard give rise to self
esteem, and motivation to those whom watches he's day to day
routine, when there' peace and love within! However, when
peace and love is point in the same direction, obstacle fall as peace
paves a widen path for love to travel upon to service other in time
need, When There's peace, and Love Within!
poem by William Clark
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Return Sonata
Return the dust that is in my home to the streets at home
So that I can have a dust free home
Return the mice to the streets at home
So that I can have no mice in my home
Return some warmth to my home
So that my home can be warm also
Return peace to my home
So that I can live in peace at home
Return freedom to me
So that I can live free
Return the fresh air to my home
So that I can be able to breathe the fresh air
Return the sound of silence to my home
So that I can have some silence while I sleep
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Maiden's Lament
The clouds fast gather,
The forest-oaks roar--
A maiden is sitting
Beside the green shore,--
The billows are breaking with might, with might,
And she sighs aloud in the darkling night,
Her eyelid heavy with weeping.
"My heart's dead within me,
The world is a void;
To the wish it gives nothing,
Each hope is destroyed.
I have tasted the fulness of bliss below
I have lived, I have loved,--Thy child, oh take now,
Thou Holy One, into Thy keeping!"
"In vain is thy sorrow,
In vain thy tears fall,
For the dead from their slumbers
They ne'er can recall;
Yet if aught can pour comfort and balm in thy heart,
Now that love its sweet pleasures no more can impart,
Speak thy wish, and thou granted shalt find it!"
"Though in vain is my sorrow,
Though in vain my tears fall,--
Though the dead from their slumbers
They ne'er can recall,
Yet no balm is so sweet to the desolate heart,
When love its soft pleasures no more can impart,
As the torments that love leaves behind it!"
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Allow For Us, A Learned Reapproach
Oblige me my pain's ending, allow please it to cease-
Restoreth my jollity and return my heart to peace!
You are the only that may, as twas you who took it away!
Make it happen, as soon as yesterday-make it so now it stays!
Return at once my mind's peace and serenity,
All of this, and so much more, is within your ability!
Ask yourself: when was I my happiest? Respond to self;
I know too, that you mustn't put your heart upon a shelf!
What has more import: felicity unparalleled, or holding onto ghosts?
Answer: We are able to bring out in the other, our very most!
Allow for us, a learned reapproach, with lessons taught
The hard way! Able are we to move onward, nary a battle fought!
I love you as no other is capable-this I assure you!
I honor you, at each and all moments-because I adore you!
Maurice Harris,18 January 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
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The Pilgrim
Vain folly of another age,
This wandering over earth,
To find the peace by some dark sin
Banish'd our household hearth.
On Lebanon the dark green pines
Wave over sacred ground,
And Carmel's consecrated rose
Springs from a hallow'd mound.
Glorious the truth they testify,
And blessed is their name;
But even in such a sacred spot,
Are sin and woe the same.
O pilgrim! with each toilsome step,
Vain every weary day;
There is no charm in soil or shrine,
To wash thy guilt away.
Return, with prayer and tear, return
To those who weep at home;
To dry their tears will more avail,
Than o'er a world to roam.
There's hope for one who leaves with shame,
The guilt that lured before;
Remember, He who said, 'Repent,'
Said also, 'Sin no more.'
Return, and in thy daily round
Of duty and of love,
Thou best wilt find that patient faith
Which lifts the soul above.
In ev'ry innocent prayer, each child
Lisps at his father's knee: -
If thine has been to teach that prayer,
There will be hope for thee.
There is a small white church, that stands
Beside thy father's grave,
There kneel and pour those earnest prayers,
That sanctify and save.
Around thee draw thine own home-ties,
And, with a chasten'd mind,
In meek well-doing seek that peace,
No wandering will find.
In charity and penitence,
Thy sin will be forgiven: -
Pilgrim, the heart is the true shrine,
Whence prayers ascend to Heaven.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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I Know A Man
I know a man.
Who does everything for everyone and expects nothing return.
