A Lost Chord
SEATED one day at the Organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.
I do not know what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then ;
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.
It flooded the crimson twilight,
Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow,
Like love overcoming strife ;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.
It linked all perplexéd meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence
As if it were loth to cease.
I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the Organ,
And entered into mine.
It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again,
It may be that only in Heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen.
poem by Adelaide Anne Procter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Not at a Loss Chord - after Adelaide Anne Procter – A Lost Chord
Not at a Loss Chord
Playing one day with my organ,
I was blissful – not ill at ease -
while five fingers wandered wildly
web-cams recording each wheeze.
I know the spot vibrating,
less what I was dreaming then,
but I strummed with both will and spirit
and an “Oh My God! Amen! ”
Adrenaline flowed not vainly
from heart to crimson palm,
as it coursed both veins and spirit
with little akin to calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow,
like love overcoming strife;
it seem[en]ed orgasmic echo
to tune discordant life.
It linked all perplexèd meanings
into one perfect peace,
and trembled away into silence
although I was loth to cease.
I have sought, and I seek not vainly,
that one G spot divine,
which linked my soul to the organ
so manifestly mine.
La petite morte delightful
strikes shivering molten core,
as this little verse insightful
calls for en corps encore!
It may be that Death's bright angel
will speak in that chord again,
for it’s surely in seventh Heaven
one sings “Oh My God! Amen! ”
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
8 April 2007
ROBIN Jonathan 1947_2006 robi3_1338_proc1_0001 PXY_MXX Not at a Loss Chord_Playing one day with my organ
A Lost Chord
Seated one day at the Organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.
I do not know what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then;
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.
It flooded the crimson twilight,
Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow,
Like love overcoming strife;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.
It linked all perplexéd meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence
As if it were loth to cease.
I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the Organ,
And entered into mine.
It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again,
It may be that only in Heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen.
Adelaide Anne PROCTER
PROCTER Adelaide Anne 1825_1864 proc1_0001_proc1_0000 PXX_MXX A Lost Chord_Seated on day at the organ
The Lost Chord
Seated one morn at my organ
I was restless and ill-at-ease,
For I had supped too freely
On Kummel and toasted cheese.
I know not what I was playing,
And I wasn’t playing well,
But I struck one chord of music
That lifted the lid off hell.
It howled like a mad gorilla,
It yelped like a blue baboon
As it munches the wild Manilla
In the Mountains of the Moon.
It tied up the simplest meansings
In horrible knots and twists;
It shrouded the dazzling sunlight
In the murk of miasmic mists.
It was barbarous, botulistic,
It linked the Chimaera’s boom
With a dismal, Bedlamistic
And super-decanal gloom.
It shattered my topmost skylight,
It splintered my study door,
And it died away in the twilight
With a galliambic snore.
Oh, I strive with passionate longing
That wondrous chord to recall,
And compose a rhapsody on it
For the Queen’s or the Albert Hall.
I have sought – but I seek it vainly –
That chord so cruel and keen
Which entered the soul of the organ
From the soul of Scriabin.
It may be that Death’s euphonium
That chord some day will sound;
But only in Pandemonium
Will its full effects be found.
Charles Larcom GRAVES Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
GRAVES Charles Larcom 1856_1944 grav1_0004_grav1_0000 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one morn at my organ
GRAVES Charles Larcom 1856_1944 grav1_0004_proc1_0001 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one morn at my organ
The Lost Word
Seated one day at the typewriter,
I was weary of a's and e's,
And my fingers wandered wildly,
Over the consonant keys.
I know not what I was writing,
With that thing so like a pen;
But I struck one word astounding -
Unknown to the speech of men.
It flooded the sense of my verses,
Like the break of a tinker's dam,
And I felt as one feels when the printer
Of your 'infinite calm' makes clam.
It mixed up s's and x's
Like an alphabet coming to strife.
It seemed the discordant echo
Of a row between husband and wife.
It brought a perplexed meaning
Into my perfect piece,
And set the machinery creaking
As though it were scant of grease.
I have tried, but I try it vainly,
The one last word to divine
Which came from the keys of my typewriter
And so would pass as mine.
It may be some other typewriter
Will produce that word again,
It may be, but only for others -
‘I ‘ shall write henceforth with a pen.
