They that rise wi' the sun hae their wark weel begun.
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Epigram Addressed to an Artist
Dear _____, I'll gie ye some advice,
You'll tak it no uncivil:
You shouldna paint at angels mair,
But try and paint the devil.
To paint an Angel's kittle wark,
Wi' Nick, there's little danger:
You'll easy draw a lang-kent face,
But no sae weel a stranger.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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There's Nae Luck about the House
And are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to think o' wark?
Mak haste, lay by your wheel;
Is this the time to spin a thread
When Colin's at the door?
Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay
And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
And gie to me my bigonet,
My bishop's satin gown;
For I maun tell the bailie's wife
That Colin's come to town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My stockings pearly blue;
It's a' to pleasure my gudeman,
For he's baith leel and true.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
Rise, lass, and mak a clean fire side,
Put on the muckle pot,
Gie little Kate her button gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;
And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw,
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been lang awa.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
There's twa fat hens upo' the bauk,
Been fed this month and mair,
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;
And mak the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw,
For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa?
Ah, there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like cauler air,
His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stair!
And will I see his face again,
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
If Colin's weel, and weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave--
And gin I live to keep him sae,
I'm blest aboon the lave.
And will I see his face again,
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
poem by William Mickle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A fool is happier thinking weel o' himself than a wise man is of others thinking weel o' him.
Rothesay Bay
FU' yellow lie the corn rigs
Far doun the braid hillside;
It is the brawest harst field
Alang the shores o'Clyde,--
And I'm a puir harst-lassie
That stan's the lee-lang day
Shearing the corn-rigs of Ardbeg
Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.
O I had ance a true-love,--
Now, I hae nane ava;
And I had ance three brithers,
But I hae tint them a';
My father and my mither
Sleep i' the mools this day.
I sit my lane amang the rigs
Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.
It's a bonnie bay at morning,
And bonnier at the noon,
But it's bonniest when the sun draps
And red comes up the moon:
When the mist creeps o'er the Cambrays,
And Arran peaks are gray,
And the great black hills, like sleepin' kings,
Sit grand roun' Rothesay Bay,
Then a bit sigh stirs my bosom,
And a wee tear blin's my e'e,--
And I think o'that far Countrie
What I wad like to be!
But I rise content i' the morning
To wark while wark I may
I' the yellow harst field of Ardbeg
Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rise, Rise to the Occasion
Rise, rise to the occasion
Rise, rise to the invitations of life
Oh rise, rise to the music of joy
Uh rise, rise to the victory over strife!
This is the time for you to march forward
Oh son of the Mighty! Valor is the key
This is the urgency to show courage abundant
Oh daughter of Energy! Courage is the key
Rise, rise to the tide and rise to the low
Defeat lethargy and defeat fear
Mind the goal and attain it
The guts are here and the glory is here
Face the challenge, embrace it
Cross the puddles and the furrows
Calm the heart and fight the battle
Celebration’s for you – not the sorrows
Rise, rise then, rise O bright!
Rise, rise then to the right
Tire not, rise till the end of the path
Rise, rise then to all the might!
poem by Bhaswat Chakraborty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bonie Jean: A Ballad
To its ain tune.
There was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk or market to be seen;
When a’ our fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonie Jean.
And aye she wrought her mammie’s wark,
And aye she sang sae merrilie;
The blythest bird upon the bush
Had ne’er a lighter heart than she.
But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little lintwhite’s nest;
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
And love will break the soundest rest.
Young Robie was the brawest lad,
The flower and pride of a’ the glen;
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naigies nine or ten.
He gaed wi’ Jeanie to the tryste,
He danc’d wi’ Jeanie on the down;
And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
Her heart was tint, her peace was stown!
As in the bosom of the stream,
The moon-beam dwells at dewy e’en;
So trembling, pure, was tender love
Within the breast of bonie Jean.
And now she works her mammie’s wark,
And aye she sighs wi’ care and pain;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,
Or what wad make her weel again.
