We see but dimly through the mists and vapors
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funeral tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps.
quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By The Fireside : Resignation
There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
But has one vacant chair!
The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted!
Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps.
There is no Death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.
She is not dead,--the child of our affection,--
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.
Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.
Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.
Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child;
But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.
And though at times impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
That cannot be at rest,--
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Voices Of The Night : L'Envoi
Ye voices, that arose
After the Evening's close,
And whispered to my restless heart repose!
Go, breathe it in the ear
Of all who doubt and fear,
And say to them, 'Be of good cheer!'
Ye sounds, so low and calm,
That in the groves of balm
Seemed to me like an angel's psalm!
Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar
Of the pine forest dark and hoar!
Tongues of the dead, not lost
But speaking from deaths frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!
Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and damps
Of the vast plain where Death encamps!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Clouded Morning
The morning comes, and thickening clouds prevail,
Hanging like curtains all the horizon round,
Or overhead in heavy stillness sail;
So still is day, it seems like night profound;
Scarce by the city's din the air is stirred,
And dull and deadened comes its every sound;
The cock's shrill, piercing voice subdued is heard,
By the thick folds of muffling vapors drowned.
Dissolved in mists the hills and trees appear,
Their outlines lost and blended with the sky;
And well-known objects, that to all are near,
No longer seem familiar to the eye,
But with fantastic forms they mock the sight,
As when we grope amid the gloom of night.
poem by Jones Very
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Stairway To Heaven
The stairway to heaven
Lies way beyond my soul,
Far-away from my heart,
And out of my control.
As I pass each second,
Of every single day,
I take steps to travel,
This far and distant way.
The stairway to heaven
Leads to a final goal,
When earthly life's absorbed
Via blending of the whole.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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At Our Funeral
Have you been to a funeral yet, after The Lord you have met?
A special funeral for all of us, who have come to Christ Jesus,
A funeral of your independence, as your heart, to God relents,
When indeed, you die to self, now alive in The Savior’s wealth.
Even though we died, we live, so now our life to God we give,
Earthly desires are all we lose, in accepting God’s good news,
Thus being saved by Jesus Christ, we give Him our earthly life,
Since He died for us at Calvary, to let our captive heart go free.
So believers are now free to die, for Jesus who reigns on high,
Yes free to die to our old ways, as we live out our earthly days,
Living without what we don’t need, as God’s Word we do heed,
While living for a future friend, which when it comes has no end.
The life with God, we now begin, guides us away from dark sin,
We die to sin so we can start, a brand new life with a new heart,
A new heart which now is purified, by the One, Who for us died,
Christ died to cleanse you and me, all with His blood at Calvary.
At this funeral that you attend, it’s just a beginning, not the end,
As you begin life brand new, with The Lord, to see you through,
With The Savior by your side, for He now lives, though He died,
With death swallowed up in victory, believers shall live Eternally.
Forgive, as we hope to be forgiven
Kind Father of the human race,
From whom we come, in whom we live,
Hear us in heaven, thy dwelling-place,
And when Thou hearest, O! forgive.
We know there's much to be forgiven-
Our meaner thoughts of earthly birth;
We know we cannot hope for heaven
In these inferior realms of earth.
And yet of heaven we have a taste,
Of brighter blessing from above,
When over our mean earthly waste
There beams Heaven's radiant light of love.
poem by John Bowring
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Pele's Song
Pele's soul made of fire
Flowing lava ever higher.
To the shores of desire.
Fire meets the water
on the shore of life.
The Sea becomes the husband
of this Earthly wife.
With this union
Comes new birth
Of new islands
On this Earth.
For mankind an earthly dwelling
From Her inner core is swelling.
Into life and land above.
Goddess of creation
A cosmic kissed sensation.
Of terra firma Mother Love.
Land and trees fast appearing
From this sacred unseen force.
Upon the seas of life we're sailing,
Soon returning to our Source.
Seeing through the earthly mists
To the many worlds beyond.
Our souls fly like lighting bolts
With astral spheres we are blending
Upon creations scale we are ascending.
Reveling in this new existence.
We cast away all earthly resistance.
