Contentment
Sleep fell upon my senses and I dreamed
Long years had circled since my life had fled.
The world was different, and all things seemed
Remote and strange, like noises to the dead.
And one great Voice there was; and something said:
'Posterity is speaking-rightly deemed
Infallible:' and so I gave attention,
Hoping Posterity my name would mention.
'Illustrious Spirit,' said the Voice, 'appear!
While we confirm eternally thy fame,
Before our dread tribunal answer, here,
Why do no statues celebrate thy name,
No monuments thy services proclaim?
Why did not thy contemporaries rear
To thee some schoolhouse or memorial college?
It looks almighty queer, you must acknowledge.'
Up spake I hotly: 'That is where you err!'
But some one thundered in my ear: 'You shan't
Be interrupting these proceedings, sir;
The question was addressed to General Grant.'
Some other things were spoken which I can't
Distinctly now recall, but I infer,
By certain flushings of my cheeks and forehead,
Posterity's environment is torrid.
Then heard I (this was in a dream, remark)
Another Voice, clear, comfortable, strong,
As Grant's great shade, replying from the dark,
Said in a tone that rang the earth along,
And thrilled the senses of the Judges' throng:
'I'd rather you would question why, in park
And street, my monuments were not erected
Than why they were.' Then, waking, I reflected.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
Posterity is uncertain
My great grand father built a mansion
For his posterity to live in and protect his toils.
We left for town; neglecting the mansion.
It is dying. He must be weeping above.
Don’t build or leave for posterity
18.07.2001, Pkd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Who could look on these monuments without reflecting on the vanity of mortals in thus offering up testimonials of their respect for persons of whose very names posterity is ignorant?
quote by Marguerite Gardiner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voice Of The Heart
(j.t.stanley/john bettis/b.roberts)
Sometimes when your world seems so big and real
You may run to the shelter of walls
Sometimes you may wish
You could be like your shadow
It fits wherever it falls
Whenever the nights too deep to find
And the morning is too far away
Wherever you are
Theres always a star to guide the way
There to guide the way
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
Tonight if a dream should come to your sleep
With a picture you dont wanna see
Go where it leads, from secret to secret
You are what you want to be
Whenever the sun refuses to shine
And you cant chase the storm clouds away
Wherever you are theres always a star to guide the way
There to guide the way
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
Living in a private world
There are times when its hard to break through
So dont give up
Each time you hurt youve got nothing to lose
Theres a voice inside of you
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
(listen)
If you dream it strong enough
(dream it)
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We will find the answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
(long enough)
If you dream it strong enough
(strong enough)
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
In the voice
In the voice of the heart
We will find the answer
Like a song too long unsung
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In War
Fret the nonchalant noon
With your spleen
Or your gay brow,
For the motion of your spirit
Ever moves with these.
When day shall be too quiet,
Deaf to you
And your dumb smile,
Untuned air shall lap the stillness
In the old space for your voice-
The voice that once could mirror
Remote depths
Of moving being,
Stirred by responsive voices near,
Suddenly stilled for ever.
No ghost darkens the places
Dark to One ;
But my eyes dream,
And my heart is heavy to think
How it was heavy once.
In the old days when death Stalked the world
For the flower of men,
And the rose of beauty faded
And pined in the great gloom,
One day we dug a grave :
We were vexed
With the sun's heat.
We scanned the hooded dead :
At noon we sat and talked.
How death had kissed their eyes
Three dread noons since,
How human art won
The dark soul to flicker
Till it was lost again :
And we whom chance kept whole-
But haggard,
Spent-were charged
To make a place for them who knew
No pain in any place.
The good priest came to pray ;
Our ears half heard,
And half we thought
Of alien things, irrelevant ;
And the heat and thirst were great.
The good priest read : 'I heard .
Dimly my brain
Held words and lost. . . .
Sudden my blood ran cold. . . .
God ! God ! It could not be.
He read my brother's name ; I sank-
I clutched the priest.
They did not tell me it was he
Was killed three days ago.
What are the great sceptred dooms
To us, caught
In the wild wave
We break ourselves on them,
My brother, our hearts and years.
THE DEAD HEROES
Flame out, you glorious skies,
Welcome our brave;
Kiss their exultant eyes ;
Give what they gave.
Flash, mailed seraphim,
Your burning spears;
New days to outflame their dim
Heroic years.
Thrills their baptismal tread
The bright proud air ;
The embattled plumes outspread
Burn upwards there.
Flame out, flame out, 0 Song !
Star ring to star;
Strong as our hurt is strong
Our children are.
