Andrew Marvell
Spirit, that lookest from the starry fold
Of truth’s white flock, next to thy Milton there
Accept my reverence though but feebly told.
And oh! My heart from thy example rare
Henceforth its being for worthiest ends would bear.
Thy deeds, though plain, were towering all and bold,
And like the stedfast columns that uphold
Some awful temple, to thy duty were.
How much thy story has enlarged my ken
Of real greatness! Of mere conquerors I
Read but with anger, or with shame; but when
Of thee, uplifted into virtue’s sky,
I glory in my brotherhood with men,
And feel how nobly all may live and die.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Related quotes
Lines Written On Hearing The News Of The Death Of Napoleon
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
Art thou not overbold?
What! leapest thou forth as of old
In the light of thy morning mirth,
The last of the flock of the starry fold?
Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?
Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,
And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?
How! is not thy quick heart cold?
What spark is alive on thy hearth?
How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?
And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?
Thou wert warming thy fingers old
O’er the embers covered and cold
Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled--
What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?
'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth,
'Or who has my story told?
It is thou who art overbold.'
And the lightning of scorn laughed forth
As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold
All my sons when their knell is knolled,
And so with living motion all are fed,
And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.
'Still alive and still bold,' shouted Earth,
'I grow bolder and still more bold.
The dead fill me ten thousandfold
Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth.
I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,
Like a frozen chaos uprolled,
Till by the spirit of the mighty dead
My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed.
'Ay, alive and still bold.' muttered Earth,
'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled,
In terror and blood and gold,
A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.
Leave the millions who follow to mould
The metal before it be cold;
And weave into his shame, which like the dead
Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.'
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Story Of My Life
The story of my life
is very plain to read
it starts the day you came
and ends the day you leave
The story of my life
begins and ends with you
the names are still the same
and the story's still the truth
I was alone
you found my waiting
and made me your own
I was afraid
that somehow I never could be
the man that you wanted of me
You're the story of my life
and every word is true
each chapter sings your name
each page begins with you
It's the story of our times
and never letting go
and if I die today
I wanted you to know
Stay with my here
share with me care with me
stay and be near
and when it began
I'd lie awake every night
just knowing somewhere deep inside
that our affair just might write
The story of my life
it's so very plain to read
it starts the day you came
and ends the day you leave
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 145
The greatness of God.
My God, my King, thy various praise
Shall fill the remnant of my days;
Thy grace employ my humble tongue
Till death and glory raise the song.
The wings of every hour shall bear
Some thankful tribute to thine ear;
And every setting sun shall see
New works of duty done for thee.
Thy truth and justice I'll proclaim;
Thy bounty flows an endless stream;
Thy mercy swift, thine anger slow,
But dreadful to the stubborn foe.
Thy works with sovereign glory shine,
And speak thy majesty divine;
Let Britain round her shores proclaim
The sound and honor of thy name.
Let distant times and nations raise
The long succession of thy praise,
And unborn ages make my song
The joy and labor of their tongue.
But who can speak thy wondrous deeds?
Thy greatness all our thoughts exceeds?
Vast and unsearchable thy ways,
Vast and immortal be thy praise!
poem by Isaac Watts
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Tell us The Truth
Tell us the truth
Tell us the truth
They said.
So he told them
The Truth,
Untainted
Undiluted
Straight
Direct
That's not the truth
It hurts,
They said.
Tell us the 'real' truth,
The Truth!
So he repeated it.
Again, the unadulterated
Spotless,
Plain truth.
You do not like us, do you, they said.
We're asking you
For the 'proper' truth,
The 'Real Truth',
Not
This hurtful rubbish
Tell us that truth
Tell us that truth.
So, weary,
And now wary,
He told it to them
Once more.
He did not change his story,
He told them
What he had always believed in,
He told them
That no matter how unpleasant
It sounded,
His feelings for them
Remained the same
He gave it to them
Once more,
Direct,
Undiluted,
Impartially,
But passionately nevertheless.
The Truth.
Go away, go away
They said.
You do not understand us
You do not like us.
Go away.
So goes the story
Of how they lost
The best leader
They could ever have had,
The only one
Who really understood them,
The only one
Who wanted nothing
But the best
'For Them',
The only one
Who never shied away
From The Truth
The only one
Who loved them as they were.
