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Beautiful River
And he showed me a pure River of Water of Life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the Throne of God and of the Lamb." -- Rev. xxii. 1
Shall we gather at the river
Where bright angel feet have trod;
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?
CHORUS.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
On the margin of the river,
Washing up its silver spray,
We will walk and worship ever,
All the happy, golden day.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
On the bosom of the river,
Where the Saviour-king we own,
We shall meet, and sorrow never
'Neath the glory of the throne. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
Ere we reach the shining river,
Lay we every burden down;
Grace our spirits will deliver,
And provide a robe and crown. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
At the smiling of the river,
Rippling with the Saviour's face,
Saints, whom death will never sever,
Lift their songs of saving grace. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
Soon we'll reach the shining river,
Soon our pilgrimage will cease,
Soon our happy hearts will quiver
With the melody of peace. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rippling Water
The maiden sat by the river side
(The rippling water murmurs by),
And sadly into the clear blue tide
The salt tear fell from her clear blue eye.
' 'Tis fixed for better, for worse,' she cried,
'And to-morrow the bridegroom claims the bride.
Oh ! wealth and power and rank and pride
Can surely peace and happiness buy.
I was merry, nathless, in my girlhood's hours,
'Mid the waving grass, when the bright sun shone.
Shall I be as merry in Marmaduke's towers ?'
(The rippling water murmurs on.)
Stephen works for his daily bread
(The rippling water murmurs low),
Through the crazy thatch that covers his head
The rain-drops fall and the wind-gusts blow.
'I'll mend the old roof-tree,' so he said,
'And repair the cottage when we are wed.'
And my pulses throbb'd, and my cheek grew red,
When he kiss'd me—that was long ago.
Stephen and I, should we meet again,
Not as we've met in days that are gone,
Will my pulses throb with pleasure or pain ?
(The rippling water murmurs on.)
Old Giles, the gardener, strok'd my curls
(The rippling water murmurs past),
Quoth he, 'In laces and silks and pearls
My child will see her reflection cast ;
Now I trust in my heart that your lord will be
Kinder to you than he was to me,
When I lay in the gaol, and my children three
With their sickly mother kept bitter fast.'
With Marmaduke now my will is law,
Marmaduke's will may be law anon ;
Does the sheath of velvet cover the claw ?
(The rippling water murmurs on.)
Dame Martha patted me on the cheek
(The rippling water murmurs low),
Saying, 'There are words that I fain would speak—
Perhaps they were best spoken though ;
I can't persuade you to change your mind,
And useless warnings are scarcely kind,
And I may be foolish as well as blind,
But take my blessing whether or no.'
Dame Martha's wise, though her hair is white,
Her sense is good, though her sight is gone—
Can she really be gifted with second sight ?
(The rippling water murmurs on.)
Brian of Hawksmede came to our cot
(The rippling water murmurs by),
Scatter'd the sods of our garden plot,
Riding his roan horse recklessly ;
Trinket and token and tress of hair,
He flung them down at the door-step there,
Said, 'Elsie ! ask your lord, if you dare,
Who gave him the blow as well as the lie.'
That evening I mentioned Brian's name,
And Marmaduke's face grew white and wan,
Am I pledged to one of a spirit so tame ?
(The rippling water murmurs on.)
Brian is headstrong, rash, and vain
(The rippling water murmurs still),
Stephen is somewhat duller of brain,
Slower of speech and milder of will ;
Stephen must toil a living to gain,
Plough and harrow and gather the grain ;
Brian has little enough to maintain
The station in life which he needs must fill ;
Both are fearless and kind and frank,
But we can't win all gifts under the sun—
What have I won save riches and rank ?
(The rippling water murmurs on.)
Riches and rank, and what beside
(The rippling water murmurs yet),
The mansion is stately, the manor is wide,
Their lord for a while may pamper and pet ;
Liveried lackeys may jeer aside,
Though the peasant girl is their master's bride,
At her shyness, mingled with with awkward pride,—
'Twere folly for trifles like these to fret ;
But the love of one that I cannot love,
Will it last when the gloss of his toy is gone ?
Is there naught beyond, below, or above ?
(The rippling water murmurs on.)
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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Under The Water
The bird was
Flying
Under the water...
Under the water
Fishes and frog
Also swmming...
How the birds
are flying...? ? ?
It is not qustine...
You also
Go and see
Any lake...
Sincerly watch it..
Natualy
Birds are flying sky;
Shado will be
Seen under
The water...
Sky also there:
Only way its true
Shadows...
The birds are
Simply flying
Under the water......
