Related quotes: Give the priest drink, for...

Give the priest drink, for the clerk is thirsty.

Italian proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes

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

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To be thirsty and to drink water is the perfection of sensuality rarely achieved. Sometimes you drink water; other times you are thirsty.

quote by Jose Bergamin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Looking for Models

The trees in time
have something else to do
besides their treeing. What is it.
I'm a starving to death
man myself, and thirsty, thirsty
by their fountains but I cannot drink
their mud and sunlight to be whole.
I do not understand these presences
that drink for months
in the dirt, eat light,
and then fast dry in the cold.
They stand it out somehow,
and how, the Botanists will tell me.
It is the "something else" that bothers
me, so I often go back to the forests.

poem by Alan Dugan
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Water Babies

(lebon, rhodes, taylor, cuccurllo, campbell)
Guess you know, where I wanna go
Got to see the water flow, try to understand
Got me trapped, playing with me like a cat
Scrape your fingers down my back, pin me to the ground
All along the water baby
Take me to your water baby
All along your water babe
(chorus)
Ill get by, cant you see Im burning up
When you come and turn it up, higher every time
If I stay , oh the end is near
Come and get me out of here, come and get me now
(chorus)
(chorus)
(ohh, ohh, ohh, ohhh!)
Tell me is there any left?
I wanna drink it up
Ill drink it up.
Baby, if theres any left
Ill drink it up, drink it up, drink it up!
(chorus)
(chorus)
Thirsty for your water baby,
Spanning from your torture babe,
Take me to your water baby.
(chorus)
(got me trapped)
Thirsty for your water baby,
Sliding on your torso baby,
Take me to your water baby.
(chorus)
Thirsty for your water baby,
Spanning from your torture babe,
Take me to your water babe.

song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Along The Water

song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woes

You are thirsty but you can't drink water,
You are hungry but you can't eat food,
Of the horses prepared for the battle!
Like Apollyon, the angel of the bottomless pit.

One woe is past but behold!
There are two more woes after this;
Like the torment of a scorpion when it strikes.
You are thirsty but you can't drink water,
You are hungry but you can't eat food,
And life is all about us on this earth.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Epigram - On Players And Ballad-Singers

They're like the Priest and Clerk at Belial's altar;
One makes the Sermon; t'other tunes the Psalter.

poem by Francis Quarles
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf IX. -- Thangbrand The Priest

Short of stature, large of limb,
Burly face and russet beard,
All the women stared at him,
When in Iceland he appeared.
'Look!' they said,
With nodding head,
'There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.'

All the prayers he knew by rote,
He could preach like Chrysostome,
From the Fathers he could quote,
He had even been at Rome,
A learned clerk,
A man of mark,
Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

He was quarrelsome and loud,
And impatient of control,
Boisterous in the market crowd,
Boisterous at the wassail-bowl,
Everywhere
Would drink and swear,
Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest

In his house this malcontent
Could the King no longer bear,
So to Iceland he was sent
To convert the heathen there,
And away
One summer day
Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

There in Iceland, o'er their books
Pored the people day and night,
But he did not like their looks,
Nor the songs they used to write.
'All this rhyme
Is waste of time!'
Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

To the alehouse, where he sat
Came the Scalds and Saga-men;
Is it to be wondered at,
That they quarrelled now and then,
When o'er his beer
Began to leer
Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest?

All the folk in Altafiord
Boasted of their island grand;
Saying in a single word,
'Iceland is the finest land
That the sun
Doth shine upon!'
Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

And he answered: 'What's the use
Of this bragging up and down,
When three women and one goose
Make a market in your town!'
Every Scald
Satires drawled
On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Something worse they did than that;
And what vexed him most of all
Was a figure in shovel hat,
Drawn in charcoal on the wall;
With words that go
Sprawling below,
'This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.'

Hardly knowing what he did,
Then he smote them might and main,
Thorvald Veile and Veterlid
Lay there in the alehouse slain.
'To-day we are gold,
To-morrow mould!'
Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Much in fear of axe and rope,
Back to Norway sailed he then.
'O King Olaf! little hope
Is there of these Iceland men!'
Meekly said,
With bending head,
Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Lark ON the Clerk

Blushingly blotches the mark
over the spot.
Itchingly wrestles the clerk,
scratching a lot.
What a lark
is it not
in the dark
in his cot?

But the mark
on the clerk
all remark
comforts not...

Cheerfully carols the lark
Over the cot.
Merrily whistles the clerk
scratching a blot.
But the lark
And the clerk
I remark,
Comfort me not!

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Thangbrand the Priest

Short of stature, large of limb,
Burly face and russet beard,
All the women stared at him,
When in Iceland he appeared.
"Look!" they said,
With nodding head,
"There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."

All the prayers he knew by rote,
He could preach like Chrysostome,
From the Fathers he could quote,
He had even been at Rome.
A learned clerk,
A man of mark,
Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

He was quarrelsome and loud,
And impatient of control,
Boisterous in the market crowd,
Boisterous at the wassail-bowl,
Everywhere
Would drink and swear,
Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

In his house this malcontent
Could the King no longer bear,
So to Iceland he was sent
To convert the heathen there,
And away
One summer day
Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

There in Iceland, o'er their books
Pored the people day and night,
But he did not like their looks,
Nor the songs they used to write.
All this rhyme
Is waste of time! "
Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

To the alehouse, where he sat,
Came the Scalds and Saga men;
Is it to be wondered at,
That they quarrelled now and then,
When o'er his beer
Began to leer
Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest?