(Year 2002, Mars, The Sun Galaxy)
poem by District 13 Okiso Sooki
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The Story Of My Life
Words and music by neil diamond
The story of my life is very plain to read
It starts the day you came
And ends the day you leave
The story of my life begins and ends with you
The names are still the same
And the storys still the truth
I was alone.
You found me waiting and made me your own
I was afraid
That somehow I never could be a man that you wanted of me
Youre the story of my life, and every word is true
Each chapter sings your name
Each page begins with you
Its the story of our times and never letting go
If I die today, I wannted yo to know
Stay with me here
Share with me, care with me
Stay and be near
And when it began Id lie awake every night
Just knowing somewhere deep inside
That our affair just might write
The story of my life is very plain to read
It starts the day you came
It ends the day you leave
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Passing Voice
'Turn me a rhyme,' said Fate,
'Turn me a rhyme:
A swift and deadly hate
Blows headlong towards thee in the teeth of Time.
Write! or thy words will fall too late.'
'Write me a fold,' said Fate,
'Write me a fold,
Life to conciliate,
Of words red with thine heart's blood, hotly told.
Then, kings may envy thine estate!'
'Make thee a fame,' said Fate,
'Make thee a fame
To storm the heaven-hung gate,
Unbarred alone to the victorious name
Which has Art's conquerors to mate.'
'Die in thy shame,' said Fate,
'Die in thy shame!
Naught here can compensate
But the proud radiance of that glorious flame,
Genius: fade, thou, unconsecrate!'
poem by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop
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For God’s Glory
How to live for God’s Glory, begins for us at the Christmas story,
Where we witness a special birth, that changed men on the earth.
The story ends with Easter Truth, with resurrection as living proof,
That by The Son’s Revelation, all men face an eternal destination.
Christ’s birth was a Gift from God, to all men on this earth we trod,
The Gift of God’s great Salvation, to each and every single nation.
His death grants all men new life, through God’s Son Jesus Christ,
Through that Gift God did give, all men in Christ can eternally live.
New life starts here on the earth, through The Spirit and new birth,
As believers become born again, they become for Christ holy men.
Guiding us in His Righteous Light, to live a life that’s pure and right,
As it’s God’s Glory that we live for, to lead others to Christ our Lord.
Our earthly life begins one story, which for believers ends in Glory,
With Eternal Life, that has no end, in a place we can’t comprehend.
Following His death, we sacrifice, our former ways for Jesus Christ,
Living in The Spirit, we receive, from Christ Jesus when we believe.
We live for Christ, Who died for us, placing in The Lord, all our trust,
As He makes our life a testament, to our Savior, whom He had sent.
This earthly life’s a small price to pay, for what God did on that day,
So that we could live forevermore, up in Glory, with Christ our Lord.
(Copyright ©01/2007)
Two Sides To Every Story
There are two sides to every story
Not just the side of them or theirs,
So never judge or hold a grudge
And when you listen, please listen with care.
Listen to one side and then always the other
Not just one side and then walk away
If you pick that route, sad you'll turn out
And never will you ever feel or be the same.
You will hate yourself as truth be told
If you listen to only one side of the story
You'll live in disgrace, when you see your face
And never will you fill satisfaction or joy.
As time will come, and of course time will tell
Someday the truth it will all come out
And when it you do hear, will you shed a tear
As you found out you took the wrong route.
There is two sides to every story
Not just the side that you want to hear
And not from their soul, that you do not know
And not from someone who will cry you a tear.
When you listen, please listen well
No matter if they be friend or foe
Look into their eyes, then you might realize
And then the truth might just be known.
To condemn someone is such a terrible act
Which you must live with the rest of your life
You will live in shame, for someone you falsely blamed
And always you will question yourself why.
A pretty face or a sad sad story
Guilt either begins or ends with that line
As a pretty face, it can mask lies or hate
Then the truth through deception is left behind.
There are two sides to every story
I must preach that statement once again
Listen to both sides, then the judgment you can decide
And happy you will be in the end
As you cannot judge a book by it's cover
No matter what you might hear or what might be said
As so many will lie, so that to get pity on their side
While untruth and deception they will had led.
A saddened face is just a saddened story
There is more to the truth to one persons story
Don't falsely judge, if so even GOD will hold a grudge
Then far away you will be from his glory.