When we reach that distant shore
In that realm where our souls belong.
Seeking that which we adore.
We listen for the angels song.
Then in the distance we shall hear
Pele's voice so sweet and clear
Mingling with the joyful angels
as She sweetly sings along.
poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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L'Envoi
Ye voices, that arose
After the Evening's close,
And whispered to my restless heart repose!
Go, breathe it in the ear
Of all who doubt and fear,
And say to them, "Be of good cheer!"
Ye sounds, so low and calm,
That in the groves of balm
Seemed to me like an angel's psalm!
Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar
Of the pine forest dark and hoar!
Tongues of the dead, not lost
But speaking from deaths frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!
Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and darn ps
Of the vast plain where Death encamps!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Will O' The Wisp
Follow me, follow me,
Over brake and under tree,
Thro' the bosky tanglery,
Brushwood and bramble!
Follow me, follow me,
Laugh and leap and scramble!
Follow, follow,
Hill and hollow,
Fosse and burrow,
Fen and furrow,
Down into the bulrush beds,
'Midst the reeds and osier heads,
In the rushy soaking damps,
Where the vapours pitch their camps,
Follow me, follow me,
For a midnight ramble!
O! what a mighty fog,
What a merry night O ho!
Follow, follow, nigher, nigher -
Over bank, and pond, and briar,
Down into the croaking ditches,
Rotten log,
Spotted frog,
Beetle bright
With crawling light,
What a joy O ho!
Deep into the purple bog -
What a joy O ho!
Where like hosts of puckered witches
All the shivering agues sit
Warming hands and chafing feet,
By the blue marsh-hovering oils:
O the fools for all their moans!
Not a forest mad with fire
Could still their teeth, or warm their bones,
Or loose them from their chilly coils.
What a clatter,
How they chatter!
Shrink and huddle,
All a muddle!
What a joy O ho!
Down we go, down we go,
What a joy O ho!
Soon shall I be down below,
Plunging with a grey fat friar,
Hither, thither, to and fro,
Breathing mists and whisking lamps,
Plashing in the shiny swamps;
While my cousin Lantern Jack,
With cook ears and cunning eyes,
Turns him round upon his back,
Daubs him oozy green and black,
Sits upon his rolling size,
Where he lies, where he lies,
Groaning full of sack -
Staring with his great round eyes!
What a joy O ho!
Sits upon him in the swamps
Breathing mists and whisking lamps!
What a joy O ho!
Such a lad is Lantern Jack,
When he rides the black nightmare
Through the fens, and puts a glare
In the friar's track.
Such a frolic lad, good lack!
To turn a friar on his back,
Trip him, clip him, whip him, nip him.
Lay him sprawling, smack!
Such a lad is Lantern Jack!
Such a tricksy lad, good lack!
What a joy O ho!
Follow me, follow me,
Where he sits, and you shall see!
poem by George Meredith
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James L. Flood
As oft it happens in the youth of day
That mists obscure the sun's imperfect ray,
Who, as he's mounting to the dome's extreme,
Smites and dispels them with a steeper beam,
So you the vapors that begirt your birth
Consumed, and manifested all your worth.
But still one early vice obstructs the light
And sullies all the visible and bright
Display of mind and character. You write.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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How they see beyond the iron curtain?
When a poor man sleeps
by his Worldly possessions
on the road under street lamps,
Don't say that he won't dream the heaven
Yes, he dreams a different one
Where all his colleagues are there
But not much lights & dark it seems?
And they beg for alms from beggar-Angels
Who appear with their see through garments?
nimal dunuhinga
[The Moon sails high above in majesty
Amid the pailing clouds;
But from on high it moves the billowy sea
With its enchanting powers.]-Ivan Turgenev, from 'Home of the Gentry'.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Upon the Kings happy return from Scotland
So breaks the day when the returning Sun
Hath newly through his Winter Tropick run,
As You (Great Sir!) in this regress come forth
From the remoter Climate of the North.
To tell You now what cares, what fears we past,
What Clouds of sorrow did the land ore-cast,
Were lost, but unto such as have been there
Where the absented Sun benights the year:
Or have those Countreys traveld which nere feel
The warmth and vertue of his flaming wheel.