John PAUL Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER 1825_1864 A Lost Chord
PAUL John paul3_0001_paul3_0001 PWX_IXX The Lost Word_Seated one day at the typewriter
PAUL John paul3_0001_proc1_0001 PWX_IXX The Lost Word_Seated one day at the typewriter
A Lost Sister
Whisper your Mother’s Name
I was seated one day in a gilded café
In a window that looked on the street
A face caught my eye in a crowd passing by
And I hastedly sprang to my feet
It was my sister's sad face, I had left home to trace
Through her pride she had left us one day
And it brought back to me, as plain as could be
My mother as I heard her say
CHORUS 'If you should see your sister
do not reproach or blame
Tell her how we've missed her
I love her just the same
Say my darling the words that you've brought her
whether in pride or shame
Say that she's still my daughter
Whisper your mother's name'
(Yodel) EEE-yew-dee-oh-lee-oh-lady-ee-hee
yodeledee-yo deledee-hee
There were tears on her face as she passed by the place
and I hastedly sprang to her side
As we walked along I said, 'Nell, we were wrong
We are sorry we wounded your pride.
Your sweetheart is true and still waiting for you
We are willing now you should wed
If you'll only come back, you can marry your Jack
and please your dear mother who says'
CHORUS
Jimmie RODGERS Parody PROCTER Adelaide Anne 1825_1864 A Lost Chord
RODGERS Jimmie rodg1_0001_rodg1_0000 PXX_JXX A Lost Sister_Seated one day in a gilded café
RODGERS Jimmie rodg1_0001_proc1_0001 PXX_JXX A Lost Sister_Seated one day in a gilded café
The Lost Chord
Seated one day at the organ
I jumped as if I’d been shot,
For the Dean was upon me, snarling
‘Stainer – and make it hot.’
All week I swung Stainer and Barnby,
Bach, Gounod, and Bunnett in A;
I said, ‘Gosh, the old bus is a wonder! ”
The Dean, with a nod, said “Okay”.
D.B. Wyndham LEWIS
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER 1825_1864 A Lost Chord
LEWIS D.B. Wyndham 1894_1969 lewi1_0002_lewi1_0000 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one day at the organ
LEWIS D.B. Wyndham 1894_1969 lewi1_0002_proc1_0001 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one day at the organ
The Lost Discord
Standing one day at his organ,
The grinder seemed quite at ease,
With his monkey idly chasing
The far too-industrious fleas.
I know not what he was playing
(for I was composing then) ,
But I heard someone curse that organ,
And I murmured a great ‘Amen! ’
That discord, it filled the silence
With a sound as of tom-cats lorn;
It racked my brain like a nightmare,
It was worse than an oil-cloth torn.
It was like inharmonious yelling;
It made all the street-dogs whine,
It seems that the soul of that organ
Had spitefully gone for mine.
So I made for that organ-grinder
And swore that I’d break each limb;
And his monkey his fleased ceased chasing,
When he saw I meant chasing him.
It may be in some other quarter
He’s playing that air – and then,
If someone is smashing his organ,
I’ll fervently say, “Amen! ”
Author Unknown ‘Judy’ 26 May 1886
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER 1825_1864 A Lost Chord
pseud Judy PSju1_0004_PUNau_0000 PWX_JXX The Last Discord_Standing one day at his organ
pseud Judy PSju1_0004_proc1_0001 PWX_JXX The Last Discord_Standing one day at his organ
The Lost Drink
Seated one day at a café,
I was thirsty and hot as the sphinx,
And my tongue went babbling idly
Over the names of drinks.
I knew not what I was saying,
Nor what I had uttered then:
But the garçon brought me a mixture
Like a gift of the gods to men.
Its colour a blushing scarlet
Like the tip of a toper’s nose,
And it tickled my fever’d palate
With its flow and after-glows.
It trickled down my gullet
Like oil down a red-hot pipe;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From some supernal swipe.
It linked vin rouge and choice ligueur
Into one perfect drop,
And guggled away down my gullet
As if it were loth to stop.
I have sought – but I seek it vainly –
That one lost drink divine,
Which was mixed by that garçon du café
With curaçoa and red wine.
It may be that some chance garçon
May bring me that drink again;
It may be that some day in Paris
I may utter its name. But then
I never could find that café,
And lost to mortal ken
Is that supernal boisson
Like a gift of the gods to men!