When you listen to a story listen with your soul
Never be afraid to ask a question or even ask why
And always seek the truth, as you would seek out good fruit
And remember to every story there is always another side.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Shrine
For them we have builded a temple
To stand as a visible sign.
For them we have builded a temple,
And set in its great heart a shrine.
Ere the dull years shall tarnish their story,
While the spirit bides close to us yet,
We have set up a shrine to their glory,
Lest men should forget.
We have raised upa visible temple,
Hewn from impermanent stone;
And the spirit shall dwell in the temple;
Yet not in the temple alone.
Lest the spirit of that great oblation,
Eternal, transcending all pride,
Dwell, too, in the heart of their nation,
In vain they have died.
For a holier place has enshrined them
From treacherous time's swift decay:
A temple more hallowed has held them
Inviolate unto today.
But the friends of their friends, too, shall perish,
The seed of their seed shall grow old,
While for ever the flame that these cherish
A nation must hold.
So soon do their feet grow aweary
Of treading where glory had birth,
So soon do their souls grow aweary
Of transient things of the earth.
And they go to the great consummating,
The goal of their pilgrimage won,
To triumphant battalions awaiting
They drift one by one.
When the last tired veteran totters
From this, fame's unstable abode;
When the last tired footfall has echoed
And died in the dust of the road;
Tho' they boast down the years of his story,
If the spirit he left us shall fail
No shrine may envision that glory
No temple avail.
We have builded a visible temple;
We have set us a tangible sign
For a symbol of that truer temple,
A mark of that holier shrine;
And nought of war's long tarnished story
Dwells there, not of pride nor of pain,
But all that remains of their glory
Who died not in vain.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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In Kharytass
In kharytass she is the sweetest to behold
Do not let her go like the best of gold
though i never heard even her voice
unknown to me why she opens my choice
just how this thoughts can't let me be
In kharytass she is the sweetest damsel to hold
presents to me a test to be bold
Why won't i want to learn her poise
Why won't i want to shut all noise
Just to listen to her talk to me
In kharitass she is the sweetest yet not cold
Watching while i rest with my arms fold
Those starry eyes the spark of diamond
Those very lips the smack of almond
Just be calm my soul and let fate be
In kharytass she is too priceless to be sold
Remains a love story yet to be told
Well curvy frame left with high chaste
All survey but left to my taste
Just don't let another bloke take thee
In kharytass she is the jwell of young and old
She took my arm less i be cold
Even if i live in a dome in Rome
I would never feel like someone home
Just unless she stays with me.
poem by Ray Anyasi
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Fort Wagner
I.Glory unto the gallant boys who stood
At Wagner, and, unflinching, sought the van;
Dealing fierce blows, and shedding precious blood,
For homes as precious, and dear rights of man!
They've won the meed, and they shall have the glory;--
Song, with melodious memories, shall repeat
The legend, which shall grow to themes for story,
Told through long ages, and forever sweet!
II.
High honor to our youth--our sons and brothers,
Georgians and Carolinians, where they stand!
They will not shame their birthrights, or their mothers,
But keep, through storm, the bulwarks of the land!
They feel that they _must_ conquer! Not to do it,
Were worse than death--perdition! Should they fail,
The innocent races yet unborn shall rue it,
The whole world feel the wound, and nations wail!
III.
No! They must conquer in the breach or perish!
Assured, in the last consciousness of breath,
That love shall deck their graves, and memory cherish
Their deeds, with honors that shall sweeten death!
They shall have trophies in long future hours,
And loving recollections, which shall be
Green, as the summer leaves, and fresh as flowers,
That, through all seasons, bloom eternally!
IV.
Their memories shall be monuments, to rise
Next those of mightiest martyrs of the past;
Beacons, when angry tempests sweep the skies,
And feeble souls bend crouching to the blast!
A shrine for thee, young Cheves, well devoted,
Most worthy of a great, illustrious sire;--
A niche for thee, young Haskell, nobly noted,
When skies and seas around thee shook with fire!
V.
And others as well chronicled shall be!
What though they fell with unrecorded name--
They live among the archives of the free,
With proudest title to undying fame!
The unchisell'd marble under which they sleep,
Shall tell of heroes, fearless still of fate;
Not asking if their memories shall keep,
But if they nobly served, and saved, the State!
VI.
For thee, young Fortress Wagner--thou shalt wear
Green laurels, worthy of the names that now,
Thy sister forts of Moultrie, Sumter, bear!
