O Winter ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
quote by William Cowper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Task: Book IV, The Winter Evening (excerpts)
Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,
He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks;
News from all nations lumb'ring at his back.
True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind,
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn:
And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some;
To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy.
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet
With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charg'd with am'rous sighs of absent swains,
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect
His horse and him, unconscious of them all.
But oh th' important budget! usher'd in
With such heart-shaking music, who can say
What are its tidings? have our troops awak'd?
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd,
Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantic wave?
Is India free? and does she wear her plum'd
And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace,
Or do we grind her still? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh--I long to know them all;
I burn to set th' imprison'd wranglers free,
And give them voice and utt'rance once again.
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups,
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.
Not such his ev'ning, who with shining face
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeez'd
And bor'd with elbow-points through both his sides,
Out-scolds the ranting actor on the stage:
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb,
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath
Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage,
Or placemen, all tranquility and smiles.
This folio of four pages, happy work!
Which not ev'n critics criticise; that holds
Inquisitive attention, while I read,
Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair,
Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break;
What is it, but a map of busy life,
Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?...
Oh winter, ruler of th' inverted year,
Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ashes fill'd,
Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks
Fring'd with a beard made white with other snows
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds,
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels,
But urg'd by storms along its slipp'ry way,
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st,
And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun
A pris'ner in the yet undawning east,
Short'ning his journey between morn and noon,
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay,
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still
Compensating his loss with added hours
Of social converse and instructive ease,
And gath'ring, at short notice, in one group
The family dispers'd, and fixing thought,
Not less dispers'd by day-light and its cares.
I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted ev'ning, know.
No rattling wheels stop short before these gates;
No powder'd pert proficient in the art
Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors
Till the street rings; no stationary steeds
Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound,
The silent circle fan themselves, and quake:
But here the needle plies its busy task,
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flow'r,
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn,
Unfolds its bosom; buds, and leaves, and sprigs,
And curling tendrils, gracefully dispos'd,
Follow the nimble finger of the fair;
A wreath that cannot fade, or flow'rs that blow
With most success when all besides decay.
The poet's or historian's page, by one
Made vocal for th' amusement of the rest;
The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds
The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out;
And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct,
And in the charming strife triumphant still;
Beguile the night, and set a keener edge
On female industry: the threaded steel
Flies swiftly, and, unfelt, the task proceeds.
The volume clos'd, the customary rites
Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal;
Such as the mistress of the world once found
Delicious, when her patriots of high note,
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors,
And under an old oak's domestic shade,
Enjoy'd--spare feast!--a radish and an egg!
Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull,
Nor such as with a frown forbids the play
Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth:
Nor do we madly, like an impious world,
Who deem religion frenzy, and the God
That made them an intruder on their joys,
Start at his awful name, or deem his praise
A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone,
Exciting oft our gratitude and love,
While we retrace with mem'ry's pointing wand,
That calls the past to our exact review,
The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare,
The disappointed foe, deliv'rance found
Unlook'd for, life preserv'd and peace restor'd--
Fruits of omnipotent eternal love.
Oh ev'nings worthy of the gods! exclaim'd
The Sabine bard. Oh ev'nings, I reply,
More to be priz'd and coveted than yours,
As more illumin'd, and with nobler truths.
That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy....
poem by William Cowper
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Passing The Time
By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, wine and time rhyme.
Passing the time.
It is a long winter,
Away is the summer.
She waits for her traveller
So far from home.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Theres ice on the window,
Shes lonely alone.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passing The Time
By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, wine and time rhyme.
Passing the time.
It is a long winter,
Away is the summer.
She waits for her traveller
So far from home.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Theres ice on the window,
Shes lonely alone.
song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Without A Crown
Welcome to the great republic
Guess I should show you round
Where once I was a king
And now I am a clown
The love that we once shared
Made a king of me
But now youre gone... but now youre gone
All I face is poverty
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned
But heaven dont boast - no heaven dont boast
The jewel - the pretty jewel I just pawned
Every cloud has a silver lining
Every dog has its day
Oh but I guess the sun stopped shining
On the day you went away
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Yes Im a king - king! king without a crown
Bathed in former glory
Deposed from my throne
How do I get to tell my story?
When all gets your answerphone...
But you aint home
With the love you gave
I felt like royalty
But now youre face to face - face to face
With one ex-member of the aristocracy
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Theres no need to feel down
Yeah just take a look around
Youll see a man whos just a man
Nothing more
A king without a crown
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cobbler and Stork
COBBLER
Stork, I am justly wroth,
For thou hast wronged me sore;
The ash roof-tree that shelters thee
Shall shelter thee no more!
STORK
Full fifty years I 've dwelt
Upon this honest tree,
And long ago (as people know!)