Author Unknown ‘Judy’ 27 October 1886
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
pseud Judy PSju1_0003_PUNau_0000 PXX_JXX The Lost Drink_Seated one day at a café
The Lost Organ
Seated one day at the organ
With an audience ill-at-ease,
I pulled the stop marked “Bird-song, ”
And the one marked “Autumn Breeze.”
I switched on the rosy lighting,
And when all was ready to start,
I added a touch of thunder –
And the organ fell apart.
John Bingham MORTON 1893_1979 - Dr Strabismus 1949
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
MORTON J B 1893_1979 mort1_0005_mort1_0000 PWX_MXX The Lost Organ_Seated one day at the organ
The Lost Voice
Seated at Church in the winter
I was frozen in every limb,
And the village choir shrieked wildly
Over a noisy hymn.
I do not know what they were singing,
But while I was watching them
Our Curate began his sermon
With the sound of a slight “Ahem! ”
It frightened the female portion
Like the storm which succeeds a calm,
Both maidens and matrons heard it
With a touch of inane alarm.
It told them of pain and sorrow,
Cold, cough, and neuralgic strife,
Bronchitis and influenza
All aimed at our Curate’s life.
It linked all perplex’d diseases
Into one precious frame;
They trembled with rage if a sceptic
Attempted to ask its name.
They have wrapped him in mustard plasters,
Stuffed him with food and wine,
They have fondled, caressed, and nursed him
With sympathy divine.
It may be that other Curates
Will preach in that church to them,
Will there be every time, Good Heavens!
Such fuss for a slight – Ahem! ?
Author Unknown pseud A.H.S.
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
pseud A.H.S. PSah1_0001_proc1_0001 PWX_JXX The Last Voice_Seated at Church in the winter
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys. It seemed the harmonious echo from our discordant life.
quote by Adelaide Anne Procter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Robin's Song
Throat attuned to noblest key,
That rejuvenates unnoted after each call note
Within the robin's inner flute's nostrils,
Without rush or rapture of wings,
Flew up unearthly, untaught music's airy voice,
Making the green dome re-echo
That gives space an expansion
Of the melting tone till sky came down
In breaths as lost cosmic chord
From the song's soul to me
With the sound of a great AMEN-
Above the thunder of hidden guns.
poem by Yoonoos Peerbocus
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Today... 'The Amen
We end our prayers by saying Amen.
It is our hearts response again and again.
You are the answer to all that we bring to God
for a life of prayer was the path You trod.
'Amen. So let it be' our spirit cries as we rejoice.
Speak Lord for today we need to hear Your voice
and obey the commands we see in the Book of Life
keeping close to You avoiding schisms and strife.
Oh Faithful and True Witness from heaven above.
Ruler of God's creative work and Lord of love.
We hear Your voice speaking to the church Oh Lord
and submit to the command of The Great Amen of God.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Taking An Ostrich
This Ostrich taken, vainly tries
From chord of Courser to be free;
She struggles hard, but man defies
Her bold attempt at liberty.
Ah! Lady take the simile:
As Ostrich caught by twisted chord,
So Woman must obey her Lord.
Awhile, in youth you wander o’er
The golden path of promised joy,
Nor think captivity has store
Of care, life’s bitterest alloy: -
You play with love, as child with toy;
But ah this Ostrich; it will prove
You cannot ‘scape the Chord of Love.
poem by Richard Cobbold
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Deep In the Quiet Wood
Are you bowed down in heart?
Do you but hear the clashing discords and the din of life?
Then come away, come to the peaceful wood,
Here bathe your soul in silence. Listen! Now,
From out the palpitating solitude
Do you not catch, yet faint, elusive strains?
They are above, around, within you, everywhere.
Silently listen! Clear, and still more clear, they come.
They bubble up in rippling notes, and swell in singing tones.
Not let your soul run the whole gamut of the wondrous scale
Until, responsive to the tonic chord,
It touches the diapason of God's grand cathedral organ,
Filling earth for you with heavenly peace
And holy harmonies.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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The Forsaken
I.
IT is the music of her native land,--
The airs she used to love in happier days;
The lute is struck by some young gentle hand,
To soothe her spirit with remember'd lays.
II.
But her sad heart is wandering from the notes,
Her ear is fill'd with an imagined strain;
Vainly the soften'd music round her floats,
The echo it awakes is all of pain!
