To ------
Chained to the oar and hopeless of reprieve,
From year to year to one dull task confined—
A task that needs no effort of the mind,
A task mere honest dulness might achieve—
Tell me, sincerely, though too proud to grieve
Or murmur at thy destinies unkind,
Dost thou not feel at least the chains that bind
Thy spirit down to toils it must not leave?
To have decked the shrine of Ceres with the flowers
That science gave to thy collecting hand;
To have served, by useful arts, thy native land:
These were thy hopes; on these were bent thy powers.
These hopes foregone, repress thy vain desires;
Curb thy aspiring soul and quench her useless fires.
poem by Edmund Cartwright
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Another Task At Hand
One more task finished my friend, for what God starts He will end.
He will finish so that you will know, God will help you as you grow.
For God is with you in all you do, God is there to see you through.
God will help you through every task, and all you have to do is ask.
Christ has work prepared for you, in the simple daily tasks you do.
Friend, daily as you do your job, you perform your work as for God.
Just do each task to please The Lord, and your effort is not ignored.
And as you work to serve The Lord, you will reap an eternal reward.
My friend, with The Lord any task, can have fruit that will surely last.
As you do the mundane things, God gives your heart songs to sing.
Friend, even when the day is bleak, simply let The Good Lord speak.
God speaks to you in The Word, in Godly wisdom that you've heard.
God’s Spirit creates in you and me, a witness that all others can see,
That in your job throughout the day, Jesus is with you along the way.
When you work at any place, you can point to His Awesome Grace.
A Grace that sustains me and you, throughout every task that we do.
As you grow you become assured, your daily strength is in The Lord.
For The Lord knows what is best, and in every task you are blessed.
With this task now said and done, you can point to God’s Only Son,
Christ, who is with you every day, through every task along the way.
Task
If I say that I can then I know that I will
Or I will do the best that I can
I will try to prevail, where others had fail
At the job or task that I had began.
The work that I do or the task I accept
It will become the job that must be done
It I will try to complete, as that of any job or feat
As I will always finish what I have begun.
I will not ignore the task that I have undertaken
It will become my objective and my pride
I will do my best, just like the rest
And from that work I shall never hide.
If I say that I can then I know that I must
As I have given my word and my oath
The task will be finished, my ethics replenished
And never will I brag or boast.
When finished I will move to my very next task
With a determination and a blistered hand
My mind will be ready, my nerves will be steady
Because if I know that I will, I know that I can.
RANDY L.McCLAVE
poem by Randy McClave
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People who are too concerned with how well they are doing will be less successful and feel less competent than those who focus on the task itself... Some psychologists call it a conflict between ego-orientation, or between extrinsic and intrinsic motivation... but in all cases, what counts is whether attention is turned away from the task at hand and focused on the self and its future rewards, or whether it is instead trained on the task itself. The latter attitude seems the more fruitful.
The Task Of Gardening
A task awaits us in the morning,
Pulling my leg and arm for five years.
The days and nights pass for the same task,
Yet these years, we experience a more important ghost.
The tasks are gained by the brain,
And to this are exhortations.
We have goals to achieve, fright to decline,
But when do the flowers of the garden grow
With brains of humans?
The morning needed us when it expressed itself
And made appearances.
The task of the garden is unique.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Υμνος αυμνος
O Thou whose image in the shrine
Of human spirits dwells divine;
Which from that precinct once conveyed,
To be to outer day displayed,
Doth vanish, part, and leave behind
Mere blank and void of empty mind,
Which wilful fancy seeks in vain
With casual shapes to fill again!
O Thou that in our bosom’s shrine
Dost dwell, unknown because divine!
I thought to speak, I thought to say,
‘The light is here,’ ‘behold the way,’
‘The voice was thus,’ and ‘thus the word,’
And ‘thus I saw,’ and ‘that I heard,’—
But from the lips that half essayed
The imperfect utterance fell unmade.
O Thou, in that mysterious shrine
Enthroned, as I must say, divine!
I will not frame one thought of what
Thou mayest either be or not.
