When you put your hand to the plow, you can't put it down until you get to the end of the row.
quote by Alice Paul
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Gospel Plow
Mary wore three links of chain,
Every link was jesus name,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on,
Oh, lord, oh, lord,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
Mary, mark and luke and john,
All them prophets so good and gone,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on,
Oh, lord, oh, lord,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
Well I never been to heaven, but Ive been told,
Streets up there are lined with gold,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on,
Oh, lord, oh, lord,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
Oh, lord, oh, lord,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
Oh, lord, oh, lord,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain On A Scarecrow
Scarecrow on a wooden cross Blackbird in the barn
Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did My grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry there's no legacy for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
The crops we grew last summer weren't enough to pay the loans
Couldn't buy the seed to plant this spring and the Farmers Bank foreclosed
Called my old friend Schepman up to auction off the land
He said John it's just my job and I hope you understand
Hey calling it your job ol' hoss sure don't make it right
But if you want me to I'll say a prayer for your soul tonight
And grandma's on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand
Sometimes I hear her singing "Take me to the Promised Land"
When you take away a man's dignity he can't work his fields and cows
There'll be blood on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Blood on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Well there's ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name
And some nights I feel like dyin' Like that scarecrow in the rain
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain On The Scarecrow
Scarecrow on a wooden cross blackbird in the barn
Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did my grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand
Chorus:
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me proud
And son Im just sorry theres no legacy for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
The crops we grew last summer werent enough to pay the loans
Couldnt buy the seed to plant this spring and the farmers bank foreclosed
Called my old friend schepman up to auction off the land
He said john its just my job and I hope you understand
Hey calling it your job ol hoss sure dont make it right
But if you want me to Ill say a prayer for your soul tonight
And grandmas on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand
Sometimes I hear her singing take me to the promised land
When you take away a mans dignity he cant work his fields and cows
Therell be blood on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Blood on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Well theres ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name
And some nights I feel like dyin like that scarecrow in the rain
Chorus:
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me proud
And son Im just sorry theyre just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me so proud
And son Im just sorry theyre just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hand
only the human hand,
the caring hand,
the hand covered in blood
and filth, the hand swollen
bruised, and beaten...
the open hand,
not a fist anymore hand,
not afraid to let go hand,
never letting go hand...
feed the baby, plow the field hand,
stroke the face of
the old woman dying hand...
light the fires, sweep the floors hand...
the praying hand, the picking hand,
the paint the soul hand...
only the human hand
can touch with the heart of God!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Plow
Outside my window the snow is white,
a winter mist I see so bright.
I hear through chrystals snow on snow,
a distant engine of a plow.
The chrystals falling from the sky,
in a way which I can’t tell you why
On the ground there is heavy snow
the plow is getting nearer now
The window sticks just like a stamp
against my fingers, cold and damp.
I see the sight of untouched snow,
I see the fountain of the plow.
The plow went by ten minutes ago
back is now a usable road
I hear through chrystals, snow on snow;
the distant engine of the plow
poem by Espen Øye Bjørkvold
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Straw, Or Sky?
is a sparrow's nest
made of straw,
or made of sky?
do we come from the womb?
or return to it?
do we plow the earth?
or does it plow us?
where will we be at harvest?
do we spend all of our lives
trying to go back
to what we knew as a child?
are we then mouth,
nipple,
or the lonely phallus
of a forgotten god?
the empty hand,
or the sound of wings...
testify!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Plowman's Song
Turn under, plow,
My trouble;
Turn under griefs
And stubble.
Turn mouse's nest,
Gnawing years;
Old roots up
For new love's tears.
Turn, plow, the clods
For new thunder.
Turn under, plow,
Turn under.
poem by Raymond Knister
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Plowmen
A plow, they say, to plow the snow.
They cannot mean to plant it, no --
Unless in bitterness to mock
At having cultivated rock.
poem by Robert Frost
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The Plow Of My Papa
today is the last day to sell the plow of my papa
it is a necessary part of his lifetime
in fact
his lifetime is the plow itself that made the lines
of his own poetry in the fields
of rice and corn
today another man shall have it
at the price we all wanted
we have sold all that he had
the land, the house, the trees he planted
when he was still alive
when he was still strong and cruel and so imposing
this is his only plow
and we have dedided to dispose it finally
to any man
we are now at the stage of reconstructing our lives
and the plow of papa must go
we shall have our own fields now of rice and corn
on a white canvass we draw
the new sun, its color shall be warm, something new really
to the feel of our skins
the darker ones shall be replaced by the flowing color
of the clouds like feathers of birds always ready to fly away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pick Up The Plow!
put down your sword,
pick up the plow!
a new day has come,
a new world before us!
in the beginning again,
we are the first hope.
pick up the plow,
till the earth...
our home and our hope!
a new day, a new way,
we work side by side..
beneath the sun, in the rain...
and we make love all night!
time is for the taker,
and now is the time...
put down your sword,
pick up the plow!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's life isn't it? You plow ahead and make a hit. And you plow on and someone passes you. Then someone passes them. Time levels.
quote by Katharine Hepburn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hand plow can't make furrows by itself.