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Runes of Weland's Sword
1906
A smith makes me
To betray my Man
In my first fight.
To gather Gold
At the world's end
I am sent.
The Gold I gather
Comes into England
Out of deep Water.
Like a shining Fish
Then it descends
Into deep Water.
It is not given
For goods or gear,
But for The Thing.
The Gold I gather
A King covets
For an ill use
The Gold I gather
Is drawn up
Out of deep Water.
Like a shining Fish
Then it descends
Into deep Water.
It is not given
For goods or gear,
But for The Thing.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The View At The Top
it is 3000 steps from the
ground. You begin climbing
on an early morning
when the grass are still
rich with dew
and then the sun
starts to shine and then
the birds start to gather
the sweet sap of the
fruit with their
tiny, and long, black beaks
along the way.
it is not strange to see
a variety of colored
butterflies hovering
from one flower to
another. They too
gather the nectar
from the wildflowers
along the way.
you climb slowly
each cemented stair
of this old shrine
you tackle each
station of the cross
of this catholic rite.
finally at noon you
reach the top and
see the whole of the
city below.
a river winds like a
snake.It is the same river
that you pass seven times
before reaching the
ground of this peak.
you see the sea beyond
like a basin with still water.
you see boats like
floating petals of a
white flower, and those
biggers ones appear
to you like leaves
that had fallen to the ground.
you see clouds and clear skies
and you feel that up here
you are both king and god.
do not look down on this cliff
the feeling that everyone pulls down
your feet is still there.
you have felt it before in the office
where you are working and you
want to quit.
just like the butterfly that gathers
the nectars or the birds that gather
the sap of the ripe fruits
you come here to gather
your spirit. You want to be strong.
You want to be whole again.
You like to move on.
There is so much silence at the top.
There is no noise except the comforting silence of the wind.
There is so much to gather here.
Memories. Thoughts. Solitude. Peace.
Harmony. The unity of the universe in the
palm of your hand.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Place From Our Childhood
There is a place from our childhood;
we like to visit now and then,
to recapture our youth,
through the years that has slipped away.
A place that has a magic touch,
even through the years it has changed.
A place where sunshine,
still dances on the water
of rippling waves.
Where the wildlife still gather,
free from harm.
A place of solitude,
where you can find
a little peace of mind.
A place within a city that has not
been strangled by any human hand.
Somewhere you can while time away,
with dreams of another day.
poem by David Harris
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Summer Faunae
Mercy is a bowl of water
Birds in the garden quench fluttering together
While squirrels have dips in a whisper
And a cat silently pouncing softer
And for a bucketful of water
Cows and calves at my gate gather
Sip and lap all together
Then a limping stray dog burnt
Badly out with its drooling tongue
Wearied with eyes half open
Looking pitiably for a sip inbetween..
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Compensation
In that new world toward which our feet are set,
Shall we find aught to make our hearts forget
Earth's homely joys and her bright hours of bliss?
Has heaven a spell divine enough for this?
For who the pleasure of the spring shall tell
When on the leafless stalk the brown buds swell,
When the grass brightens and the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song?
O sweet the dropping eve, the blush of morn,
The starlit sky, the rustling fields of corn,
The soft airs blowing from the freshening seas,
The sunflecked shadow of the stately trees,
The mellow thunder and the lulling rain,
The warm, delicious, happy summer rain,
When the grass brightens and the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song!
O beauty manifold, from morn till night,
Dawn's flush, noon's blaze and sunset's tender light!
O fair, familiar features, changes sweet
Of her revolving seasons, storm and sleet
And golden calm, as slow she wheels through space,
From snow to roses, - and how dear her face,
When the grass brightens, when the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song!
O happy earth! O home so well beloved!
What recompense have we, from thee removed?
One hope we have that overtops the whole, -
The hope of finding every vanished soul,
We love and long for daily, and for this
Gladly we turn from thee, and all thy bliss,
Even at thy loveliest, when the days are long,
And little birds break out in rippling song.
poem by Celia Thaxter
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We Gather Together...
We Gather Together...
We gather together...
...for there is strength in your name
We gather together...
...to rekindle the flame
We gather together...
...Your kingdom we claim
We gather together...
...Your words we proclaim
15 Jan 2008
Playing In The Dark Beside The Full Moon
it is dark,
the full moon arrives
hovering upon the marshes
the waters become one
golden sheen rippling as the
shadows of birds
lay on the floating lilies
a wooden hushes
it is wading as
the young man paddles silently
on the water
the woman below him
sings a beautiful love song
it is time to play.
it is dark and the moon is full tonight.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Gathering
Watching the birds gather
in the sky before they roost.
