Don't cry ""Hurra!"" till you are over the ditch.
Related quotes
Jubilee Song
Our grateful carts with joy o’erflow,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
We hail the Despot’s overthrow,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
No more he’ll raise the gory lash,
And sink it deep in human flesh,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.
We raise the song in Freedom’s name,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Her glorious triumph we proclaim,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Beneath her feet lie Slavery’s chains,
Their power to curse no more remains,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.
With joy we’ll make the air resound,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
That all may hear the gladsome sound,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
We glory at Oppression’s fall,
The Slave has burst his deadly thrall,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.
In mirthful glee we’ll dance and sing,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
With shouts we’ll make the welkin ring,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Shout! shout aloud! the bondsman’s free
This, this is Freedom’s jubilee
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Landsoldatens Hjemkomst
Det er som en Festdag hver evige Dag,
Vor Landsoldat kommer tilbage.
Fra Huus og til Huus hænge Krandse og Flag,
Folk juble fra Gader og Tage,
Hvert Laug har sin Fane, Musiken er med,
Og Hurra og Jubel hvert evige Sted.
„Nu komme de! hør fra Voldene Skud!
Saa sunde, saa prægtige see de ud!"
Hurra! Hurra! I herlige, brave Soldater!
De komme med Blomster paa Hat og Gevær,
Et vandrende Foraar de ligne;
Gaae ind imellem dem, tal med hver,
Det er de Mænd, vi velsigne.
De stred og døied og udholdt som Faa,
Og vide selv ikke, hvor store de staae.
Den fineste Frøkens Rosenmund
Kunde kysse Soldaten i denne Stund.
Hurra! Hurra! I herlige, brave Soldater!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Digging A Ditch
I'm digging a ditch
Where madness lives
I'm digging a ditch
Where my silence lives
I'm diggin a ditch and when I am through
Digging this ditch I'll dig one for you
Digging a ditch
As black as cold
Digging a ditch
Where I can hide my soul
Digging a ditch
Where my secrets stay
[The Newer Version
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band from Busted Stuff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't cry hurra! till your are over the hedge (till you are out of the wood).
Song of the Battle Eve
(Time -- the Ninth Century)
To-morrow, comrade, we
On the battle-plain must be,
There to conquer, or both lie low!
The morning star is up --
But there's wine still in the cup,
And we'll take another quaff, ere we go, boy, go;
We'll take another quaff, ere we go.
'Tis true, in manliest eyes
A passing tear will rise,
When we think of the friends we leave lone;
But what can wailing do?
See, our goblet's weeping too!
With its tears we'll chase away our own, boy, our own;
With its tears we'll chase away our own.
But daylight's stealing on;
The last that o'er us shone
Saw our children around us play;
The next -- ah! where shall we
And those rosy urchins be?
But -- no matter -- grasp thy sword and away, boy, away;
No matter -- grasp thy sword and away!
Let those, who brook the chain
Of Saxon or of Dane,
Ignobly by their fire-sides stay;
One sigh to home be given,
One heartfelt prayer to heaven,
Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurra! hurra! hurra!
Then, for Erin and her cause, hurra!
poem by Thomas Moore
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Diggina Ditch
Unto your dreaming,
When youre alone,
Unplug the tv,
Turn off the phone.
Get heavy on with diggin your ditch.
Cause Im digging a ditch,
Where madness gives.
Digging a ditch,
Where silence lives.
Digging a ditch,
For when Im old.
Digging a ditch,
Where stories told.
Where all these troubles,
That weigh down on me will rise,
Unto your dreaming,
When youre alone.
Where all these worries,
That hold heavy on my heart,
Will die, will die, will die...
Unto your dreaming,
When youre alone.
Unplug the tv,
Turn off the phone.
Get heavy on with diggin your ditch.
Cause Im digging a ditch,
Where madness gives.
Digging a ditch,
Where silence lives in here.
Digging a ditch,
And when Im through digging this ditch,
Ill dig in for you.
Where all these disappointments,
That grow angry out of me will die.
Where all these habits,
That hold heavy on my heart will die.
Unto your dreaming, when youre alone,
Not what youre sure be or what youve become,
Just getting heavy on with digging your ditch.
