Beecher
So, Beecher's dead. His was a great soul, too
Great as a giant organ is, whose reeds
Hold in them all the souls of all the creeds
That man has ever taught and never knew.
When on this mighty instrument He laid
His hand Who fashioned it, our common moan
Was suppliant in its thundering. The tone
Grew more vivacious when the Devil played.
No more those luring harmonies we hear,
And lo! already men forget the sound.
They turn, retracing all the dubious ground
O'er which it led them, pigwise, by the ear.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Good Evening Mr. Waldheim
Good evening mr.waldheim
And pontiff how are you?
You have so much in common
In the things you do
And here comes jesse jackson
He talks of common ground
Does that common ground include me
Or is it just a sound
A sound that shakes
Oh jesse, you must watch the sounds you make
A sound that quakes
There are fears that still reverberate
Jesse you say common ground
Does that include the plo?
What about people right here right now
Who fought for you not so long ago?
The words that flow so freely
Falling dancing from your lips
I hope that you dont cheapen them
With a racist slip
Oh common ground
Is common ground a word or just a sound
Common ground
Remember those civil rights workers buried in the ground
If I ran for president
And once was a member of the klan
Wouldnt you call me on it
The way I call you on farrakhan
And pontiff, pretty pontiff
Can anyone shake your hand ?
Or is it just that you like uniforms
And someone kissing your hand
Or is it true
The common ground for me includes you too
Oh, oh, is it true
The common ground for me includes you too
Good evening mr.waldheim
Pontiff how are you
As you both stroll through the woods at night
Im thinking thoughts of you
And jesse youre inside my thoughts
As the rhythmic words subside
My common ground invites you in
Or do you prefer to wait outside
Or is it true
The common ground for me is without you
Or is it true
The common ground for me is without you
Oh is it true
Theres no ground common enough for me and you
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Musicians
The strings of my heart were strung by Pleasure,
And I laughed when the music fell on my ear,
For he and Mirth played a joyful measure,
And they played so loud that I could not hear
The wailing and mourning of souls a-weary -
The strains of sorrow that floated around,
For my heart's notes rang out loud and cheery,
And I heard no other sound.
Mirth and Pleasure, the music brothers,
Played louder and louder in joyful glee;
But sometimes a discord was heard by others -
Though only the rhythm was heard by me.
Louder and louder, faster and faster
The hands of the brothers played strain on strain,
When all of a sudden a Mighty Master
Swept them aside; and Pain,
Pain, the musician, the soul-refiner,
Restrung the strings of my quivering heart,
And the air that he played was a plaintive minor,
So sad that the tear-drops were forced to start;
Each note was an echo of awful anguish,
As shrill as solemn, as sharp as slow,
And my soul for a reason seemed to languish
And faint with its weight of woe.
With skilful hands that were never weary,
This Master of Music played strain on strain,
And between the bars of the miserere,
He drew up the strings of my heart again,
And I was filled with a vague, strange wonder,
To see that they did not snap in two.
'They are drawn so tight, they will break assunder, '
I thought, but instead, they grew,
In the hands of the Master, firmer and stronger;
And I could hear on the stilly air -
Now my ears were deafened by Mirth no longer -
The sound of sorrow, and grief, and despair;
And my soul grew kinder and tender to others,
My nature grew sweeter, my mind grew broad,
And I held all men to be my brothers,
Linked by the chastening rod.
My soul was lifted to God and heaven,
And when on my heart-strings fell again
The hands of Mirth, and Pleasure, even,
There was never a discord to mar the strain.
For Pain, the musician, and soul-refiner,
Attuned the strings with a master hand,
And whether the music be major or minor,
It is always sweet and grand.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Safe And Sound
The common mistake is to forget
And concentrate on your neverthought
The common mistake is to forget
I've remembered the part in your book
So I know exactly what is going on
Exactly what is going on
I don't think I know
Exactly what is going on
I think I know too much for myself
You're safe and sound
Until you hit the ground
You know it's a long way down
You're safe and sound
Until you hit the ground
You know it's a long way down
The common mistake is to forget
I always forget I forgot to remember
It's my common mistake
Exactly what is going on
Exactly what is going on
I don't think I know
You're safe and sound
Until you hit the ground
You know it's a long way down
You're safe and sound
Until you hit the ground
You know it's a long way down
You know it's a long way down
You're safe and sound
Until you hit the ground
You know it's a long way down
You're safe and sound
Until you hit the ground
You know it's a long way down
You know it's a long way down
I guess it's a long way down
I know it's a long way, it's a long way
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Souls
I
A THIN moon faints in the sky o'erhead,
And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.
Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways,
Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays,
But forth of the gate and down the road,
Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode.
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
II
Fear not that sound like wind in the trees:
It is only their call that comes on the breeze;
Fear not the shudder that seems to pass:
It is only the tread of their feet on the grass;
Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop:
It is only the touch of their hands that grope -
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite.
III
And where should a man bring his sweet to woo
But here, where such hundreds were lovers too?
Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss,
The empty hands that their fellows miss,
Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green,
Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between?
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
IV
And now that they rise and walk in the cold,
Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old.
Let them see us and hear us, and say: 'Ah, thus
In the prime of the year it went with us!'
Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist,
Forget they are mist that mingles with mist!
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can burn and the dead can smite.
V
Till they say, as they hear us - poor dead, poor dead! -
'Just an hour of this, and our age-long bed -
Just a thrill of the old remembered pains
To kindle a flame in our frozen veins,
Just a touch, and a sight, and a floating apart,
As the chill of dawn strikes each phantom heart -
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear, and the dead have sight.'
VI
And where should the living feel alive
But here in this wan white humming hive,
As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold,
And one by one they creep back to the fold?
And where should a man hold his mate and say:
'One more, one more, ere we go their way'?
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the living can learn by the churchyard light.
VII
And how should we break faith who have seen
Those dead lips plight with the mist between,
And how forget, who have seen how soon
They lie thus chambered and cold to the moon?
How scorn, how hate, how strive, we too,
Who must do so soon as those others do?
For it's All Souls' night, and break of the day,
And behold, with the light the dead are away. . . .
poem by Edith Wharton
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Voodoo Lake
(johnny vanzant -- chris eddy -- bob britt)
Way down yonder you can hear the wind blow
Through the tall grass growing in the old bayou
The old bayou
Theres a dark haired woman that looks so fine
Wearing hand me down clothes, drinking homemade wine
No one ever knew who her daddy was
The people down here say its all because
Shes the daughter of the devil, the sister of a snake
The keeper of souls down on vodoo lake
Theres a city boy across the county line
Came looking for the legend of the girl so fine
Well the stories that he heard, well they had to be lies
But he found out different when he looked inher eyes
Well he tried to run away but she had control
Hes findin out now what everybody knows
He knew it was over when she started to shake
Now theres one more soul down on voodoo lake
Theres an eerie silence at the break of dawn
A chill in the air, something wrong
When a shadow crosses the ground
Those long lost souls never make a sound
Youd think by now theyd realize
Shell never break her bayou ties
Shes the daughter of the devil, the sister of a snake
The keeper of souls down on voodoo lake
Voodoo lake, voodoo lake
Daughter of the devil, sister of a snake
Voodoo lake
Down on voodoo lake, down on voodoo lake
You can see her down on voodoo lake
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O Lord My God! - -Carl Boberg
O Lord my God!
When I in awesome wonder
consider all the worlds
Thy hands have made
I see the stars,
I hear the rolling thunder,
The power throughout the universe displayed
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
When through the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook and feel the geltle breeze;
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
And when I think that God, His Son not sparing,
Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in; -
That on the cross my burden gladly bearing,
He bled to take away my sin; -
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
And there proclaim, My God, How great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
poem by Sangnam Nam
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Inside Story
No one really knew him like I did,
He taught me everything I know
No one really knew him like I did,
While he starts playing the piano,
(? ) was a preacher,
Every night at church we had to go,
Mother always playing on the organ,
(? ) so low,
(? ) are complaining,
(? )
Oh lord my god
Some times I wander
Oh lord my god
Consider what you will
Inside story (x3)
Last years glory
Inside story (x4)
How great thought art?
How great the art?
How great his art
His art
Oh lord my god
Some times I wander
Oh lord my god
Consider what you will
His art
Your art
My art
His art
Your art
My art.