III.
The echo it awakes, is of a voice
Which never more her weary heart shall cheer;
Fain would she banish it, but hath no choice,
Its vanish'd sound still haunts her shrinking ear,--
IV.
Still haunts her with its tones of joy and love,
Its memories of bitterness and wrong,
Bidding her thoughts thro' various changes rove,--
Welcomes, farewells, and snatches of wild song.
V.
Why bring her music? She had half forgot
How left, how lonely, how oppress'd she was;
Why, by these strains, recal her former lot,
The depth of all her suffering, and its cause?
VI.
Know ye not what a spell there is in sound?
Know ye not that the melody of words
Is nothing to the power that wanders round,
Giving vague language to harmonious chords?
VII.
Oh I keep ye silence! He hath sung to her,
And from that hour--(faint twilight, sweet and dim,
When the low breeze scarce made the branches stirs)--
Music hath been a memory of HIM!
VIII.
Chords which the wandering fingers scarcely touch
When they would seek for some forgotten song,--
Stray notes which have no certain meaning, such
As careless hands unthinkingly prolong,--
IX.
Come unto HER, fraught with a vivid dream
Of love, in all its wild and passionate strength,--
Of sunsets, glittering on the purple stream,--
Of shadows, deepening into twilight length,--
X.
Of gentle sounds, when the warm world lay hush'd
Beneath the soft breath of the evening air,--
Of hopes and fears, and expectations crush'd,
By one long certainty of blank despair!
XI.
Bear to the sick man's couch the fiery cup,
Pledged by wild feasters in their riotous hours,
And bid his parch'd lips drink the poison up,
As tho' its foam held cool refreshing powers,--
XII.
Lift some poor wounded wretch, whose writhing pain
Finds soothing only in an utter rest,
Forth in some rude-made litter, to regain
Strength for his limbs and vigour for his breast;--
XIII.
But soothe ye not that proud forsaken heart
With strains whose sweetness maddens as they fall;
Untroubled let her feverish soul depart--
Not long shall memory's power its might enthral;
XIV.
Not long,--tho' balmy be the summer's breath!
In the deep stillness of its golden light,
A shadowy spirit sits, whose name is DEATH,
And turns, what was all beauty, into blight;
XV.
And she, before whose sad and dreaming eye
Visions of by-gone days are sweeping on,
In her unfaded youth shall drooping die,
Shut from the glow of that Italian sun:
XVI.
Then let the organ's solemn notes prolong
Their glory round the silence of her grave,
Then let the choral voices swell in song
And echo thro' the chancel and the nave;
XVII.
For then her heart shall ache not at the sound,
Then the faint fever of her life shall cease
Silence, unbroken, calm, shall reign around,
And the long restless shall be laid at peace.
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Word
This garden universe vibrates complete.
Some we get a sound so sweet.
Vibrations reach on up to become light,
And then thru gamma, out of sight.
Between the eyes and ears there lay,
The sounds of colour and the light of a sigh.
And to hear the sun, what a thing to believe.
But its all around if we could but perceive.
To know ultra-violet, infra-red and x-rays,
Beauty to find in so many ways.
Two notes of the chord, thats our fluoroscope.
But to reach the chord is our lifes hope.
And to name the chord is important to some.
So they give a word, and the word is om.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fingers Of Love
Can you imagine this
An itch to sensitive to scratch
The light that falls through the cracks
An insect to delicate to catch
I hear the endless murmur
Every blade of grass that shivers in the breeze
And the sound that comes to carry me
Across the land and over the sea
And I can't look up
Fingers of love move down
And I can't look back
Fingers of love move down
Colour is its own reward
Colour is its own reward
The chiming of a perfect chord
Let's go jumping overboard
Into waves of joy and clarity
Your hands come out to rescue me
And I'm playing in the shallow water
Laughing while the mad dog sleeps
And I can't look up
Fingers of love move down
And I won't be hit
Fingers of love move everywhere
There is time yet
Fall by the way
From the cradle to the grave
From a palace to the gutter
From beneath the dying waves
To the sun like fingers of love
Through waves of joy and clarity
A fallen angel walked on the sea
And I'm playing in the shallow water
Laughing while the mad dog sleeps
And I can't look up
Fingers of love move down
And I won't be hit
Fingers of love move everywhere
There is time yet
For you to find me
And all I want
Fingers of love move down
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I had to learn chord shapes. I bought books with chord charts. I used to listen to all kinds of pop music.
quote by Mick Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Baby be mine
Baby be mine;
Sip dandelion wine,
Condense all the lines:
Slow down time
If a single chord ran through our lives,
Baby would you be all mine?