All the folk in Altafiord
Boasted of their island grand;
Saying in a single word,
"Iceland is the finest land
That the sun
Doth shine upon!"
Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

And he answered: "What's the use
Of this bragging up and down,
When three women and one goose
Make a market in your town! "
Every Scald
Satires scrawled
On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Something worse they did than that!
And what vexed him most of all
Was a figure in shovel hat,
Drawn in charcoal on the wall;
With words that go
Sprawling below,
"This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."

Hardly knowing what he did,
Then he smote them might and main,
Thorvald Veile and Veterlid
Lay there in the alehouse slain.
"To-day we are gold,
To-morrow mould!"
Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest

Much in fear of axe and rope,
Back to Norway sailed he then.
"O, King Olaf! little hope
Is there of these Iceland men!"
Meekly said,
With bending head,
Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On a Fly drinking out of his Cup

Busy, curious, thirsty fly!
Drink with me and drink as I.

quote by by William Oldys
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When you're thirsty and it seems that you could drink the entire ocean that's faith; when you start to drink and finish only a glass or two that's science.

quote by Anton Chekhov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dog of Few Words

A clerk said, 'Next in line - this way.'
A dog spoke up, 'I guess I am.'
'What can we do for you today? '
'I want to send a telegram.'
The clerk handed the dog a note.
'You'll have to write it out somehow.'
The dog took pen in teeth and wrote,
'Bow wow wow, bow wow wow, bow wow.'
The clerk read what the dog had penned.
'One to ten words have the same fees.'
'There's eight words now, so you can send'
'Another 'bow wow' if you please.'

'No, ' the dog said, 'Just between us, '
'One more would sound ridiculous.'

poem by Ima Ryma
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Wine Bibber

I would rather drink than eat,
And though I superbly sup,
Food, I feel, can never beat
Delectation of the cup.
Wine it is that crowns the feast;
Fish and fowl and fancy meat
Are of my delight the least:
I would rather drink than eat.

Though no Puritan I be,
And have doubts of Kingdom Come,
With those fellows I agree
Who deplore the Demon Rum.
Gin and brandy I decline,
And I shy at whisky neat;
But give me rare vintage wine,--
Gad! I'd rather drink than eat.

Food surfeit is of the beast;
Wine is from the gods a gift.
All from prostitute to priest
Can attest to its uplift.
Green and garnet glows the vine;
Grapes grow plump in happy heat;
Gold and ruby winks the wine . . .
Come! Let's rather drink than eat.

poem by Robert William Service
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Anacreontics, Drinking

THE thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair;
The sea itself (which one would think
Should have but little need of drink)
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up,
So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup.
The busy Sun (and one would guess
By 's drunken fiery face no less)
Drinks up the sea, and when he 's done,
The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun:
They drink and dance by their own light,
They drink and revel all the night:
Nothing in Nature 's sober found,
But an eternal health goes round.
Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high,
Fill all the glasses there--for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?

poem by Abraham Cowley
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~ O’ Peace Why Thirsty? ~

~ O’ PEACE WHY THIRSTY? ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK.
24 March 23,2010.

'Give Peace a Chance' – Beatles

O’ Peace why thirsty?
Where you’ll get a drop?

Boozed blottoed in
Narconecrotic Narcissism
Emptied hollowedout the
Compassionate pot.

We’re sooty smutty sot
Help from us e'er not
Everywhere is drought
Hah ha woeful we’re not!

O’ Peace why thirsty?

-
Copyright reserved by author

poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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That Rock Was Christ

When Israel's tribes were parch'd with thirst,
Forth from the rock the waters burst;
And all their future journey through
Yielded them drink, and Gospel too!

In Moses' rod a type they saw
Of his severe and fiery law;
The smitten rock prefigur'd Him
From whose pierc'd side all blessings stream.

But ah! the types were all too faint,
His sorrows or his worth to paint;
Slight was the stroke of Moses' rod,
But he endur'd the wrath of God.

Their outward rock could feel no pain,
But ours was wounded, torn and slain;
The rock gave but a wat'ry flood,
But Jesus pour'd forth streams of blood.

The earth is like their wilderness,
A land of drought and sore distress;
Without one stream from pole to pole,
To satisfy a thirsty soul.

But let the Saviour's praise resound;
In him refreshing streams are found,
Which pardon, strength, and comfort give;
And thirsty sinners drink and live.

poem by John Newton
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Where You Are

There you are standing strong, I may leave holding on
You believe like a child, in this fire runnin' wild
Oh I love how you see right to the heart of me
You're a waterfall, washing over me
I'm a thirsty man let me drink you in
Well I am on my way, you're a mountain top
When I reach for you, your love lifts me up
All that I want to be is where you are
I'm the frozen ground, you're the warm sunlight
Shining down on me, baby just in time
Well I have never been in a love like this
Oh, you move my soul every time we kiss
And I love how you heal; I can't believe how alive I feel
You're a waterfall, washing over me
I'm a thirsty man let me drink you in
Well I am on my way, you're a mountain top
When I reach for you, your love lifts me up
All that I want to be is where you are

song performed by by Rascal Flatts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At the Tavern

A lilt and a swing,
And a ditty to sing,
Or ever the night grow old;
The wine is within,
And I'm sure t'were a sin
For a soldier to choose to be cold, my dear,
For a soldier to choose to be cold.
We're right for a spell,
But the fever is -- well,
No thing to be braved, at least;
So bring me the wine;
No low fever in mine,
For a drink more kind than a priest, my dear,
For a drink is more kind than a
priest.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Marta's Consolation...

Marta's consolation
is her service
giving drink to the thirsty
god,
preparing the food for
the weary guests
the words do not penetrate
her heart
as Mary sits there and
listens
unwary about what this
world eats
what those mouths
drink

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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