Vision of Belshazzar
I
The King was on his throne,
The Satraps throng'd the hall;
A thousand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,
In Judah deem'd divine—
Jehovah's vessels hold
The godless Heathen's wine!
In that same hour and hall,
The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand:
The fingers of a man;—
A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,
And traced them like a wand.
II
The monarch saw, and shook,
And bade no more rejoice;
All bloodless wax'd his look,
And tremulous his voice.
"Let the men of lore appear,
The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear
Which mar our royal mirth."
Chaldea's seers are good,
But here they have no skill;
And the unknown letters stood
Untold and awful still.
And Babel's men of age
Are wise and deep in lore;
But now they were not sage,
They saw—but knew no more.
III
A captive in the land,
A stranger and a youth,
He heard the king's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,
The prophecy in view;
He read it on that night,—
The morrow proved it true.
"Belshazzar's grave is made,
His kingdom pass'd away,
He, in the balance weighed,
Is light and worthless clay.
The shroud, his robe of state,
His canopy the stone;
The Mede is at his gate!
The Persian on his throne!"
poem by Byron (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Morrow
Clouds aloft and tides below,
Of stormy water from the high winds;
And like a descending shadow from a hero's ashes.
To prove as true from Poland and,
To visit th tombs in Turkey with my lover;
And the voices from the mourners are over now.
The virgins of Africa do lament,
For the blood of their people are as pour as the blessing;
And like the last thought on my throne of love,
But the stars on the sea will be there for the morrow.
Wise ans deep in lore,
And like a worthless clay in a captive;
But the morrow will prove the truth to all.
Of the fingers of man's hand,
Let joy be unconfined to all!
And like the war-note with the memory of the thousands of years;
But my sweet love will always be with you my lonely lady.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Coronation
At the king's gate the subtle noon
Wove filmy yellow nets of sun;
Into the drowsy snare too soon
The guards fell one by one.
Through the king's gate, unquestioned then,
A beggar went and laughed, 'This brings
Me chance, at last, to see if men
Fare better being kings.'
The king sat bowed beneath his crown,
Propping his face with listless hand;
Watching the hour-glass sifting down
Too slow its shining sand.
'Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me?'
The beggar turned, and pitying,
Replied, like one in dream, 'Of thee,
Nothing. I want the king.'
Uprose the king, and from his head
Shook off the crown, and threw it by.
'O man, thou must have known,' said he,
'A greater king than I.'
Through all the gates, unquestioned then,
Went king and beggar hand in hand.
Whispered the king, 'Shall I know when
Before
his
throne I stand?'
The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste
Were wiping from the king's hot brow
The crimson lines the crown had traced.
'This is his presence now.'
At the king's gate, the crafty noon
Unwove its yellow nets of sun;
Out of their sleep in terror soon
The guards waked one by one.
'Ho here! Ho There! Has no man seen
The king?' The cry ran to and fro;
Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween,
The laugh that free men know.
On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They called him dead;
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his father's stead.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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‘He came unto His own, and His own received Him not’
As Christ the Lord was passing by,
He came, one night, to a cottage door.
He came, a poor man, to the poor;
He had no bed whereon to lie.
He asked in vain for a crust of bread,
Standing there in the frozen blast.
The door was locked and bolted fast.
‘Only a beggar!’ the poor man said.
Christ the Lord went further on,
Until He came to a palace gate.
There a king was keeping his state,
In every window the candles shone.
The king beheld Him out in the cold.
He left his guests in the banquet-hall.
He bade his servants tend them all.
‘I wait on a Guest I know of old.’
‘’Tis only a beggar-man!’ they said.
‘Yes,’ he said; ‘it is Christ the Lord.’
He spoke to Him a kindly word,
He gave Him wine and he gave Him bread.
Now Christ is Lord of Heaven and Hell,
And all the words of Christ are true.
He touched the cottage, and it grew;
He touched the palace, and it fell.
The poor man is become a king.
Never was man so sad as he.
Sorrow and Sin on the throne make three,
He has no joy in mortal thing.
But the sun streams in at the cottage door
That stands where once the palace stood.
And the workman, toiling to earn his food,
Was never a king before.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Belshazzar
Poor sinners! little do they think
With whom they have to do!
But stand securely on the brink
Of everlasting woe.
Belshazzar thus, profanely bold,
The Lord of hosts defied;
But vengeance soon his boasts controlled,
And humbled all his pride.
He saw a hand upon the wall
And trembled on his throne
Which wrote his sudden dreadful fall
In characters unknown.
Why should he tremble at the view
Of what he could not read?
Foreboding conscience quickly knew
His ruin was decreed.
See him o'erwhelmed with deep distress!
