St. Francis Xavier
He left his dust, by all the myriad tread
Of yon dense millions trampled to the strand,
Or 'neath some cross forgotten lays his head
Where dark seas whiten on a lonely land:
He left his work, what all his life had planned,
A waning flame to flicker and to fall,
Mid the huge myths his toil could scarce withstand,
And the light died in temple and in hall,
And the old twilight sank and settled over all.
He left his name, a murmur in the East,
That dies to silence amid older creeds,
With which he strove in vain: the fiery priest
Of faiths less fitted to their ruder needs:
As some lone pilgrim, with his staff and beads,
Mid forest-brutes whom ignorance makes tame,
He dwelt, and sowed an Eastern Church's seeds
He reigned, a teacher and a priest of fame:
He died and dying left a murmur and a name.
He died: and she, the Church that bade him go,
Yon dim Enchantress with her mystic claim,
Has ringed his forehead with her aureole-glow,
And monkish myths, and all the whispered fame
Of miracle, has clung about his name:
So Rome has said: but we, what answer we
Who in grim Indian gods and rites of shame
O'er all the East the teacher's failure see,
His Eastern Church a dream, his toil a vanity.
This then we say: as Time's dark face at last
Moveth its lips of thunder to decree
The doom that grew through all the murmuring past
To be the canon of the times to be:
No child of truth or priest of progress he,
Yet not the less a hero of his wars
Striving to quench the light he could not see,
And God, who knoweth all that makes and mars,
Judges his soul unseen which throbs among the stars.
God only knows, man failing in his choice,
How far apparent failure may succeed,
God only knows what echo of His voice
Lives in the cant of many a fallen creed,
God only gives the labourer his meed
For all the lingering influence widely spread,
Broad branching into many a word and deed
When dim oblivion veils the fountain-head;
So lives and lingers on the spirit of the dead.
This then we say: let all things further rest
And this brave life, with many thousands more,
Be gathered up in the eternal's breast
In that dim past his Love is bending o'er:
Healing all shattered hopes and failure sore:
Since he had bravely looked on death and pain
For what he chose to worship and adore,
Cast boldly down his life for loss or gain
In the eternal lottery: not to be in vain.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
St, Francis Xavier
The Apostle of the Indies
He left his dust, by all the myriad tread
Of yon dense millions trampled to the strand,
Or 'neath some cross forgotten lays his head
Where dark seas whiten on a lonely land:
He left his work, what all his life had planned,
A waning flame to flicker and to fall,
Mid the huge myths his toil could scarce withstand,
And the light died in temple and in hall,
And the old twilight sank and settled over all.
He left his name, a murmur in the East,
That dies to silence amid older creeds,
With which he strove in vain: the fiery priest
Of faiths less fitted to their ruder needs:
As some lone pilgrim, with his staff and beads,
Mid forest-brutes whom ignorance makes tame,
He dwelt, and sowed an Eastern Church's seeds
He reigned, a teacher and a priest of fame:
He died and dying left a murmur and a name.
He died: and she, the Church that bade him go,
Yon dim Enchantress with her mystic claim,
Has ringed his forehead with her aureole-glow,
And monkish myths, and all the whispered fame
Of miracle, has clung about his name:
So Rome has said: but we, what answer we
Who in grim Indian gods and rites of shame
O'er all the East the teacher's failure see,
His Eastern Church a dream, his toil a vanity.
This then we say: as Time's dark face at last
Moveth its lips of thunder to decree
The doom that grew through all the murmuring past
To be the canon of the times to be:
No child of truth or priest of progress he,
Yet not the less a hero of his wars
Striving to quench the light he could not see,
And God, who knoweth all that makes and mars,
Judges his soul unseen which throbs among the stars.
God only knows, man failing in his choice,
How far apparent failure may succeed,
God only knows what echo of His voice
Lives in the cant of many a fallen creed,
God only gives the labourer his meed
For all the lingering influence widely spread,
Broad branching into many a word and deed
When dim oblivion veils the fountain-head;
So lives and lingers on the spirit of the dead.