Their blood is England's heart ;
By their dead hands
It is their noble part
That England stands.
England-Time gave them thee;
They gave back this
To win Eternity
And claim God's kiss.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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Never forget posterity when devising a policy. Never think of posterity when making a speech.
quote by Robert G. Menzies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Said It Thundered
'Was that thunder that we heard then? ' They said,
looking at each other in fear and dread.
'Or God speaking in a thunderous tone
to His Belovèd Son from heavens' throne? '
For the voice they heard and thought was thunder
caused them to stand in awe and to wonder.
Though it was not heard by everyone
it was the Father speaking to His Son.
For my benefit God's great voice was heard
and I should listen to every word.
The time for judgement is upon the world
time for the wrath of God to be unfurled.
The Lord Jesus Christ will be lifted high
upon Calvary's cross where He will die
and all people shall be drawn to Him there
to His outstretched arms and His loving care.
The prince of this world will be driven out
and 'It is finished, ' the victorious shout.
There the battle for mankind will be won
by the sacrifice of God's Only Son.
In heaven there'll be thunderous applause
at the coming of peace and end of wars.
Then the Father's name will be glorified
through the life and death of the Son Who died.
The Watcher on the Tower
I
The Voice of a Man
WHAT of the Night, O Watcher?
The Voice of a Woman
Yea, what of it?
The Watcher
A star has risen; and a wind blows strong.
Voice of the Man
The Night is dark.
The Watcher
But God is there above it.
Voice of the Woman
The Night is dark; the Night is dark and long.
II
Voice of the Man
What of the Night, O Watcher?
Voice of the Woman
Night of sorrow!
The Watcher
Out of the East there comes a sound, like song.
Voice of the Man
The Night is dark.
The Watcher
Have courage! There’s To-morrow!
Voice of the Woman
The Night is dark; the Night is dark and long.
III
Voice of the Man
What of the Night, O Watcher?
Voice of the Woman
Is it other?
The Watcher
I see a gleam; a thorn of light; a thong.
Voice of the Man
The Night is dark.
The Watcher
The Morning comes, my Brother.
Voice of the Woman
The Night is dark; the Night is dark and long.
IV
Voice of the Man
What now, what now, O Watcher?
The Watcher
Red as slaughter
The Darkness dies. The Light comes swift and strong.
Voice of the Man
The Night was long.—What sayest thou, my Daughter?
Voice of the Woman
The Night was dark; the Night was dark and long.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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The Constitution of the United States was made not merely for the generation that then existed, but for posterity- unlimited, undefined, endless, perpetual posterity.
quote by Henry Clay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As though there were a tie And obligation to posterity. We get them, bear them, breed, and nurse: What has posterity done for us. That we, lest they their rights should lose, Should trust our necks to gripe of noose?
quote by John Trumbull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Voice
There are times when we feel
we have no voice
we are suffocated by circumstances.
Our voice is lost in the void;
we wander with eyes open
and no mouth for things to say.
Those around us are oblivious
that our presence is near.
We are invisible
with only our ears to hear.
We have no voice to shout our protests clear,
no voice to vent our anger at what we can hear.
Our voice is silenced by circumstances
some of which we do not understand.
We have no voice today or tomorrow,
and even if we had a voice
would it be heard?
Would our words fall
on vacant and deaf ears?
The question remain unanswered
for around us silence reins.
Silent as our protests
and frustration is all we gain.
One day our gag maybe lifted,
but will it be too late.
There maybe no one around us
and our anger will be lost,
lost in the silence when no one is there.
We can only hope that one day
when the silence clears
our voice among the millions
will finally be heard.
15 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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We are always doing something for posterity, but I would fain see posterity do something for us.
quote by Joseph Addison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why should I care about posterity? What's posterity ever done for me?
quote by Groucho Marx
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'We are always doing', says he, 'something for Posterity, but I would fain see Posterity do something for us.
quote by Joseph Addison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To A Departed Spirit
From the bright stars, or from the viewless air,
Or from some world unreached by human thought,
Spirit, sweet spirit! if thy home be there,
And if thy visions with the past be fraught,
Answer me, answer me!
Have we not communed here of life and death?
Have we not said that love, such love as ours,
Was not to perish as a rose's breath,
To melt away, like song from festal bowers?
Answer me, answer me!
Thine eye's last light was mine - the soul thtat shone
Intensely, mournfully, through gathering haze -
Didst thou bear with thee to the shore unknown,
Nought of what lived in that long, earnest gaze!
Hear, hear, and answer me!