His eyes with anguish roll;
His looks, and loosened joints, express
The terrors of his soul.
His pomp and music, guests and wine,
No more delight afford;
O sinner, ere this case be thine,
Begin to seek the Lord.
The law like this hand-writing stands,
And speaks the wrath of God;
But Jesus answers its demands,
And cancels it with blood.
poem by John Newton
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Matthew (Chapter 25)
‘The Heaven’s kingdom is like ten
Virgins, who took their lamps to meet,
The bridegroom in his wedding feast;
Five were foolish but five were wise.’
‘The foolish ones went with their lamps,
Which had no oil in them at all;
The wise ones also took their lamps,
Along with oil to use in flasks.’
‘The bridegroom came a bit delayed;
The virgins felt drowsy and slept;
A cry was heard at midnight loud,
‘Behold, the bridegroom comes, meet Him! ’
The virgins woke and trimmed their lamps;
The foolish ones then asked the wise,
‘Spare us some oil to keep lamps on.’
The wise ones then replied, ‘Sorry,
We need the oil for our own lamps;
It may not be enough for both;
Go to the merchant shop and buy.’
While foolish virgins went to buy,
The bridegroom came during that time;
The ones ready, accompanied him;
The wedding hall’s door was then locked.’
The other virgins then arrived;
They cried, ‘Lord, Lord, open the door! ’
The bridegroom but replied, ‘Amen,
I say to you, I know you not! ’
‘So, stay awake for, you know not
The day, nor hour when bridegroom comes! ’
‘A man who went on a journey,
To all his servants, gave money,
As per each one’s ability.’
‘He gave five talents to the first;
Two talents to the servant next;
One talent only, to the last,
And went away immediately! ’
‘The one who got five talents made,
Another five talents by trade;
The one who had two talents too
Likewise had made another two;
The one with just one talent dug
A hole to bury it in ground.’
A long time passed; the master came
To settle accounts with servants;
He told the first who’d made five more,
‘Well done my faithful servant good;
I’ll give you better jobs to do;
Come share your master’s joy, rejoice! ’
‘He said the same to the second;
The one who got just one talent
Said, ‘Master, I know you too well.
You are a demanding person:
Harvesting where you did not plant,
Gathering when you didn’t scatter.
So, out of fear, I dug a hole
And buried it quite safely whole
Here is your talent you gave me.’
His master then replied to him,
‘You wicked, lazy servant, Oh!
Your master, when you knew so well,
Why didn’t you in a bank, put it,
So that the interest, I could get? ’
‘He took the talent from this one
And gave it to the one with ten;
The one who labors will get more;
The one with less will be made poor!
He ordered then, the lazy one,
Into the darkness, to be thrown,
Where people wail and always groan! ’
‘When Son of Man in glory comes,
His angels will surround Him then,
And He will sit in His great throne!
All nations will stand before Him,
He’ll separate one from the next,
Like shepherd does with sheep and goats.’
‘He’ll place his sheep onto His right
And place the goats onto his left;
To those on right, the king will say,
‘Ye, blessed by my Father, come,
Into the kingdom made for you,
From the beginning of the world! ’
‘For, I was hungry, you gave food;
And I was thirsty, you gave drink;
I was a stranger, you welcomed;
I lay naked and me, you clothed;
When I was ill, for me, you cared;
When in prison, visit, you paid.’
The righteous then will ask the Lord,
‘When did we feed you while hungry?
When did we offer drink in thirst?
When did we welcome you stranger?
When did we clothe you when naked?
When did we care for you when ill?
When did we see you in prison? ’
The king will say to them again,
‘Amen, I say to you, amen,
Whatev’r you did unto the least
Brothers of mine, you did for me! ’
Then he will say to ones on left,
‘Depart from me, you accursed all,
Into the fire eternal,
Prepared for Satan and devils.’
‘For, when I was in hunger great,
You never gave me food to eat;
And when in thirst, for drink, I asked,
You never cared to offer me.’
‘When like a stranger, I met you,
You never cared to welcome me;
I lay all naked, without clothes,
You never cared to spare a dress;
In prison when I became ill,
You never cared to visit me.’
They will then answer and say, ‘Lord,
When were you hungry and thirsty?
When were you naked, a stranger?
When did we fail to meet your needs? ’
He’ll answer them and say, ‘Amen,
What you didn’t do to ones the least,
You did not do unto me too! ’
‘And these will get eternal rod,
While righteous get eternal life! ’
(6-13-2007)
poem by John Celes
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The Departed
Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world with kings,
The powerful of the earth the wise the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. ~ BRYANT.
AND shrink ye from the way
To the spirit's distant shore?
Earth's mightiest men, in arm'd array,
Are thither gone before.
