The Tribe of Benjamin: XV
SONS born of many a loyal Muse to Ben,
All true-begotten, warm with wine or ale,
Bright from the broad light of his presence, hail!
Prince Randolph, nighest his throne of all his men,
Being highest in spirit and heart who hailed him then
King, nor might other spread so blithe a sail:
Cartwright, a soul pent in with narrower pale,
Praised of thy sire for manful might of pen:
Marmion, whose verse keeps alway keen and fine
The perfume of their Apollonian wine
Who shared with that stout sire of all and thee
The exuberant chalice of his echoing shrine:
Is not your praise writ broad in gold which he
Inscribed, that all who praise his name should see?
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Related quotes
Songs of Praise the Angels Sang
Songs of praise the angels sang,
Heav’n with alleluias rang,
When creation was begun,
When God spoke and it was done.
Songs of praise awoke the morn
When the Prince of Peace was born;
Songs of praise arose when He
Captive led Captivity.
Heav’n and earth must pass away!
Songs of praise shall crown that day!
God will make new heav’ns and earth;
Songs of praise shall hail their birth.
And can man alone be dumb,
Till that glorious kingdom come?
No: the church delights to raise
Psalms, and hymns, and songs of praise.
Saints below, with heart and voice,
Still in songs of praise rejoice,
Learning here, by faith and love,
Songs of praise to sing above.
Borne upon their latest breath,
Songs of praise shall conquer death;
Then amidst eternal joy,
Songs of praise their powers employ.
Hymns of glory, songs of praise,
Father, unto Thee we raise;
Jesus, glory unto Thee,
With the Spirit, ever be.
poem by James Montgomery
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Birth Of The King
Verse one
Sages have come from far following one bright star
Telling us where thou art from heaven
The king of kings, lord is the word he brings
Praise of the nazarene the angels will sing
Chorus
Jesus born unto mary in bethlehem
The angels herald the pietas in the magi,
Ardent wouldnt tarry to find him,
Enshrine him, glorify him
Verse two
Frankincense, gold and myrrh honor the saviors birth
The highest praise on earth
The angels will sing of him, the trinity begins
Voices will ring, amen the birth of the king
Chorus two
Jesus, joseph and mary of israel, isiahs
Miracle augured befell
The coming of christ as the star from the east will tell
The first noel our load emmanuel
Verse three
Sages have come from far following one bright star
Telling us who thou art from heaven
The king of kings, lord is the word he brings
Praise of the nazarene, the angels will sing
Of the birth of the king
The angels will sing of the birth of the king
The angels will sing of the birth of the king
song performed by by Clint Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 150
Praise the Lord of the morning
When the sun rises from its sleep
Praise the Lord for His excellent greatness
For His beauty makes me weep
Praise the Lord when the darkness falls
And the moon rises high above
Praise the Lord for His majestic glory
And His everlasting love
Praise the Lord in the winter
When the snow falls on the ground
Praise the Lord for His glorious presence
When we stand upon holy ground
Praise the Lord of the summer
When the days are warm and long
Praise the Lord for His magnificent splendor
And the saints shall sing a new song
Praise the Lord of the springtime
When the blossoms on the tree
Praise the Lord for His holiness
And for the Blood that set us free
Praise the Lord of the Autumn
When the leaves fall to the ground
Praise the Lord for His faithfulness
And that His grace abounds
Praise the Lord when your happy
And there's a smile upon your face
Praise the Lord for His mercy
And for His saving grace
Praise the Lord when you're in despair
And your pierced by a fiery dart
Praise the Lord for HIs loving kindness
That restores your broken heart
Praise the Lord with your last breath
As you lie upon your bed
Praise the Lord for His promises
To raise you from the dead
Praise the Lord for all eternity
As you gather around His throne
Praise the Lord for His incredible beauty
As you worship Him alone
Let trumpet, harp and timbrel praise
And dance before the King
Let all with breath praise the Lord
And with their voices sing
Hallelujah to the King of Kings
We worship and bow down
We sing to you forever more
And we will crown Him with many crowns
poem by Frank McEleny
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Hark The Herald Angel Sing
Verse 1:
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory to the newborn king!
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.
Joyful, all ye nations, rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
With th angelic host proclaim,
Christ is born in bethlehem.
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory to the newborn king!
(the following verse is not sung on the boney m version)
Verse 2:
Christ, by highest heavn adored:
Christ, the everlasting lord;
Late in time behold him come,
Offspring of the favored one.
Veild in flesh, the godhead see;
Hail, thincarnate deity:
Pleased, as man, with men to dwell,
Jesus, our emmanuel!
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory to the newborn king!
