Each morning sees some task begun, each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose.
quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fitzroy Blacksmith
Under the spreading deficit,
The Fitzroy Smithy stands;
The smith, a spendthrift man is he,
With too much on his hands;
But the muscles of his brawny jaw
Are strong as iron bands.
Pay out, pay put, from morn till night,
You can hear the sovereigns go;
Or you'll hear him singing "Old Folks at Home",
In a deep bass voice and slow,
Like a bullfrog down in the village well
When the evening sun is low.
The Australian going "home" for loans
Looks in at the open door;
He loves to see the imported plant,
And to hear the furnace roar,
And to watch the private firms smash up
Like chaff on the threshing-floor.
Toiling, rejoicing, borrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some scheme begun
That never sees its close.
Something unpaid for, someone done,
Has earned a night's repose.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Village Blacksmith
Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a might man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawney arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns what'er he can,
And looks the whole word in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear the bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his might sledge,
With measure beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar.
And catch the flaming sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like his mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hands he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiing, -- rejoicing, -- sorrowing,
Onward in life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned his night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou has taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Village Blacksmith, The
Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The Smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can
And looks the whole world in the face
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming furge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church
and sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach.
He hears his daughter's voice
singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling, rejoicing,-sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Something attempted, something done, Has earned a nights repose.
quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The artist should not only paint what he sees before him, but also what he sees in himself. If, however, he sees nothing within him, then he should also refrain from painting what he sees before him. Otherwise his pictures will be like those folding screens behind which one expects to find only the sick or the dead.
quote by Caspar David Friedrich
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Rote Lippen Soll Man Kssen
Lately all you can feel is the rain falling
Maybe you feel this world is to blame
you've been crying.
Only
only inside will you know
but still you wonder sometimes:
Where can
where can you go? - Can you go
can you go? -
Remember me
- oh
when you feel this way
And you need someone to lean on.
And if you're ever
- ever too far away
Remember me
- I am the one
- remember me
- I am the one.
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes.
Remember me
- I am yqur guardian angel
and I'll never let you fall.
And if you'Fe ever
ever In fear of danger
-
Remember me
- I am the one
- remember me
- I am the one
-
Who will turn
turn all your darkness to light in the morning.
You'll learn when yov're too hard on yovrself yov can call me.
Remember me
- oh
when you feel this way
. . .
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes.
I can see you
yeah!
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes
Remember me
I am the one who sees in your eyes.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Window
She looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world
she leans out of the window
and this is what she sees
a wet rose singing to the sun
with a chorus of red bees
she leans out of the window
and laughs for the window is high
she is in it like a bird on a perch
and they scoop the blue sky
she and the window scooping
the morning as if it were air
scooping a green wave of leaves
above a stone stair
and an urn hung with leaden garlands
and girls holding hands in a ring
and raindrops on an iron railing
shining like a harp string
an old man draws with his ferrule
in wet sand a map of Spain
the marble soldier on his pedestal
draws a stiff diagram of pain
but the walls around her tremble
with the speed of the earth the floor
curves to the terrestrial center
and behind her the door
opens darkly down to the beginning
far down to the first simple cry
and the animal waking in water
and the opening of the eye
she looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Yesterday
I've trod the links with many a man,
And played him club for club;
'Tis scarce a year since I began
And I am still a dub.
But this I've noticed as we strayed
Along the bunkered way,
No one with me has ever played
As he did yesterday.
It makes no difference what the drive,
Together as we walk,
Till we up to the ball arrive,
I get the same old talk:
"To-day there's something wrong with me,
Just what I cannot say.
Would you believe I got a three
For this hole--yesterday?"
I see them top and slice a shot,
And fail to follow through,
And with their brassies plough the lot,
The very way I do.
To six and seven their figures run,
And then they sadly say:
"I neither dubbed nor foozled one
When I played--yesterday!"
I have no yesterdays to count,
No good work to recall;
Each morning sees hope proudly mount,
Each evening sees it fall.
And in the locker room at night,
When men discuss their play,
I hear them and I wish I might
Have seen them--yesterday.