The warrior kings, whose banner
Flew far as eagles fly,
They are gone where swords avail them not,
From the feast of victory.
And the seers who sat of yore
By orient palm or wave,
They have pass'd with all their starry lore
Can ye still fear the grave?
We fear! we fear! the sunshine
Is joyous to behold,
And we reck not of the buried kings,
Nor the awful seers of old.
Ye shrink! the bards whose lays
Have made your deep hearts burn,
They have left the sun, and the voice of praise,
For the land whence none return.
And the beautiful, whose record
Is the verse that cannot die,
They too are gone, with their glorious bloom,
From the love of human eye.
Would ye not join that throng
Of the earth's departed flowers,
And the masters of the mighty song
In their far and fadeless bowers?
Those songs are high and holy,
But they vanquish not our fear;
Not from our path those flowers are gone
We fain would linger here!
Linger then yet awhile,
As the last leaves on the bough!
Ye have lov'd the light of many a smile,
That is taken from you now.
There have been sweet singing voices
In your walks, that now are still;
There are seats left void in your earthly homes,
Which none again may fill.
Soft eyes are seen no more,
That made spring-time in your heart;
Kindred and friends are gone before
And ye still fear to part?
We fear not now, we fear not!
Though the way thro' darkness bends;
Our souls are strong to follow them,
Our own familiar friends!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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A King in Exile
O THE Queen may keep her golden
Crown and sceptre of command!
I would give them both twice over
To be King of Babyland.
Sure, it is a wondrous country
Where the beanstalks grow apace,
And so very near the moon is
You could almost stroke her face.
And the dwellers in that country
Hold in such esteem their King,
They believe that if he chooses
He can do—just anything!
And, although his regal stature
May be only four-feet-ten,
Think him tallest, strongest, bravest,
Noblest, wisest, best of men.
Ah, how fondly I remember
The good time serene and fair,
In the bygone years when I, too,
Was a reigning monarch there!
But my subjects they discrowned me
When they’d older, colder, grown;
And they took away my sceptre,
And upset my royal throne.
Yet, although a King in Exile,
Without subjects to command,
I am glad at heart to think I
Once was King of Babyland.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Alexander And Phillip
HE stood by the river's side
A conqueror and a king,
None match'd his step of pride
Amid the armed ring.
And a heavy echo rose from the ground,
As a thousand warriors gather'd round.
And the morning march had been long,
And the noontide sun was high,
And weariness bow'd down the strong,
And heat closed every eye;
And the victor stood by the river's brim
Whose coolness seem'd but made for him.
The cypress spread their gloom
Like a cloak from the noontide beam,
He flung back his dusty plume,
And plunged in the silver stream;
He plunged like the young steed, fierce and wild,
He was borne away like the feeble child.
They took the king to his tent
From the river's fatal banks,
A cry of terror went
Like a storm through the Grecian ranks:
Was this the fruit of their glories won,
Was this the death for AMMON'S son?
Many a leech heard the call,
But each one shrank away;
For heavy upon all
Was the weight of fear that day:
When a thought of treason, a word of death,
Was in each eye, and on each breath.
But one with the royal youth
Had been from his earliest hour,
And he knew that his heart was truth,
And he knew that his hand was power;
He gave what hope his skill might give,
And bade him trust to his faith and live.
ALEXANDER took the cup,
And from beneath his head a scroll,
He drank the liquor up,
And bade PHILLIP read the roll;
And PHILLIP look'd on the page, where shame,
Treason, and poison were named with his name.
An angry flush rose on his brow,
And anger darken'd his eye,
What I have done I would do again now!
If you trust my fidelity.
The king watch'd his face, he felt he might dare
Trust the faith that was written there.
Next day the conqueror rose
From a greater conqueror free;
And again he stood amid those
Who had died his death to see:
He stood there proud of the lesson he gave
That faith and trust were made for the brave.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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The Speeding Of The King's Spite
A king--estranged from his loving Queen
By a foolish royal whim--
Tired and sick of the dull routine
Of matters surrounding him--
Issued a mandate in this wise.--
'THE DOWER OF MY DAUGHTER'S HAND
I WILL GIVE TO HIM WHO HOLDS THIS PRIZE,
THE STRANGEST THING IN THE LAND.'
But the King, sad sooth! in this grim decree
Had a motive low and mean;--
'Twas a royal piece of chicanery
To harry and spite the Queen;
For King though he was, and beyond compare,
He had ruled all things save one--
Then blamed the Queen that his only heir
Was a daughter--not a son.