Cause Im digging a ditch,
Where madness gives again.
Im digging a ditch,
Where silence lives.
Where all these troubles that weigh down on me,
Will rise, will rise, will rise, will rise...
Unto your dreaming, when youre alone,
Unplug the tv,
Turn off the phone.
Get heavy on with digging your ditch.
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Don't Go Crazy Till It's Done
War is hell but you don't go crazy till its done.
We climbed to the top, we can never stop,
You don't go crazy till its done.
Shoot your guns and bang your drums,
You don't go crazy till its done.
Bleed 'em dry in the blazing sun,
Shoot 'em and their mums,
You don't go crazy till its done.
Here there's no thinkin', and binge drinkin',
You don't go crazy till its done.
Wait till your home, safe and alone
Wait for the dreams of screams,
You don't go crazy till its done.
Alone and at home,
Be in pain and get told your insane,
Be prescribed lots of drugs and a few hugs,
You don't go crazy til its done.
Loose your job and get chased by angry mob,
Get told you're the hitch and then get the ditch.
You don't go crazy til its done.
War is hell but you don't go crazy til its done.
poem by Anna Writer
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One man cannot hold another man down in the ditch without remaining down in the ditch with him.
quote by Booker T. Washington
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Falling
The depth of a ditch
that nature designs and fate crafts
is a setting for the peak
into a deep ditch, onto higher peaks
poem by Timothy muggaga
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The New-England Boy's Song About Thanksgiving Day
Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way,
To carry the sleigh,
Through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather's house away!
We would not stop
For doll or top,
For 't is Thanksgiving Day.
Over the river, and through the wood,
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes,
And bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.
Over the river, and through the wood,
With a clear blue winter sky,
The dogs do bark,
And children hark,
As we go jingling by.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To have a first-rate play-
Hear the bells ring
Ting a ling ding,
Hurra for Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river, and through the wood-
No matter for winds that blow;
Or if we get
The sleigh upset,
Into a bank of snow.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To see little John and Ann;
We will kiss them all,
And play snow-ball,
And stay as long as we can.
Over the river, and through the wood,
Trot fast, my dapple grey!
Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting hound,
For 't is Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river, and through the wood,
And straight through the barn-yard gate;
We seem to go
Extremely slow,
It is so hard to wait.
Over the river, and through the wood-
Old Jowler hears our bells;
He shakes his pow,
With a loud bow wow,
And thus the news he tells.
Over the river, and through the wood-
When grandmother sees us come,
She will say, Oh dear,
The children are here,
Bring a pie for every one.
Over the river, and through the wood-
Now grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurra for the fun!
Is the pudding done?
Hurra for the pumpkin pie!
poem by Lydia Maria Francis Child
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To the Trench
Through shell-holes,
puddles of mud,
they trudge.
Over frozen
men in foxholes
they stumble.
Rats dart whistling across the distances.
Dead fingers rain down
& tap on rotting doors.
Signal-rockets,
corpse-lanterns…
To the ditch, to the ditch.
poem by Ernst Toller
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You cannot expect the guy who drove the car into the ditch to navigate it out of the ditch. You have to put a new driver in the seat. I'm not saying the new driver is going to be any better, but we need a new driver. Kerry is the only choice.
quote by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To See Which One Is Better Suited To Lead
I can't be the only one witnessing this,
With uninhibited curiosity.
'What is it that you are looking at? '
You see those two guys?
Running as if they are escaping from something.
'Yes.
I've been watching them for awhile.
And it is difficult to describe this,
But...
They are actually running towards that brick wall.
To see who will win the hitting of their heads up against it.
Look over there in the distance.
See the people cheering them on? '
Is this a new sport?
What is this called?
'Believe it or not...
They've spent billions to do this.'
To do what?
'To see which one is better suited to lead them.'
To lead them?
Where?
'To that tremendous ditch,
Growing deeper and wider behind them.'
But what sense does that make?
Why can't the people get off that wall...
And pitch in to fill the ditch?
'You weren't here to witness,
The other people running away...
In the other direction.'
You're right.
Why were they running in the other direction?
'They gave up trying to warn everybody about the ditch.
They were labelled as being negative.
So they chose to get away as far as they can.