Baby be mine;
Our hearts we'll bind,
Out of sight and mind,
The hours unwind
If a single chord ran through our lives,
Baby would you be all mine?
Baby be mine;
Loveliness we'll find,
And on beauty dine-
Leave lonely behind
If a single chord ran through our lives,
Baby would you be all mine?
poem by Patti Masterman
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Milton
I
Lover of beauty, walking on the height
Of pure philosophy and tranquil song;
Born to behold the visions that belong
To those who dwell in melody and light;
Milton, thou spirit delicate and bright!
What drew thee down to join the Roundhead throng
Of iron-sided warriors, rude and strong,
Fighting for freedom in a world half night?
Lover of Liberty at heart wast thou,
Above all beauty bright, all music clear:
To thee she bared her bosom and her brow,
Breathing her virgin promise in thine ear,
And bound thee to her with a double vow, --
Exquisite Puritan, grave Cavalier!
II
The cause, the cause for which thy soul resigned
Her singing robes to battle on the plain,
Was won, O poet, and was lost again;
And lost the labour of thy lonely mind
On weary tasks of prose. What wilt thou find
To comfort thee for all the toil and pain?
What solace, now thy sacrifice is vain
And thou art left forsaken, poor, and blind?
Like organ-music comes the deep reply:
"The cause of truth looks lost, but shall be won.
For God hath given to mine inward eye
Vision of England soaring to the sun.
And granted me great peace before I die,
In thoughts of lowly duty bravely done."
III
O bend again above thine organ-board,
Thou blind old poet longing for repose!
Thy Master claims thy service not with those
Who only stand and wait for his reward.
He pours the heavenly gift of song restored
Into thy breast, and bids thee nobly close
A noble life, with poetry that flows
In mighty music of the major chord.
Where hast thou learned this deep, majestic strain,
Surpassing all thy youthful lyric grace,
To sing of Paradise? Ah, not in vain
The griefs that won at Dante's side thy place,
And made thee, Milton, by thy years of pain,
The loftiest poet of the Saxon race!
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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The new day
The new day
Today is the day
of my birth from the dead
The soul longing for rest
And salvation had received,
Today is the day
of freedom from slavery
Of the body seeking for peace
and soul for justice be,
Today is not just a day
but a feast because finally I found
The God who love me
from the very day I saw light,
Today is a great day
Amen, Amen, Amen
Praise the Father,
the Son and Holy Spirit,
forever and ever Amen
poem by Jordan Legaspi
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By The Fireside : The Singers
God sent his Singers upon earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.
The first, a youth, with soul of fire,
Held in his hand a golden lyre;
Through groves he wandered, and by streams,
Playing the music of our dreams.
The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,
And stirred with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.
A gray old man, the third and last,
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast,
While the majestic organ rolled
Contrition from its mouths of gold.
And those who heard the Singers three
Disputed which the best might be;
For still their music seemed to start
Discordant echoes in each heart,
But the great Master said, 'I see
No best in kind, but in degree;
I gave a various gift to each,
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.
'These are the three great chords of might,
And he whose ear is tuned aright
Will hear no discord in the three,
But the most perfect harmony.'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Music For The Dying
Ye who will help me in my dying pain,
Speak not a word: let all your voices cease.
Let me but hear some soft harmonious strain,
And I shall die at peace.
Music entrances, soothes, and grants relief
From all below by which we are opprest;
I pray you, speak no word unto my grief,
But lull it into rest.
Tired am I of all words, and tired of aught
That may some falsehood from the ear conceal,
Desiring rather sounds which ask no thought,
Which I need only feel:
A melody in whose delicious streams
The soul may sink, and pass without a breath
From fevered fancies into quiet dreams,
From dreaming into death.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Music For The Dying
Ye who will help me in my dying pain,
Speak not a word: let all your voices cease.
Let me but hear some soft harmonious strain,
And I shall die at peace.
Music entrances, soothes, and grants relief
From all below by which we are opprest;
I pray you, speak no word unto my grief,
But lull it into rest.
