The Latest Martyr (Mexico 1926)
The morn is sweet and radiant with blue sky over all,
There’s a flame of Oleanders over the adobe wall,
And the birds are singing gaily – I must crush my sorrow down
Why should a woman weep whose son doth wear a martyr’s crown?
‘Tis many hundred years since Stephen knelt in the market place,
Facing the cruel heathen stones battering his boyish face,
St. Stephen, first of the martyred bans! And he, my little son,
My little black-eyed Juan, he is the latest one!
It is almost too much honour – ah! Madre de Dios, be kind,
I am only a human mother, sinful and weak and blind,
I could not say “They will be done,” on that terror-haunted day,
When he faced their coward bullets, with a “Viva Cristo Rey.”
I can see the fearless flashing eyes, I can hear the ringing cry
As he fell ‘mid the blood-stained flowers, ‘neath the cruel-smiling sky,
His young form riddled with bullets, and I ran and held him fast,
And he smiled “Adios, Madre” for comfort at the last.
The nights are long in the adobe hut as I kneel and think of my dead,
For ‘”We must not pray for a Martyr,” so Padre Felipo said,
He is throned near to Our Lord’s Dear Heart-no need for me to pray-
So I sit and hold the crimson scarf he wore on a festa day.
And I ask Our Lady for patience, for strength to bear my crown,
To smile as a martyr’s mother should, and tread my sorrow down.
I pray for our tortured country to hasten freedom’s day
When we may hail Our Heavenly King with a “Viva Cristo Rey.”
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Padre
(words & music by larue - webster - romans)
The day that we wed
You blessed us and said
May heaven bestow you grace
There in that holy place
We shared our first embrace
Our cottage was small but richer than all
The palaces of the king
All day the birds would sing
Our hearts were filled with spring
Padre, padre
What happened to our loves so cruel
Padre, oh padre
In my grief I turn to you
Then he came along
And sang her his song
And won her with honey lies
He of the fiery eyes
Now its not her that cries
So I will pray
The hours away
And weary my heart has grown
Wondering where love has flown
Counting my beads alone
Padre, oh padre
Please tell me how such things can be
Padre, oh padre
Pray for my love and me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Prayer For The King's Majesty
22nd January, 1901.
THE Queen is dead. God save the King,
In this his hour of grief,
When sorrow gathers memories in a sheaf
To lay them on his shoulders as he stands
Inheriting her glories and her lands--
First gain of his at which his Mother's voice
Has not been first to bless and to rejoice--
A man, set lonely between gain and loss.
(O words of love the heart remembereth,
O mighty loss outweighing every gain!)
A Son whose kingdom Death's arm lies across,
A King whose Mother lies alone with Death
Wrapped in the folds of white implacable sleep.
O God, who seest the tears Thy children weep,
O God, who countest each sad heart-beat, see
How our King needs the grace we ask of Thee!
Thou knowest how little and how vain a thing
Is Empire, when the heart is sick with pain--
God, save the King!
The Queen is dead. The splendour of her days,
The sorrow of them both alike merge now
In the new aureole that lights her brow.
The clamour of her people's voice in praise
Must hush itself to the still voice that prays
In the holy chamber of Death. Tread softly here,
A mighty Queen lies dead.
Her people's heart wears black,
The black bells toll unceasing in their ear,
And on the gold sun's track
The great world round
Like a black ring the voice of mourning goes,
Till even our ancient foes
With eyes downbent, and brotherly bared head,
Keep mourning watch with us. This is the hour
When Love lends all his power
To speed grief's arrows from the bow of Death,
When sighs are idle breath,
When tears are fountains vain.
She will not wake again,
Not now, not here.
O great and good and infinitely dear,
O Mother of your people, sleep is sweet,
No more Life's thorny ways will wound your feet.
O Mother dear, sleep sound!