With a keeping of themselves distanced.'
I don't understand what values and standards are kept,
By the doing of this.
'Trust me.
Don't try.
Just observe.'
What a nail biter this is.
Plus my knuckles are turning white.
'If you get caught up in it...
Eventually you'll find yourself cheering on that wall.
And tomorrow?
That ditch will still be getting bigger.
With everyone still screaming about,
Nonexisting entitlements.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Hartley Calamity
The Hartley men are noble, and
Ye'll hear a tale of woe;
I'll tell the doom of the Hartley men -
The year of sixty two.
'Twas on the Thursday morning, on
The first month of the year,
When there befell the thing that well
May rend the heart to hear.
Ere chanticleer with music rare
Awakes the old homestead,
The Hartley men are up and off
To earn their daily bread.
On, on they toil; with heat they broil,
And streams of sweat still glue
The stour unto their skins, till they
Are black as the coal they hew.
Now to and fro the putters go,
The waggons to and fro,
And clang on clang the wheel and hoof
Ring in the mine below.
The din and strife of human life.
Awake in 'wall' and 'board',
When, lo! a shock is felt which makes
Each human heart-beat heard.
Each bosom thuds, as each his duds
He snatches and away,
And to the distant shaft he flees
With all the speed he may.
Each, all, they flee -- by two -- by three
They seek the shaft, to seek
An answer in each other's face,
To what they may not speak.
"Are we entombed?" they seem to ask,
For the shaft is closed, and no
Escape have they to God's bright day
From out the night below.
So stand in pain the Hartley men,
And o'er them speedily comes
The memory of home and all
That links us to our homes.
Despair at length renews their strength,
And they the shaft must clear,
And soon the sound of mall and pick,
Half drowns the voice of fear.
And hark! to the blow of the mal below
Do the sounds above reply?
Hurra, hurra, for the Hartley men,
For now their rescue's nigh.
Their rescue nigh? The sound of joy
And hope have ceased, and ere
A breath is drawn a rumble heard
Re-drives them to despair.
Together now behold them bow;
Their burden'd souls unload
In cries that never rise in vain
Unto the living God.
Whilst yet they kneel, again they fell
Their strength renewed -- again
The swing and the ring of the mall attests
The might of the Hartley men.
And hark! to the blow of the mall below,
Do sounds above reply?
Hurra, hurra, for the Hartley men,
For now their rescue's nigh.
But lo! yon light, erewhile so bright
No longer lights the scene;
A cloud of mist yon light has kiss'd
And shorn it of its sheen.
A cloud of mist yon light has kiss'd,
See! how long it steels,
Till one by one the lights are smote,
And deep the doom prevails.
"Oh, father, till the shaft is rid,
Close, close besides me keep;
My eyelids are together glued,
And I -- and I -- must sleep".
Sleep, darling, sleep, and I will keep
Close by -- heigh-ho!" To keep
Himself awake the father strives --
But he -- he too -- must sleep."
"O, brother, till the shaft is rid,
Close, close besides me keep;
My eyelids are together glued,
And I -- and I -- must sleep."
Sleep, brother, sleep and I will keep
Close by -- heigh-ho! To keep
Half awake the brother strives --
But he -- he too must sleep.
"O mother, dear! wert, wert thou near
Whilst sleep!" And the orphan slept;
And all night long by the black pit heap
The mother a dumb watch kept
And fathers, and mothers, and sisters, and brothers,
The lover and the new-made bride --
A vigil kept for those who slept,
From eve to morning tide.
But they slept -- still -- in silence dread,
Two hundred old and young,
To awake when heaven and earth have sped
And the last dread trumpet rung.
poem by Joseph Skipsey
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A Meaning Learnt
I'm not his wife. I am his paramour:
His wayside love, picked up in journeying:
Rose of the hedgerows; fragrant, till he fling
Me down beside the ditch, a drooped thing
Some country boy may stick into his hat.
A paramour has no more use than that.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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A minnow, trench and a widow
I found a guppy struggles to swim in that lack of water ditch
And I borrowed a bucket of water from the near by watering widow.
Then I poured the whole into the ditch.
Oh! The minnow swims happily I watched
And I too felt happy after a long time.