This then we say: let all things further rest
And this brave life, with many thousands more,
Be gathered up in the eternal's breast
In that dim past his Love is bending o'er:
Healing all shattered hopes and failure sore:
Since he had bravely looked on death and pain
For what he chose to worship and adore,
Cast boldly down his life for loss or gain
In the eternal lottery: not to be in vain.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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the Way To Success
failure may outnumber success
failure is there
to make you strong
failure may cause pain
but nothing goes in vain
failure keeps you in touch
with reality
failure gives wisdom
failure gives experience
cowards don't fail
It's for the brave
who leave the shore
to sail into unknown
failure is a stop
in the journey of life
don't stop at the bend
today's failure would be
tomorrow's bigger success
failure is the cradle
in which success rocks.
failure is not a sin
failure is the first step for success
failure teaches you how to succeed
failure always helps in your success
failure helps you from failing
if you fail, it's not the end of the world
try!
success will definitely be on your way
so will run away your failure
but...
never forget your failure in life which helped you in your
SUCCESS
poem by Liioona Mohie
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Psalm 118 part 3
v.22,23
C. M.
Christ the foundation of his church.
Behold the sure foundation-stone
Which God in Zion lays,
To build our heav'nly hopes upon,
And his eternal praise.
Chosen of God, to sinners dear,
And saints adore the name;
They trust their whole salvation here,
Nor shall they suffer shame.
The foolish builders, scribe and priest,
Reject it with disdain;
Yet on this Rock the church shall rest,
And envy rage in vain.
What though the gates of hell withstood,
Yet must this building rise;
'Tis thy own work, almighty God,
And wondrous in our eyes.
poem by Isaac Watts
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The Mystery of The Church
The Mystery of God’s True Church, is men and women upon this earth.
Men and women upon this earth, brought together through New Birth.
They are called out from the earth, by The Lord’s Spirit during this birth.
The members are called to a New Life, and it is found in Jesus Christ.
Christ said He’d build His Church; it is God’s institution upon the earth.
The Church includes every nation, of the earth that accepts Salvation.
God had started first with the Jew, and then Christ added me and you.
The Church was not created by man, but is part of God’s Eternal Plan.
The Church is of a heavenly origin, far above the influences of all sin.
It is The Lord’s sovereign creation, to spread the Gospel of Salvation.
For there is no earthly institution, that can offer God’s Eternal solution.
The Church is not a building friend, but of people with a heavenly end.
The Church has no earthly foundation; it is built on Christ’s exaltation.
The Church has only one mediator, which is Jesus Christ, her creator.
The gates of Hades will not prevail, although all Satan’s forces do rail.
For Christ gained for all the victory, securing for us a home in Eternity.
On the cross Jesus bled and died, so we could be His Heavenly Bride.
From that death He rose again; we enter His Church once Born Again.
The Lord Jesus died in our stead, and of God’s Church He is the head.
Believers become the body unified, living new lives because He died.
The true Bride and body of Christ, is eagerly anticipating Eternal Life.
You enter in a sinner on the earth, to soon depart into Heaven’s mirth.
Into Eternal Bliss with Jesus Christ, and an endless joy of Eternal Life.
All the saints within God’s Church, from Christ only, get all their worth.
For they have been truly sanctified, under the blood of Christ who died.
By The Holy Spirit they are set apart, with a new mind and new heart.
And they are all of one single kind, as they all have The Savior’s mind.
The end of life is just a new start, to begin in Eternity when they depart.
Life of a Roman Catholic Priest
A priest is nearest Christ;
A priest is Christ at times;
A priest is almost Christ;
A priest is most divine.
A priest is God’s shepherd;
A priest must tend to flock;
A priest must be like ‘rock’;
A priest should ne’er defrock.
A priest communes with God;
A priest draws hope from Lord;
A priest shows love of Christ;
A priest carries His Cross!
A priest is tempted too;
A priest has falls in life;
A priest falters also;
A priest has strength from Christ.
A priestly job is tough;
A priest’s life can turn rough;
A priest has strife enough,
But has to smile and laugh!
A priest helps harvest souls;
A priest has many roles;
A priest has but one goal –
To drink from Christ’s own bowl!
Pray that more priests should come;
May priests curb their freedom;
May priest usher Kingdom;
A life for Christ’s welcome.
Fondly dedicated to Rev. Fr. Xavier Claudius,
Beloved Parish priest, ‘Holy Family Church, Perundurai
Copyright by Dr John Celes 25-7-2010
poem by John Celes
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Quia Nominor Leo: Sonnets
I.