The girl had grown, in the mother's care,
Like a bud in the shine and shower
That drinks of the wine of the balmy air
Till it blooms into matchless flower;
Her waist was the rose's stem that bore
The flower--and the flower's perfume--
That ripens on till it bulges o'er
With its wealth of bud and bloom.
And she had a lover--lowly sprung,--
But a purer, nobler heart
Never spake in a courtlier tongue
Or wooed with a dearer art:
And the fair pair paled at the King's decree;
But the smiling Fates contrived
To have them wed, in a secrecy
That the Queen HERSELF connived--
While the grim King's heralds scoured the land
And the countries roundabout,
Shouting aloud, at the King's command,
A challenge to knave or lout,
Prince or peasant,--'The mighty King
Would have ye understand
That he who shows him the strangest thing
Shall have his daughter's hand!'
And thousands flocked to the royal throne,
Bringing a thousand things
Strange and curious;--One, a bone--
The hinge of a fairy's wings;
And one, the glass of a mermaid queen,
Gemmed with a diamond dew,
Where, down in its reflex, dimly seen,
Her face smiled out at you.
One brought a cluster of some strange date,
With a subtle and searching tang
That seemed, as you tasted, to penetrate
The heart like a serpent's fang;
And back you fell for a spell entranced,
As cold as a corpse of stone,
And heard your brains, as they laughed and danced
And talked in an undertone.
One brought a bird that could whistle a tune
So piercingly pure and sweet,
That tears would fall from the eyes of the moon
In dewdrops at its feet;
And the winds would sigh at the sweet refrain,
Till they swooned in an ecstacy,
To waken again in a hurricane
Of riot and jubilee.
One brought a lute that was wrought of a shell
Luminous as the shine
Of a new-born star in a dewy dell,--
And its strings were strands of wine
That sprayed at the Fancy's touch and fused,
As your listening spirit leant
Drunken through with the airs that oozed
From the o'ersweet instrument.
One brought a tablet of ivory
Whereon no thing was writ,--
But, at night--and the dazzled eyes would see
Flickering lines o'er it,--
And each, as you read from the magic tome,
Lightened and died in flame,
And the memory held but a golden poem
Too beautiful to name.
Till it seemed all marvels that ever were known
Or dreamed of under the sun
Were brought and displayed at the royal throne,
And put by, one by one
Till a graybeard monster came to the King--
Haggard and wrinkled and old--
And spread to his gaze this wondrous thing,--
A gossamer veil of gold.--
Strangely marvelous--mocking the gaze
Like a tangle of bright sunshine,
Dipping a million glittering rays
In a baptism divine:
And a maiden, sheened in this gauze attire--
Sifting a glance of her eye--
Dazzled men's souls with a fierce desire
To kiss and caress her and--die.
And the grim King swore by his royal beard
That the veil had won the prize,
While the gray old monster blinked and leered
With his lashless, red-rimmed eyes,
As the fainting form of the princess fell,
And the mother's heart went wild,
Throbbing and swelling a muffled knell
For the dead hopes of her child.
But her clouded face with a faint smile shone,
As suddenly, through the throng,
Pushing his way to the royal throne,
A fair youth strode along,
While a strange smile hovered about his eyes,
As he said to the grim old King:--
'The veil of gold must lose the prize;
For _I_ have a stranger thing.'
He bent and whispered a sentence brief;
But the monarch shook his head,
With a look expressive of unbelief--
'It can't be so,' he said;
'Or give me proof; and I, the King,
Give you my daughter's hand,--
For certes THAT IS a stranger thing--
THE STRANGEST THING IN THE LAND!'
Then the fair youth, turning, caught the Queen
In a rapturous caress,
While his lithe form towered in lordly mien,
As he said in a brief address:--
'My fair bride's mother is this; and, lo,
As you stare in your royal awe,
By this pure kiss do I proudly show
A LOVE FOR A MOTHER-IN-LAW!'
Then a thaw set in the old King's mood,
And a sweet Spring freshet came
Into his eyes, and his heart renewed
Its love for the favored dame:
But often he has been heard to declare
That 'he never could clearly see
How, in the deuce, such a strange affair
Could have ended so happily!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Episode 42
A PERILOUS path, it proved, he trod
who heinously hid, that hall within,
wealth under wall! Its watcher had killed
one of a few, and the feud was avenged
in woful fashion. Wondrous seems it,
what manner a man of might and valor
oft ends his life, when the earl no longer
in mead-hall may live with loving friends.
So Beowulf, when that barrow's warden
he sought, and the struggle; himself knew not
in what wise he should wend from the world at last.
For princes potent, who placed the gold,
with a curse to doomsday covered it deep,
so that marked with sin the man should be,
hedged with horrors, in hell-bonds fast,
racked with plagues, who should rob their hoard.