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give and Forgive
Give and forgive
And never keep a revenge
Do not forget that
The love is all that we need
To give us the courage
And the strength to forget
IT lights our souls
It guides us to shore
It frees our soul chains
It gives us the strength
To forget and forgive
when there is someone
In need to your help
Extended his hand
Don't turn your back and go
Hold his hand and help
When you see painful eyes
Are looking to you fo rhelp
Try to wipe his tears
Don't forget that even with a smile
You can save a life.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Clara Morris (Written for a Benefit Given Mrs. Morris)
The Radiant Ruler of Mystic Regions
Where souls of artists are fitted for birth,
Gathered together their lovely legions
And fashioned a woman to shine on earth.
They bathed her in splendor
They made her tender:
They gave her a nature both sweet and wild.
They gave her emotions
Like storm stirred oceans,
And they gave her the heart of a little child.
These Radiant Rulers (who are not human
Nor yet divine like the gods above)
Poured all their gifts in the soul of a woman
That fragile vessel meant only for love.
Still more they taught her,
Still more they brought her-
Till they gave her the world for a harp one day,
And they bade her string it-
They bade her ring it,
While the stars all wondered to hear her play.
She touched the strings in a master fashion,
She uttered the cry of a world's despair.
Its long-hid secret, its pent-up passion,
She gave to the winds in a vibrant air.
For ah! the heart of her,
That was the art of her,
Great with the feeling that makes men kin.
Art unapproachable,
Art all uncoachable,
Fragrance and flame from the spirit within.
The earth turns ever an ear unheeding
To the sorrows of art, as it cries for more:
And she played on the harp till her hands were bleeding
And her brow was bruised by the laurels she wore.
She knew the trend of it,
She knew the end of it.
Men heard the music and men felt the thrill.
Bound to the altar
Of art, could she falter?
Then came a silence-the music was still.
And yet in the echoes we seem to hear it
In waves unbroken it circles the earth:
And we catch in the light of her dauntless spirit
A gleam from the center that gave her birth.
Still is the fame of her
Felt in the name of her.
But low lies the harp that once thrilled to her strain.
No hand has taken it,
No hand can waken it-
For the soul of her art was her secret of pain.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Bells Are Ringing
The bells are ringing
The song theyre singing
The sound is bringing the people round
They hear the instructions
They follow directions
They travel great distances to the sound
The bells are ringing
The song theyre singing
The sound is bringing the people round (the bells are ringing the song theyre singing the sound is)
They hear the instructions (bringing the people round)
They follow directions
They travel great distances to the sound (they travel great distances to the sound)
They are persuaded by the music of the bells
Theyre not responsible for anything they do
(no) the people know
(no) the way to go
The bells are ringing, they hear the sound
They hear the sound (they hear the sound)
They hear the sound (they hear the sound)
They hear the sound (they hear the sound)
They hear the sound
The bells are ringing
And everyones walking
With arms extended in a trance
Forgetting their washing
Neglecting the children
Theyre dropping all businesses at hand
A voice is telling them to act a different way
They tilt their heads so they wont miss what it will say
(no) and when its so
(no) theres this to know
The bells are ringing, they hear the sound
The bells are ringing
The song theyre singing
The sound is bringing the people round
They hear the instructions
They follow directions
They travel great distances to the sound
They are persuaded by the music of the bells
Theyre not responsible for anything they do
(no) the people know
(no) the way to go
The bells are ringing, they hear the sound
A girl with cotton in her ears
Is shielded from the bells effect
As if by hidden signal
The people turn to face her
One thousand eyes are staring
They pull away her earplugs
The bells are pealing
And theyre revealing
The simple key to happiness
It isnt evil
It isnt good
Its only what the people miss
The bells explain what theyve been lacking all along
They were disorganized and that was what was wrong
(no) and now they know
(no) the way to go
The bells are ringing, they hear the sound
The bells are ringing
The song theyre singing
The sound is bringing the people round (the bells are ringing the song theyre singing the sound is)
They hear the instructions (bringing the people round)
They follow directions
They travel great distances to the sound (the bells are ringing the song theyre singing the sound is)
The bells are ringing (bringing the people round)
The song theyre singing
The sound is bringing the people round (the bells are ringing the song theyre singing the sound is)
They hear the instructions (bringing the people round)
They follow directions
They travel great distances to the sound (the bells are ringing the song theyre singing the sound is)
The bells are ringing (bringing the people round)
The song theyre singing
The sound is bringing the people round (the bells are ringing the song theyre singing the sound is)
They hear the instructions (bringing the people round)
They follow directions
They travel great distances to the sound (they travel great distances to the sound)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Organist
In his dim chapel day by day
The organist was wont to play,
And please himself with fluted reveries;
And all the spirit's joy and strife,
The longing of a tender life,
Took sound and form upon the ivory keys;
And though he seldom spoke a word,
The simple hearts that loved him heard
His glowing soul in these.