I will not prate of ‘thus’ and ‘so,’
And be profane with ‘yes’ and ‘no,’
Enough that in our soul and heart
Thou, whatso’er Thou may’st be, art.
Unseen, secure in that high shrine
Acknowledged present and divine,
I will not ask some upper air,
Some future day to place Thee there;
Nor say, nor yet deny, such men
And women saw Thee thus and then:
Thy name was such, and there or here
To him or her Thou didst appear.
Do only Thou in that dim shrine,
Unknown or known, remain, divine;
There, or if not, at least in eyes
That scan the fact that round them lies,
The hand to sway, the judgment guide,
In sight and sense Thyself divide:
Be Thou but there,—in soul and heart,
I will not ask to feel Thou art.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Speaker Newt Gingrich has appointed a task force, which I'm on, and over the next couple months the task force is going to try to come up with legislation that does what we're all trying to do. I feel pretty good about the members that are on the task force.
quote by Charlie Norwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Autumn Wind
I.
HUSH, moaning autumn wind! be still, be still!
Thy grieving voice forbiddeth hearts to rest;
We hear thee sweeping down the lonely hill,
And mournful thoughts crowd o'er the human breast.
Why wilt thou haunt us, with thy voice unkind,
Sadd'ning the earth? Hush, moaning autumn wind!
II.
Toss not the branching trees so wildly high,
Filling the forest with thy dreary sound:
Without thy aid the hues of summer die,
And the sear leaves fall scatter'd to the ground.
Thou dost but hasten, needlessly unkind,
The winter's task, thou moaning autumn wind!
III.
Sweep not thro' Ocean's caves with hollow roar,
Driving our fair ships to some rock-bound strand!
While the vex'd sea foams wrathful to the shore,
The seaman's wife looks shuddering from the land,
And widow'd hearts for many a year shall find
Death in thy voice, thou moaning autumn wind!
IV.
Round our calm dwellings, when our hearths are gay,
Roam not, oh howling spirit of Despair!
As tho' thou wert a creature seeking prey,
And where the land look'd richest, found it there.
We have enough of memories unkind
Without thy voice, thou moaning autumn wind!
V.
Thee the sad mourner lists, and turns to weep,
In the blank silence of her lonely home;
The sick man hears, and starts from broken sleep,
And the night-wanderer sighs--compell'd to roam;
While the poor shiver, for their huts unkind
Bar thee not out, thou searching autumn wind!
VI.
Back to the barren hill and lonely glen!
Here let the wandering of thy echoes cease;
Sadly thou soundest to the hearts of men,--
Hush thy wild voice, and let the earth have peace;
Or, if no chain thy restless will can bind,
Sweep thro' the desert, moaning autumn wind!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Husband And Wife
The world had chafed his spirit proud
By its wearing, crushing strife,
The censure of the thoughtless crowd
Had touched a blameless life;
Like the dove of old, from the water’s foam,
He wearily turned to the ark of home.
Hopes he had cherished with joyous heart,
Had toiled for many a day,
With body and spirit, and patient art,
Like mists had melted away;
And o’er day-dreams vanished, o’er fond hopes flown,
He sat him down to mourn alone.
No, not alone, for soft fingers rest
On his hot and aching brow,
Back the damp hair is tenderly pressed
While a sweet voice whispers low:
“Thy joys have I shared, O my husband true,
And shall I not share thy sorrows too?”
Vain task to resist the loving gaze
That so fondly meets his own,
Revealing a heart that cares for praise
From him and him alone;
And though censure and grief upon him pall,
Unto to her, at least, he is all in all.
What though false friends should turn aside,
Or chill with icy look;
What though he meet the pitying pride,
The proud heart ill can brook;
There are depths of love in one gentle heart,
Whose faith with death alone will part.
Aye! well may thy brow relax its gloom,
For a talisman hast thou
’Gainst hopes that are blighted in their bloom,
’Gainst scornful look or brow—
Her heart is a high and a holy throne
Where monarch supreme thou reignest alone.