WHAT part is left thee, lion? Ravenous beast,
Which hadst the world for pasture, and for scope
And compass of thine homicidal hope
The kingdom of the spirit of man, the feast
Of souls subdued from west to sunless east,
From blackening north to bloodred south aslope,
All servile; earth for footcloth of the pope,
And heaven for chancel-ceiling of the priest;
Thou that hadst earth by right of rack and rod,
Thou that hadst Rome because thy name was God,
And by thy creed’s gift heaven wherein to dwell;
Heaven laughs with all his light and might above
That earth has cast thee out of faith and love;
Thy part is but the hollow dream of hell.
II.
The light of life has faded from thy cause,
High priest of heaven and hell and purgatory:
Thy lips are loud with strains of oldworld story,
But the red prey was rent out of thy paws
Long since and they that dying brake down thy laws
Have with the fires of death-enkindled glory
Put out the flame that faltered on thy hoary
High altars, waning with the world’s applause.
This Italy was Dante’s Bruno died
Here Campanella, too sublime for pride,
Endured thy God’s worst here, and hence went home.
And what art thou, that time’s full tide should shrink
For thy sake downward? What art thou, to think
Thy God shall give thee back for birthright Rome?
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Webster
"When I and all those that hear me shall have gone to our last home, and when the mould may have gathered on our memories, as it will on our tombs:" -- Webster's Speech in the Senate, July, 1850.
The mould upon thy memory! -- No,
Not while one note is rung,
Of those divine, immortal songs
Milton and Shakespeare sung; --
Not till the night of years enshrouds
The Anglo-Saxon tongue.
No! let the flood of Time roll on,
And men and empires die; --
Genius enthroned on lofty heights
Can its dread course defy,
And here on earth, can claim the gift
Of immortality:
Can save from that Lethean tide
That sweeps so dark along,
A people's name; -- a people's fame
To future time prolong,
As Troy still lives and only lives
In Homer's deathless song.
What though to buried Nineveh
The traveller may come,
And roll away the stone that hides
That long forgotten tomb; --
He questions its mute past in vain,
Its oracles are dumb.
What though he stand where Balbec stood
Gigantic in its pride;
No voice comes o'er that silent waste,
Lone, desolate and wide; --
They had no bard, no orator,
No statesman, -- and they died.
They lived their little span of life,
They lived and died in vain; --
They sank ingloriously beneath
Oblivion's silent reign,
As sank beneath the Dead Sea wave
The Cities of the Plain.
But for those famed, immortal lands,
Greece and imperial Rome,
Where Genius left its shining mark,
And found its chosen home,
All eloquent with mind they speak,
Wood, wave and crumbling dome.
The honeyed words of Plato still
Float on the echoing air,
The thunders of Demosthenes
AEgean waters bear,
And the pilgrim to the Forum hears
The voice of Tully there.
And thus thy memory shall live,
And thus thy fame resound,
While far-off future ages roll
Their solemn cycles round,
And make this wide, this fair New World
An ancient, classic ground.
Then with our Country's glorious name
Thine own shall be entwined;
Within the Senate's pillared hall
Thine image shall be shrined;
And on the nation's Law shall gleam
Light from thy giant mind.
Our proudest monuments no more
May rise to meet the sky,
The stately Capitol o'erthrown,
Low in the dust may lie;
But mind, sublime above the wreck,
Immortal -- cannot die.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Without The Lord
To live one day without The Lord, is one day you cannot afford,
To live this life on your own, without the Power from His Throne,
While your life God shall fill, with the Spirit’s Power, per His will,
As God powers your daily life, when you walk with Jesus Christ.
For you it’s not a great sacrifice, as The Lord has paid the price,
When He died for you and me, on that bloody Cross of Calvary;
Where He died, for sinners like us, and all we have to do is trust,
In His finished work, on the cross, paid by Christ for sinners lost.
Christ had suffered all the pain, to grant to believers Eternal gain,
He grants, when we truly believe, when The Holy Spirit we receive,
His Spirit of Wisdom and Power, providing us each day and hour,
Being our teacher and our guide, as God’s Spirit now lives inside.
The Spirit goes before us every day, as we walk life’s narrow way,
Supplying strength for life’s race, as He guides us place to place,
In times of trial He grants peace, that from Christ, shall not cease,
With His presence and His light, that overcomes the dark of night.