One day as he wrapped, a sound
Of feet stole near; he turned and found
A little maid that stood beside him there.
She started, and in shrinking-wise
Besought him with her liquid eyes
And little features, very sweet and spare.
'You love the music, child,' he said,
And laid his hand upon her head,
And smoothed her matted hair.
She answered, 'At the door one day
I sat and heard the organ play;
I did not dare to come inside for fear;
But yesterday, a little while,
I crept half up the empty aisle
And heard the music sounding sweet and clear;
To-day I thought you would not mind,
For, master dear, your face was kind,
And so I came up here.'
'You love the music then,' he said,
And still he stroked her golden head,
And followed out some winding reverie;
'And you are poor?' said he at last;
The maiden nodded, and he passed
His hand across his forehead dreamingly;
'And will you be my friend?' he spake,
'And on the organ learn to make
Grand music here with me?'
And all the little maiden's face
Was kindled with a grateful grace;
'Oh, master, teach me; I will slave for thee!'
She cried; and so the child grew dear
To him, and slowly year by year
He taught her all the organ's majesty;
And gave her from his slender store
Bread and warm clothing, that no more
Her cheeks were pinched to see.
And year by year the maiden grew
Taller and lovelier, and the hue
Deepened upon her tender cheeks untried.
Rounder, and queenlier, and more fair
Her form grew, and her golden hair
Fell yearly richer at the master's side.
In speech and bearing, form and face,
Sweeter and graver, grace by grace,
Her beauties multiplied.
And sometimes at his work a glow
Would touch him, and he murmured low
'How beautiful she is?' and bent his head;
And sometimes when the day went by
And brought no maiden he would sigh,
And lean and listen to her velvet tread;
And he would drop his hands and say,
'My music cometh not to-day;
Pray God she be not dead!'
So the sweet maiden filled his heart,
And with her growing grew his art,
For day by day more wondrously he played.
Such heavenly things the master wrought,
That in his happy dreams he thought,
The organ's self did love the gold-haired maid:
But she, the maiden, never guessed-
What prayers for her in hours of rest
The sombre organ prayed.
At last, one summer morning fair,
The maiden came with braided hair,
And took his hands, and held them eagerly.
'To-morrow is my wedding day;
Dear master, bless me that the way
Of life be smooth, not bitter unto me.'
He stirred not; but the light did go
Out of his shrunken cheeks, and oh!
His head hung heavily.
'You love him, then?' 'I love him well,'
She answered, and a numbness fell
Upon his eyes and all his heart that bled.
A glory, half a smile, abode
Within the maiden's eyes and glowed
Upon her parted lips. The master said,
'God bless and bless thee, little maid,
With peace and long delight,' and laid
His hands upon her head.
And she was gone; and all that day
The hours crept up and slipped away,
And he sat still, as moveless as a stone.
The night came down, with quiet stars,
And darkened him: in coloured bars
Along the shadowy aisle the moonlight shone.
And then the master woke and passed
His hands across the keys at last,
And made the organ moan.
The organ shook, the music wept;
For sometimes like a wail it crept
In broken moanings down the shadows drear;
And otherwhiles the sound did swell,
And like a sudden tempest fell
Through all the windows wonderful and clear.
The people gathered from the street,
And filled the chapel seat by seat-
They could not choose but hear.
And there they sat till dawning light,
Nor ever stirred to awe. 'To-night,
The master hath a noble mood,' they said.
But on a sudden ceased the sound:
Like ghosts the people gathered round,
And on the keys they found his fallen head.
The silent organ had received
The master's broken heart relieved,
And he was white and dead.