I returned the bucket and said; 'Thank you very much Madam.'
I sniffed and measured her roomy smile
Really it's deeper than the trench.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Money Money Money Can't Buy
Years of toil sweat and struggle
Looking for gold in all that rubble,
Now Jock and I struck it rich
In the middle of a no where ditch.
Now it's all safe in the bank
An' put us up a little in life's rank,
Being so perplexed I sent to Jock a text,
"Now what on earth are we going to look for next? "
NB Money does not bring happiness,
but you can buy a yacht and moor next to it.
Then sail away to find another no where ditch,
But it's in the bottom of your head, which
If you listen it's your happiness shouting
WAITING ONLY TO BE LET OUT!
poem by Ken e Hall
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Till I Go Down
Till I go down
Till I go down
Till I go down
Im not gonna shut my eyes
Till I go down
Im not gonna shut my eyes
Ive already seen the lies
On the faces of the men of war
Leading people to the killing floor
Till I go down
Till I go down
Till I go down
Im not gonna shut my eyes
No no
Till I go down
Till the world stops spinning around
Till Im six feet under the ground
Till theres no sound
Till theres no pain
Im gonna swing this chain
Till I go down
Im not gonna shut my mouth
Im for the truth to come out
About the leader with the iron will
And his allegiance to the dollar bill
Till I go down
Till I go down
Till I go down
Im not gonna shut my eyes
Till I go down
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Later Tonight
You wait till later
till later tonight
You wait till later, till later
till later tonight
That boy never cast a look in your direction
Never tried to hook for your affection
Dresses like the mod of your invention, tall and proud
He is the head boy of the school of thought
That plays in your intentions, night and day
And you wait till later
till later tonight
You wait till later, till later
till later tonight
And you wait till later
till later tonight
You wait till later, till later
till later tonight
cause tonight always comes
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
En lille Flugt til Rom den 8 Marts 1835
1
Fra Nord, hvor Taagen skygger,
Hvor Vinterkulden trykker,
Bort til Italia!
Vi Tydskland let kan glemme,
Saa smukt har vi det Hjemme,
Og flyve dog derfra!
Hallo, halla, hallo, halla!
Ned til Italia!
2
De høie Alper vige,
Vi ned paa Sletten stige
Til Sang og Blomster-Duft.
Blandt Myrter Hjorden græsser,
See Pinier og Cypresser! -
Vi aande Sydens Luft!
Hallo, hallo, hallo! hallo!
Den Luft gjør Hjertet fro!
3
Her Skjønheds Døttre bygge!
Vi tænke paa vor Lykke,
Vi dvæle og vi fly.
Bag Bjergene det vinker!
Sankt Peters Kubbel blinker,
Vi er i Pavens By.
Hallo, halla, hallo, halla!
Nu Passaporti da!
4
Vi ned ad Corso vandre,
Og sikkert vi de Andre
I Caffe greco see!
Man Velkomst drikke skal jo,
Vi raabe mezzo caldo!
Vi kysses og vi lee!
Hallo, halle, hallo, halle!
Vi er i vor Caffé!
5
Os spørger hver en Stemme,
„Hvorledes staaer det hjemme?"
„Det staaer, som før det stod!
Det regner og er sølet,
Man gaaer og er forkjølet,
For Vintren er saa god!"
Hallo, hallo, hallo, hallo!
Ja god, det kan I tro!
6
Om Roma vil vi tale,
See Vaticanets Sale,
Ja dertil staaer vor Hu.
Jeg Colossæum gjæster,
Og Keiserborgens Rester,
Og saa lidt meer endnu!
Hallo, halle, hallo, halle!
Vi atter Roma see!
7
Men vi maae lidt os rappe!
Op ad den spanske Trappe,
Først hen til Chiavica!
De der sig Alle samle,
Der træffe vi den Gamle,
ham bringes et Hurra!
Hallo, halla, hallo, halla!
Ham bringes et Hurra!
8
Hans Fødselsdag de hædre,
Og ingen Dag er bedre
End den, han først saae Rom!
Vi see hans milde Øie
Vi staae ved Romas Høie,
Til Skaalen just vi kom.
Hallo, halla, hallo, halla!
For Thorvaldsen Hurra!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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