We gain all this and so much more, when we know Christ as Lord,
With the best, still yet to come, as we labor for Christ’s Kingdom,
God’s Kingdom that has no end, with Christ as our Eternal Friend,
So before you let this day depart, allow the Savior into your heart.
(Copyright ©07/2009)
The Record
HE sleeps, his head upon his sword,
His soldier's cloak a shroud;
His church-yard is the open field,--
Three times it has been plough'd:
The first time that the wheat sprung up
'Twas black as if with blood,
The meanest beggar turn'd away
From the unholy food.
The third year, and the grain grew fair,
As it was wont to wave;
None would have thought that golden corn
Was growing on the grave.
His lot was but a peasant's lot,
His name a peasant's name,
Not his the place of death that turns
Into a place of fame.
He fell as other thousands do,
Trampled down where they fall,
While on a single name is heap'd
The glory gain'd by all.
Yet even he whose common grave
Lies in the open fields,
Died not without a thought of all
The joy that glory yields.
That small white church in his own land,
The lime trees almost hide,
Bears on the walls the names of those
Who for their country died.
His name is written on those walls,
His mother read it there,
With pride,--oh! no, there could not be
Pride in the widow's prayer.
And many a stranger who shall mark
That peasant roll of fame,
Will think on prouder ones, yet say
This was a hero's name.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Failure
Maybe i, I didnt seem to have a thing left to say
I bottled it far away
Maybe i, I tried too hard to find someone to blame
Maybe its me who changed
And now, Im left with nothing again
So what if I lost everything
Would you want me if I was a failure
So what if I lost everything
Would you be there even when I am gone
Maybe i, I didnt seem to give everything away
Not because I needed you to stay, and i
I couldnt face the fears I left far behind
I try to answer every question to why
Im left with nothing again
So what if I lost everything
Would you want me if I was a failure
So what if I lost everything
Would you be there even when I am gone
Maybe you couldnt see
All the pain inside of me
And now I feel like this was all for nothing
cause Im left with nothing, Im left with nothing again
So what if I lost everything
Would you want me if I was a failure
So what if I lost everything
Would you want me if I was a failure
So what if I lost everything
Would you be there even when I am gone
So what if I lost everything
Would you want me if I was a failure
song performed by by Unloco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Departed Souls
Men and women close to us, die each day and return to dust.
And for some who pass away, many can only hope and pray,
That they too, knew The Way, before they had died that day,
If Christ was not upon their heart, on that day they did depart.
The return to dust we all face, is a way to life by God’s Grace,
Through belief in His own Son, who died a death for everyone.
While they had lived in this life, they could see truths of Christ,
In the lives of many of those, who believed in Christ, who rose.
A choice must be made by all, to avoid death, from Adam’s fall,
To accept the love of Calvary, and He who died for you and me.
We need to share with everyone, Eternal Truths of God’s Son,
Men and women, girls and boys, so they can make the choice.
For there’s no time after men die, to lift up prayers into the sky,
To alter choices men had made, before bodies have been laid,
God has given man ample time, to change a heart and a mind,
It’s when men don’t believe, the Spirit of Truth that they receive.
Friend it is God’s ultimate desire, that no man perish in the fire,
But instead receive Eternal Life, through His Son Jesus Christ.
We must let loved ones know, they make a choice where to go,
When they leave this earthly state, eternity is not chance or fate.
Men need to make a determination, in regards to their salvation,
To trust in God’s saving Grace, before they ever leave this place.
No family will have to grieve, knowing in Christ they did believe,
So those left can rest assured, they died knowing Christ as Lord.
(Copyright ©01/2007)
Helaman 14: 31
When the heavens cast their eyes on me,
they cried - I felt their tears on my face;
their tears, they drench me...
and I felt cold.
When the stars cast their eyes on me,
they fell - and I was left in darkness
with the ringing evening bells.
The moon, when she cast her eyes on me,
she died - and was buried in dark clouds;
I was left alone and homeless...
and thought I might as well die;
for the evening bells are ringing...
the heavens - they're still crying.
The stars are all but fallen.
But no, I'll never stay in darkness.
I cast away the dark clouds in my thoughts
and looked up in the heavens.
They still cry but their tears are sweet -
I smiled and felt the tender coldness
it brought in my weary feet.