Yet no greed for gold, but the grace of heaven,
ever the king had kept in view.
Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan: --
"At the mandate of one, oft warriors many
sorrow must suffer; and so must we.
The people's-shepherd showed not aught
of care for our counsel, king beloved!
That guardian of gold he should grapple not, urged we,
but let him lie where he long had been
in his earth-hall waiting the end of the world,
the hest of heaven. -- This hoard is ours
but grievously gotten; too grim the fate
which thither carried our king and lord.
I was within there, and all I viewed,
the chambered treasure, when chance allowed me
(and my path was made in no pleasant wise)
under the earth-wall. Eager, I seized
such heap from the hoard as hands could bear
and hurriedly carried it hither back
to my liege and lord. Alive was he still,
still wielding his wits. The wise old man
spake much in his sorrow, and sent you greetings
and bade that ye build, when he breathed no more,
on the place of his balefire a barrow high,
memorial mighty. Of men was he
worthiest warrior wide earth o'er
the while he had joy of his jewels and burg.
Let us set out in haste now, the second time
to see and search this store of treasure,
these wall-hid wonders, -- the way I show you, --
where, gathered near, ye may gaze your fill
at broad-gold and rings. Let the bier, soon made,
be all in order when out we come,
our king and captain to carry thither
-- man beloved -- where long he shall bide
safe in the shelter of sovran God."
Then the bairn of Weohstan bade command,
hardy chief, to heroes many
that owned their homesteads, hither to bring
firewood from far -- o'er the folk they ruled --
for the famed-one's funeral. " Fire shall devour
and wan flames feed on the fearless warrior
who oft stood stout in the iron-shower,
when, sped from the string, a storm of arrows
shot o'er the shield-wall: the shaft held firm,
featly feathered, followed the barb."
And now the sage young son of Weohstan
seven chose of the chieftain's thanes,
the best he found that band within,
and went with these warriors, one of eight,
under hostile roof. In hand one bore
a lighted torch and led the way.
No lots they cast for keeping the hoard
when once the warriors saw it in hall,
altogether without a guardian,
lying there lost. And little they mourned
when they had hastily haled it out,
dear-bought treasure! The dragon they cast,
the worm, o'er the wall for the wave to take,
and surges swallowed that shepherd of gems.
Then the woven gold on a wain was laden --
countless quite! -- and the king was borne,
hoary hero, to Hrones-Ness.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Three Kings
WHEN the star in the East was lit to shine
The three kings journeyed to Palestine;
They came from the uttermost parts of earth
With long trains laden with gifts of worth.
The first king rode on a camel's back,
He came from the land where the kings are black,
Bringing treasures desired of kings,
Rubies and ivory and precious things.
An elephant carried the second king,
He came from the land of the sun-rising,
And gems and gold and spices he bare
With broidered raiment for kings to wear.
The third king came without steed or train
From the misty land where the white kings reign.
He bore no gifts save the myrrh in his hand,
For he came on foot from a far-off land.
Now when they had travelled a-many days
Through tangled forests and desert ways,
By angry seas and by paths thorn-set
On Christmas Vigil the three kings met.
And over their meeting a shrouded sky
Made dark the star they had travelled by.
Then the first king spake and he frowned and said:
'By some ill spell have our feet been led,
'Now I see in the darkness the fools we are
To follow the light of a lying star.
'Let us fool no more, but like kings and men
Each get him home to his land again!'
Then the second king with the weary face,
Gold-tinct as the sun of his reigning place,
Lifted sad eyes to the clouds and said,
'It was but a dream and the dream is sped.
'We dreamed of a star that rose new and fair,
But it sets in the night of the old despair.
'Yet night is faithful though stars betray,
It will lead to our kingdoms far away.'
Then spake the king who had fared alone
From the far-off kingdom, the white-hung throne:
'O brothers, brothers, so very far
Ye have followed the light of the radiant star,
'And because for a while ye see it not
Shall its faithful shining be all forgot?
'On the spirit's pathway the light still lies
Though the star be hid from our longing eyes.
'To-morrow our star will be bright once more
The little pin-hole in heaven's floor--
'The Angels pricked it to let it bring
Our feet to the throne of the new-born King!'
And the first king heard and the second heard
And their hearts grew humble before the third.
And they laid them down beside bale and beast
and their sleeping eyes saw light in the East.
For the Angels fanned them with starry wings
And the waft of visions of unseen things.
And the next gold day waned trembling and white
And the star was born of the waxing night.
And the three kings came where the Great King lay,
A little baby among the hay,
The ox and the ass were standing near
And Mary Mother beside her Dear.
Then low in the litter the kings bowed down,
They gave Him gold for a kingly crown,
And frankincense for a great God's breath
and Myrrh to sweeten the day of death.