How happy yet were we! that when you went,
You left within your Kingdomes firmament
A Partner-Light, whose lustre may despise
The nightly glimm'ring Tapers of the skies,
Your peerless Queen; and at each hand a Starre
Whose hopeful beams from You enkindled are.
Though (to say truth) the light which they could bring
Serv'd but to lengthen out our evening.
Heavens greater lamps illumine it; each spark
Adds onely this, to make the sky less dark.
Nay She who is the glory of her sex
Did sadly droop for lack of Your reflex:
Oft did She her fair brow in loneness shrowd,
And dimly shone, like Venus in a cloud.
Now are those gloomy mists dry'd up by You,
As the Worlds eye scatters the Ev'ning dew:
And You bring home that blessing to the land
Which absence made us rightly understand.
Here may You henceforth stay! there need no charms
To hold You, but the circle of her arms,
Whose fruitful love yields You a rich increase,
Seales of Your joy, and of the kingdomes peace.
O may those precious pledges fixe You here,
And You grow old within that chrystall Sphere!
Pardon this bold detention. Else our love
Will meerly an officious trouble prove.
Each busie minute tells us as it flies,
That there are better objects for your eyes.
To them let us leave you, whil'st we go pray,
Raising this triumph to a Holy-day.
And may that soul the Churches blessing want;
May his content be short, his comforts scant,
Whose Bosom-Altar does no incense burn,
In thankful sacrifice for your return.
poem by Henry King
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The Window Of Dreams!
In outer space, where starships fly,
Beyond the sensors and Man's eye,
There rests a realm where pulsars glow
And vibrant colours overflow!
It's there that poets ought to be:
Amid the rainbow ecstasy!
For only those that dare to dream
Should share the effervescent stream!
God grant me visions such as theirs
Who've seen the wondrous while in prayers
To Him above Who's seen it all
And wants to share and thus enthrall!
For what is beauty till it's seen?
It's just as though it's never been!
But when it's known for what it is,
It's like the sweetest ever kiss!
The window frames the sacred sight -
Amid the essence of the night,
Amid the purples, reds and blues,
Amid the myriad mighty hues,
Amid the awesome mystery
Of alien worlds and history!
While Earth has beauties of its own,
The window shows the greatest known
Except to angels Heaven-bound
No greater sight has yet been found!
Is this where poets seek their home
When death would let their spirits roam?
Foretastes of Heaven, nothing more,
Except more reasons to adore
The God of Heaven and of Earth
And cosmic worlds of equal worth.
The Lord Creator waves His hand
To fashion planets, seas and land!
His power knows no end, it seems!
Praise God for THE WINDOW OF DREAMS!
poem by Denis Martindale
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My Door Is A Lamp
One day You ask: What are you up to?
- I work for lattices
And concoct doors for lamps.
The door to heaven will be split,
My doors shall turn into gates
Encircling my heaven of Old.
Radiation picks up from Hell,
Heaven closes its gates,
And my doors open and shut
To let Me only enter
My heaven and Paradise.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Heart Attack (a Sestina)
What angelic chorals sing?
These messengers of heaven
Whose words are none of earth
Rising like mists amid the mountains
Rolling down to pastoral valleys
Stirring my fragile heart
My sullen, throbbing heart
Mumbling, for it can't quite sing
Its beat more full of valleys
Than peaks toward heaven
I miss those tracings in the shape of mountains
Which anchor me to this earth
Sweet, sweet earth
How you fill my heart!
Your noble, snowy mountains
Rising proudly to sing
At the feet of heaven
I long to see your valleys
To lay again in flowered valleys
Smelling the rich, black earth
Of my own personal heaven
Heal you traitorous heart!
I long to shout, to sing
Echoing from the mountains
Where are my mountains?
My rolling valleys?