When you shall wake,
Your brows freed from the crown that made them ache
So many a time, and wear the heavenly crown,
Then, then you will look down
On us who love you, and, remembering,
The love of earth will breathe with us our prayer,
Our prayer prayed here, joined to your prayer prayed there:
Who knows what radiant answer it may bring?
'God save the King!'
The Queen is dead. God save the King!
From all ill thought and deed,
From heartless service and from selfish sway,
From treason, and the vain imagining
Of evil counsellors, and the noisome breed
Of flatterers who eat the soul away,
God save the King!
From loss and pain and tears
Such as her many years
Brought her; from battle and strife,
And the inmost hurt of life,
The wounds that no crown can heal,
No ermine robes conceal,
God save the King!
God, by our memories of his Mother's face,
By the love that makes our heart her dwelling-place,
Grant to our sorrow this desired grace:
God save the King!
* * * * * * * * *
The Queen is dead. God save the King.
This is no hour when joy has leave to sing;
Only, amid our tears, we are bold to pray,
More boldly, in that we pray sorrowing,
In this most sorrowful day.
God, who wast of a mortal Mother born,
Who driest the tears with which Thy children mourn,
God, save the King!
Look down on him whose crown is wet with tears
In which its splendour fades and disappears--
His tears, our tears, tears out of all her lands.
The Queen is dead.
God! strengthen the King's hands!
God, save the King!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Kiss Mine Heart
With crimson blood I doth drink sorrow's love and weep till night drunk in love's enamor, while all hearts clamor with tongues lurid song and play with the night of vice all wrong and in orbits of each other's senses, lose their own sense, to sensualities path deep and immense… Like a saint of love I pray for love's sake and martyr myself in her name and where love dwells thou wilt find fame, engraved on the walls of a heart, where lover's kiss with crimson stained lips wert their sin lives and whisper din and burn their senses in mine heart within… O sweet is love in my heart's melody, wert I see beauty and love in souls underneath thy body. I see with mine heart and not my eye, with love's heart that will never die! Kiss mine heart!
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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A Tribute to S.P.T
The daring soul
Born to be born in death
A hundred deaths he shall endure
Only to be born again as martyr
To decorate his blood with bravery.
The lost is felt across the seas
All over the universe the tears roll
To bath your departure in this final path
Stars and moon too have been wailing here
A sign that in this fall you have risen again
To live in the hearts of many soul.
It’s painful to bear the end
That comes abrupt
The smile and voice buried now
Will come again a hundred fold
And run run and run, thy enemies shall run.
A smiling tiger, your departure is premature
Rare indeed a man of your stature
Born only to be born again as martyr
To decorate your blood with bravery.
Mother earth is proud to consume you
For you have stood the test for loyalty
In justice to free the anarchy of the south
Fearless indeed your move
Like a tiger your steps you placed ever.
Happy sojourn, dear fighter.
©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 041107.
poem by cyclopseven Ram
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Martyr Stephen Was By An Angry Mob Killed
Saul actively present when first Christian
martyr Stephen was by an angry mob killed;
assumed responsibility of guarding clothes
of all who zealously to death stoned Stephen.
For is it not written?
'At this they covered their ears
and, yelling at the top of their voices,
they all rushed at him, (Stephen)
dragged him out of the city and began
to stone him. Meanwhile, the witnesses
laid their clothes at the feet
of a young man named Saul.
While they were stoning him, Stephen
prayed, 'Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.'
Then he fell on his knees
and cried out, 'Lord, do not hold this sin
against them.' When he had said this,
he fell asleep. (To death Stephen
was by the mob executed.) Acts 7: 57-60.
Split imaging from the poem ‘Transformation Inquisition Saul Into Paul Of Tarsus'.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Feast Of The Assumption
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set; the day is dead:
Thy Feast has fled;
My eyes are wet with tears unshed;
I bow my head;
Where the star-fringed shadows softly sway
I bend my knee,
And, like a homesick child, I pray,
Mary, to thee.