But did na Jeanie’s heart loup light,
And didna joy blink in her e’e,
As Robie tauld a tale o’ love
Ae e’ening on the lily lea?
The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to hers he fondly laid,
And whisper’d thus his tale o’ love:
“O Jeanie fair, I lo’e thee dear;
O canst thou think to fancy me,
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie’s cot,
And learn to tent the farms wi’ me?
“At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
Or naething else to trouble thee;
But stray amang the heather-bells,
And tent the waving corn wi’ me.”
Now what could artless Jeanie do?
She had nae will to say him na:
At length she blush’d a sweet consent,
And love was aye between them twa.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Rise Up
rise up and fly like eagles
rise up through the sky
we've got to rise up
over higher mountains
rise up, rise up, rise up
Everybody's come a long long way
such a long way ,to be here today
we're going hard ,giving it all
we've been knocking on wood with our backs to the walls
we've been working every day and night
waiting for the chance for the day to arrive
and now we've all got something to prove
win or lose, there's only one thing to do
We've got to rise up
and fly like eagles
rise up through the sky
you've got to rise up
over higher mountains
rise up, rise up, rise up
Inside the sweat, inside the heat
in each and every heart there's a pounding beat
to do it wrong, to do it right
each of us has put up, one hell of a fight
and as we face the final test
all that we can do is to do our best
and as we're making time stand still
to get to the top you've got to give all you've got
You've got to rise up
and fly like eagles
rise up through the sky
you've got to rise up
over higher mountains
rise up, rise up
Shine a light and let them see
everything you want to be
Shine a light and let them know
you are never letting go
Rise up... win or lose there's only one thing to do
We've got to rise up
and fly like eagles
rise up through the sky
you've got to rise up
over higher mountains
rise up, rise up, rise up
Rise, and fly like eagles
rise up through the sky
you've got to rise up
over higher mountains
rise up, rise up, rise up, rise up,
over higher mountains, rise,
We've got to rise up.
song performed by by Vanessa Amorosi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Shall Rise
(traditional/emmylou harris)
In that resurrection morning
When the trumpet of God shall sound
We shall rise, (hallelujah) we shall rise.
Then the saints will come rejoicing and
No tears will eer be found
We shall rise, (hallelujah) we shall rise.
We shall rise, (hallelujah) we shall rise (amen)
We shall rise, (hallelujah)
In that resurrection morning
When these prison bars are broken
We shall rise, (hallelujah) we shall rise.
In that resurrection morning
When the shades of life has fled
We shall rise, (hallelujah) we shall rise.
In the day of glory dawning when the sea
Gives up his dead
We shall rise, (hallelujah) we shall rise.
I shall see my blessed savior
Who so freely died for me
We shall rise, (hallelujah) we shall rise.
And our fathers and our mothers and our
Loved ones we shall see
We shall rise, (hallelujah) we shall rise.
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Braid Claith
Ye wha are fain to hae your name
Wrote in the bonny book of fame,
Let merit nae pretension claim
To laurel'd wreath,
But hap ye weel, baith back and wame,
In gude Braid Claith.
He that some ells o' this may fa,
An' slae-black hat on pow like snaw,
Bids bauld to bear the gree awa',
Wi' a' this graith,
Whan bienly clad wi' shell fu' braw
O' gude Braid Claith.
Waesuck for him wha has na fek o't!
For he's a gowk they're sure to geck at,
A chiel that ne'er will be respekit
While he draws breath,
Till his four quarters are bedeckit
Wi' gude Braid Claith.
On Sabbath-days the barber spark,
When he has done wi' scrapin wark,
Wi' siller broachie in his sark,
Gangs trigly, faith!
Or to the meadow, or the park,
In gude Braid Claith.
Weel might ye trow, to see them there,
That they to shave your haffits bare,
Or curl an' sleek a pickly hair,
Wou'd be right laith,
Whan pacing wi' a gawsy air
In gude Braid Claith.
If only mettl'd stirrah green
For favour frae a lady's ein,
He maunna care for being seen
Before he sheath
His body in a scabbard clean
O' gude Braid Claith.