The Maiden Mother she stood and smiled
And she took from the manger her little child.
On the dark king's head she laid His hand
And anger died at that dear command.
She laid His hand on the gold king's head
And despair itself was comforted.
But when the pale king knelt in the stall
She heard on the straw his tears down fall.
And she stooped where he knelt beside her feet
And laid on his bosom her baby sweet.
And the king in the holy stable-place
Felt the little lips through the tears on his face.
* * * * * * *
Christ! lay Thy hand on the angry king
Who reigns in my breast to my undoing,
And lay thy hands on the king who lays
The spell of sadness on all my days,
And give the white king my soul, Thy soul,
Of these other kings the high control.
That soul and spirit and sense may meet
In adoration before Thy feet!
Now Glory to God the Father Most High,
And the Star, the Spirit, He leads us by.
And to God's dear Son, the Babe who was born
And laid in the manger on Christmas morn!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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To Thomas Butts
TO my friend Butts I write
My first vision of light,
On the yellow sands sitting.
The sun was emitting
His glorious beams
From Heaven’s high streams.
Over sea, over land,
My eyes did expand
Into regions of air,
Away from all care;
Into regions of fire,
Remote from desire;
The light of the morning
Heaven’s mountains adorning:
In particles bright,
The jewels of light
Distinct shone and clear.
Amaz’d and in fear
I each particle gazèd,
Astonish’d, amazèd;
For each was a Man
Human-form’d. Swift I ran,
For they beckon’d to me,
Remote by the sea,
Saying: ‘Each grain of sand,
Every stone on the land,
Each rock and each hill,
Each fountain and rill,
Each herb and each tree,
Mountain, hill, earth, and sea,
Cloud, meteor, and star,
Are men seen afar.’
I stood in the streams
Of Heaven’s bright beams,
And saw Felpham sweet
Beneath my bright feet,
In soft Female charms;
And in her fair arms
My Shadow I knew,
And my wife’s Shadow too,
And my sister, and friend.
We like infants descend
In our Shadows on earth,
Like a weak mortal birth.
My eyes, more and more,
Like a sea without shore,
Continue expanding,
The Heavens commanding;
Till the jewels of light,
Heavenly men beaming bright,
Appear’d as One Man,
Who complacent began
My limbs to enfold
In His beams of bright gold;
Like dross purg’d away
All my mire and my clay.
Soft consum’d in delight,
In His bosom sun-bright
I remain’d. Soft He smil’d,
And I heard His voice mild,
Saying: ‘This is My fold,
O thou ram horn’d with gold,
Who awakest from sleep
On the sides of the deep.
On the mountains around
The roarings resound
Of the lion and wolf,
The loud sea, and deep gulf.
These are guards of My fold,
O thou ram horn’d with gold!’
And the voice faded mild;
I remain’d as a child;
All I ever had known
Before me bright shone:
I saw you and your wife
By the fountains of life.
Such the vision to me
Appear’d on the sea.
poem by William Blake
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Bible in Poetry: Revelation 5
The Scroll and the Lamb:
1To His right hand, I saw a scroll,
With writing on both sides of it,
And sealed with seven seals as well.
2A mighty angel said aloud,
'Who is the worthy one to break
The seals and open scroll, Tell me? '
3But none in heaven or on earth
Or under earth could open scroll
Or look inside it anyway.
4I wept because no one was found
Who was worthy to open it.
5Then one of the elders said to me,
'Don’t weep! The Lion of the Judah tribe,
The Root of David has triumphed.
He will open the scroll and seals.'
6 I saw a Lamb that appeared slain,
And standing in the throne’s center,
Encircled by creatures, elders.
He had horns seven horns and like eyes,
Which are God’s seven big spirits
That are sent out into the earth.
7He took the scroll from his right hand.
8And when he had taken it thus,
The living creatures four fell down
Before the Lamb with the elders.
Each one possessed a harp with it,
And held gold bowls filled with incense,
Which are the prayers of the saints.
9And they sang a new song:
'Worthy are you to take the scroll
And open its seals,
Because you’re slain,
And with your blood,
You purchased men for God,
From every tribe and language,
And people and nation.”
10You’ve made them to be a kingdom,
And priests to serve our Lord and God,
And they will reign upon the earth.'
11And then, I looked and heard the voice
Of many angels, in thousands
Upon thousands in their numbers,
And ten thousand times, ten thousand,
They encircled the splendid throne,
And living creatures and the elders.