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And, all the day -- since white-robed priest
In farthest East,
In dawn's first ray -- began the Feast,
I -- I the least --
Thy least, and last, and lowest child,
I called on thee!
Virgin! didst hear? my words were wild;
Didst think of me?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Alas! and no! The angels bright,
With wings as white
As a dream of snow in love and light,
Flashed on thy sight;
They shone like stars around thee, Queen!
I knelt afar --
A shadow only dims the scene
Where shines a star!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And all day long, beyond the sky,
Sweet, pure, and high,
The angel's song swept sounding by
Triumphantly;
And when such music filled thy ear,
Rose round thy throne,
How could I hope that thou wouldst hear
My far, faint moan?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And all day long, where altars stand,
Or poor or grand,
A countless throng from every land,
With lifted hand,
Winged hymns to thee from sorrow's vale
In glad acclaim;
How couldst thou hear my lone lips wail
Thy sweet, pure name?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Alas! and no! Thou didst not hear
Nor bend thy ear,
To prayer of woe as mine so drear;
For hearts more dear
Hid me from hearing and from sight
This bright Feast-day;
Wilt hear me, Mother, if in its night
I kneel and pray?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set, the day is dead;
Thy Feast hath fled;
My eyes are wet with the tears I shed;
I bow my head;
Angels and altars hailed thee, Queen,
All day; ah! be
To-night what thou hast ever been --
A mother to me!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Thy queenly crown in angels' sight
Is fair and bright;
Ah! lay it down; for, oh! to-night
Its jeweled light
Shines not as the tender love-light shines,
O Mary! mild,
In the mother's eyes, whose pure heart pines
For poor, lost child!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Sceptre in hand, thou dost hold sway
Fore'er and aye
In angel-land; but, fair Queen! pray
Lay it away.
Let thy sceptre wave in the realms above
Where angels are;
But, Mother! fold in thine arms of love
Thy child afar!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Mary, I call! Wilt hear the prayer
My poor lips dare?
Yea! be to all a Queen most fair,
Crown, sceptre, bear!
But look on me with a mother's eyes
From heaven's bliss;
And waft to me from the starry skies
A mother's kiss!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set; the day is dead;
Her Feast has fled;
Can she forget the sweet blood shed,
The last words said
That evening -- 'Woman! behold thy Son!
Oh! priceless right,
Of all His children! The last, least one,
Is heard to-night.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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Total Body Stone
All week
the martyr
martyred himself
with work.
Thus when holy Friday came
he finally stones himself
with a stoning attaining
purely spiritual proportions.
Like faithful Stephen
he aspires to a state;
where one day Christ
will receive his spirit.
As he faithfully servant endeavours
to do Lord Jehovah’s scripture work;
striving for symbolic baptism day.
When sin will be washed clean away.
When the greedy malicious evil
will be washed clean
accepting sacrifice blood of Jesus.
When they will cleansed love
common ordinary people
like you and me. Blessed then be.
“And they went on casting
stones at Stephen as
he made appeal and said:
“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”
Then, bending his knees,
he cried out in a strong voice:
“Jehovah, do not
charge this sin against them.”
And after saying this
he fell asleep [in death].”
Acts 7: 59-60.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Greek Girl
I may not weep, not weep, and he is dead.
A weary, weary weight of tears unshed
Through the long day in my sad heart I bear;
The horrid sun with all unpitying glare
Shines down into the dreary weaving-room,
Where clangs the ceaseless clatter of the loom,
And ceaselessly deft maiden-fingers weave
The fine-wrought web; and I from morn till eve
Work with the rest, and when folk speak to me
I smile hard smiles; while still continually
The silly stream of maiden speech flows on:--
And now at length they talk of him that's gone,
Lightly lamenting that he died so soon--
Ah me! ere yet his life's sun stood at noon.
Some praise his eyes, some deem his body fair,
And some mislike the colour of his hair!