Kindly return her tender gaze,
Press closely that little hand,
Whisper fond words and soothing praise—
They are ever at thy command;
It is all the harvest she asks to reap
In return for love as the ocean deep.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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To Stella On Her Birth-Day, 1721-2
While, Stella, to your lasting praise
The Muse her annual tribute pays,
While I assign myself a task
Which you expect, but scorn to ask;
If I perform this task with pain,
Let me of partial fate complain;
You every year the debt enlarge,
I grow less equal to the charge:
In you each virtue brighter shines,
But my poetic vein declines;
My harp will soon in vain be strung,
And all your virtues left unsung.
For none among the upstart race
Of poets dare assume my place;
Your worth will be to them unknown,
They must have Stellas of their own;
And thus, my stock of wit decay'd,
I dying leave the debt unpaid,
Unless Delany, as my heir,
Will answer for the whole arrear.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Exciter
Racing cross the heavens
Straight into the dawn
Looking like a comet
Slicing through the morn
Scorching the horizon
Blazing to the land
Now hes here amongst us
The age of fires at hand
Stand by for exciter
Salvation is his task
Stand by for exciter
Salvation bids to ask
Everything he touches
Fries into a crisp,
Let him get close to you
So youre in his trip,
First youll smoke and smoulder
Blister up and singe
When ignition hits you
The very soul of your being will cringe.
Stand by for exciter
Salvation is his task
Stand by for exciter
Here he comes now
Fall to your knees and repent if you please
Who is this man?
Where is he from?
Exciter comes
For everyone.
Youll never see him
But you will taste the fire upon your tongue
Hes come to make you snap out
Of the state that you are in
Looks around and make you
See the light again
So much self-indulgence
Results in shattered eyes
Predominant complacency
Leads to beguiling lies.
Stand by for exciter
Salvation is his task
Stand by for exciter
Salvation bids to ask
When he leaps amidst us
With combustive dance
All shall bear the branding
Of his thermal lance,
Cauterizing masses
Melting into one
Only when theres order
Will his job be done.
Stand by for exciter
Salvation is his task
Stand by for exciter
Here he comes now
Fall to your knees and repent if you please
Who is this man?
Where is he from?
Exciter comes
For everyone
Youll never see him
But you will taste the fire upon your tongue
Racing past the heavens
Straight into the dawn
Looking like a comet
Slicing through the morn
Scorching the horizon
Blazing to the land
Now hes here amongst us
The age of fires at hand
Stand by for exciter
Stand by for exciter
Stand by for exciter
Stand by for exciter
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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1. A seed of of all Religions?
the dinosaurs
did they know
their size forbode
a great task
at hand, that
they would
one day drive
the world?
human beings
do they know
their great mind
projects a great
task at hand,
that one day
their spirituality
would expand
the realm of
heavens? that
God would take
them with Him?
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Sonnet XXII: To Cyriack Skinner
Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, though clear
To outward view of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun or moon or star throughout the year,
Or man or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heav'n's hand or will, not bate a jot
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied
In liberty's defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe talks from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
Content, though blind, had I no better guide.
poem by John Milton
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To the Same
Cyriack, this three years’ day these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied
In liberty’s defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world’s vain mask
Content, though blind, had I no better guide.
poem by John Milton
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Daily Concerns
Another task along the way, I need to turn to God and pray,
Turning to my Lord in prayer, casting to God one more care,
Through the Spirit of His Son, until this task at hand is done,
Knowing that God will hear it, through His ever present Spirit.
And even with a task at hand, one in which I truly understand,
I still have God as my guide, by The Spirit, who dwells inside,
Helping in ways I cannot see, as The Spirit intercedes for me,
With groaning we cannot hear, to my Lord who’s always near.
During an everyday situation, my Lord could allow tribulation,
Turning a regular daily routine, into one overwhelming scene,
Creating a struggle of the wills, while His plan my God fulfills,
Though this struggle may increase, in The Lord, I have peace.
God’s purpose, I may not know, as He guides me where I go,
The reason trials come my way, with a certainty, I cannot say,
But as I truly seek His face, He gives His all sustaining Grace,
Grace that puts questions aside, as His Spirit helps me abide.