Burning away the night sky.
Working till the day he dies.
Their is so much love in his eyes.
Their is never enough time.
A task overwhelming.
Taking over where you left off.
A promise of the selfless.
Memories of your younger days.
As age wears you thin.
You are still not ready give in.
Forever holding on to the towel.
Never willing to let it go.
I know a man.
Who does everything for everyone and expects nothing return.
Burning away the night sky.
Working till the day he dies.
Their is so much love in his eyes.
Their is never enough time.
Mercy of the angels.
Hardiness of a father.
Pushing me to go even farther.
When I need help you are always more then willing.
A priceless soul your building.
Lessons learned, lessons taught.
Somethings just can't be bought.
You never blame me you know its not my fault.
I know a man.
Who does everything for everyone and expects nothing return.
Burning away the night sky.
Working till the day he dies.
Their is so much love in his eyes.
Their is never enough time.
Sickly you become as the clock keeps on ticking right on bye.
But nobody cares.
They still have the same expectations.
And your delivery's take a deviation.
People get pissed cause your not as fast.
You want to pull down your pants and say kiss my white a double s.
But you hold your tongue.
For you know when all is said and done.
They'll have to just deal with you.
They at this point just don't have a clue.
I know a man.
Who does everything for everyone and expects nothing return.
Burning away the night sky.
Working till the day he dies.
Their is so much love in his eyes.
Their is never enough time.
You now have reached the end.
You look into my eyes.
And say I hope I have taught you well my son.
Cause it won't be long.
The reaper coming to take me home.
I'm sorry but its now where I belong.
Don't cry now.
For you must keep moving on.
Listen here boy, this has become our song.
I know a man.
Who does everything for everyone and expects nothing return.
Burning away the night sky.
Working till the day he dies.
Their is so much love in his eyes.
And their is never enough time.
Their is never enough time.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Widow
When she smiles her love draws nigh,
When she weeps he doth depart,
And returns to the Heavens high
With an unwounded heart.
God would suffer him no such wrong
As that he should see her tears
Lest his heart be sad among
His young joyous peers.
Therefore shall her tears be dried,
Therefore her poor lips will smile,
So her darling by her side
May sit down awhile.
So she bends her will to learn
Patience high and heavenly mirth,
That her soldier may return
To his own hearth.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Peaceful Prayers
Let there be peace in the world.
Let us all see peace and not war.
Let us all have peace in the world.
Let all our statesmen know no violence,
Let all love peace with warm vehemence,
Let all be clothed with passionate patience,
Let all respect peace with real reverence.
Let peace pervade every political terrain,
Let peace calm the spirits of every domain,
Let peace be at peace with every reign,
Let each achieve peace with poor pain.
Peace, to you we plead: come to us.
Peace, we entreat you: deign on us.
Peace, we want you: envelope us.
Let our homes be adorned with peace,
Let our streets be paved with peace,
Let our cities be set on a hilltop of peace.
Let peace taint our every thought.
Let there be peace, let peace never cease
Let there be peace, let war forever cease.
poem by Jude Ogunade
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The Slow Death Of A Bard
Boss asks euphemistically
“You’re not the same force you were once”
Friends demand anxiously
“Hey! What happened to your antics and puns? ”
He smiles at once and embraces silence!
What can he say of something he wishes to suppress?
There is always in heart, something hush, hush
One cannot divulge and publish
For a pure materialist
This heart is a bloody pump-set
And for a staunch spiritualist
It is a holy nest where God rests
But lo! For a frustrated bard
His heart is a live hearth
Where there is no birth or death
For pain, laughter, love and hatred
Burning there are hell-fires
Evaporating his every dropp of tear
He is a static stolid volcanic cliff
With no hope for love and no love for life
He is left to watch the remnant soot
Of his unrecognizable past
Writing down on his inured inner rampart,
Slowly, letter after letter, his suicidal note
Soon we may hear his last melodious tune
When that over-burnt heart-hearth breaks open
poem by Sathya Narayana
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