Clorinda And Damon
C.
Damon come drive thy flocks this way.
D.
No : 'tis too late they went astray.
C.
I have a grassy Scutcheon spy'd,
Where Flora blazons all her pride.
The grass I aim to feast thy Sheep :
The Flow'rs I for thy Temples keep.
D.
Grass withers; and the Flow'rs too fade.
C.
Seize the short Joyes then, ere they vade.
Seest thou that unfrequented Cave ?
D.
That den?
C.
Loves Shrine.
D.
But Virtue's Grave.
C.
In whose cool bosome we may lye
Safe from the Sun.
D.
Not Heaven's Eye.
C.
Near this, a Fountaines liquid Bell
Tinkles within the concave Shell.
D.
Might a Soul bath there and be clean,
Or slake its Drought?
C.
What is 't you mean?
D.
These once had been enticing things,
Clorinda, Pastures, Caves, and Springs.
C.
And what late change?
D.
The other day
Pan met me.
C.
What did great Pan say?
D.
Words that transcend poor Shepherds skill,
But he ere since my Songs does fill:
And his Name swells my slender Oate.
C.
Sweet must Pan sound in Damons Note.
D.
Clorinda's voice might make it sweet.
C.
Who would not in Pan's Praises meet ?
Chorus
Of Pan the flowry pastures sing,
Caves eccho and the Fountains ring.
Sing then while he doth us inspire;
For all the world is our Pan's Quire.
poem by Andrew Marvell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Catholic Priesthood and ‘Year of the Priests’
‘The sheep are calling;
The flocks are swelling;
Good shepherds are a dearth,
Upon the mighty earth! ’
All sheep need good shepherds;
Sans shepherds good, they are mere herds,
That cannot find the pastures green,
With grass that’s fit on global scene.
Good shepherds know each sheep by name;
They do not work for pay or fame;
They know the wolf’s, many a game;
Their staff protects the sheep that’s lame!
Priests are the good shepherds of God;
They woo the souls away from rod;
They serve by being celibate,
And show humanity, God’s Gate.
They say the Holy Mass each day;
They preach and fast, fervently pray;
They drive the devils out, away,
Suffer for Jesus, come what may!
They change bread to body of Christ;
They change the wine to blood of Christ;
They forgive sins like Jesus Lord;
They tell the world the Divine Word.
Priesthood is one of sacraments;
Priests know the Old, New Testaments;
Their work is worth more than all gold;
They bring more souls unto God’s fold!
This is the ‘Year of Catholic priest’.
Lord Jesus waits with His great Feast;
Happy are souls, even the least;
God saves all sinners from the Beast.
Priests take vows for a divine role –
To lead souls to God’s Abode – goal.
Those worldly ones are merely fools!
God chooses priests to be pure souls.
‘Priesthood is passion great for Christ –
The profession that’s one highest;
The goal of men who are wisest –
Who live for Jesus’ sake, diest.’
Dedicated to all Catholic Priests world-over,
On behalf of ‘Holy Family Church Parish, Perundurai, TN, India.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 28-6-2009
poem by John Celes
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Too Late
See the stop-light turn-in red,
Dont you listen to what its said.
All the things you try to hide,
They keep you runnin hard inside.
Oh, you got to leave this town before its...
Too late, too late, too late, too late, too late,
Too late to make the change.
Oo, yes, my friend, youre fadin fast, if you stay here you wont last.
Before your time has run astray, youve got to try to get away.
Oh, you got to leave this place before its...
Too late, too late, too late, too late, too late,
Too late to make the change.
Too late, too late to make the change
Too late to make the change
Yes, its time to make the change, yes, its time to rearrange,
So, my friend, I join the fight for the things you know are right.
Oh, you got to leave this town before its...
Too late, too late, too late, too late, too late,
Too late to make the change.
Too late, too late to make the change
Too late, too late, to make the change
Too late to make the change
Too late, before its too late.
song performed by by Journey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: The Flocks Need More Shepherds
Shepherds are turning scarcer, day by day!
Fragmented flocks have lesser sheep in fold;
With many lost, many sheep go astray;
Devils on rampage trouble, young and old.
Meadows have lesser grass that's succulent;
More sheep want better grass, water to drink;
The climes these days are turning turbulent;
The few shepherds are old-aged, on death's brink!