12In a loud voice they sang:
'O worthy is the Lamb, who’s slain,
To receive pow’r, wealth, wisdom, strength
And honor, glory and all praise! '
13 And then I heard every creature,
In heaven, earth and in the sea,
And all that is in them, singing:
'To Him who sits upon the throne
And to the Lamb, be praise, honor
Glory and power, forever! '
14The living creatures said, 'Amen, '
While elders fell down, worshiped Him.
poem by John Celes
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Our Limitations
WE trust and fear, we question and believe,
From life's dark threads a trembling faith to weave,
Frail as the web that misty night has spun,
Whose dew-gemmed awnings glitter in the sun.
While the calm centuries spell their lessons out,
Each truth we conquer spreads the realm of doubt;
When Sinai's summit was Jehovah's throne,
The chosen Prophet knew his voice alone;
When Pilate's hall that awful question heard,
The Heavenly Captive answered not a word.
Eternal Truth! beyond our hopes and fears
Sweep the vast orbits of thy myriad spheres!
From age to age, while History carves sublime
On her waste rock the flaming curves of time,
How the wild swayings of our planet show
That worlds unseen surround the world we know.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Recital Of The Ramayana
When the silent night was ended, and their pure ablutions done,
Joyous went the minstrel brothers, and their lofty lay begun,
Rama to the hermit minstrels lent a monarch's willing car,
Blended with the simple music dulcet was the lay to hear,
And so sweet the chanted accents, Rama's inmost soul was stirred,
With his royal guests and courtiers still the deathless lay he heard!
Heralds versed in old Puranas, Brahmans skilled in pious rite,
Minstrels deep in lore of music, poets fired by heavenly might,
Watchers of the constellations, min'sters of the festive day,
Men of science and of logic, bards who sang the ancient lay,
Painters skilled and merry dancers who the festive joy prolong
Hushed and silent in their wonder listed to the wondrous song!
And as poured the flood of music through the bright and livelong day,
Eyes and ears and hearts insatiate drank the nectar of the lay,
And the eager people whispered: 'See the boys, how like our king
As two drops of limpid water from the parent bubble spring!
Were the boys no hermit-children, in the hermit's garments clad,
We would deem them Rama's image,-Rama as a youthful lad!'
Twenty cantos of the Epic thus the youthful minstrels sung,
And the voice of stringéd music through the Epic rolled along,
Out spake Rama in his wonder: 'Scarce I know who these may be,
Eighteen thousand golden pieces be the children-minstrels' fee!'
'Not so,' answered thus the children, 'we in darksome forests dwell,
Gold and silver, bounteous monarch, forest life beseem not well!'
'Noble children!' uttered Rama, 'dear to me the words you say,
Tell me who composed this Epic,-Father of this deathless Lay?'
'Saint Valmiki,' spake the minstrels, 'framed the great immortal song
Four and twenty thousand verses to this noble Lay belong,
Untold tales of deathless virtue sanctify his sacred line,
And five hundred glorious cantos in this glorious Epic shine,
In six Books of mighty splendour was the poet's task begun,
With a seventh Book, supplemental is the poet's labour done,
All thy matchless deeds, O monarch, in this Lay will brighter shine,
List to us from first to ending if thy royal heart incline!'
'Be it so,' thus Rama answered, but the hours of day were o'er,
And Valmiki's youthful pupils to their cottage came once more.
Rama with his guests and courtiers slowly left the royal hall,
Eager was his heart to listen, eager were the monarchs all,
And the voice of song and music thus was lifted day to day,
And from day to day they listened to Valmiki's deathless Lay!
Freedom
Of old sat Freedom on the heights,
The thunders breaking at her feet:
Above her shook the starry lights:
She heard the torrents meet.
There in her place she did rejoice,
Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind,
But fragments of her mighty voice
Came rolling on the wind.
Then stept she down thro' town and field
To mingle with the human race,
And part by part to men reveal'd
The fullness of her face -
Grave mother of majestic works,
From her isle-alter gazing down,
Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,
And, King-like, wears the crown:
Her open eyes desire the truth.
The wisdom of a thousand years
Is in them. May perpetual youth
Keep dry their light from tears;
That her fair form may stand and shine
Make bright our days and light our dreams,
Turning to scorn with lips divine
The falsehood of extremes!
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Of Old Sat Freedom on the Heights
Of old sat Freedom on the heights,
The thunders breaking at her feet:
Above her shook the starry lights:
She heard the torrents meet.
There in her place she did rejoice,
Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind,
But fragments of her mighty voice
Came rolling on the wind.
Then stept she down thro' town and field
To mingle with the human race,
And part by part to men reveal'd
The fulness of her face--
Grave mother of majestic works,
From her isle-altar gazing down,
Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,
And, King-like, wears the crown:
Her open eyes desire the truth.