Through all tasks I rest assured, in the providence of my Lord,
God’s at every step of the way, through the end of every day,
Truly faithful, He’s always near, beside me with a listening ear,
As God helps me to learn, while I share with Him each concern.
(Copyright ©05/2008)
Sonnet 22
XXII
Cyriac, this three years' day these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, Friend, t' have lost them overplied
In liberty's defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
Content, though blind, had I no better guide.
poem by John Milton
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To Mr. Cyriack Skinner Upon His Blindness
Cyriack, this three years day these eys, though clear
To outward view, of blemish or of spot;
Bereft of light thir seeing have forgot,
Nor to thir idle orbs doth sight appear
Of Sun or Moon or Starre throughout the year,
Or man or woman. Yet I argue not
Against heavns hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear vp and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overply'd
In libertyes defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe talks from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
Content though blind, had I no better guide.
poem by John Milton
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It Is Always Difficult To Begin The Week
IT IS ALWAYS DIFFICULT TO BEGIN THE WEEK
It is always difficult to begin the week
One's body is lost in a previous sleep
One's mind is still held down and back
Into resting -
The world is bleak
It is empty and difficult
I am empty inside
I have nothing to do
I have too much to do-
Still I must begin
I will do the usual routine assignments
Slowly I will get back into the motion and mind of my work
I am already trying now-
Even a small effort should bring forth suggestions for further effort
It will take time
Slowly I will find the way
From task to task
Into the real work -
Somehow the week will begin again
It always does-
Though now I am still slow and not there yet
I feel as if in writing this
I have somehow already begun to work again-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Ode to Duty
STERN Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love,
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
O, if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought.
Me this uncharter'd freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires;
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Yet not the less would I throughout
Still act according to the voice
Of my own wish; and feel past doubt
That my submissiveness was choice:
Not seeking in the school of pride
For 'precepts over dignified,'
Denial and restraint I prize
No farther than they breed a second Will more wise.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds,
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
O, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
poem by William Wordsworth
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Rainbow Habitation.
Let me build a habitation
In a span of the rainbow
A rainbow spanning a valley
Perhaps somewhere unknown.
To escape from this wasteland
Where people jostle
In some routine menial task
Where there is no living
But mere surviving
Dictated by lords of in logic
Of the impulses born of reaction.
Away from the gloomy gates
Where the dull brain retards
The entry of soul’s passage
Into wider vistas
Which ever confined to a world
Narrowly and a small.
poem by Durlabh Singh
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A dead end
Though I have reached to the dead end
Still I wish my feelings to be known and be sent
It may, otherwise, remain as closely guarded
No one may come to know how much I have succeeded
I clearly see the opposite side of the river
Boat is in midway and I am down with fever
I fear it may capsize and never reach to the bank
I must admit it all and be honest and frank
People remember everything at the end of the road
They carry it with them as unbearable load
When they look back and seriously think?
They may feel dismay at the fact that their boat might have sunk
It is known fact that one must understand and realize
What can be their fate and must visualize?
Nothing can offer them any peace except self introspection
You can leave peacefully if you have earned respect from all the sections
All those year may have been turbulent for you to face
You might have rushed to tackle it with mad race
Nothing could have prevented you from achieving the success
What would have mattered most is the way to gain the access
To swim across the rough sea and weather is not an easy task
Sky may seem wide open and horizons so vast
Still we try to achieve it by any means or putting on mask
We may feel very safe even though it would have daunting task
Nothing goes as usual in real life with smooth passage
We definitely try to live with honesty and clear message
Something prevents us from following the correct way
We tend to bypass the long way and don’t want to be whisked away
We try to wash away our hand by merely apolising in the prayer
We feel that God is great and may forgive us from this thin layer
We excuse by saying “to err is human” and knell down
We forget to remember that plant may grow only when seed is grown
Good or bad may not depend on our ultimate wish and thinking
He has all the powers to bless you with favor or reward with kicks
So ultimately when you are at the dead end everything will surface
You may feel good and go down with happiness and shine on face
Think of future and live in the present
Past can’t be beacon and darkness should be absent
Go all out for noble way which gives you joy
No to all tricks and never adopt unfair means or employ
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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