We do not praise others, ordinarily, but in order to be praised ourselves.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Is God, That God Needs To Be Praised?
WHO IS GOD THAT GOD NEEDS TO BE PRAISED?
Who is God that God needs to be praised?
Who are we that we are worthy of praising God?
Isn’t this Praise a form of flattery?
And how can God possibly want or need it?
We may need to praise-
Out of Gratitude
We may need to thank God
For all our blessings,
But does God want us to be flatterers
Who think to be rewarded for our praise?
I need to thank God
In that need is the Praise
But Praise alone
Makes both God and me
Seem unworthy.
I thank God
For having given me
This Poem.
If it is a poem.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Could Not Praise Myself
I COULD NOT PRAISE MYSELF
I could not praise myself
For all I had
Or had not done-
And when a few praised me
I felt unworthy-
Yet Praise I wanted
And Love more than Praise
And even more
For God to Care for
those I love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sonnet: Praise
Oh, praise me not in a limitless way;
O’er-praise puts mind in enshackled a sway,
Distorting its performance thereafter;
An o’er-enthused mind can’t function better.
The hard-earned, older virtues won o’er years,
In moments of flimsy praises by dears,
Feels weaken’d from its adverse/ill-effects;
Praises any human mind sure infects!
Praise me deservingly and nothing more;
Never praises in excessive measures pour;
It could inebriate my feeble mind,
Unless measured and properly refined.
’Tis better not to be praised if worthy,
Than be o’er-praised, ecstatic and guilty.
poem by John Celes
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Her Praise
SHE is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
I have gone about the house, gone up and down
As a man does who has published a new book,
Or a young girl dressed out in her new gown,
And though I have turned the talk by hook or crook
Until her praise should be the uppermost theme,
A woman spoke of some new tale she had read,
A man confusedly in a half dream
As though some other name ran in his head.
She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
I will talk no more of books or the long war
But walk by the dry thorn until I have found
Some beggar sheltering from the wind, and there
Manage the talk until her name come round.
If there be rags enough he will know her name
And be well pleased remembering it, for in the old days,
Though she had young men's praise and old men's blame,
Among the poor both old and young gave her praise.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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I have been both praised and criticized. The criticism stung, but the praise sometimes bothered me even more. To have received such praise and honors has always been puzzling to me.
quote by Billy Joel
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Maintaining order in the classrooms has never been easy and it is evident that the school setting requires some easing of the restrictions to which searches by public authorities are ordinarily subject.
quote by Byron White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I take as metaphysical poetry that in which what is ordinarily apprehensible only by thought is brought within the grasp of feeling, or that in which what is ordinarily only felt is transformed into thought without ceasing to be feeling.
quote by T.S. Eliot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Praise of Praise
Good dog…! ’…
Your faithful hound closes his eyelids
for a fraction longer - could this be bliss
so pure that humans rarely know it? –
rests his head for a few moments
on your knee; twitches tail, just once,
to indicate the words received:
the one phrase which, it's said,
(quietly; almost, to yourself)
completely understood and shared
by man and dog: fulfilment
of the karma of companionship..
*
Yesterday, I was praised.. or rather,
there was praise for something
that was enacted through me..
Such a moment is too valuable,
too full of self-knowledge, to be dismissed
with embarrassed modesty: live it:
for a moment, one is in the presence
of oneself: here’s a giant; here’s a hero;
who is oneself, and yet, is to be worshipped
as the fulfilment of all one’s wished
oneself to be: being and worthship
come together in a purity..
so, praise the praisers! – who are all too few;
cast aside that English fear
that praising may involve some personal
commitment that one later may regret…
to be praised, is but self-dedication
in which praiser, praised, are alike; at one;
and from that moment on,
live together in that unity
and grow from it in ways
that must be lived and known, to be believed..
come now – tell me that you don’t
remember clearly, the very words your teacher said
the day they praised you from the heart
so unexpectedly, you even thought them human..
or what your mother’s friend (your mother,
who could never find it in her to so praise you in the words –
despite her sweetness for some reason –
with which, your mother’s friend later told you
she boasted of you, out of your own earshot…)
praise the praisers! join their ranks
and find that magic wand:
spoken directly, face to face;
or if you must, discreetly passed,
its implications hanging golden in the air…
that magic wand, which grows the soul
of giver and receiver joined as one in One..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Robert the Bruce (To Douglas in Dying)
'MY life is done, yet all remains,
The breath has gone, the image not,
The furious shapes once forged in heat
Live on though now no longer hot.
