Were I as base as is the lowly plain, And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, Yet should the thoughts of me, your humble swain,.
quote by Joshua Sylvester
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love's Omnipresence
Where I was base as is the lowly plain,
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain
Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love.
Where I as high as heaven above the plain,
And you, my Love, as humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go.
Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you like to the sun,
And look upon you with thousand eyes
Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done.
Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,
Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.
poem by Joshua Sylvester
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Constancy
Were I as base as is the lowly plain,
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
Yet should the thoughts of me, your humble swain,
Ascend to heaven in honor of my love.
Were I as high as heaven above plain,
And you, my Love, as humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Wheresoe'er you were, with you my love should go.
Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you like to the sun,
And look upon you with ten thousand eyes
Till heaven waxed blind, and till the world were dun.
Wheresoe'er I am, below, or else above you,
Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. .
poem by Joshua Sylvester
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Ubique
WERE I as base as is the lowly plain,
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
Yet should the thoughts of me, your humble swain,
Ascend to heaven in honour of my love.
Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
And you, my Love, as humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Wheresoe'er you were, with you my love should go.
Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you like to the Sun,
And look upon you with ten thousand eyes,
Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done.
Wheresoe'er I am,--below, or else above you--
Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.
poem by Joshua Sylvester
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The Sheperd Boy
LIKE some vision olden
Of far other time,
When the age was golden,
In the young world's prime
Is thy soft pipe ringing,
O lonely shepherd boy,
What song art thou singing,
In thy youth and joy?
Or art thou complaining
Of thy lowly lot,
And thine own disdaining
Dost ask what thou hast not?
Of the future dreaming,
Weary of the past,
For the present scheming,
All but what thou hast.
No, thou art delighting
In thy summer home;
Where the flowers inviting
Tempt the bee to roam;
Where the cowslip bending,
With its golden bells,
Of each glad hour's ending
With a sweet chime tells.
All wild creatures love him
When he is alone,
Every bird above him
Sings its softest tone.
Thankful to high Heaven,
Humble in thy joy,
Much to thee is given,
Lowly shepherd boy.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Chanson. - And Imitation
Que fais tu bergere dans ce beau verger
Tu ne songe gueres a me soulager?
Tu connois ma flamme, tu vois ma langueur,
Prens belle inhumaine pitie de mon coeur.
Dequoy te plains tu malheureux berger?
Que n'ay je point fait pour te soulager!
J'ay quitte la plaine, mon troupeau, mon chien,
Prend on tat de peine quand on n'aime rien.
Imitation
Why thus from the plain does my sheperdess rove,
Forsaking her swain and neglecting his love?
You have heard all my grief, you see how I die,
Oh! give some relief to the swain whom you fly.
How can you complain, or what am I to say,
Since my dog lies unfed, and my sheep run astray?
Need I tell what I mean that I languish alone!
When I leave all the plain you may guess 'tis for one.
poem by Matthew Prior
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On A Plain (Live) (10 Jan 92 Soundcheck, MTV Studios, NYC)
Nirvana- On A Plain
I'll start this off without any words
I got so high that I scratched 'til I bled
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
The finest day that I ever had
Was when I learned to cry on command
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
I'm on a plain
I can't complain
I'm on a plain
My brother died every night
It's safe to say don't quote me on that
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
The black sheep got blackmailed again
Forgot to put on the zip code
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
I'm on a plain
I can't complain
I'm on a plain
Somewhere I have heard this before
In a dream my memory has stored
As a defense I'm neutered and spayed
What the hell am I trying to say
It is now time to make it unclear
To write off lines that don't make sense
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
One more special message to go
And then I'm done then I can go home
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
I'm on a plain
I can't complain
I'm on a plain
I can't complain
I'm on a plain
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jesus Told a Joke
Jesus told a joke
To the lowly and humble folk
And they laughed.
So the Pope
Who didn't understand the joke
Banned laughter in Church.
The lowly and humble folk
Had killed themselves laughing
So the Church said
The Joker must die too.
Why must something beautiful
Be destroyed
By serious-minded clerics
Without a sense of humour?
Why must we bow down
To a corpse on a tree
Instead of singing and dancing?