Oh, dear old yesterday! What store
Of joys for men you hold!
I'm sure there is no day that's more
Remembered or extolled.
I'm off my task myself a bit,
My mind has run astray;
I think, perhaps, I should have writ
These verses--yesterday.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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Faith vs Doubt.......
Faith vs. Doubt.........
Doubt sees the obstacles.
Faith sees the way.
Doubt sees the darkest night.
Faith sees the day.
Doubt dreads to take a step.
Faith soars on high.
Doubt questions ' who believes '?
Faith answers ' I '.
(april 2009)
poem by Fawzia Zie
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Whodunnit?
Providence? It's 'What the Butler Saw' -
and ever sees, and ever shall have seen:
the One who knows what's needed long before,
and sees that it's delivered at the scene;
prepares it for the feast of human life;
presents it in due style at this repast;
then, in the festive moment, stands aloof,
invisible to him who plays the host;
sees that new dishes come, and plates removed
- fleet opportunities that come and go;
unseen- unless His presence sought and proved;
unspeaking, silent - unless spoken to.
Whodunnit? why, the butler, since you ask,
named Providence: God's world, and Word, and task.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Doubt vs. Faith Doubt sees the obstacles. Faith sees the way. Doubt sees the darkest night. Faith sees the day. Doubt dreads to take a step. Faith soars on high. Doubt questions,'Who believes' Faith answers,'I'.
Once In The Morning
(nickolas ashford/valerie simpson)
Just once in the morning
Once in the evening
Just once in the morning
Once in the evening
Ooh, baby
Just once in the morning
Once in the evening
Once in the morning
Once in the evening
Thatll be enough
Thatll be enough of your good good lovin stuff
Thatll be enough
Ooh yeah
Take away the yearning
Take away the burning
Baby, baby
Just once in the morning
Once in the evening
Just once in the morning
Once in the evening
Its not all youre thinking
I promise you well make it, very hard
Our love has to do with
Your conditions as to how and would we start
Its gotta be once in the morning
Once in the evening
Once in the morning
Once in the evening
Thatll be enough
Thatll be enough of your good good lovin stuff
Thatll be enough
Thatll be enough
Take away the yearning
Take away the burning
Baby, baby
Just once
Yeah
Ooh...
Its seven when I rise
Eleven, close my eyes
Its seven when I rise
Eleven, close my eyes
I want you to be, be, be there
I want you to be, be, be there
Be there
Seven when I rise
Eleven, close my eyes
I promised that Ill be
Good enough for me
Once, once in the evening
Thatll be enough
Once in the morning
Once in the evening
Thatll be enough
Once in the morning
Once in the evening
Give it to me
Give it to me
Once in the morning
Once in the evening
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Drunkard's Vision
A public parlour in the slums,
The haunt of vice and villainy,
Where things are said unfit to hear,
And things are done unfit to see;
’Mid ribald jest and reckless song,
That mock at all that’s pure and right,
The drunkard drinks the whole day long,
And raves through half the dreadful night.
And in the morning now he sits,
With staring eyes and trembling limb;
The harbour in the sunlight laughs,
But morning is as night to him.
And, staring blankly at the wall,
He sees the tragedy complete—
He sees the man he used to be
Go striding proudly up the street.
He turns the corner with a swing,
And, at the vine-framed cottage gate,
The father sees, with laughing eyes,
His little son and daughter wait:
They race to meet him as he comes—
And—Oh! this memory is worst—
Her dimpled arms go round his neck,
She pants, ‘I dot my daddy first!’
He sees his bright-eyed little wife;
He sees the cottage neat and clean—
He sees the wrecking of his life
And all the things that might have been!
And, sunk in hopeless, black despair,
That drink no more has power to drown,
Upon the beer-stained table there
The drunkard’s ruined head goes down.
But even I, a fearful wreck,
Have drifted long before the storm:
I know, when all seems lost on earth,
How hard it can be to reform.