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ol' Tunes
YOU kin talk about yer anthems
An' yer arias an' sich,
An' yer modern choir-singin'
That you think so awful rich;
But you orter heerd us youngsters
In the times now far away,
A-singin' o' the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
There was some of us sung treble
An' a few of us growled bass,
An' the tide o' song flowed smoothly
With its 'comp'niment o' grace;
There was spirit in that music,
An' a kind o' solemn sway,
A-singin' o' the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
I remember oft o' standin'
In my homespun pantaloons—
On my face the bronze an' freckles
O' the suns o' youthful Junes—
Thinkin' that no mortal minstrel
Ever chanted sich a lay
As the ol' tunes we was singin'
In the ol'-fashioned way.
The boys 'ud always lead ,as,
An' the girls 'ud all chime in,
Till the sweetness o' the singin'
Robbed the list'nin' soul o' sin;
An' I used to tell the parson
'Twas as good to sing as pray,
When the people sung the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
How I long ag'in to hear 'em
Pourin' forth from soul to soul,
With the treble high an' meller,
An' the bass's mighty roll;
But the times is very diff'rent,
An' the music heerd to-day
Ain't the singin' o' the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
Little screechin' by a woman,
Little squawkin' by a man,
Then the organ's twiddle-twaddle,
Jest the empty space to span, —
An' ef you should even think it,
'T isn't proper fur to say
That you want to hear the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
But I think that some bright mornin',
When the toils of life air o'er,
An' the sun o' heaven arisin'
Glads with light the happy shore,
I shall hear the angel chorus,
In the realms of endless day,
A-singin' o' the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Paradigm Shift
Let's dance, stop to fight
We do the paradigm shift tonight
Yeah, it's a natural drift alright
And it's coming up out of the blur
Out of your mind from deep below
The hidden harmonies discover
Chaos-- which means order
Its evolution is a spiritual way
For quietness is stronger than motion
Silence is stronger than sound
Listen to the tone which is not played
Nothing is what we want
Quietness is stronger than motion
Silence is stronger than sound
Nothing is what we get
But the holistic movement of all
Yes, that is the way
Do you hear the river flow?
Do you hear it?.. Yes!
Do you hear it flow
You talked yourself into wrong questions
You don't care about the answers
You let the others be the good ones
You're part of the death-bringing system
There is no place where you can hide
Stop chasing the wrong Gods of time (ter)
Chasing the wrong Gods of time (bis)
Running out of time (ter)
Time kills!
You're lowering hopes much too much
You get into the grind much too much
And losing faith in your abilities
The loyalty to your beloved system
Of belief must surrender
To chaos which means order
Evolution's not a model of yours
For quietness is stronger than motion
Silence is stronger than sound
Listen to the tone which is not played
Nothing is what we want
Quietness is stronger than motion
Silence is stronger than sound
Nothing is what we get
But the holistic movement of all
Yes, that is the way
Do you hear the river flow?
Do you hear it flow?
Do you hear it
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't You Hear Jerusalem Moan
Don't You Hear Jerusalem Moan
Don't you hear Jerusalem moan?
Don't never let a chicken get big enough to crow
Don't you hear Jerusalem moan?
Don't you hear Jerusalem moan?
Don't you hear Jerusalem moan?
Thank God there's a heaven and a ringing in my soul and my soul's got free
Don't you hear Jerusalem moan?
Well a hard-shell preacher you can tell him how he do
Well he chews his own tobacco and he drinks his own brew.
Well a Baptist preacher you can tell him by his coat
Has a bottle in his pocket that he can't hardly tote
Well a Cambellite preacher his soul is saved
Well he has to be baptized every other day
Well the Holy Roller preacher he sure is a sight
Well he gets em all a-rolling and he kicks out the light
Well the Presbyterian preacher he lives in town
His neck's so stiff he can't hardly look around.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: After Death
A dead person never requires praise,
Nor does rebuking help to change his ways;
What if he wins or loses any case?
His earthly tenure, none can ev’r efface.
The soul that’s dead needs no awards/rewards,
Or posthumous citations, or birthdays;
What does it matter if they be kings/ bards?
No monument, his achievements repays.
And statues, paintings too will not suffice,
To glorify his works or laud great souls;
Just prayers for the dead souls will be wise,
And pleas to God to save souls from hell’s coals.