Verse 3:
Hail! the heavn-born prince of peace!
Hail! the son of righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings
Mild he lays his glory by,
Born that man no more may die:
Born to raise the sone of earth,
Born to give them second birth.
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory to the newborn king!
Repeat verse 1
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My God, my King, Thy Praise I Sing
My God, my King, Thy praise I sing,
My heart is all Thine own;
My highest powers, my choicest hours,
I yield to Thee alone.
My voice awake, thy part to take;
My soul, the concert join;
Till all around shall catch the sound,
And mix their hymns with mine.
But man is weak Thy praise to speak;
Your God, ye angels, sing;
’Tis yours to see, more near than we,
The glories of our King.
His truth and grace fill time and space;
As large His honors be
Till all that live their homage give
And praise my God with me.
poem by Henry Francis Lyte
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Lord, with Glowing Heart I'd Praise Thee
Lord, with glowing heart I'd praise Thee,
For the bliss Thy love bestows,
For the pardoning grace that saves me,
And the peace that from it flows:
Help, O God, my weak endeavor;
This dull soul to rapture raise:
Thou must light the flame, or never
Can my love be warmed to praise.
Praise, my soul, the God that sought thee,
Wretched wanderer, far astray;
Found thee lost, and kindly brought thee
From the paths of death away;
Praise, with love's devoutest feeling,
Him Who saw thy guilt-born fear,
And the light of hope revealing,
Bade the blood-stained cross appear.
Praise thy Savior God that drew thee
To that cross, new life to give,
Held a blood sealed pardon to thee,
Bade thee look to Him and live.
Praise the grace whose threats alarmed thee,
Roused thee from thy fatal ease;
Praise the grace whose promise warmed thee,
Praise the grace that whispered peace.
Lord, this bosom's ardent feeling
Vainly would my lips express.
Low before Thy footstool kneeling,
Deign Thy suppliant's prayer to bless:
Let Thy grace, my soul's chief treasure,
Love's pure flame within me raise;
And, since words can never measure,
Let my life show forth Thy praise.
poem by Francis Scott Key
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Psalm 148
Let the heavens cry out
Let the earth give a shout
Let all the Peoples of the earth not doubt
Our glorious King forever
Let the heavenly angels praise
To our King may every hand raise
May we worship Him all of our days
Our glorious King forever
Praise Him you sun so bright
Praise Him you moon through the night
All of His enemies take flight
From our glorious King forever
Praise Him you creatures of the sea
Praise Him that you swim so free
May our praises eternally be
Of our glorious King forever
Mountains and hills fall down
Stars in the sky make a glorious sound
All ye saints cast down your crowns
Before our glorious King forever
We will praise Him for His marvelous grace
We praise Him for His warm embrace
We praise Him in the holy place
Our glorious King forever
We exalt the King of Kings
Heavenly choirs of angels sings
Of the freedom that our Christ brings
Our glorious King forever
All our praise He does deserve
Let His glory cover all the earth
We shall bow down and worship and serve
Our glorious King forever
poem by Frank McEleny
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To A Skylark
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run,
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of Heaven
In the broad daylight
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight:
Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly see--we feel that it is there.
All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud.
As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.
What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:
Like a high-born maiden
In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:
Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden
Its aerial hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:
Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves.
Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,
All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.
Teach us, sprite or bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Chorus hymeneal
Or triumphal chaunt
Matched with thine, would be all
But an empty vaunt--
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.
What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?
With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance
Never came near thee:
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear;
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.
Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!
Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow
The world should listen then, as I am listening now!
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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You Are Worthy Of My Praise
I will worship with all of my heart
And I will praise you with all of my strength
And I will seek you all of my days
And I will follow, follow all of your ways.
I will give you all my worship
I will give you all my praise
You alone I long to worship
You alone are worthy of my praise
I will bow down, and hail you as King
And I will serve you, I'll give you everything
And I will lift up my eyes to your throne
And I will trust you, I will trust you alone.
I will give you all my worship
I will give you all my praise
You alone I long to worship
You alone are worthy of my praise.
--- Instrumental ---
I will bow down and hail you as King
And I will serve you, I'll give you everything
And I will lift up my eyes to your throne
And I will trust you, I will trust you alone.
I will give you all my worship
I will give you all my praise
You alone I long to worship
You alone are worthy of my praise.
I will give you all my worship
I will give you all my praise
You alone I long to worship
You alone are worthy of my praise...
--- Instrumental to fade ---
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Mrs. Unwin
Mary! I want a lyre with other strings,
Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew.
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new
And undebased by praise of meaner things,
That ere through age or woe I shed my wings,
I may record thy worth with honour due,
In verse as musical as thou art true,
And that immortalises whom it sings.