The stars have fallen, the moon has died,
for the sun has risen and has brought its light.
Heavens gave way, the evening bells retired.
The darkness chose me but I have chosen light.
Death has crept its way and chose me
but I have chosen life.
29 January 2011
Batac
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Discarded Dream
A life in writing is all I wanted
I watched other friends reach
pinnacles I could only dream about.
Their writing shone
like bright stars
as mine just gathered dust.
Rejected time and time again
The more I wrote
The more the rejections grew,
until in the end I looked at what I had
and the years I for-fitted
searching, scrambling for a dream
Every glimmer of hope,
and there were plenty
seemed to crumble
and like sand slip through my fingers.
In the end after my mentor and friend died.
The only person to encourage me
when I was filled with despair
something within in me died as well.
I looked back at what I called
all those wasted years.
I then gave up the one thing
that gave my life some meaning.
Discarded it as a child would a broken toy.
The dream I had was broken,
un-repairable so I thought.
I declined to be a nobody
without any future promised land.
Giving up without even taking a stand.
The years tumbled by
and I found much to my surprise
there was no longing left within my eyes.
The faith I had in myself
also died a lonely death.
The love for what I wanted to do
withered without repair.
I put my pen down
I swore for the last time.
No more would I pursue the dream
that had consumed me
Therefore, down the road
I went swearing never to return.
For years that promise I kept.
The fire flickered and dimmed,
but somehow never died
for deep within the embers
a small flame still flickered alive.
A chance encounter,
a request to read someone else’s work
and comment of two was enough.
To ignite the flame
to burn brighter than before.
Awakening a dormant dream
that had been cast aside.
The dream then flourished
with no ending in sight.
Everyday it awakens more.
Therefore, for those who read
what happen to me
don’t discard your hopes and dreams,
for one day you’ll turn a corner
and those dreams will come true.
9 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remember
Remember those who went before; as believers in Christ our Lord.
Remember men who gave their life, for the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
Those early soldiers of the cross, giving their lives to reach the lost.
In Christ’s power men would embark, upon a battle against the dark.
Remember the cloud of witnesses; God’s inspiration to men like us.
Those who in faith went on before, to serve our Eternal Living Lord.
They left their land and all they knew, as a witness for me and you.
On a new journey they would trod, looking for that city built by God.
Remember also the Cross of Christ; and how He died to give us life.
His Glorious Throne He set aside, then hung upon a cross and died.
He set His heart and mind to fulfill, not His own but His Father’s will.
He went to a tree from His Throne, to secure for us an eternal home.
Remember all the disciples’ start, and how God changed their heart,
At times faithless and unsure, but ended bold witnesses of The Lord.
All but one of them lost their life, for the bold witness of Jesus Christ.
God used their witness as the birth, of what today is Christ’s Church.
As we remember those of the past, let us make a mark that will last,
Let us too glorify Christ our Lord, as the others who went on before.
Then others will remember when, we too were saved as sinful men,
To continue on in this New Life, while leading others to Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©05/2006)
Channing
Not vainly did old poets tell,
Nor vainly did old genius paint
God's great and crowning miracle,
The hero and the saint!
For even in a faithless day
Can we our sainted ones discern;
And feel, while with them on the way,
Our hearts within us burn.
And thus the common tongue and pen
Which, world-wide, echo Channing's fame,
As one of Heaven's anointed men,
Have sanctified his name.
In vain shall Rome her portals bar,
And shut from him her saintly prize,
Whom, in the world's great calendar,
All men shall canonize.
By Narragansett's sunny bay,
Beneath his green embowering wood,
To me it seems but yesterday
Since at his side I stood.
The slopes lay green with summer rains,
The western wind blew fresh and free,
And glimmered down the orchard lanes
The white surf of the sea.
With us was one, who, calm and true,
Life's highest purpose understood,
And, like his blessed Master, knew
The joy of doing good.
Unlearned, unknown to lettered fame,
Yet on the lips of England's poor
And toiling millions dwelt his name,
With blessings evermore.
Unknown to power or place, yet where
The sun looks o'er the Carib sea,
It blended with the freeman's prayer
And song of jubilee.
He told of England's sin and wrong,
The ills her suffering children know,
The squalor of the city's throng,
The green field's want and woe.