Sweet life, sweet shape, sweet eyes, and sweetest hair,
What form, what hue, save Love's own, did ye wear?
I may not weep, not weep, for very shame.
He loved me not. One summer's eve he came
To these our halls, my father's honoured guest,
And seeing me, saw not. If his lips had prest
My lips, but once, in love; his eyes had sent
One love-glance into mine, I had been content,
And deemed it great joy for one little life;
Nor envied other maids the crown of wife:
The long sure years, the merry children-band--
Alas, alas, I never touched his hand!
And now my love is dead that loved not me.
Thrice-blest, thrice-crowned, of gods thrice-lovèd she--
That other, fairer maid, who tombward brings
Her gold, shorn locks and piled-up offerings
Of fragrant fruits, rich wines, and spices rare,
And cakes with honey sweet, with saffron fair;
And who, unchecked by any thought of shame,
May weep her tears, and call upon his name,
With burning bosom prest to the cold ground,
Knowing, indeed, that all her life is crown'd,
Thrice-crowned, thrice honoured, with that love of his;--
No dearer crown on earth is there, I wis.
While yet the sweet life lived, more light to bear
Was my heart's hunger; when the morn was fair,
And I with other maidens in a line
Passed singing through the city to the shrine,
Oft in the streets or crowded market-place
I caught swift glimpses of the dear-known face;
Or marked a stalwart shoulder in the throng;
Or heard stray speeches as we passed along,
In tones more dear to me than any song.
These, hoarded up with care, and kept apart,
Did serve as meat and drink my hungry heart.
And now for ever has my sweet love gone;
And weary, empty days I must drag on,
Till all the days of all my life be sped,
By no thought cheered, by no hope comforted.
For if indeed we meet among the shades,
How shall he know me from the other maids?--
Me, that had died to save his body pain!
Alas, alas, such idle thoughts are vain!
O cruel, cruel sunlight, get thee gone!
O dear, dim shades of eve, come swiftly on!
That when quick lips, keen eyes, are closed in sleep,
Through the long night till dawn I then may weep.
Magnificat
THIS is Christ's birthday: long ago
He lay upon His Mother's knee,
Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low--
God's gift to her, as you to me.
My baby dear, my little one,
The love that rocks this cradling breast
Is such as Mary gave her Son:
She was more honoured, not more blest.
He smiled as you smile: not more sweet
Than your eyes were those eyes of His,
And just such little hands and feet
As yours Our Lady used to kiss.
The world's desire that Mother bore:
She held a King upon her knee:
O King of all my world, and more
Than all the world's desire to me!
I thank God on the Christmas morn,
For He has given me all things good:
This body which a child has borne,
This breast, made holy for his food.
High in high heaven Our Lady's throne
Beside her Son's stands up apart:
I sit on heaven's steps alone
And hold my king against my heart.
Across dark depths she hears your cry;
She sees your smile, through worlds of blue
Who was a mother, even as I,
And loved her Child, as I love you.
And to her heart my babe is dear,
Because she bore the Babe Divine,
And all my soul to hers draws near,
And loves Him for the sake of mine!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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How to Pray?
Pray incessantly;
Pray most fervently;
Pray with all your heart;
God will do His part!
Pray most sensibly;
Pray most effectively;
Pray deep from your heart;
Pray as if an art!
Pray for prolonged time;
Pray in any clime;
Pray by singing rhymes;
God’s answers chime!
Pray in holy place;
Pray with heav’nly gaze;
Pray for human race;
Pray in many ways.
Let prayers rise up high;
Let prayers pierce the sky;
Let prayers touch God’s heart,
As blessings divine start!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-14-2009
poem by John Celes
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Canta Libre
Canta libre, canta vida, de mi madre, y mi padre,
Canta mi corazon, para los ninos, y sus ninos, canta libre.
I got music runnin in my head,
Makes me feel like a young bird flyin,
cross my mind and layin in my bed,
Keeps me away from the thought of dyin.