I, too, have sinned, and we have both
Drunk to the dregs the bitter cup—
Give me your hand, Oh brother mine,
And even I might help you up.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Isn't It Necessary To Thank God
ISN’T IT NECESSARY TO THANK GOD
Isn’t it necessary to thank God
When after morning prayer
One goes out into the world
And sees the trees and the flowers
And the sky,
And knows-
No matter how difficult
the day to come-
It has begun with
Light and Joy and Beauty.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Interplay
INTERPLAY
She dreams him night and day,
he feels her faraway,
yet near as near can be.
He turns a corner, she
accompanies, won’t stray -
each moment holiday.
Their thoughts are interplay
between his smile, her way
of thinking, - spirits free.
In timeless harmony
each swears that each shall stay
together come what may.
She sees his smile at play,
he sees her hips that sway,
together, to a tee,
fit interplay - could we
become as close as they
to share through night and day?
4 April 1998
robi03_0872_robi03_0000 XXX_KLX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see.
quote by Gilbert K. Chesterton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home Is Where The Heart Is
(gary rossington -- johnny vanzant -- hughie thomasson -- rickey medlocke)
Ive always lived my life like a gypsy
I cant imagine myself settlin down
So please dont ask me to give up this life I lead
cause I love to feel those wheels go round and round
(chorus)
I can see it inside
Its my heart that sees, not my eyes
And if you listen close Ill tell you why
Home is where the heart is
And my heart is at home with you
Theres a cold wind blowin and you know its almost midnight
You never dreamed it would be this hard lovin a music man
But this iron horse on which I ride Im closer its true
And its just as hard for me as it is for you
I can see it inside
Its my heart that sees not my eyes
And if you listen close Ill tell you why
Home is where the heart is
And my heart is at home with you
In my life Im always on the run
Livin one day at a time
Hold on a little longer
I dont know where Im gonna end up
Or where Ill go
I can see it inside
Its my heart that sees not my eyes
And if you listen close Ill tell you why
Home is where the heart is
And my heart is at home ...
I can see it inside
Its my heart that sees not my eyes
And if you listen close Ill tell you why
Home is where the heart is
And my heart is at home with you
Home is where the heart is
Oh ,my home is where my heart is
Oh, my home is where my heart is
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hey Montana
Hey Montana take your daughter back
From the bathrooms evangalist bound
She believes in destiny
Her name's always misspelled
Waitressing to pay the rent
Drinks to quell the smell
Of people breathing way too close
Folks who don't mean well
[CHORUS]
No one sees the color of your eyes
No one sees you smile
No one knows the secrets that you hide
No one sees you cry
She parks her car two blocks away
From apartment 15A
She walks with somber in her step
And scores along the way
Lose your hue you tiny thing
Dropping patron's wine
Singing to your own sad song
Two feet stuck in the mire
[CHORUS]
Hey Montana take your daughter back
It's clear she needs your care
These bustling streets are icy veins
Of a peace who snuffs her prayer
[CHORUS]
No one sees you cry
No one sees you...
Hey Montana take your daughter back
Hey Montana take your daughter back
Please Montana take your daughter back
Hey Montana take your daughter back
Bones and the truth show through...
song performed by by Eve 6
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good day
Good morning sky
Good morning sun
Good morning to everyone
The day is bright, and has begun,
Let's gree to make it fun,
By being considerate of each one
Time is ticking and
The hours and minutes just seems to go by fast
So whatever is to be done, one sure cannot lag
In order to complete various task
You must begin with just one
Before the broad day turns dim and
before you realize
A new day has begun
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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Goodbye Mr. Ed
The ghost of manhattoes
Shrieking as they fall
From at&t
Someone sees it all
Goodbye mr. ed
Andys skull enshrined
In a shopping mall near queens
Someone sees it all
Icarus takes his pratfall
Bruegel on his head
Goodbye mr. ed
Four and twenty black kids
Some of them are blind
Someone sees it all
Tolerance of violence
By the fellows with no heads
Goodbye mr. ed
Some things are so big
They make no sense
Histories so small
People are so dense
Someone sees it al
Goodbye mr. ed
Some things are so big
They make no sense
Histories so small
People are so dense
Someone sees it al
Goodbye mr. ed
Never mind the pistols
They laid the golem eggs
Others came to hatch them
Outside the pale
Someone sees it all
Goodbye mr. ed
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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