Shepherdless stay some flocks for many days;
They do not know the shepherd or his call!
The shepherd does not know his sheep by face;
From wolves' attack, there is no staff to stall!
Yet, God will find the shepherds in strange ways;
All righteous find their way through earthly maze!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 15-07-12
poem by John Celes
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Geotheos
As sweet as the look of a lover
Saluting the eyes of a maid
That blossom to blue as the maid
Is ablush to the glances above her,
The sunshine is gilding the glade
And lifting the lark out of shade.
Sing therefore high praises, and therefore
Sing songs that are ancient as gold,
Of earth in her garments of gold;
Nor ask of their meaning, nor wherefore
They charm as of yore, for behold!
The Earth is as fair as of old.
Sing songs of the pride of the mountains,
And songs of the strength of the seas,
And the fountains that fall to the seas
From the hands of the hills, and the fountains
That shine in the temples of trees,
In valleys of roses and bees.
Sing songs that are dreamy and tender,
Of slender Arabian palms,
And shadows that circle the palms,
Where caravans out of the splendor,
Are kneeling in blossoms and balms,
In islands of infinite calms.
Barbaric, O Man, was thy runing
When mountains were stained as with wine
By the dawning of Time, and as wine
Were the seas, yet its echoes are crooning,
Achant in the gusty pine
And the pulse of the poet's line.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Psalm 100
A plain translation. Praise to our Creator.
Ye nations round the earth, rejoice
Before the Lord, your sovereign King;
Serve him with cheerful heart and voice,
With all your tongues his glory sing.
The Lord is God; 'tis he alone
Doth life, and breath, and being give;
We are his work, and not our own,
The sheep that on his pastures live.
Enter his gates with songs of joy,
With praises to his courts repair;
And make it your divine employ
To pay your thanks and honors there.
The Lord is good, the Lord is kind,
Great is his grace, his mercy sure;
And the whole race of man shall find
His truth from age to age endure.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Its Too Late To Change The Time
[intro]
Too late
Too late
Too late
[verse 1]
In this automatic age
We shop through the yellow page
Gone is the corner store
There is a supermarket there for you
People give way to change
But feelings remain the same
[chorus]
And its too late, too late to change the time
Well its too late, too late to change the time
And its too late, too late to change the time
But its not too late (too late) to change your mind
[verse 2]
Its a new day, a new age
A photograph just taken, is ready one minute later
Cars are bigger and better
But the manufacturers sastified never
In a world full of crime
I cant let you think thats right
[chorus]
And its too late, too late to change the time
And its too late, too late to change the time
And its too late, too late to change the time
But its not too late (too late) to change your mind
No, no
[bridge 1]
So you wanna be a star (so you wanna be a star)
You are who you think you are (ah think you are)
You dont have to go further
Than my loving arms
[chorus half]
And its too late, too late to change the time
But its not too late (too late) to change your mind
[bridge 2]
Are you sure you wanna go to new york city (new york city)
Where girls make it big if theyre pretty (if they pretty)
Let say you get that penthouse view
But whos gonna love you the way I do (just the way I do)
[chorus]
Its too late, too late to change the time
And its too late, too late to change the time, no
Too late, too late to change the time
But its not too late (too late) to change your mind
Yeah, yeah, yeah
[chorus]
Its too late, too late to change the time
Its too late, too late to change the time
Ooh, too late, too late to change the time
But its not too late (too late) to change your mind
Yeah, yeah, yeah
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hymn to Pan
SING his praises that doth keep
Our flocks from harm.
Pan, the father of our sheep;
And arm in arm
Tread we softly in a round,
Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground
Fills the music with her sound.
Pan, O great god Pan, to thee
Thus do we sing!