But thou hast little need. There is a book
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light
On which the eyes of God not rarely look,
A chronicle of actions just and bright;
There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine;
And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.
poem by William Cowper
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Ben Jonson: III
BROAD-BASED, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform,
With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine,
Wherein the springs of all the streams run wine,
And many a crag full-faced against the storm,
The mountain where thy Muse’s feet made warm
Those lawns that revelled with her dance divine
Shines yet with fire as it was wont to shine
From tossing torches round the dance aswarm.
Nor less, high-stationed on the grey grave heights,
High-thoughted seers with heaven’s heart-kindling lights
Hold converse: and the herd of meaner things
Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft
When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, and laughed,
Darkening thy soul with shadow of thunderous wings.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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For Christmas Day, Hark! the Herald Angels Sing
Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King,
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinner reconcil'd.
Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King.
Joyful all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies,
With the angelic host proclaim,
Christ is born in Bethlehem.
Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King.
Christ by highest Heaven ador'd,
Christ the everlasting Lord!
Late in time behold him come,
Offspring of a virgin's womb.
Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King.
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see,
Hail, the incarnate Deity,
Pleased as Man with man to dwell,
Jesus our Immanuel!
Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King.
Hail the Heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings.
Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King.
Mild he lays his glory by,
Born that man no more may die,
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.
Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King.
poem by Martin Madan
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Song
THE world's heart is kindless and grey and unholy,
As the head of the wandering Jew,
And can never be won from the cause of its folly
Till man to Humanity’s true;
There’s a path to redemption—but that we shall miss
While we seek in the old warring manner;
Till we re ready to fight a new battle for this—
The motto inscribed on our banner,—
To principles let us by loyal alway,
And true to all good in man’s story;
Not to that mockery, royal display,
Nor that Juggernaut, national glory!
And though ever someone, to be doughty and noted,
Like Nimrod, should aim at a throne,
It were easy to leave him a wight unpromoted,
To brood o’er his project alone!
Or to meet him at once with a withering hiss,
For we love not ambition’s old manner,
We are fired for a new race of glory with this—
The motto inscribed on our banner—
To principles let us by loyal alway,
And true to all good in man’s story;
Not to that mockery, royal display,
Nor that Juggernaut, national glory!
poem by Charles Harpur
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On The Death Of A Youn Gentleman
WHO taught thee conflict with the pow'rs of night,
To vanquish satan in the fields of light?
Who strung thy feeble arms with might unknown,
How great thy conquest, and how bright thy crown!
War with each princedom, throne, and pow'r is o'er,
The scene is ended to return no more.
O could my muse thy seat on high behold,
How deckt with laurel, how enrich'd with gold!
O could she hear what praise thine harp employs,
How sweet thine anthems, how divine thy joys!
What heav'nly grandeur should exalt her strain!
What holy raptures in her numbers reign!
To sooth the troubles of the mind to peace,
To still the tumult of life's tossing seas,
To ease the anguish of the parents heart,
What shall my sympathizing verse impart?
Where is the balm to heal so deep a wound?
Where shall a sov'reign remedy be found?
Look, gracious Spirit, from thine heav'nly bow'r,
And thy full joys into their bosoms pour;
The raging tempest of their grief control,
And spread the dawn of glory through the soul,
To eye the path the saint departed trod,
And trace him to the bosom of his God.
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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To The Month Of May (From The Cantigas)
Welcome, O May, yet once again we greet thee!
So alway praise we her, the Holy Mother,
Who prays to God that he shall aid us ever
Against our foes, and to us ever listen.
Welcome, O May! loyally art thou welcome!
So alway praise we her, the Mother of kindness,
Mother who alway on us taketh pity,
Mother who guardeth us from woes unnumbered.
Welcome, O May! welcome, O month well favored!
So let us ever pray and offer praises
To her who ceases not for us, for sinners,
To pray to God that we from woes be guarded.
Welcome, O May! O joyous month and stainless!
So will we ever pray to her who gaineth
Grace from her Son for us, and gives each morning
Force that by us the Moors from Spain are driven.
Welcome, O May, of bread and wine the giver!
Pray then to her, for in her arms, an infant
She bore the Lord! she points us on our journey,
The journey that to her will bear us quickly!
poem by Alfonso X the Wise
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Who Is God, That God Needs To Be Praised?
WHO IS GOD THAT GOD NEEDS TO BE PRAISED?
Who is God that God needs to be praised?
Who are we that we are worthy of praising God?
Isn’t this Praise a form of flattery?
And how can God possibly want or need it?
We may need to praise-
Out of Gratitude
We may need to thank God
For all our blessings,
But does God want us to be flatterers
Who think to be rewarded for our praise?