O'er Channing's face the tenderness
Of sympathetic sorrow stole,
Like a still shadow, passionless,
The sorrow of the soul.
But when the generous Briton told
How hearts were answering to his own,
And Freedom's rising murmur rolled
Up to the dull-eared throne,
I saw, methought, a glad surprise
Thrill through that frail and pain-worn frame,
And, kindling in those deep, calm eyes,
A still and earnest flame.
His few, brief words were such as move
The human heart,--the Faith-sown seeds
Which ripen in the soil of love
To high heroic deeds.
No bars of sect or clime were felt,
The Babel strife of tongues had ceased,
And at one common altar knelt
The Quaker and the priest.
And not in vain: with strength renewed,
And zeal refreshed, and hope less dim,
For that brief meeting, each pursued
The path allotted him.
How echoes yet each Western hill
And vale with Channing's dying word!
How are the hearts of freemen still
By that great warning stirred.
The stranger treads his native soil,
And pleads, with zeal unfelt before,
The honest right of British toil,
The claim of England's poor.
Before him time-wrought barriers fall,
Old fears subside, old hatreds melt,
And, stretching o'er the sea's blue wall,
The Saxon greets the Celt.
The yeoman on the Scottish lines,
The Sheffield grinder, worn and grim,
The delver in the Cornwall mines,
Look up with hope to him.
Swart smiters of the glowing steel,
Dark feeders of the forge's flame,
Pale watchers at the loom and wheel,
Repeat his honored name.
And thus the influence of that hour
Of converse on Rhode Island's strand
Lives in the calm, resistless power
Which moves our fatherland.
God blesses still the generous thought,
And still the fitting word He speeds
And Truth, at His requiring taught,
He quickens into deeds.
Where is the victory of the grave?
What dust upon the spirit lies?
God keeps the sacred life he gave,--
The prophet never dies!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Epitaph On Two Young Men Of The Name Of Leitch, Who Were Drowned In Crossing The River Southesk
O thou! whose steps in sacred reverence tread
These lone dominions of the silent dead;
On this sad stone a pious look bestow,
Nor uninstructed read this tale of woe;
And while the sigh of sorrow heaves thy breast,
Let each rebellious murmur be suppress'd;
Heaven's hidden ways to trace, for us how vain!
Heaven's wise decrees, how impious to arraign!
Pure from the stains of a polluted age,
In early bloom of life they left the stage:
Not doom'd in lingering woe to waste their breath,
One moment snatch'd them from the power of Death:
They lived united, and united died;
Happy the friends whom Death cannot divide!
poem by James Beattie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Sat Alone Beside Her Hearth
SHE sat alone beside her hearth—
For many nights alone;
She slept not on the pleasant couch
Where fragrant herbs were strewn.
At first she bound her raven hair
With feather and with shell;
But then she hoped; at length, like night,
Around her neck it fell.
They saw her wandering mid the woods,
Lone, with rite cheerless dawn,
And then they said, 'Can this be her
We called 'The Startled Fawn?' '
Her heart was in her large sad eyes,
Half sunshine and half shade;
And love, as love first springs to life,
Of every thing afraid.
The red leaf far more heavily
Fell down to autumn earth,
Than her light feet, which seemed to move
To music and to mirth.
With the light feet of early youth,
What hopes and joys depart,
Ah! nothing like the heavy step
Betrays the heavy heart.
It is a usual history
That Indian girl could tell;
Fate sets apart one common doom
For all who love too well.
The proud—the shy—the sensitive,—
Life has not many such;
They dearly buy their happiness,
By feeling it too much.
A stranger to her forest home,
That fair young stranger came;
They raised for him the funeral song—
For him the funeral flame.
Love sprang from pity,—and her arms
Around his arms she threw;
She told her father, 'If he dies,
Your daughter dieth too.'
For her sweet sake they set him free—
He lingered at her side;
And many a native song yet tells
Of that pale stranger's bride.
Two years have passed—how much two years
Have taken in their flight!
They've taken from the lip its smile,
And from the eye its light.
Poor child! she was a child in years—
So timid and so young;
With what a fond and earnest faith
To desperate hope she clung!
His eyes grew cold—his voice grew strange—
They only grew more dear.
She served him meekly, anxiously,
With love—half faith—half fear.