The wisdom of a thousand years
Is in them. May perpetual youth
Keep dry their light from tears;
That her fair form may stand and shine,
Make bright our days and light our dreams,
Turning to scorn with lips divine
The falsehood of extremes!
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Psalm 99 part 1
Christ's kingdom and majesty.
The God Jehovah reigns!
Let all the nations fear;
Let sinners tremble at his throne,
And saints be humble there.
Jesus the Savior reigns!
Let earth adore its Lord;
Bright cherubs his attendants stand,
Swift to fulfil his word.
In Zion is his throne,
His honors are Divine;
His church shall make his wonders known,
For there his glories shine.
How holy is his name!
How terrible his praise!
Justice, and truth, and judgment join
In all his works of grace.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Beowulf (Episode 31)
"So held this king to the customs old,
that I wanted for nought in the wage I gained,
the meed of my might; he made me gifts,
Healfdene's heir, for my own disposal.
Now to thee, my prince, I proffer them all,
gladly give them. Thy grace alone
can find me favor. Few indeed
have I of kinsmen, save, Hygelac, thee!"
Then he bade them bear him the boar-head standard,
the battle-helm high, and breastplate gray,
the splendid sword; then spake in form: --
"Me this war-gear the wise old prince,
Hrothgar, gave, and his hest he added,
that its story be straightway said to thee. --
A while it was held by Heorogar king,
for long time lord of the land of Scyldings;
yet not to his son the sovran left it,
to daring Heoroweard, -- dear as he was to him,
his harness of battle. -- Well hold thou it all!"
And I heard that soon passed o'er the path of this treasure,
all apple-fallow, four good steeds,
each like the others, arms and horses
he gave to the king. So should kinsmen be,
not weave one another the net of wiles,
or with deep-hid treachery death contrive
for neighbor and comrade. His nephew was ever
by hardy Hygelac held full dear,
and each kept watch o'er the other's weal.
I heard, too, the necklace to Hygd he presented,
wonder-wrought treasure, which Wealhtheow gave him
sovran's daughter: three steeds he added,
slender and saddle-gay. Since such gift
the gem gleamed bright on the breast of the queen.
Thus showed his strain the son of Ecgtheow
as a man remarked for mighty deeds
and acts of honor. At ale he slew not
comrade or kin; nor cruel his mood,
though of sons of earth his strength was greatest,
a glorious gift that God had sent
the splendid leader. Long was he spurned,
and worthless by Geatish warriors held;
him at mead the master-of-clans
failed full oft to favor at all.
Slack and shiftless the strong men deemed him,
profitless prince; but payment came,
to the warrior honored, for all his woes. --
Then the bulwark-of-earls bade bring within,
hardy chieftain, Hrethel's heirloom
garnished with gold: no Geat e'er knew
in shape of a sword a statelier prize.
The brand he laid in Beowulf's lap;
and of hides assigned him seven thousand,
with house and high-seat. They held in common
land alike by their line of birth,
inheritance, home: but higher the king
because of his rule o'er the realm itself.
Now further it fell with the flight of years,
with harryings horrid, that Hygelac perished,
and Heardred, too, by hewing of swords
under the shield-wall slaughtered lay,
when him at the van of his victor-folk
sought hardy heroes, Heatho-Scilfings,
in arms o'erwhelming Hereric's nephew.
Then Beowulf came as king this broad
realm to wield; and he ruled it well
fifty winters, a wise old prince,
warding his land, until One began
in the dark of night, a Dragon, to rage.
In the grave on the hill a hoard it guarded,
in the stone-barrow steep. A strait path reached it,
unknown to mortals. Some man, however,
came by chance that cave within
to the heathen hoard. In hand he took
a golden goblet, nor gave he it back,
stole with it away, while the watcher slept,
by thievish wiles: for the warden's wrath
prince and people must pay betimes!
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The King Will Return
They were attacked by surprise
In the middle of the night
They didnt stand a single chance
A single chance to fight
After the battle they gathered around the king
And they had never seen that man so sad
Im riding out to get those men
Who hurt my people bad, so bad
The king will return
With gold in his hand
The castle will burn
In the enemy land
And be will save our people
When two springs had passed a messanger
Came down the track
He said that he had heard great news
The king is coming back
Oh the time he was gone
They suffered bad in misery
Tehy didnt know the way
Everyone was shouting
Save our kingdom now
They suffered bad in pain
The time he was away
But maybe now they could survive
Now they could survive
When the king came down the hill
To his people and his land
There were many tears
That touched the ground
And made marks in the sand
Yes now they could start all over again
And live in peace throughout time
Everyone was shouting
When the king came down the hill
The king is returning with gold in his hand
The castle is burning
In the enemy land
The king is...
song performed by by Europe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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