Thou who keep'st us chaste and free
As the young spring:
Ever be thy honour spoke
From that place the morn is broke
To that place day doth unyoke!
poem by John Fletcher
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Billy Breathes
Tumbling greens, a pick-up screams alone above the square
Whoa, sing softly
Above the trees where billy breathes we float upon the air
Whoa, oh
Softly sing sweet songs
Softly sing sweet songs
Softly sing sweet songs
Ooooh ooooh
Silent scenes in motion means, Ill wake you when were there
Whoa, sing softly
Time, it seems, in broken dreams, to sleep beside the stair
Whoa, oh
Softly sing sweet songs
Softly sing sweet songs
Softly sing sweet songs
Ooooh ooooh
Softly sing sweet songs
Softly sing sweet songs
Softly sing sweet songs
Softly sing sweet songs
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moon & The Sky
All upset that it's gone
Too late to wish your friend farewell
Heard the sea in the shell, said we would meet in other worlds
See how the words you cry
Cool how the tears fill up the sky as snow
Got to touch the sky
Hold your head in my hand
I'll take the wish apart inside
Takes the fall of the past
The water leaves a gentle sigh
See how the words you cry
Cool how the tears fill up the sky as snow
Got to touch the sky
All upset that it's gone
Too late to wish your friend farewell
Heard the sea in a shell, said we would meet in other worlds
See (sweet?) how the words you cry
Cool how the tears fill up the sky as snow
Got to touch the sky
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Something So Feminine About A Mandolin
By: jimmy buffett, jane slagsvol
1975
It was late in the evenin, just a few of us pickin
But the lady she played so easy and fine
And the chords that she strummed were so tastefully clever
They planted this song in my mind
Chorus:
cause theres somethin so feminine about a mandolin
The way that they feel, the way that they ring
Just to see slender fingers, movin so quickly
Made this boy want to sing
And when I get older and I have a daughter
Ill teach her to sing and play her my songs
And Ill tell her some stories I can barely remember
And hope that she will sing along
And maybe one day shell take a fancy to pickin
cause when that bug bites you, you live with the sting
And if she could just strum a few simple measures
She could make some young man sing
cause theres somethin so feminine about a mandolin
Way that they feel, the way that they ring
And that evenin in a pasture somewhere near austin
That mandolin made me sing
Her mandolin made me sing
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sea Shell
Sea Shell, Sea Shell,
Sing me a song, O Please!
A song of ships, and sailor men,
And parrots, and tropical trees,
Of islands lost in the Spanish Main
Which no man ever may find again,
Of fishes and corals under the waves,
And seahorses stabled in great green caves.
Sea Shell, Sea Shell,
Sing of the things you know so well.
poem by Amy Lowell
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An Elgy Allegro
Green promenades in meadows wide
Blue radiates a vaulted sky
A chorus of aster stretches through
A splintered Hillock's crystal stream
Where the laughing sun spills out its arms
On lines of wine libations pour
Seesaws of shadow betwixt with gold
Ferment the stately land with moss
Sweet air that strews with honey dew
And calm scantly minted lavender
Invites grasshoppers sound concord
To buzz the bell of natures chapel
Upon the stone I sit and watch
The Birch trees leafs whisper scarcely
Boughs of emerald toothed mosaics
Sway in the breeze a fresh Melody
Here the sounds of thrushes Speaking
Passions luster in pastures Eden
Gather all joys green creation
To our mothers celebration
While robins sing sweet stirring songs
Upon the heads of daffodils
Whose cups are lit the suns sweet kiss
Now bumble bees rejoice Heralds
My heart now gathers in this peace
Amiss the birch where sparrows glide
Underneath the russet bark
The caterpillars' clandestine crawl
On heaven hear this grassy knoll
For Calm and contemplative soul
Can now relax inside this world
And sing this elegy allegro
A place so far yet so serene
poem by Kevin Patrick
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Sonnet: God's Warning to Shepherds!
‘My sheep lie scattered and not tended well.
I'll find new shepherds who will do this job;
To ones who failed their duty, ‘twill be hell;
From me, my sheep, no one can ever rob! '
‘Disaster to shepherds who don't take care
Of my loved sheep, who leave my pastures green;
I'll get new shepherds, fearless and will dare,
Preventing sheep, from getting lost from scene! '
‘In prophets, priests, now Godlessness prevails;
They do not preach to people what's God-say;
They tell own versions and their made-up tales,
Deluding people, leading sheep astray! '
‘So, prophesy what comes from Yahweh's mouth.'
The Lord declares, ‘Just speak the Gospel's truth! '
poem by John Celes
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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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Who painted the new green on Earth?
A poor mother waits for her son to walk soon!
'I do not want to call you baby anymore
It's too long in the cradle
And try to jump over the fence.