I need to thank God
In that need is the Praise
But Praise alone
Makes both God and me
Seem unworthy.
I thank God
For having given me
This Poem.
If it is a poem.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Be Thou My Vision
Be thou my vision, oh lord of my heart
Nought be all else to me, save that thy art
Thou my best thought in the day and the night
Waking or sleeping, thou presence my light
Be thou my wisdom, be thou my true word
I ever with thee and thou with me lord
Thou my great father and I thy true son
Thou in me dwelling and I with thee one
Be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight
Be thou my armour and be thou my might
Thou my soul shelter, and thy my high tower
Raise thou me heavenwards, oh power of my power
Riches I need not, nor mans empty praise
Thou mine inheritance through all of my days
Thou and thou only though first in my heart
High king of heaven my treasure thou art
Oh high king of heaven, when battle is done
Grant heavens joy to me, bright heaven sun
Christ of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my vision, though ruler of all
Da, da, da, da, da, etc.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven
Praise, my soul, the King of Heaven;
To His feet Thy tribute bring!
Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven,
Who like me His praise should sing?
Praise Him! praise Him!
Praise the everlasting King!
Praise Him for His grace and favour,
To our fathers in distress!
Praise Him still the same for ever,
Slow to chide, and swift to bless!
Praise Him! praise Him!
Glorious in His faithfulness!
Father-like, He tends and spares us;
Well our feeble frame He knows.
In His hands He gently bears us,
Rescues us from all our foes,
Praise Him! praise Him!
Widely as His mercy flows!
Frail as summer's flower we flourish:
Blows the wind, and it is gone.
But while mortals rise and perish,
God endures unchanging on.
Praise Him, Praise Him,
Praise the high eternal One!
Angels, help us to adore Him;
Ye behold Him face to face:
Sun and moon, bow down before Him;
Dwellers all in time and space,
Praise Him! praise Him!
Praise with us the God of grace!
poem by Henry Francis Lyte
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To Delaware
THRICE welcome to thy sisters of the East,
To the strong tillers of a rugged home,
With spray-wet locks to Northern winds released,
And hardy feet o'erswept by ocean's foam;
And to the young nymphs of the golden West,
Whose harvest mantles, fringed with prairie bloom,
Trail in the sunset, — O redeemed and blest,
To the warm welcome of thy sisters come!
Broad Pennsylvania, down her sail-white bay
Shall give thee joy, and Jersey from her plains,
And the great lakes, where echo, free alway,
Moaned never shoreward with the clank of chains,
Shall weave new sun-bows in their tossing spray,
And all their waves keep grateful holiday.
And, smiling on thee through her mountain rains,
Vermont shall bless thee; and the granite peaks,
And vast Katahdin o'er his woods, shall wear
Their snow-crowns brighter in the cold, keen air;
And Massachusetts, with her rugged cheeks
O'errun with grateful tears, shall turn to thee,
When, at thy bidding, the electric wire
Shall tremble northward with its words of fire;
Glory and praise to God! another State is free!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Harvest Hymn
Mens Voices:
LORD of the lotus, lord of the harvest,
Bright and munificent lord of the morn!
Thine is the bounty that prospered our sowing,
Thine is the bounty that nurtured our corn.
We bring thee our songs and our garlands for tribute,
The gold of our fields and the gold of our fruit;
O giver of mellowing radiance, we hail thee,
We praise thee, O Surya, with cymbal and flute.
Lord of the rainbow, lord of the harvest,
Great and beneficent lord of the main!
Thine is the mercy that cherished our furrows,
Thine is the mercy that fostered our grain.
We bring thee our thanks and our garlands for tribute,
The wealth of our valleys, new-garnered and ripe;
O sender of rain and the dewfall, we hail thee,
We praise thee, Varuna, with cymbal and pipe.
Womens Voices:
Queen of the gourd-flower, queen of the har- vest,
Sweet and omnipotent mother, O Earth!
Thine is the plentiful bosom that feeds us,
Thine is the womb where our riches have birth.
We bring thee our love and our garlands for tribute,
With gifts of thy opulent giving we come;
O source of our manifold gladness, we hail thee,
We praise thee, O Prithvi, with cymbal and drum.
All Voices:
Lord of the Universe, Lord of our being,
Father eternal, ineffable Om!
Thou art the Seed and the Scythe of our harvests,
Thou art our Hands and our Heart and our Home.
We bring thee our lives and our labours for tribute,
Grant us thy succour, thy counsel, thy care.
O Life of all life and all blessing, we hail thee,
We praise thee, O Bramha, with cymbal and prayer
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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