Thy voice - its low, soft, fervent, farewell tone
Thrilled through the tempest of the parting strife,
Like a faint breeze: - oh, from that music flown,
Send back
one
sound, if love's be quenchless life,
But once, oh! answer me!
In the still noontide, in the sunset's hush,
In the dead hour of night, when thought grows deep,
When the heart's phantoms from the darkness rush,
Fearfully beautiful, to strive with sleep -
Spirit! then answer me!
By the remembrance of our blended prayer;
By all our tears, whose mingling made them sweet
By our last hope, the victor o'er despair; -
Speak! if our souls in deathless yearnings meet;
Answer me, answer me!
The grave is silent: - and the far-off sky,
And the deep midnight - silent all, and lone!
Oh! if thy buried love make no reply,
What voice has earth! - Hear, pity, speak, mine own!
Answer me, answer me!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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You Have The Soul Into Your Words
you may have the soul
into your words
you may have the oil
and the canvass and the
shapes and forms
to immortalize
what have you
something
for posterity for your immortality
but what use
is posterity
what use is this immortality?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Why should we put ourselves out of our way to do anything for posterity? For what has posterity ever done for us?
quote by Boyle Roche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why should I do anything for posterity? What has posterity ever done for me?
quote by Groucho Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Away, Away, Ye Notes Of Woe!
Away, away, ye notes of woe!
Be silent, thou once soothing strain,
Or I must flee from hence--for, oh!
I dare not trust those sounds again.
To me they speak of brighter days
But lull the chords, for now, alas!
I must not think, I may not gaze,
On what I am--on what I was.
The voice that made those sounds more sweet
Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled
And now their softest notes repeat
A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!
Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee,
Beloved dust! since dust thou art;
And all that once was harmony
Is worse than discord to my heart!
'Tis silent all!--but on my ear
The well remember'd echoes thrill;
I hear a voice I would not hear,
A voice that now might well be still:
Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake;
Even slumber owns its gentle tone,
Till consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown.
Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
Thou art but now a lovely dream;
A star that trembled o'er the deep,
Then turn'd from earth its tender beam.
But he who through life's dreary way
Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath,
Will long lament the vanish'd ray
That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.
December 6, 1811.
Night and Morning
Was it a lie that they told me,
Was it a pitiless hoax?
A sop for my soul and its longing
Only to cozen and coax?
And a voice came down through the night and rain:
'They lied; thou has trusted in vain.'
Must I vanish off-hand into darkness,
Blown out with a breath like a lamp?
Have I nought in the future to look to
Save rotting in darkness and damp?
And the answer came with a mocking hiss:
'Thou hast nothing to look to save this.'
What of the grave and its conquest,
Of death and the loss of its sting?
Was it only the brag of a madman
Who believed an impossible thing?
And the voice returned, as the voice of a ghost:
'It was but a madman's boast.'
Am I the serf of my senses?
Is my soul a slave without rights?
Are feeding and breeding and sleeping
My first and truest delights?
And the cruel answer cut me afresh:
'Thou art but the serf of thy flesh.'
Is it all for nought that I travail,
That I long for leisure from sin,
That I thirst for the pure and the perfect,
And feel like a god within?
The voice replied to my passionate thought:
'Thy longing and travail is nought.'
Then I bowed my head in anguish,
Folding my face in my hands,
And I shuddered as one that sinketh
In the clutch of quaking sands.
And I stared, as I clinched my fingers tight,
Out through the black, black night.
For life was shorn of its meaning,
And I cried: 'O God, is it so?
Utter the truth though it slay me,
Utter it, yes or no!'
But I heard no answer to heal my pain,
Save the bluster of wind and rain.
And behold, as I sat in my sorrow,
A quick ray shot from the east,
Another and then another,
And I knew that the night had ceased.
And the dark clouds rolled away to the west
As the great sun rose from his rest.
And now, as the fair dawn broadened,
Strong and joyous and bright,
My whole soul swept to meet it,
Rapt with a deep delight:
And a new voice rang from the radiant skies:
'Rejoice; I have heard thee. Arise.'
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Sonnet- God gave man superior senses
God made each man, with eyes to see clearly,
And ears to hear the sounds that Nature made,
And nose to smell the scent of things surely,
And gave him skin to touch the Earth he laid.
Man made his own gadgets and tools to tell,
Details of environs that him surround;
Nevertheless, the things he made all fell,
Quite off the mark his special senses found.
And to his surprise, man had realised,
God given Special Senses simply great;
And all the things he'd made were mammoth-sized,
Ashamed and yet, he accepts not his state.
Whatever, God our Master gave to Man,
No man surpass'd; at least equal it can.
poem by John Celes
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