Canta libre, canta vida, de mi madre y mi padre.
I got music runnin in my brain,
Evry song with its own kind of meaning,
Cleanse the soul and wash away the pain,
Baptized by the song that youre singing.
Canta libre, canta la vida,
Siempre conmigo, canta libre.
Canta libre, canta la vida.
Canta mi corazon, paralos ninos, y sus ninos, canta libre,
De mi madre, y mi padre, canta libre, canta libre.
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Untitled 4
Mother! Darling mother, you are seeking me I know,
And I feel thy love will follow through the world where'er I go;
But I cannot come, dear mother; I am sadly altered now:
The once fair wreath of innocence that garlanded my brow
Has faded ne'er to bloom again; and from the things of yore-
The fair, the good, the beautiful - I'm severed ever-more.
My onward way must be a path of darkness and of pain,
But I must tread it all alone - I cannot come again.
Of all the changes that have come, I know that this will be,
Where all the changes have been sad, the saddest change to thee.
I know how much thou'lt weep, mother, for thy dear boy so lost,
And 'tis the sorrow thou must feel that makes me sorrow most.
I strove against this darker fate, I struggled, mother, long.
I starved and suffered months, mother, ere I was linked to wrong:
And even now good angels plead to win me - but in vain!
Once fallen is forever lost - I cannot come again.
I'm severed from thee by my sin, but cannot say 'forget,'
Thy love is such a hollowed thing, I ask it even yet;
But let it be a memory that images all fair
The child that with uplifted hands in faith knelt by thy chair.
Think of me, mother, as I was, when joy lit up my brow
And my young heart was innocent, but not as I am now.
Pray for me. This I know thou'lt do; but seek me not, 'tis vain!
I'd throw a shadow on thy home - I cannot come again.
They say that in desert drear some greenness may be found,
Some oasis in contrast strange to all the waste around,
And even thus, within my heart, guilt darkened though it be,
There is a love all-beautiful, that lives and clings to thee.
I'm weeping very bitterly, I cannot help these tears,
They are the tribute memory pays to joys of fleeted years,
Goodbye! God bless thee, mother dear! I sorrow for thy pain.
Oh! If I were but innocent, I'd gladly come again.
poem by Owen Suffolk
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Weep Not, My Wanton
WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Mother's wag, pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
When thy father first did see
Such a boy by him and me,
He was glad, I was woe:
Fortune changèd made him so,
When he left his pretty boy,
Last his sorrow, first his joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Streaming tears that never stint,
Like pearl drops from a flint,
Fell by course from his eyes,
That one another's place supplies:
Thus he grieved in every part,Tears of blood fell from his heart,
When he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
The wanton smiled, father wept;
Mother cried, baby lept;
More he crowed, more we cried;
Nature could not sorrow hide.
He must go, he must kiss
Child and mother, baby bliss;
For he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
poem by Robert Greene
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Communion
Lord, I have knelt and tried to pray to-night,
But Thy love came upon me like a sleep,
And all desire died out; upon the deep
Of Thy mere love I lay, each thought in light
Dissolving like the sunset clouds, at rest
Each tremulous wish, and my strength weakness, sweet
As a sick boy with soon o’erwearied feet
Finds, yielding him unto his mother’s breast
To weep for weakness there. I could not pray,
But with closed eyes I felt Thy bosom’s love
Beating toward mine, and then I would not move
Till of itself the joy should pass away;
At last my heart found voice,—‘Take me, O Lord,
And do with me according to Thy word.’
poem by Edward Dowden
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Sometimes I Pray
Sometimes I pray before I sleep;
Sometimes I pray, the lord; my soul to keep,
Sometimes I pray.....
Sometimes I pray in the morning;
Sometimes I pray for those in mourning,
Sometimes I pray.....
Sometimes I pray for rain;
Sometimes I pray for nomore pain,
Sometimes I pray.....
Sometimes I pray before i eat;
Sometimes I pray for good bread and meat,
Sometimes I pray.....