Death is a full-stop to our life’s sentence!
Where use we must, our sense and common sense.
9-12-2002
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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African Giant
Across the plains of Africa, elephants come and go,
There lives this mighty superstar, that most have come to know.
This is no small thing you can pet or treat as if a child...
For he's as tall as you can get and sometimes he gets wild!
If he runs at you all at once, don't stand there, waiting, friend!
Don't wave to him and act the dunce, for soon, your life will end!
This creature's one you won't forget! He'll dance upon your grave!
To run away, that's your best bet, if your life you would save!
African giant, please stay there! Let's keep things peaceful now.
You're big enough to show some care, to let me live somehow...
I won't approach your giant frame or challenge you to fight...
Let common wisdom be our aim and please, let's stay polite!
The plains are big enough for us... The sun is way too hot...
And running's such an awful fuss and in the end, for what?
You'd be upset! I'd be upset! And each would look the fool...
No need for us to build a sweat... Let's choose to play it cool.
Relax! Calm down! OK, alright! Breathe in and out. That's good.
You're doing great! It's out of sight. You see, I knew you could!
I'm not the kind to hurt a fly... Let's settle down, OK?
Let's watch each moment pass us by... Let's both enjoy the day...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'African Giant'.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Off The Ground
There must have been a lot of heartache
For you to sink so low.
You must have had a ton of pressure.
Only answer if the answers no.
I need loving, you need loving too.
Doesnt take a lot to get off the ground.
There must have been a lot of magic
When the world was born.
Let me be the one you wish for,
One you call for, when youre all alone.
I need loving, you need loving too.
Wouldnt take a lot to get off the ground.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Fly around, fly around.
Hear the sound, hear the sound.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Though it takes a lot of power
To make a bog tree grow.
It doesnt need a pot of knowledge.
For a seed knows what a seed must know.
You need loving, I need loving too.
Doesnt take a lot to get off the ground.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Fly around, fly around.
Hear the sounnd, hear the sound.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Hear the sound, hear the sound.
Off the groound, off the ground.
Yeah yeah, off the ground.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 139
The Book of Life was opened
And a name was written down
All of heaven stood and gazed
Not a movement, not a sound
The angels watched in silence
As the story did unfold
And from the pages of the book
The story it was told
And life sprung up from off the page
These words became a man
The angels gasped to see such work
To see God's mighty plan
A soul was fashioned in His hand
And how, no one could tell
It was marvelous and wonderful
And this my soul knows well
Where could I go from you Spirit Lord?
Could I hide in the depths of the sea?
No matter where I run to Lord
You still come after me
I could take the wings of the morning
And fly into the darkest night
And there be blinded by the darkness
And you would come and give me sight
I could ascend to the highest heaven
And I would find you there
I could fall to the lowest pits of hell
And discover that you are everywhere
And so you came and sought me out
Even in this hell dark place
For the day and night are both alike
As they gaze upon your face
For in the glorious light of heaven
There is no darkness that can stand
For through the very gates of hell
You came and took me by the hand
And you laid your hand upon me
That hand that gave me birth
That hand that knew me through and through
Before I came to earth
For before the earth was fashioned
That Book was in your hand
Before the sun shone in the sky
All of this was planned
Oh search me God and know my heart
That sin may have no place in me
For I was covered by your Blood
That precious Blood of Calvary
This sin it would assault my soul
And rob and steal and take from me
The testimony of my King
And what He did on Calvary
But praise the Lord there is no power
Neither hell nor death nor misery
Can come against the precious work
The precious work of Calvary
How precious are your thoughts to me
They're more in number than the sand
I'll praise you Lord eternally
My name was written by your hand.
poem by Frank McEleny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Book Of Life Was Opened
The Book of Life was opened
And a name was written down
All of heaven stood and gazed
Not a movement, not a sound
The angels watched in silence
As the story did unfold
And from the pages of the book
The story it was told
And life sprung up from off the page
These words became a man
The angels gasped to see such work
To see God's mighty plan
A soul was fashioned in His hand
And how, no one could tell
It was marvelous and wonderful
And this my soul knows well
Where could I go from you Spirit Lord?
Could I hide in the depths of the sea?
