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Hymn 17
Victory over death.
1 Cor. 15:55ff
O for an overcoming faith
To cheer my dying hours;
To triumph o'er the monster Death,
And all his frightful powers!
Joyful with all the strength I have
My quiv'ring lips should sing-
Where is thy boasted vict'ry, Grave?
And where the monster's sting?
If sin be pardoned, I'm secure,
Death hath no sting beside;
The law gives sin its damning power;
But Christ, my ransom, died.
Now to the God of victory
Immortal thanks be paid,
Who makes us conquerors while we die,
Through Christ our living head.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Victory was not mine
The victory was yours.
And it still is victory belongs to you.
Victory was not mine.
You hurt me you hurt me.
You've scared me.
And yet the victory is yours.
You still continue to beat me.
You torture me every day.
Even though you raped me.
You still win.
And the victory is yours.
Its not fair you have the victory.
When you are evil personalised.
You are the peice of scum
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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A Victory without danger is a triumph without glory.
quote by Pierre Corneille
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let My People Go!
Thank God a Southern triumph was not to be;
victory for the South was victory for slavery!
'We too fight for freedom, our Captain is God, '
but did you not know, all are created equal, by God?
Therefore be your brother white black red or yellow,
free your brother, cruel fields of slavery, must fall fallow!
Written as a rebuttal to ‘We Conquer or Die’ by John Pierpont. The above quoted line is from ‘We Conquer or Die’.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.
quote by Winston Churchill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Victory
Victory never comes from power over others
Real victory only comes from victory over self
Nothings gained from fighting your brothers’
For victory can’t be purchased “Off the shelf”
poem by Ray Lucero
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The Triumph of the People
LO, the gods of Vice and Mammon from their pinnacles are hurled
By the workers’ new religion, which is oldest in the world;
And the earth will feel her children treading firmly on the sod,
For the triumph of the People is the victory of God.
Not the victory of Churches, nor of Punishment and Wrath,
Not the triumph of the sceptic, throwing shadows on the path,
But of Christ and love and mercy o’er the Monarch and the Rod,
For the harvest of the Saviour is the aftermath of God.
O the Light of Revelation, since the reign of Care began,
Has been shining through the ages on the darkened eyes of man.
And the willing slave of Error—he is senseless as a clod—
For the simple Book of Nature is the written scroll of God.
Who will dare to say the sunlight on the pregnant Earth was shed
That the few might rest and fatten, while the many fight for bread?
Lo, there springs a common garden, where the foot of Greed hath trod,
For the victory of Labour was the prophecy of God.
Mother Earth, in coming seasons, shall fulfil her motherhood;
Then the children of her bosom never more shall want for food,
And oppression shall no longer grind the people iron-shod;
For the lifted hand of Labour is the upraised hand of God.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Song Of The Pacifist
What do they matter, our headlong hates, when we take the toll of our Dead?
Think ye our glory and gain will pay for the torrent of blood we have shed?
By the cheers of our Victory will the heart of the mother be comforted?
If by the Victory all we mean is a broken and brooding foe;
Is the pomp and power of a glitt'ring hour, and a truce for an age or so:
By the clay-cold hand on the broken blade we have smitten a bootless blow!
If by the Triumph we only prove that the sword we sheathe is bright;
That justice and truth and love endure; that freedom's throned on the height;
That the feebler folks shall be unafraid; that Might shall never be Right;
If this be all: by the blood-drenched plains, by the havoc of fire and fear,
By the rending roar of the War of Wars, by the Dead so doubly dear. . . .
Then our Victory is a vast defeat, and it mocks us as we cheer.
Victory! there can be but one, hallowed in every land:
When by the graves of our common dead we who were foemen stand;
And in the hush of our common grief hand is tendered to hand.
Triumph! Yes, when out of the dust in the splendour of their release
The spirits of those who fell go forth and they hallow our hearts to peace,
And, brothers in pain, with world-wide voice, we clamour that War shall cease.