I brought thy father thee.
What hail hath chilled thy heart,
That thou shouldst bid me go?
Speak out, I pray--then I 'll away,
Since thou commandest so.
COBBLER
Thou tellest of the time
When, wheeling from the west,
This hut thou sought'st and one thou brought'st
Unto a mother's breast.
I was the wretched child
Was fetched that dismal morn--
'T were better die than be (as I)
To life of misery born!
And hadst thou borne me on
Still farther up the town,
A king I 'd be of high degree,
And wear a golden crown!
For yonder lives the prince
Was brought that selfsame day:
How happy he, while--look at me!
I toil my life away!
And see my little boy--
To what estate he 's born!
Why, when I die no hoard leave I
But poverty and scorn.
And thou hast done it all--
I might have been a king
And ruled in state, but for thy hate,
Thou base, perfidious thing!
STORK
Since, cobbler, thou dost speak
Of one thou lovest well,
Hear of that king what grievous thing
This very morn befell.
Whilst round thy homely bench
Thy well-belovèd played,
In yonder hall beneath a pall
A little one was laid;
Thy well-belovèd's face
Was rosy with delight,
But 'neath that pall in yonder hall
The little face is white;
Whilst by a merry voice
Thy soul is filled with cheer,
Another weeps for one that sleeps
All mute and cold anear;
One father hath his hope,
And one is childless now:
He wears a crown and rules a town--
Only a cobbler thou!
Wouldst thou exchange thy lot
At price of such a woe?
I'll nest no more above thy door,
But, as thou bidst me, go.
COBBLER
Nay, stork! thou shalt remain--
I mean not what I said;
Good neighbors we must always be.
So make thy home o'erhead.
I would not change my bench
For any monarch's throne,
Nor sacrifice at any price
My darling and my own!
Stork! on my roof-tree bide,
That, seeing thee anear,
I 'll thankful be God sent by thee
Me and my darling here!
poem by Eugene Field
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Jesus, Oh What A Wonderful Child
Jesus, jesus
Oh what a wonderful child
Jesus, jesus
So lowly meek and mild
New life, new hope, new joy he brings
Wont you listen to the angels sing
Glory, glory, glory
To the new born king
Jesus, jesus
Oh what a wonderful child
Jesus, jesus
So lowly meek and mild
New life, new hope, new joy he brings
Wont you listen to the angels sing
Glory, glory, glory
To the new born king
He was herald by the angels
Born in a lowly manger
The virgin mary was his mother
And joseph was his earthly father
Three wise men came from afar
They were guided by a shining star
To see king jesus where he lay
In a manger filled with hay
Jesus, jesus
Oh what a wonderful child
Jesus, jesus
So lowly meek and mild
Oh new joy he brings
Wont you listen to the angels sing
Glory
To the new born king
Oh jesus
Jesus
Marys baby
Lamb of god
Heavenly child
Jesus
Jesus
I love him
Oh jesus
All mighty god
King of kings
Oh jesus
Oh jesus
Oh, oh, oh, jesus
Wonderful, wonderful one
Oh, oh
Oh jesus
Oh jesus
Son of god
Oh jesus
Glory...
To the new born king, yeah...
song performed by by Mariah Carey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His Return To London
From the dull confines of the drooping west,
To see the day spring from the pregnant east,
Ravish'd in spirit, I come, nay more, I fly
To thee, blest place of my nativity!
Thus, thus with hallow'd foot I touch the ground,
With thousand blessings by thy fortune crown'd.
O fruitful Genius! that bestowest here
An everlasting plenty year by year;
O place! O people! manners! framed to please
All nations, customs, kindreds, languages!
I am a free-born Roman; suffer then
That I amongst you live a citizen.
London my home is; though by hard fate sent
Into a long and irksome banishment;
Yet since call'd back, henceforward let me be,
O native country, repossess'd by thee!
For, rather than I'll to the west return,
I'll beg of thee first here to have mine urn.
Weak I am grown, and must in short time fall;
Give thou my sacred reliques burial.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Happiness To Me
Does Happiness depend upon comfort? ’
The answer is definitely a big, ‘No! ’
Happiness lies in not comforts alone!
Happiness is not a static quality of the
human mind, body and soul.
All can’t remain happy all the time.
It would be foolishness to wish for a life,
filled with happiness alone;
Life could become boring, when happiness is prolonged.
Even A pauper can be happier than the prince.
Even A beggar smiles and sleeps well, despite much strife.
Happiness is a frame of mind that’s dynamic in nature;
Happiness is a kind of mood of feeling very well;
Happiness is a state of one, when life seems worth living;
Happiness is all within;
Happiness is in giving;
Happiness is in sharing;
Happiness does not depend on comforts;
Happiness cannot be bought by money;
Happiness is not all luxury;
Happiness is in being child-like, though adult;
Happiness is in sacrificing for others’ sake;
Happiness is in doing acts of charity;
Happiness is when you’ve led a righteous life.