For, gin he come wi' coat threadbare,
A feg for him she winna care,
But crook her bonny mou' fu' sair,
And scald him baith.
Wooers shou'd ay their travel spare
Without Braid Claith.
Braid Claith lends fock an unco heese,
Makes mony kail-worms butterflies,
Gies mony a doctor his degrees
For little skaith:
In short, you may be what you please
Wi' gude Braid Claith.
For thof ye had as wise a snout on
As Shakespeare or Sir Isaac Newton,
Your judgment fouk wou'd hae a doubt on,
I'll tak my aith,
Till they cou'd see ye wi' a suit on
O' gude Braid Claith.
poem by Robert Fergusson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is It Over
Written by ricky & marty wilde
Well theres a rumour out
Have you heard anything ?
And if you ask me now
Will I answer your question ?
In your eyes - I could hear you
Chorus:
Is it over
Is it over (or has it just begun)
Is it over
Is it over (or has it just begun)
You never thought it would get to this
And now youre sick with love
Do you think I can heal you
In my mind - I still hear you
Is it over (or has it just begun)
Is it over
Is it over (or has it just begun)
If I thought I was part of you
I would beg you to stay
But I cant live my time in this world
With the felling this way
Is it over (or has it just begun)
Is it over
Is it over (or has it just begun)
And so you ask me now
Have you done anything
And when youre reaching out
Do I still wanna hold you
In my mind - I can hear you
Chorus (repeat to fade)
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The war's begun
The war's begun,
The world is done.
Give up now.
And let us go.
Looking all around,
Everyone is down.
The world is in ashes,
Cause the war's begun.
Fire spreads,
The world is dead.
They have lied,
Cause the game's begun.
Living in a world.
Full of ashes.
Loss of breath,
Then I go down.
The war's begun,
The world is done.
Can't you see,
We just want to be free?
Let us go,
Everyone knows.
The secret's out,
Cause the war's begun.
They have lied,
And they,
Just watch us,
Die.
We fade away,
Like a bad memory.
They just watch,
And do nothing.
The war's begun,
The world is done.
Why do they,
Just watch us die...
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stable the steed, and put your wife to bed when there's night wark to do.
Defeating...That Beast
You've begun...to defeat,
That beast that's come to be.
You've become...to defeat it!
You've begun...to defeat it!
You've begun...to defeat,
That beast that's come to be.
You've become...to defeat it!
You've begun...to defeat it!
Think about the distance you've come,
Defeating...the beast.
Think about your decision not to run,
Away...from the beast.
Think about those knees on the ground,
Weeping for the beast.
Think about the dirt you ate,
Fed...by the beast.
Think about celebrating...
Those days ahead awaiting!
You've begun...to defeat,
That beast that's come to be.
You've become...to defeat it!
You've begun...to defeat it!
You've begun...to defeat,
That beast that's come to be.
You've become...to defeat it!
You've begun...to defeat it!
No longer the martyr,
Defeating...that beast.
Get up...and strut about.
You've defeated...that beast.
Let those words come out of your mouth,
'I've defeated...that beast! '
Let the people see and believe it,
You've defeated...that beast.
Whoop...and hollar about,
'I've defeated...and done feeding it!
That beast is outta my house.'
You've begun...to defeat,
That beast that's come to be.
You've become...to defeat it!
You've begun...to defeat it!
You've begun...to defeat,
That beast that's come to be.
You've become...to defeat it!
You've begun...to defeat it!
More than a piece of cake!
Defeating...that beast.
Gone and eliminated.
Defeating...that beast.
Much more than a piece of cake.
Defeating...that beast.
But gone and eliminated.
Defeating...that beast.
More than a piece of cake.
Defeating...that beast.
Gone and eliminated.
Defeating...that beast.
Much more than a piece of cake.
Defeating...that beast.
But gone and eliminated.
That beatened up beast to beat!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Greed is envy's auldest brither: scraggy wark they mak thegither.