Glory! Ay, when from blackest loss shall be born most radiant gain;
When over the gory fields shall rise a star that never shall wane:
Then, and then only, our Dead shall know that they have not fall'n in vain.
When our children's children shall talk of War as a madness that may not be;
When we thank our God for our grief to-day, and blazon from sea to sea
In the name of the Dead the banner of Peace . . . that will be Victory.
poem by Robert William Service
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I read a statement in a newspaper
I read a statement in a newspaper
That Twentyman, the manufacturer,
Found it was cheaper to deliver goods
By horse and lorry than by motor-truck
Or motor-van. So he had sold his trucks
To purchase horses. He dismissed those men
Who had mechanics' minds to re-employ
Drivers of horses, friends of animals.
Then life grew stronger in me because life
Had triumphed in this case and would perhaps
Finally triumph over the machine.
Even such mean commercial victory
Being better than no victory at all.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Dumb Money
I have quarters and halves,
These are the parts of triumph.
My name carries news of seeking money,
Yet victory demands the result.
Money is a stable community,
Rich people concern us when dumb.
I have full flavours of food,
Like the kings and queens of blood.
We have seen the knowledge of men
Who believe in qualities too great.
We must defend our rights of life
As life is a commander of triumph.
The rich people demand an apology
For the way we describe and feel.
poem by Naveed Akram
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You ask, What is our policy? I will say; "It is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us: to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy." You ask, What is our aim? I can answer with one word: Victory - victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival.
quote by Winston Churchill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Worker Reads History
Who built the seven gates of Thebes?
The books are filled with names of kings.
Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone?
And Babylon, so many times destroyed.
Who built the city up each time? In which of Lima's houses,
That city glittering with gold, lived those who built it?
In the evening when the Chinese wall was finished
Where did the masons go? Imperial Rome
Is full of arcs of triumph. Who reared them up? Over whom
Did the Caesars triumph? Byzantium lives in song.
Were all her dwellings palaces? And even in Atlantis of the legend
The night the seas rushed in,
The drowning men still bellowed for their slaves.
Young Alexander conquered India.
He alone?
Caesar beat the Gauls.
Was there not even a cook in his army?
Phillip of Spain wept as his fleet
was sunk and destroyed. Were there no other tears?
Frederick the Greek triumphed in the Seven Years War.
Who triumphed with him?
Each page a victory
At whose expense the victory ball?
Every ten years a great man,
Who paid the piper?
So many particulars.
So many questions.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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Today... 'The Finisher of Faith
Ascending into heaven to triumphant applause
the battle was over and the victory was Yours.
Death had now been vanquished and the grave was opened wide
'It is Finished' was the great shout of triumph You cried.
The work is behind You the price for sin had been paid
the sepulchre was empty where Your body once laid.
You had endured the cross and despised its dreadful shame.
The heavens rejoice and Your great victory proclaim.
And there seated at the right hand of God I can see
my Lord Jesus Christ Who has Finished the faith for me.
For my great Author and the Finisher of the faith
won the victory over Satan and now I'm safe.
Despising the shame and enduring Calvary's cross
You came to seek and to save this poor sheep that was lost.
It is finished I hear that great victorious cry
Resounding throughout heaven as the years pass on by
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Victory in life
This is my conquest
for this do i strive
time and time again
for victory is my pride......
So shout loud
let the echoes ring
through the hall ways
let our voices sing........
Suprimacy is my god
In every game I play
and in life as whole
I shell be triumphant in all......
At the end of the day
this is what i need.......
My faith, My pride,
My VICTORY in life.............
poem by Punsara Amarasinghe
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Song (2)
Come to the banquet - triumph in your songs!
Strike up the chords - and sing of Victory!
The oppressed have risen to redress their wrongs;
The Tyrants are o'erthrown; the Land is free!
The Land is free! Aye, shout it forth once more;
Is she not red with her oppressors' gore?
We are her champions - shall we not rejoice?
Are not the tyrants' broad domains our own?