Tired am I of all words, and tired of aught
That may some falsehood from the ear conceal,
Desiring rather sounds which ask no thought,
Which I need only feel:
A melody in whose delicious streams
The soul may sink, and pass without a breath
From fevered fancies into quiet dreams,
From dreaming into death.
poem by Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
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The Lost Bells
Year after year the artist wrought
With earnest, loving care,
The music flooding all his soul
To pour upon the air.
For this no metal was too rare,
He counted not the cost;
Nor deemed the years in which he toiled
As labor vainly lost.
When morning flushed with crimson light
The golden gates of day,
He longed to fill the air with chimes
Sweet as a matin's lay.
And when the sun was sinking low
Within the distant West,
He gladly heard the bells he wrought
Herald the hour of rest.
The music of a thousand harps
Could never be so dear
As when those solemn chants and thrills
Fell on his list'ning ear.
He poured his soul into their chimes,
And felt his toil repaid;
He called them children of his soul,
His home a'near them made.
But evil days came on apace,
War spread his banner wide,
And from his village snatched away
The artist's love and pride.
At dewy morn and stilly eve
The chimes no more he heard;
With dull and restless agony
His spirit's depths was stirred.
A weary longing filled his soul,
It bound him like a spell;
He left his home to seek the chimes --
The chimes he loved so well.
Where lofty fanes in grandeur rose,
Upon his ear there fell
No music like the long lost chimes
Of his beloved bell.
And thus he wandered year by year.
Touched by the hand of time,
Seeking to hear with anxious heart
Each well remembered chime.
And to that worn and weary heart
There came a glad surcease:
He heard again the dear old chimes,
And smiled and uttered peace.
"The chimes! the chimes!" the old man cried,
"I hear their tones at last;"
A sudden rapture filled his heart,
And all his cares were past.
Yes, peace had come with death's sweet calm,
His journeying was o'er,
The weary, restless wanderer
Had reached the restful shore.
It may be that he met again,
Enfolded in the air,
The dear old chimes beside the gates
Where all is bright and fair;
That he who crossed and bowed his head
When Angelus was sung
In clearer light touched golden harps
By angel fingers strung.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Key to your song
Key to your song
~
There's a song playing on the keys to your dreams
a chord rings out while you sleep as beautiful as you are
the words wait to be sung aloud to a chorus as yet unheard
let me sing with you sometime, let me here you sing
the strings will play a melody that we both know
the sound of the music carried in the air while you breathe
is the softest most gentle touch to my soul
any sonnet carried to a symphony is graceful
listen to what you feel inside of your heart
upon every key which unlocks all you are
a note plays to entertain another dream
and here is your song playing again
just as when you slept safe in a dream
there's a song playing in my eyes as I look at you
beautiful love please let it be sung
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life, Death, Devil & Angel
Life is full of love
Life is full with pain
Life is full of friendship
Life is war
Life is peace
Life is hate
Life is messed up
Life is fun
Life is music
Life is candy
Life is girlfriend
Life is boyfriend
Life is family
Life is alive
Death is hurtful
Death is painful
Death is tears
Death is losing the one you love
Death is the one thing people don't wanna go thru
Death is a lot of things
Angel are loving
Angel are caring
Angels are nice
Angel are peaceful
Angel are in Heaven
Angel is the one you wanna fall in love with
Angel are the best thing ever
So if you are an angel stay like that forever because god will love you
Devils are mean
Devil are rude
Devils are hateful
Devil are in Hell
Devil are ghost
Devil are the worst thing to be so don't ever be mean to someone because god is watchin and when it come to judgment u will end up in hell
But all ma gyals and boiis are ma angel and devil and ma life till death
poem by Nikki Singh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'sleep with the angel
I'sleep in the lap angel, where the face of angel is very clear, is seen in the eyes of me*
His lap is felt warm in my spirit,
I'sleep with the angel,
The angel spreads the attraction and appealing me*
Calm my life from all dejected*
I'sleep with my angel.
My angel come from heaven.
Bring would one million loves and peace.*
Needs would he always is for me.
My angel sleeps in my heart forevermore.
Afterwards the angel gives my greetings to the Lord in heaven.
So that i'always receive him blessing.**
I'sleep with the angel.
His face like the gold painting.
Imagine about the angels body.
Is full of the flower scent.
I'sleep with the angel forevermore**