World's going to be worst than ever,
Forget the sweet lullabies
And wake up for the bitter reality.
You're a warrior my son!
People need a strong leader
Not to make War!
But make crops for empty burning stomachs.
Brotherhood, Solidarity and hand-in-hand
Sing a song that we're happy forever!
Oceans change their uproar
Rivers may flow in a different beat
Rain falls and drought gets a vacation!
And still if they want to make unnecessary fights
Let them go to Hell!
We all sing that everlasting song
'Who painted the new green on Earth'
And a farm lassie would definitely join the chorus
My precious Son!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Songs of Joy
Sing out, my soul, thy songs of joy;
Sing as a happy bird will sing
Beneath a rainbow's lovely arch
In the spring.
Think not of death in thy young days;
Why shouldst thou that grim tyrant fear?
And fear him not when thou art old,
And he is near.
Strive not for gold, for greedy fools
Measure themselves by poor men never;
Their standard still being richer men,
Makes them poor ever.
Train up thy mind to feel content,
What matters then how low thy store?
What we enjoy, and not possess,
Makes rich or poor.
Filled with sweet thought, then happy I
Take not my state from other's eyes;
What's in my mind -- not on my flesh
Or theirs -- I prize.
Sing, happy soul, thy songs of joy;
Such as a Brook sings in the wood,
That all night has been strengthened by
Heaven's purer flood.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Off to Church
Go with a desire to hear God's word
to lift up your voice and praise the Lord.
To join the congregation and to sing
as to the Lord your worship you bring.
'Come to me' you hear the Lord God say
as there to the church you make your way
and into God's presence you then go
with tears of joy let your praises flow.
Sweet communion with Jesus takes place
as there you meet with Him face to face.
For there is no greater love than this:
Knowing He is yours and you are His.
'It is with great desire, ' Jesus said
To meet with you and to break this bread.
Communing there in fellowship sweet
with the wine to drink and bread to eat.
Sweet Music Man
Sing your song sweet music man
Cuz I won't be there to hold your hand
Like I used to
I'm through with you
You're a hell of a singer and a powerful man
But you surround yourself with people who demand so little of you
You touched my -heart- (its suposed to be soul) with your beautiful song
You even had me singing along right with you
You said I need you
Then you changed the words and added harmony
And you sang the song you had written for to someone new
~Chorus~
Nobody sings a love song quite like you do
Nobody else can make me sing along
Nobody else can make me feel that things are right when I know they're wrong
Nobody sings a love song quite like you
~
Sing your song sweet music man
You travel the world with your six-piece band
That does for you
What you ask them to
You try to stay young but the songs you've sung to so many people
They've all begun to come back on you
Sing your song sad music man
Your making your living doin one night stands
They're through with you
They don't need you
You're still a hell of a singer but a broken man
But you'll keep searching for that one last fan
To sing to
~Chorus~
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song of The Stream-Drops
By silent forest and field and mossy stone,
We come from the wooden hill, and we go to the sea.
We labour, and sing sweet songs, but we never moan,
For our mother, the sea, is calling us cheerily.
We have heard her calling us many and many a day
From the cool grey stones and the white sands far away.
The way is long, and winding and slow is the track,
The sharp rocks fret us, the eddies bring us delay,
But we sing sweet songs to our mother, and answer her back;
Gladly we answer our mother, sweetly repay.
Oh, we hear, we hear her singing wherever we roam,
Far, far away in the silence, calling us home.
Poor mortal, your ears are dull, and you cannot hear;
But we, we hear it, the breast of our mother abeat;
Low, far away, sweet and solemn and clear,
Under the hush of the night, under the noon-tide heat:
And we sing sweet songs to our mother, for so we shall please her best,
Songs of beauty and peace, freedom and infinite rest.
We sing, and sing, through the grass and the stones and the reeds,
And we never grow tired, though we journey ever and aye,
Dreaming, and dreaming, wherever the long way leads,
Of the far cool rocks and the rush of the wind and the spray.
Under the sun and the stars we murmur and dance and are free,
And we dream and dream of our mother, the width of the sheltering sea.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Sweet Afton
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forebear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills,
There daily I wander as noon rises high
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea
The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays,
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
song performed by by Nickel Creek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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