Happiness to some is in dreams alone;
Happiness to some doing risky feats;
Happiness to a few is in a sheer lazy life;
Happiness to me is in loving.
poem by Richard Maginness
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Heaven falls
And the king held the crown with his bare hands,
And down it falls, Shattered into water drops.
That's the heavens that calls
It says:
Frozen or hot
Praised be thee lord for he gave new life to your dry crops.
At last a new rebirth for the land of sinners,
because we were born losers and made into winners.
However, we are all just animals,
But I like to think that we were born humans and raised to be criminals.
Mirror said: Believe it or not, innocence belongs to the past!
O why oh mirror, why are you a silent abuser?
O I ask you: "Who will cry for the little boy
who cries inside of me? "
Never mind that now, advice: Bury your head in the sand
While you still can, tie your hands behind your back
Lay face up in your bed
And observe as the roof leaks
Tears that the angels shed.
And the king spoke, but you never listened.
So you got 3 missed calls,
They Left the clouds screaming so loud that the roof broke
And Down it falls along with the heavy tears, the sea, your fears, your future wife to be and your malicious scheme
Crushed by the weight you are per diem
You lay Weeping and cursing the fate saying:
O Scattered silent mirror on the wall
Why am I the one who's buried under it all?
The Grasshopper
Happy insect, what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill;
'Tis filled wherever thou dost tread,
Nature's self's thy Ganymede.
Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing,
Happier than the happiest king!
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee;
All the summer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plow,
Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently enjoy;
Nor does thy luxury destroy.
The shepherd gladly heareth thee,
More harmonious than he.
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year!
Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire
Phoebus is himself thy sire.
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect! happy thou,
Dost neither age nor winter know;
But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
(Voluptuous and wise withal,
Epicurean animal!)
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.
poem by Abraham Cowley
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Thee, Thee, Only Thee
The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking,
The night's long hours still find me thinking
Of thee, thee, only thee.
When friends are met, and goblets crown'd,
And smiles are near, that once enchanted,
Unreach'd by all that sunshine round,
My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted
By thee, thee, only thee.
Whatever in fame's high path could waken
My spirit once, is now forsaken
For thee, thee, only thee.
Like shores, by which some headlong bark
To the ocean hurries, resting never,
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark,
I know not, heed not, hastening ever
To thee, thee, only thee.
I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet when springing
From thee, thee, only thee.
Like spells, that nought on earth can break,
Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Birthday Carol
I was born this very morning
And my brother he was also born,
In our first nine months we learned to speak
And we have been listening since early morn.
I love no one but my brother
Who spent those months with me
I hate no one and no other has so far hated me
But it isnt yet the afternoon,
And things are still to be,
And when evening comes we all will see.
I am not very old and I wont live long.
I was born this very morning singing this here song
Now I feel the worst for older people
Winding out their friendless hours alone
Seeing lives like plays at final curtain
Looking out to find everyone has gone home.
Is there something I can pray to?
Some offering I can send?
Or some ear that I can play to, to help him find a friend?
And maybe then redeem myself to keep me from that end
For the evening comes and who knows when.
Oh, my brother, where is our mother?
Is there no other to live together,
To be our lover?
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three Lowly Nails
Three lowly nails,
Changed the world for you and me
Three lowly nails,
Were used to attach Jesus to a tree
Three lowly nails,
In each hand and through His feet
Three lowly nails,
Set His people free
Three lowly nails,
Gave us a King for eternity
poem by David Kush
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The Holy Hymn
I beg to thee
I pray to thee.
The most gracious, the most merciful,
The most pious, the most beautiful.
I seek to thee
I heed to thee.
The most sustainer, the most cherisher
The most preserver, the most destroyer.
The owner of the worlds
The ruler of the days.
Praise unto thee
Honour unto thee.
Guide me the right
Give me the light.
The most eternal, the most exceptional,
The most unique, the most dynamic.
Cure my sin
Pure my heart.
The king of the kings, the poet of the poets.
The most kind, the most omnipotent,
The most compassionate, the most omniscient.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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The Invitation
BEST and brightest, come away!
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Spring,
Through the winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn
To hoar February born.
Bending from heaven, in azure mirth,
It kiss'd the forehead of the Earth;
And smiled upon the silent sea;
And bade the frozen streams be free;
And waked to music all their fountains;
And breathed upon the frozen mountains;
And like a prophetess of May
Strew'd flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.
Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs--
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music lest it should not find
An echo in another's mind,
While the touch of Nature's art
Harmonizes heart to heart.