They gather in great numbers
for their final arial display
near the closing of the day.
They swirl around in large circles
gathering more and more
as they fly calling to one another
before they settle for the day.
18 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Last Assembly
As I walked to the last assembly,
There were tears in the back of my eyes,
And I saw all my friends all around me,
They were there to wish me goodbye.
As I stood in a line with my comrades,
I felt such a feeling of pride,
And I forgot all the grief and the hatred inside,
As we sang for the very last time.
Gather round, gather round,
Everybody gather round.
Come and join our last assembly,
Let us smile, wipe away all the frowns.
Gather round, gather round,
Everybody gather round.
As we stood at the last assembly,
All my friends came to wish me goodbye.
Gather round, gather round,
Gather round, gather round,
Everybody gather round.
As I stand at the last assembly,
I just cant keep the tears from my eyes.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Birds That Flocked Together
See, the birds gather!
The birds of a feather!
They're flocking together;
Singing together,
Playing together!
The big ones and the wees
Atop the linden trees.
With mirth and lively zings,
They splay their splashy wings!
Oh, how they revel in the sun,
Making the hunter call for his gun!
At the first gunshot-
Paaoow!
One's down for the pot!
The birds of a feather!
That flocked together!
That sang together!
That played together~
See them scattered!
poem by Kingsley Ayi
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Tweety Birds
Two tweety birds,
Hangout on a branch.
Two tweety birds,
Waiting for their lunch.
Their time is spent
Tweeting, preening in a bunch.
A ritual, a noise event.
Birds gather not in a 'bunch',
They stay together in a 'flock'.
I wrote 'bunch'
to rhyme with lunch.
So there, you have it in a block!
Birds of a feather flock together,
Sing melodious tunes
Birds of a feather in any weather,
Tweet in timely tunes.
At the Vaal river
At the Vaal river finches twitter
and nests hang all over the willow trees
and the fishermen
sit from dusk next to the water,
to try and catch a big one.
I see a monitor
going from the water
into the undergrowth
and hear how the rippling stream
flows over rocks at places
There’s a water beetle
that swims around and around
in a calm pool
and tadpoles that rush to and fro.
With time spent at the river
I find some tranquillity,
while the cars above at the bridge
rush by frantically.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Eastern Swamphen
Invertebrates and slugs and such they eat
The water birds with big and ugly feet
You know them by their wild and distinct cry
And their legs are always dangling as they fly.
Related to but larger than moorhen
And with coots, rails and crakes they too share common kin
In or near water they are known to stay
And from lake or pond they won't be far away.
Midst water reeds they build their nests of reeds and grass
No work of art just an untidy mass
And three up to five eggs the female lay
With brown spots through the lightish buff to gray.
With purple under black and red on face
And flicking tails familiar to their race
Birds when once seen you never could mistake
They roost in ponds or reedy swamp or lake.
If danger threaten to water they retreat
The water birds with big and ugly feet
And you know them by their wild and distinct cry
And their legs are always dangling as they fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Water runs over
Pure elements formed into a compound
Running over blocking others sound
What should be and who is gonna be
The one that helps us see
But we are blinded with the poison in the air
Of who's going and who's staying there
Why is the bird over sea?
Missing it's flock so it begans to sing
Sing until the echo is across the country
And the birdies hears it cry
With the communication going on it shakes the water
Causing the water to run over.
Trying to wash away the communications into the tower.
Morphing the way of ones true natural perspective
But is this truly accepted
For the cup is full of wisdom and knowledge
Of what is right and what should be thrown in the sewage
For the water needs to be controlled
But needs permission from the air to be told
Told to stop
And send those birds back to their homes
For I say the water runs over but it's only because of the air
See the birds dont even understand why they are still there.
They are only doing their duty
Standing strong with a message in heart
But with the polluted air interacting with the water.
The water runs over.
poem by Shalia Robinson
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At the River
Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod,
With its crystal tide for ever flowing
by the throne of God?
Gather at the river!
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river,
Yes well gather at the river
that flows by the throne of God.
Shall we gather? Shall we gather at the river?
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
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Country Living
Cats and dogs
Chickens and hogs
Lumps in the 'taters
And bumps on a log -
Stars in the night
The moon shines bright
Crowds pass through the country
Like clouds in flight -
Coffee and curds
Foxes and birds
Slow conversation
With a sweet flow in the words -
Fresh water rippling at the spring
Gives nature such a beautiful ring
Days like these
Have ways of making a heart sing -
Nights are short, days are long
Worries are few, oaks are strong
Living in the country
Is like giving the soul a wonderful song -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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