African American proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Born To Hand Jive
Before I was born late one night
My papa said evrythings all right
The doctor let my ma lay down
With her stomach bouncin on the rack
cause a bebop stork was about to arrive
Mama gave birth to the hand jive
I could barely walk when I milked a cow
When I was three I pushed a plow
While chopping wood I moved my legs
And started dancing while I gathered eggs
The townfolk laughed
I was only five
Hell out dance em all
Hes a born hand jive
Born to hand jive baby!
Born to hand jive baby!
Now you can hand jive baby
Oh can you hand jive baby
Born to hand jive baby
Born to hand jive baby
Oh yeah! oh yeah! oh yeah!
Born to hand jive oh yeah!
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But, on the other hand, if Schubert were alive today, he would find even richer fields to plow.
quote by Dietrich Fischer Dieskau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hand To The Plow,2011
sitting outside this morning,
watching it rain.... gathering,
gathering strength from i
know not where...
seems like we're not making
any headway... teetering on
the edge of survival...
this year especially tough...
get it up, get it on...
put your hand to the plow!
all around us people,
all different knids of people,
but people... are struggling,
are in need, are in want....
we are a disjointed family,
watching each other sink!
we have got to become aware,
to break down the walls of division...
the only way out is together...
what we have we have to share!
but there can be no more 'me'
and 'i'... no more self oriented
delusions... we cannot follow greed.
we have to turn our weapons
of destruction into shovels and hoes.
we have to join hands, and do it now.
if you're hungry, i'm hungry!
if you're homeless, i'm homeless!
no more apathy, no more doing nothing!
put your hands to the plow! ....
or get out of the way!
life demands hard working involvement!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Truth And Justice.... (Part Two)
do i advocate violent overthrow of
the government? .... no!
but i do not advocate the abuse of
the individual either.
we need to arm ourselves with the
weapons of peace, reason, and understanding...
we need to see things as they are!
and we need to reach down deep inside,
and pull out the fortitude to stand...
for a freedom that is equal in all ways.
we need to take our anger at hunger,
homelessness and joblessness...
and turn it into a plow...
we need to plow the fields of parity!
whether we do it the right way,
or the wrong way....
something will be done!
the load has become too much,
and the stink too foul!
we will change!
be a part of it...
or be overcome by it!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Other Hand...
the black man's hand,
the poor man's hand.
the Muslim hand, the Jewish hand...
the gay man's hand,
the working man's hand,
the ex-convict's hand,
the farmer's hand, the garbage man's hand...
the Christian's hand, the atheist's hand,
the father's hand, the soldier's hand,
the peacemaker's hand,
the healer's hand, the teacher's hand,
the prodigal's hand, even the murderer's hand...
the victim's hand, the broken hand,
the praying hand, the touching hand...
all, when extended,
feel like my other hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Upon Your Shoulder
whose voice? whose image?
whose hand on the plow?
whose silent pillow we share?
whose rain? whose desire?
whose moon holding tides?
whose dark lips against our breast?
whose hammer? whose apron?
whose tick of the clock?
whose hand wiping away tears?
whose black? whose white?
whose cough in the night?
whose branch against the window?
whose pockets? whose empty?
whose wetness that clings?
whose moth upon your shoulder?
whose death? whose life?
whose kiss to your hunger?
whose wind do you follow?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Ghosts.... (Nursing Homes)
when the hand that pushed the plow,
cut the wood, built the house,
loved the woman, and painted stars
in simple acorns....
trembles with age...
be his name forgotten?
the ghosts that scream from nursing homes,
are the pigmants of your souls!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Cannot Cease (World Peace)
world peace,
we cannot cease...
miles mean nothing,
as long as, ....
doors open, eyes open,
hands and hearts
ready for the plow...
fallow ground, sacred again,
for the hopes of our children....
speak not of God
if you cant speak human!
world peace....
we cannot stop!
hands to the plow,
hearts on fire!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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