Why are our loveliest songs
Inspired by sorrow?
And why do our priests and priestesses
Lord it over us
Clothed in dark garments of woven tears?
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Welcome, wild harbinger of spring! To this small nook of earth; Feeling and fancy fondly cling, Round thoughts which owe their birth, To thee, and to the humble spot, Where chance has fixed thy lowly lot.
quote by Bernard Barton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hymn 87
God dwells with the humble and penitent.
Isa. 47:15,16.
Thus saith the high and lofty One:
"I sit upon my holy throne;
My name is God, I dwell on high,
Dwell in my own eternity.
"But I descend to worlds below,
On earth I have a mansion too;
The humble spirit and contrite
Is an abode of my delight.
"The humble soul my words revive,
I bid the mourning sinner live,
Heal all the broken hearts I find,
And ease the sorrows of the mind.
["When I contend against their sin,
I make them know how vile they've been;
But should my wrath for ever smoke,
Their souls would sink beneath my stroke."]
O may thy pard'ning grace be nigh,
Lest we should faint, despair, and die!
Thus shall our better thoughts approve
The methods of thy chast'ning love.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Home...
Heaven?
Paradise?
Rapture or
Cloud nine?
Where is the key
to enter your Bliss?
So high on your heavenly horse.
So proud under your rose-studded straw hat,
can't see disheveled man on his dead cement
horse, independently hardened by empathy- the
anesthesia for poverty;
begging for a dollar piece of bread to eat,
not an outhouse or bathhouse to shit, piss, and bathe-
still nose high as the clouds in the sky;
can't smell nor tell what's smelling to high heavens, cause
head held as high as the hundred dollar
stiletto holding you high and its blade piercing the lowly hearts
Cheeks and lips blood red, sculptured
eyebrows and polka dot finger nails. Yet, you
carry you bags filled with empathy to your church- home.
At home in your brownstone, paradise
as tall as the high ceilings, with
faux pride coming in second.
A home-made key for each the
best fit ones misplaced
and your misled
Many without homes
and
priced out of heaven
by
all Saints.
Paradise is just a dream.
Rapture a state of being.
Cloud nine an idiomatic expression.
The down-to-earth one
exchanges one thought
for another.
Yet remains in the seat
in his own humble home!
(August 6,2011)
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Song #1
Mary, leave thy lowly cot
When thy thickest jobs are done;
When thy friends will miss thee not,
Mary, to the pastures run.
Where we met the other night
Neath the bush upon the plain,
Be it dark or be it light,
Ye may guess we'll meet again.
Should ye go or should ye not,
Never shilly-shally, dear.
Leave your work and leave your cot,
Nothing need ye doubt or fear:
Fools may tell ye lies in spite,
Calling me a roving swain;
Think what passed the other night--
I'll be bound ye'll meet again.
poem by John Clare
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Here we go again.
I flew last night and arrived
My thirst was quenched and my brain was fried
Loney thoughts crossed my path
I addressed it with thoughts of wrath
Then peaceful feelings quell the ire
I remember the love and the pure desire
My only thought is the morning
coming at me with it's warning
I addressed it with thoughts of work
Another four letter word
For the Elite or the Nerd
So whoever you are in this wonderful life
Forgive all the negative
Let your brain keep you living
Your life always giving
To the lonely and shy
The lowly and high.