Sometimes I pray, my baby; that you'll stay;
But only sometimes for these things do I pray,
For I talk to my Lord everyday...
poem by Nkululeko Mdudu
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Palestine is yours and mine…
Mother, Don’t Cry
Mother, dry your tears
Mother, don’t cry for me
Mother, melt your fears
Mother, now my soul is free
Mother, I’m a martyr
Against enemies I was a Fighter
Mother, our souls never live apart
Then Mother, please un-break your Heart
Mother, I hear your beats, I feel your sorrow
Mother, in the Heaven we’ll meet tomorrow
Mother, don’t hesitate
to let my brothers resist to exist,
to survive and to make Jerusalem alive…
Mother, don’t hesitate
to let them struggle for Palestine
to let them fight for the sake of ALLAH
Don’t worry Mother, soon the sun will send the shine
Truly, Palestine is yours and mine…
Palestine is yours and mine…
WithAllMyRespect
{June 12,2010}
poem by Glamorous Enigma
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Mother Mangala Vavroovahana Patra
Mother Mangala is my Deity;
I pray with gaiety.
She protects my family;
With her love we live gaily.
I pray mother Thursday;
Provides peace, Gay.
Is everywhere;
Is the mother of all creatures.
Pray mother in early hour;
Is our lover.
Her Earth is miraculous;
Fulfils all creatures’ desires.
Pray Mangala Silently;
Derive peace gaily.
Shows us right path;
Is an ocean of mirth.
Mothers’ love takes us to Divinity;
Is a Brook of Delight.
Surrender on Her feet daily;
Derive peace gaily.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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St. Laurence
Within the broken Vatican
The murdered Pope is lying dead.
The soldiers of Valerian
Their evil hands are wet and red.
Unarmed, unmoved, St. Laurence waits,
His cassock is his only mail.
The troops of Hell have burst the gates,
But Christ is Lord, He shall prevail.
They have encompassed him with steel,
They spit upon his gentle face,
He smiles and bleeds, nor will reveal
The Church's hidden treasure-place.
Ah, faithful steward, worthy knight,
Well hast thou done. Behold thy fee!
Since thou hast fought the goodly fight
A martyr's death is fixed for thee.
St. Laurence, pray for us to bear
The faith which glorifies thy name.
St. Laurence, pray for us to share
The wounds of Love's consuming flame.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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I Just Cant Make It By Myself
(words & music by clara ward)
I need jesus to guide me every day
As Im travellin along this rough and narrow way
Though afflictions fill my soul
Im determined to make the goal
Ive gotta have jesus cause I just cant make it by myself
Every day I pray (pray) pray (pray)
Pray (pray) pray (pray)
I pray (pray) pray (pray
Pray pray pray
Pray and ask the lord jesus
Dont leave me by myself
Every mornin through the years I pray
You know Ive got to have jesus
I just cant it by myself
By myself
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Pray
I can't quote the Bible
I skipped Sunday school
And I can't count the times I fell and broken the golden rule
So I don't know if He listens
Sometimes I wonder if He cares
Maybe I'm just wishin'
'Cause I can't even prove he's there
But I pray
He'll watch over my childern
I pray
Just to be a better man
To find the strength to rise above
To be there for the ones I love
To forgive and be forgiven some sweet day
I pray
Now I confess I don't bow my head as often as I should
Mostly just when times are bad, rarely when they're good
And I don't hold with too much preachin'
But I was raised up to believe
That a man can't ever stand as tall
As when he gets down on his knees
So I pray
He'll watch over my childern
I pray
Just to be a better man
To find the strength to rise above
To be there for the ones I love
To forgive and be forgiven some sweet day
I pray
So I pray
For a world that's gone half crazy
I pray
For every woman child and man
To find the strength to rise above
To teach each other how to love
To forgive and be forgiven some sweet day
I pray
I pray
song performed by by Lonestar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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