'Steadily the shining swords
In order rise, in order fall,
In order on the beaten field
The faithful trumpets call.
'The women weeping for the dead
Are not sad now but dutiful,
The dead men stiffening in their place
Proclaim the ancient rule.
'Great Wallace's body hewn in four,
So altered, stays as it must be.
0 Douglas do not leave me now,
For past your head I see
'My dagger sheathed in Comyn's heart
And nothing there to praise or blame,
Nothing but order which must be
Itself and still the same.
'But that Christ hung upon the Cross,
Comyn would rot until time's end
And bury my sin in boundless dust,
For there is no amend.
'In order; yet in order run
All things by unreturning ways,
If Christ live not, nothing is there
For sorrow or for praise.'
So the king spoke to Douglas once
A little while before his death,
Having outfaced three English kings
And kept a people's faith.
poem by Edwin Muir
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Usually we praise only to be praised.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Mornin
In the mornin'
When my feet hit the floor,
I will praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
In the mornin'
When I walk out my door,
I praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
When I praise Him I keep motivated.
And my heart is elevated!
Shaking trouble makers away.
When I praise Him I know He's my Savior,
Saving me from bad behavior.
And those who bait that hate,
Wont spoil my flavor.
In the mornin'
When I'm yawning at dawn,
I praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
In the mornin'
I've got faith so strong.
'Cause I'm blessed to know that God is with me,
All day long!
In the mornin'
When my feet hit the floor,
I will praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
In the mornin'
When I walk out my door,
I praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
Oh yes I,
Praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
Oh yes I...
Praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him!
Oh yes I...
Praise Him.
In the mornin'
When I walk out my door,
I praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
And dedicated
'To my 'Roots'.
I keep re-booted! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It is a disgrace to be praised by those who deserve no praise.
A refusal of praise is a desire to be praised twice.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 150
Praise God in his heavenly dwelling;
praise him in his mighty heaven!
Praise him for his mighty works;
praise his unequaled greatness!
Praise him with a blast of the trumpet;
praise him with the lyre and harp!
Praise him with the tambourine and dancing;
praise him with stringed instruments and flutes!
Praise him with a clash of cymbals;
praise him with loud clanging cymbals.
Let everything that lives sing praises to the Lord!
Praise the Lord!!
song performed by by P.O.D.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When we disclaim praise, it is only showing our desire to be praised a second time.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To A Poet, Who Would Have Me Praise Certain Bad Poets, Imitators Of His And Mine
YOU say, as I have often given tongue
In praise of what another's said or sung,
'Twere politic to do the like by these;
But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven
Praise, my soul, the King of Heaven;
To His feet Thy tribute bring!
Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven,
Who like me His praise should sing?
Praise Him! praise Him!
Praise the everlasting King!
Praise Him for His grace and favour,
To our fathers in distress!
Praise Him still the same for ever,
Slow to chide, and swift to bless!
Praise Him! praise Him!
Glorious in His faithfulness!
Father-like, He tends and spares us;
Well our feeble frame He knows.
In His hands He gently bears us,
Rescues us from all our foes,
Praise Him! praise Him!
Widely as His mercy flows!
Frail as summer's flower we flourish:
Blows the wind, and it is gone.
But while mortals rise and perish,
God endures unchanging on.
Praise Him, Praise Him,
Praise the high eternal One!
Angels, help us to adore Him;
Ye behold Him face to face:
Sun and moon, bow down before Him;
Dwellers all in time and space,
Praise Him! praise Him!
Praise with us the God of grace!
poem by Henry Francis Lyte
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Whatever is in any way beautiful hath its source of beauty in itself, and is complete in itself; praise forms no part of it. So it is none the worse nor the better for being praised.
Marcus Aurelius in Meditations
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He Is Worthy
From this time forth and forevermore
Our Lord is worthy of all praise
Blessed be the name of Christ our King
Into His holiness we all shall gaze
From the rising of the sun to its going down
His name shall be praised forever
His glory is high above the heavens
And His praise shall not end, no never
Who is like unto the Lord our God
He is glorious in majesty
He shall come victoriously in the sky above
And surely every eye shall see
That He rides upon a horse with a crown on His head
And a two-edged sword in His hand
He rides victoriously, this Lion of Judah
He rides all across the land.
poem by Frank McEleny
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