Then wherefore triumph with a faltering voice;
And talk of freedom in a doubtful tone?
Have we not longed through life the reign to see
Of Justice, linked with Glorious Liberty?
Shout you that will, and you that can rejoice
To revel in the riches of your foes.
In praise of deadly vengeance lift you voice,
Gloat o'er your tyrants' blood, you victims' woes.
I'd rather listen to the skylarks' songs,
And think on Gondal's, and my Father's wrongs.
It may be pleasant, to recall the death
Of those beneath whose sheltering roof you lie;
But I would rather press the mountain heath,
With naught to shield me from the starry sky,
And dream of yet untasted victory -
A distant hope - and feel that I am free!
O happy life! To range the mountains wild,
The waving woods - or Ocean's heaving breast,
With limbs unfettered, conscience undefiled,
And choosing where to wander, where to rest!
Hunted, oppressed, but ever strong to cope -
With toils, and perils - ever full of hope!
'Our flower is budding' - When that word was heard
On desert shore, or breezy mountain's brow,
Wherever said - what glorious thoughts it stirred!
'Twas budding then - Say has it blossomed now?
Is this the end we struggled to obtain?
O for the wandering Outlaw's life again!
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Song 2
Come to the banquet -- triumph in your songs!
Strike up the chords -- and sing of Victory!
The oppressed have risen to redress their wrongs;
The Tyrants are o'erthrown; the Land is free!
The Land is free! Aye, shout it forth once more;
Is she not red with her oppressors' gore?
We are her champions -- shall we not rejoice?
Are not the tyrants' broad domains our own?
Then wherefore triumph with a faltering voice;
And talk of freedom in a doubtful tone?
Have we not longed through life the reign to see
Of Justice, linked with Glorious Liberty?
Shout you that will, and you that can rejoice
To revel in the riches of your foes.
In praise of deadly vengeance lift you voice,
Gloat o'er your tyrants' blood, you victims' woes.
I'd rather listen to the skylarks' songs,
And think on Gondal's, and my Father's wrongs.
It may be pleasant, to recall the death
Of those beneath whose sheltering roof you lie;
But I would rather press the mountain heath,
With naught to shield me from the starry sky,
And dream of yet untasted victory --
A distant hope -- and feel that I am free!
O happy life! To range the mountains wild,
The waving woods -- or Ocean's heaving breast,
With limbs unfettered, conscience undefiled,
And choosing where to wander, where to rest!
Hunted, oppressed, but ever strong to cope --
With toils, and perils -- ever full of hope!
'Our flower is budding' -- When that word was heard
On desert shore, or breezy mountain's brow,
Wherever said -- what glorious thoughts it stirred!
'Twas budding then -- Say has it blossomed now?
Is this the end we struggled to obtain?
O for the wandering Outlaw's life again!
poem by Anne Brontë
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In both the presence of evil and the eventual triumph over evil the sweep is cosmic. It embraces the entire universe, what to man is both seen and unseen. The victory is to be accomplished through Christ.
quote by Kenneth Scott Latourette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sing
Sing, sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things not bad
Sing of happy not sad
(*) sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last
Your whole life long
Dont worry that its not
Good enough for anyone
Else to hear
Just sing, sing a song
La la la la la
La la la la la la...
Sing, sing a song
Let the world sing along
Sing of love there could be
Sing for you and for me
Repeat (*)
song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song Of Singing
Sing! gangling lad, along the brink
Of wild brook-ways of shoal and deep,
Where killdees dip, and cattle drink,
And glinting little minnows leap!
Sing! slimpsy lass who trips above
And sets the foot-log quivering!
Sing! bittern, bumble-bee, and dove--
Sing! Sing! Sing!
Sing as you will, O singers all
Who sing because you _want_ to sing!
Sing! peacock on the orchard wall,
Or tree-toad by the trickling spring!
Sing! every bird on every bough--
Sing! every living, loving thing--
Sing any song, and anyhow,
But Sing! Sing! Sing!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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