Thats How Love Moves
(jennifer kimball, fitzgerald scott, ty lacy)
Its such a mystery
How you found something in me
That I never knew was there
But you uncovered it so easily
You turn me like the season
And I began to change
You wrapped your arms around me
Now Ill never be the same
Thats how love works
Thats how love moves
Like a river running through you
Sometimes it lifts you high as heaven
It consumes you
Thats a given
Thats how love moves
Ive seen walls that could never be broken
Come tumbling down
Ive heard the voice of love calling
Without making a sound
See I was touched by an angel
The day you took my hand
You know that youre the miracle
That makes me everything I am
Thats how love works
Thats how love moves
Like a river running through you
Sometimes it lifts you
As high as heaven
It consumes you
Thats a given
Thats how love moves
Sometimes its a whisper
Sometimes its a storm
Sometimes it reaches forever
With its everlasting arm
Thats how love works
Thats how love moves
Like a river running through you
Sometimes it lifts you
As high as heaven
It consumes you
Thats how love works
Thats how love moves
Like a river running through you
Sometimes it lifts you
As high as heaven
It consumes you
Oh, thats a given
Thats how love moves
Baby, yeah
High as heaven
Thats how love moves
As high as heaven
song performed by by Faith Hill
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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I Need My Stuff Back
On the preacher's day holy preaching
Under and below clay was sent em
On the forceful whips of lowly meeting
The soul taker will never accept em
On the bulge of mercies, and the crowd
The know it all grabber took to heels em
On the side of lowly souls went loud
The friend of fire proclaimed a fail em
And the lord most high, comes, comes and drive them
The heaven lifter won't cath asingle ship em
And the straw remains blessed for ever beam
While he is commanded, I need my stuff back!
And I receive it! I receive it! I receive it!
And the liar, blantant big liar, I receive it!
And he never swindles and swindles em
The lord most high assembles wholly, holy fire on them
The real shepherd, the messiah's love em
While he is commanded, I need my stuff back!
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Humble man I be, so in love
I am but a humble man, plain as is......
This thing called love makes me to be
...master crafts man to craft rare and precious jewels for your breast an’ear
...fighter to win the cup and belt golden to put on your mantle shelve
...guardian of the innocent, the wild, you- and yours as you walk-the-talk and sleep
...composer and poet articulating wondrous prose and rhymed lyric
...engineer, archtecht and builder to make us a plain, humble and warm home
...your doctor to heal and inspire you and take away your tears over all the eons
...naive and an innocent wondering at the paradoxical marvel of love
...love being so enigmatic for as I rejoice I weep
...finding peace and quite mind in my joissance
For in all this I realize how little I know and small I am and simple my love
For in all this I remain just a man, who love you dearly
Jefdouptajan2012
poem by Johan Fourie
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A Supplication
Awake, awake, my Lyre!
And tell thy silent master's humble tale
In sounds that may prevail;
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire:
Though so exalted she
And I so lowly be
Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.
Hark, how the strings awake!
And, though the moving hand approach not near,
Themselves with awful fear
A kind of numerous trembling make.
Now all thy forces try;
Now all thy charms apply;
Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye.
Weak Lyre! thy virtue sure
Is useless here, since thou art only found
To cure, but not to wound,
And she to wound, but not to cure,
Too weak too wilt thou prove
My passion to remove;
Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love.
Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre!
For thou canst never tell my humble tale
In sounds that will prevail,
Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire;
All thy vain mirth lay by,
Bid thy strings silent lie,
Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die.
poem by Abraham Cowley
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Humble People
Humble people
We both are
We are humble people
We are happy
We have someone that is watching out for us
Humble people
Are much happier than those who have too much
Humble people have little but they are happy
Humble people are rich in spirit
Humble people have more friends
Than those that are rich
We are not so materialistic either
Humble people
Like to enjoy other humble people also
That is the kind of people they mix with
Humble people don’t wear any expensive clothes
Humble people are good Christians
Humble people are hungry for the word of the Lord
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Disregarding The Bed...
in going back to the tradition of
my lowly fathers
to get some sleep
one sometimes must disregard
the elitism of the bed
and have the humble unity with
the floors' embrace...
there will be no pillows
except the softness of your
conscience,
there will be no blankets
except your pure thoughts
for the night
there will be no light
except the glow of your soul
the rest around you
that keeps you warm and
guides you to the entrance door
of trance and sleep
is the hope that the darkness of this world
does not
last forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Psalm 131
Humility and submission.
Is there ambition in my heart?.
Search, gracious God, and see;
Or do I act a haughty part?
Lord, I appeal to thee.
I charge my thoughts, be humble still,
And all my carriage mild,
Content, my Father, with thy will,
And quiet as a child.
The patient soul, the lowly mind,
Shall have a large reward:
Let saints in sorrow lie resigned,
And trust a faithful Lord.
poem by Isaac Watts
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