No matter where I run to Lord
You still come after me
I could take the wings of the morning
And fly into the darkest night
And there be blinded by the darkness
And you would come and give me sight
I could ascend to the highest heaven
And I would find you there
I could fall to the lowest pits of hell
And discover that you are everywhere
And so you came and sought me out
Even in this hell dark place
For the day and night are both alike
As they gaze upon your face
For in the glorious light of heaven
There is no darkness that can stand
For through the very gates of hell
You came and took me by the hand
And you laid your hand upon me
That hand that gave me birth
That hand that knew me through and through
Before I came to earth
For before the earth was fashioned
That Book was in your hand
Before the sun shone in the sky
All of this was planned
Oh search me God and know my heart
That sin may have no place in me
For I was covered by your Blood
That precious Blood of Calvary
This sin it would assault my soul
And rob and steal and take from me
The testimony of my King
And what He did on Calvary
But praise the Lord there is no power
Neither hell nor death nor misery
Can come against the precious work
The precious work of Calvary
How precious are your thoughts to me
They're more in number than the sand
I'll praise you Lord eternally
My name was written by your hand.
poem by Frank McEleny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At A Funeral
I loved her too, this woman who is dead.
Look in my face. I have a right to go
And see the place where you have made her bed
Among the snow.
I loved her too whom you are burying.
I have a right to stand beside her bier,
And to my handful of the dust I fling,
That she may hear.
I loved her; and it was not for the eyes
Which you have shut, nor for her yellow hair,
Nor for the face which in your bosom lies.
Let it lie there!
Nor for the wild--birds' music of her voice,
Which we shall hear in dreams till we too sleep;
Nor for the rest, which made the world rejoice,
The angels weep.
It was not for the payment of sweet love,
Though love is often straitened for a kiss,
Nor for the hope of other joys above,
But only this,
That she had laid her hand upon my heart
Once in the summer time when we were young,
And that her finger--tips had left a smart,
And that my tongue
Had spoken words which might not be unspoken
Lest they should make a by--word of love's truth,
And I had sworn that love should be the token
Of my youth.
And so I gave her all, and long ago
The treasure of my youth was put in pawn;
And she was little richer that I know
When that was gone.
But I have lived a beggar since that day
And hide my face it may be from men's eyes;
For often I have seen them shrink away,
As in surprise
That such a loathsome cripple should be found
To walk abroad in daylight with the rest,
And scarce a rag to cover up the wound
Upon his breast.
Yet no man stopped to ask how this might be,
Or I had scared them, and let loose my tongue,
How I had bought myself this misery
When I was young.
Yet I have loved her. This must be my pay,
The pension I have earned me with these tears;
The right to kneel beside her grave to--day,
Despite these years,
With all her kisses burning on my cheek,
As when I left her and our love was dead,
And our lips trembled though they did not speak,
The night I fled;
The right to bid you stand aside, nor be
A witness of our meeting. Did you love
In joy as I have loved in misery?
You did not prove
Your love was stronger than the strength of death,
Or she had never died upon your hand.
I would have fed her breathing with my breath;
I would have fanned
A living wind of Heaven to her lips;
I would have stolen life from Paradise.
And she is dead, and you have seen eclipse
Within those eyes.
If I could know that you had loved her well;
If I could hold it for a certainty
That you had sold your life as I did sell;
If I could see
The blackness of your soul, and with my tongue
Taste the full bitterness of tears unshed;
If I should find your very heart was wrung
And maimed and dead;
If I should feel your hand's grasp crumble mine,
And hug the pain when I should grasp in turn;
If I could dip my fingers in the brine
Of eyes that burn;
If I could hear your voice call back the dead
With such a mighty cry of agony
That she should turn and listen in the bed
Where she doth lie,
And all the heavens should together roll,
Thinking they heard the angel's trumpet tone,
I could forget it that you bought a soul
Which was my own;
I could forget that she forgot her vows,
That aught was bartered for the wealth of love;
I could untell the story of my woes,
Till God above
Should hold her guiltless and condone the wrong
Done to His justice; I could take your hand
And call you brother, as we went along
To take our stand
Before His judgment--seat with her again
Where we are hurrying,--for we could not keep
Our place unchallenged in the ranks of men
Who do not weep.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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