And can a fond and faithful heart
Be worthless in those eyes
For which it beats?—Ah! wo to those
Who such a heart despise.
Poor child! what lonely days she passed,
With nothing to recall
But bitter taunts, and careless words,
And looks more cold than all.
Alas! for love, that sits at home,
Forsaken, and yet fond;
The grief that sits beside the hearth—
Life has no grief beyond.
He left her, but she followed him—
She thought he could not bear,
When she had left her home for him,
To look on her despair.
Adown the strange and mighty stream
She took her lonely way;
The stars at night her pilots were,
As was the sun by day.
Yet mournfully—how mournfully!—
The Indian looked behind,
When the last sound of voice or step
Died on the midnight wind,
Yet still adown the gloomy stream
She plied her weary oar;
Her husband—he had left their home,
And it was home no more.
She found him—but she found in vain—
He spurned her from his side;
He said, her brow was all too dark,
For her to be his bride.
She grasped his hands,—her own were cold,—
And silent turned away,
As she had not a tear to shed,
And not a word to say.
And pale as death she reached her boat,
And guided it along;
With broken voice she strove to raise
A melancholy song.
None watched the lonely Indian girl,—
She passed unmarked of all,
Until they saw her slight canoe
Approach the mighty Fall!
Upright, within that slender boat
They saw the pale girl stand,
Her dark hair streaming far behind—
Upraised her desperate hand.
The air is filled with shriek and shout—
They call, but call in vain;
The boat amid the waters dash'd—
'Twas never seen again!
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Last Oracle
eipate toi basilei, xamai pese daidalos aula.
ouketi PHoibos exei kaluban, ou mantida daphnen,
ou pagan laleousan . apesbeto kai lalon udor.
Years have risen and fallen in darkness or in twilight,
Ages waxed and waned that knew not thee nor thine,
While the world sought light by night and sought not thy light,
Since the sad last pilgrim left thy dark mid shrine.
Dark the shrine and dumb the fount of song thence welling,
Save for words more sad than tears of blood, that said:
Tell the king, on earth has fallen the glorious dwelling,
And the watersprings that spake are quenched and dead.
Not a cell is left the God, no roof, no cover
In his hand the prophet laurel flowers no more.
And the great king's high sad heart, thy true last lover,
Felt thine answer pierce and cleave it to the core.
And he bowed down his hopeless head
In the drift of the wild world's tide,
And dying, Thou hast conquered, he said,
Galilean; he said it, and died.
And the world that was thine and was ours
When the Graces took hands with the Hours
Grew cold as a winter wave
In the wind from a wide-mouthed grave,
As a gulf wide open to swallow
The light that the world held dear.
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo,
Destroyer and healer, hear!
Age on age thy mouth was mute, thy face was hidden,
And the lips and eyes that loved thee blind and dumb;
Song forsook their tongues that held thy name forbidden,
Light their eyes that saw the strange God's kingdom come.
Fire for light and hell for heaven and psalms for pæans
Filled the clearest eyes and lips most sweet of song,
When for chant of Greeks the wail of Galileans
Made the whole world moan with hymns of wrath and wrong.
Yea, not yet we see thee, father, as they saw thee,
They that worshipped when the world was theirs and thine,
They whose words had power by thine own power to draw thee
Down from heaven till earth seemed more than heaven divine.
For the shades are about us that hover
When darkness is half withdrawn
And the skirts of the dead night cover
The face of the live new dawn.
For the past is not utterly past
Though the word on its lips be the last,
And the time be gone by with its creed
When men were as beasts that bleed,
As sheep or as swine that wallow,
In the shambles of faith and of fear.
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo,
Destroyer and healer, hear!
Yet it may be, lord and father, could we know it,
We that love thee for our darkness shall have light
More than ever prophet hailed of old or poet
Standing crowned and robed and sovereign in thy sight.
To the likeness of one God their dreams enthralled thee,
Who wast greater than all Gods that waned and grew;
Son of God the shining son of Time they called thee,
Who wast older, O our father, than they knew.
For no thought of man made Gods to love or honour
Ere the song within the silent soul began,
Nor might earth in dream or deed take heaven upon her
Till the word was clothed with speech by lips of man.
And the word and the life wast thou,
The spirit of man and the breath;
And before thee the Gods that bow
Take life at thine hands and death.