I leave this notice on my door
For each accustom'd visitor:--
'I am gone into the fields
To take what this sweet hour yields.
Reflection, you may come to-morrow;
Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.
You with the unpaid bill, Despair,--
You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care,--
I will pay you in the grave,--
Death will listen to your stave.
Expectation too, be off!
To-day is for itself enough.
Hope, in pity mock not Woe
With smiles, nor follow where I go;
Long having lived on your sweet food,
At length I find one moment's good
After long pain: with all your love,
This you never told me of.'
Radiant Sister of the Day,
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains;
And the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves;
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green and ivy dun
Round stems that never kiss the sun;
Where the lawns and pastures be,
And the sandhills of the sea;
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers, and violets
Which yet join not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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First Noel (I Like Christmas)
The first noel
The angel did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep
On a cold winter's night
That was so deep
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
Born is the King of Israel
HOO, HOO HOO, HOO, broooeee
I like Christmas, i like Christmas,
I like Christmas, Christmas is fun!
I like Christmas, i like Christmas,
I like Christmas, Christmas is fun!
Do you like Christmas?
They looked up and saw a star
Shining in the east beyond them far
And to the herd
It gave grand light
And so it continued both day and night
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
Born is the King of Israel
HOO, HOO HOO, HOO, so
I like Christmas, i like Christmas,
I like Christmas, Christmas is fun!
I like Christmas, i like Christmas,
I like Christmas, Christmas is fun!
Do you like.. do you like Christmas?
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
Born is the King of Israel
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
Born is the King of Israel
SO, So so so, ohooh ooooh
i love you all.
Merry Christmas and a happy new year!
song performed by by Eve 6
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Belmore Place
The corner of my street
Too many miles, too tired to sleep
On a plane of dreams and sunbeams
Coming home to belmore place
Fireside flickered lights
A brighter sign of winter pines
I live it up somewhere youll find
Im living up on belmore place
The corner of my dreams
So many thoughts, they sit too deep
On a train I travel on my memories
Coming home to belmore place
Fireside flickered lights
A brighter sign of winter pines
I live it up somewhere youll find
Im living up on belmore place
In the slumber of my sleep
So many thoughts they cover me
A sweet lullaby of melodies
Carried home to belmore place
Fireside flickered lights
A brighter sign of winter pines
I live it up somewhere youll find
Im living up on belmore place
song performed by by Candlebox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Three Kings Of Cologne
From out Cologne there came three kings
To worship Jesus Christ, their King.
To Him they sought fine herbs they brought,
And many a beauteous golden thing;
They brought their gifts to Bethlehem town,
And in that manger set them down.
Then spake the first king, and he said:
'O Child, most heavenly, bright, and fair!
I bring this crown to Bethlehem town
For Thee, and only Thee, to wear;
So give a heavenly crown to me
When I shall come at last to Thee!'
The second, then. 'I bring Thee here
This royal robe, O Child!' he cried;
'Of silk 'tis spun, and such an one
There is not in the world beside;
So in the day of doom requite
Me with a heavenly robe of white!'
The third king gave his gift, and quoth:
'Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,
And with these twain would I most fain
Anoint the body of my King;
So may their incense sometime rise
To plead for me in yonder skies!'
Thus spake the three kings of Cologne,
That gave their gifts, and went their way;
And now kneel I in prayer hard by
The cradle of the Child to-day;
Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bring
As offering unto Christ, my King.
Yet have I brought a gift the Child
May not despise, however small;
For here I lay my heart to-day,
And it is full of love to all.
Take Thou the poor but loyal thing,
My only tribute, Christ, my King!
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No individual soul
Which- the soul or body-
Is the cause of one
To be holy or lowly?
Which- the soul or the body-
Is the cause for the king
To down and the traitor to crown?
Which- the soul or the body-
Is the seat of genes
That transmits features?
Soul and body are co-born
Ever since when life was born.
At no stage, be birth, embryo,
Zygote or gametes that fuse,
Was the life born for the soul
To enter the body at birth,
And part at death.
Death is no more than
A death of a twig of the tree.
28.12.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hymn 5
Submission to afflictive providences.
Job 1:21.
Naked as from the earth we came,
And crept to life at first,
We to the earth return again,
And mingle with our dust.
The dear delights we here enjoy,
And fondly call our own,
Are but short favors borrowed now,
To be repaid anon.
'Tis God that lifts our comforts high,
Or sinks them in the grave;
He gives, and, blessed be his name!
He takes but what he gave.
Peace, all our angry passions, then;
Let each rebellious sigh
Be silent at his sovereign will,
And every murmur die.
If smiling mercy crown our lives,
Its praises shall be spread;
And we'll adore the justice too
That strikes our comforts dead.
poem by Isaac Watts
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