The monitor, its dirge to sing
Strengthening my tether to earth
Even as my woefully tired heart
Slips to heaven
To forestall heaven
I labor to move mountains
As a constellation of disks record my heart
Etching flat valleys
Confirming i am still of this earth
With only a beep to mournfully sing
Each lull-to heaven, then up from the valleys
Drawn back to mountains and earth
As I wait for my heart to once again sing
poem by John Christensen
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The Good Funeral
There may be a heaven
Sealed in the dark
Then there's no denial
About life here on earth
But while I wait here anyway
I have to love this 'til the day -
I want to have the good funeral
Death the mirror of life
Rock and roll in a big stadium
To the tune of paradise
If there is a heaven
I'll send a little note
Thanking everybody
Every good soul
For the good funeral
Death the mirror of life
Darling do this one thing for me
Don't you cry
Please just party when I die
poem by Matt Ullman
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First Sorrow
Unknown face that you clearly see,
while the night hides the apparition;
Hands outstretched, waves on a quay,
caress your grimace with contrition.
Gifts of the air now define your life,
you have escaped in the morning mists,
Sunday afternoon cuts you like a knife,
Or maybe you answered to the winds?
Suns you transformed to rain oracles,
in airy corridors amid winds blither,
distant stars of solitude and miracles
where your Sundays in coldness dither.
Twas when you packed your own response,
- the roar of the sea, a tear to borrow;
you lifted choices to become ensconced,
- you were of your first life, prime sorrow.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Impression de Nuit ( London )
See what a mass of gems the city wears
Upon her broad live bosom! row on row
Rubies and emeralds and amethysts glow.
See! that huge circle like a necklace, stares
With thousands of bold eyes to heaven, and dares
The golden stars to dim the lamps below,
And in the mirror of the mire I know
The moon has left her image unawares.
That's the great town at night: I see her breasts,
Pricked out with lamps they stand like huge black towers.
I think they move! I hear her panting breath.
And that's her head where the tiara rests.
And in her brain, through lanes as dark as death,
Men creep like thoughts...The lamps are like pale flowers
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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Heavens Here On Earth
You can look to the stars in search of the answers
Look for God and life on distant planets
Have your faith in the ever after
While each of us holds inside the map to the labyrinth
And heavens here on earth
We are the spirit the collective conscience
We create the pain and the suffering and the beauty in this world
Heavens here on earth
In our faith in humankind
In our respect for what is earthly
In our unfaltering belief in peace and love and understanding
Ive seen and met angels wearing the disguise
Of ordinary people leading ordinary lives
Filled with love, compassion, forgiveness and sacrifice
Heavens in our hearts
In our faith in humankind
In our respect for what is earthly
In our unfaltering belief in peace and love and understanding
Look around
Believe in what you see
The kingdom is at hand
The promised land is at your feet
We can and will become what we aspire to be
If heavens here on earth
If we have faith in humankind
And respect for what is earthly
And an unfaltering belief that truth is divinity
And heavens here on earth
Ive seen spirits
Ive met angels
Ive touched creations beautiful and wondrous
Ive been places where I question all I think I know
But I believe, I believe, I believe this could be heaven
We are born inside the gates with the power to create life
And to take it away
The world is our temple
The world is our church
Heavens here on earth
If we have faith in humankind
And respect for what is earthly
And an unfaltering belief
In peace and love and understanding
This could be heaven here on earth
Heavens in our heart
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Vow-Breaker
VVhen first the Magick of thine ey,
Usurpt upon my liberty,
Triumphing in my hearts spoyl, thou
Didst lock up thine in such a vow;
When I prove false, may the bright day
Be govern'd by the Moons pale ray!
(As I too well remember) This
Thou said'st, and seald'st it with a kiss.
O Heavens! and could so soon that Ty
Relent in slack Apostacy?
Could all thy Oaths, and morgag'd trust,
Vanish? like letters form'd in dust
Which the next wind scatters. Take heed,
Take heed Revolter; know this deed
Hath wrong'd the world, which will fare worse
By thy Example then thy Curse.
Hide that false Brow in mists. Thy shame
Ne're see light more, but the dimme flame
Of funeral Lamps. Thus sit and moane,
And learn to keep thy guilt at home.
Give it no vent; for if agen
Thy Love or Vowes betray more men,
At length (I fear) thy perjur'd breath
Will blow out day, and waken Death.
poem by Henry King
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