For these are as ghosts that wane,
That are gone in an age or twain;
Harsh, merciful, passionate, pure,
They perish, but thou shalt endure;
Be their flight with the swan or the swallow,
They pass as the flight of a year.
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo,
Destroyer and healer, hear!
Thou the word, the light, the life, the breath, the glory,
Strong to help and heal, to lighten and to slay,
Thine is all the song of man, the world's whole story;
Not of morning and of evening is thy day.
Old and younger Gods are buried or begotten
From uprising to downsetting of thy sun,
Risen from eastward, fallen to westward and forgotten,
And their springs are many, but their end is one.
Divers births of godheads find one death appointed,
As the soul whence each was born makes room for each;
God by God goes out, discrowned and disanointed,
But the soul stands fast that gave them shape and speech.
Is the sun yet cast out of heaven?
Is the song yet cast out of man?
Life that had song for its leaven
To quicken the blood that ran
Through the veins of the songless years
More bitter and cold than tears,
Heaven that had thee for its one
Light, life, word, witness, O sun,
Are they soundless and sightless and hollow,
Without eye, without speech, without ear?
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo,
Destroyer and healer, hear!
Time arose and smote thee silent at his warning,
Change and darkness fell on men that fell from thee;
Dark thou satest, veiled with light, behind the morning,
Till the soul of man should lift up eyes and see.
Till the blind mute soul get speech again and eyesight,
Man may worship not the light of life within;
In his sight the stars whose fires grow dark in thy sight
Shine as sunbeams on the night of death and sin.
Time again is risen with mightier word of warning,
Change hath blown again a blast of louder breath;
Clothed with clouds and stars and dreams that melt in morning,
Lo, the Gods that ruled by grace of sin and death!
They are conquered, they break, they are stricken,
Whose might made the whole world pale;
They are dust that shall rise not or quicken
Though the world for their death's sake wail.
As a hound on a wild beast's trace,
So time has their godhead in chase;
As wolves when the hunt makes head,
They are scattered, they fly, they are fled;
They are fled beyond hail, beyond hollo,
And the cry of the chase, and the cheer.
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo,
Destroyer and healer, hear!
Day by day thy shadow shines in heaven beholden,
Even the sun, the shining shadow of thy face:
King, the ways of heaven before thy feet grow golden;
God, the soul of earth is kindled with thy grace.
In thy lips the speech of man whence Gods were fashioned,
In thy soul the thought that makes them and unmakes;
By thy light and heat incarnate and impassioned,
Soul to soul of man gives light for light and takes.
As they knew thy name of old time could we know it,
Healer called of sickness, slayer invoked of wrong,
Light of eyes that saw thy light, God, king, priest, poet,
Song should bring thee back to heal us with thy song.
For thy kingdom is past not away,
Nor thy power from the place thereof hurled;
Out of heaven they shall cast not the day,
They shall cast not out song from the world.
By the song and the light they give
We know thy works that they live;
With the gift thou hast given us of speech
We praise, we adore, we beseech,
We arise at thy bidding and follow,
We cry to thee, answer, appear,
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo,
Destroyer and healer, hear!
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Church Of Women
A lie for a lie, but a truth for the truth
Church of women is made out of milk
Which their love turns to butter -er -er
Church of women will have you give praise
With a laugh, bark and stutter -er -er
Like us men like us men they are nothing like us men
Men have gargoyles round their hearts
Im on my knees but dancing
Want to worship at the church of women
Breathe em in until my head goes spinning around
Want to worship at the church
Let me worship at the church of women
Church of women is making donations of loving and giving -ing -ing
Church of women performing that miracle raising the living -ing -ing
Like us men like us men will they ever like us men?
Men have thorns around their minds
Im on my mountain preaching
Want to worship at the church of women
Breathe em in until my head goes spinning around
Want to worship at the church
Let me worship at the church of women
Lie for a lie, but a truth for the truth
Give em back their house: the walls, the doors, the floors and roof
And stop tryin to diet on the wafers and wine and submit were in control
Now lets put things right
Lets multiply the loves and kisses
til we have enough to love and eat forever
Want to worship at the church of women
I want to worship at the church of women now
Breathe em in until my head goes spinning around
Ill breathe em in until my head goes spinning round
Want to worship at the church
Let me worship at the church of women
Want to worship at the church of women
(repeat x3 and fade)
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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