See that thou lift'st, for aye, as proud a brow!
And thou shalt be, to future generations,
A trophied monument; whither men shall come
In homage; and report to distant nations,
A SHRINE, which foes shall never make a TOMB!
poem by William Gilmore Simms
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To Them I'm Crazy
I’m a crazy woman. To them I’m crazy. Obsessed with my anger. They think it chokes me in my sleep, it oozes as I walk, leaving a trail of disgust in my path. But this anger is who I am. What I must be. It cannot be left in a corner, forgotten, like letters of the past covered in dust. This is my story and I will not forget. The hurt and the pain. The struggle and shame. Because if I forget no one will remember. No one will know or be there to tell this story. Anger. It isn’t a story of anger. But it’s a story of transformation. Of holding my anger, like a cherished organ, understanding that without this anger, I would not be this soon-to-no-longer-be lost girl. With anger oozing in her path. With change in her horizon. I would be the masses that for too long have been too helpless to leave. They lost they’re anger. Lowered their heads when they were told they shouldn’t want more. They should be happy with what they have. But I will not forget. I will always know. And that is what drives me.
poem by Lupita Hernan
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Wellington
Great captain if you will! great Duke! great Slave!
Great minion of the crown! - but a great man
He was not! He? the iron instrument
Of mere authority! the atheist
Of a conventional and most earthy duty!
To whom the powers that be were simply not
Of God-but in His stead! Shall we belie
All righteous instinct and profane all truth,
By calling great a man without a soul?
One who, apart from the despotic wills
Of crowned oppressors, knew no right, no wrong.
No faith, no country, and no brotherhood?
If such a man were great, may God most High
Spare henceforth to our universal race
All greatness, seeing it may sometimes be
A rigid, kindiess battlement of Power
Self throned and sanctioned only by the sword.
And if' as Englishmen are proud to boast,
He was their greatest countryman-alas!
For England's national sterility!
But they who thus belaud him, lie, as all
True patriots most feelingly perceive.
Besides, he was not England's son at all:
He was an Irishman, with whom the name
Of Ireland was a scoff! An Irishman,
Who for a hireling's meed and ministry,
Could tear away from his inhuman heart
The pleading image of his native land.
poem by Charles Harpur
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SONNET: Humble Thyself Man
A speck of dust, upon the Earth I’m just!
How far and yet how little I’ve achieved;
I could not be Job in the Bible’s list!
The truth of Scriptures, I’ve always believed.
Sometimes, this world looks so easy to live!
Sometimes, I know it is impossible;
But real joy is when you learn to give;
And try to live as per Holy Bible.
Great things are wrought by men if God permits;
Just do your duty as best as you can;
Within the heart of purity, God sits;
And greatness unheard of comes, to that man.
How long you live-let this not bother you;
How best you live is one thing, we must view.
poem by John Celes
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LADIES OF MAGIC...by talile ali
IT'S A SHAME TO SEE
BUT IT'S EVEN HARDER TO EXPLAIN
WHILE YOUR OUT PLAYIN THE FIELD
YOUR KID'S ARE SEEIN' IT PLAIN
THEY SEE YOU GOIN OUT
AND COMIN BACK REAL LATE
SMELLING LIKE TIRED SEX
FROM SOME MIS BEGOTTEN THANG
YOU MAY'VE BEEN DRUNK A BIT
BUT THEY KNOW IT'S AN EXCUSE
YOU MAY AS WELL BE SOBBER
AND SAVE ON ALL THAT JUICE
YOU'RE THEIR LIVING EXAMPLE
OF WHATS CALLED WOMAN HOOD
THEY WOULD NEVER CONSTRUE ANY OF
THE THING'S YOU DO AS NOT GOOD
YOU ARE THE EXAMPLE THEY SEE
AND FOLLOWING IN KIND
THATS WHY YOUR BABY GIRLS ARE ALL
NOT DOING SO FINE
THEY HEAR STUFF FROM THEIR FRIENDS
THEY CAN NEVER TELL YOU
ABOUT THEIR MOMMA'S DOINGS
AND ALL THE BOY'S FROM SCHOOL
BROTHERS, COUSINS, NEPHEWS
FRIEND OF THE FAM, AND PRIEST
WHEN YOU SQUAT WHERE YOU LIVE
YOU NEVER WILL KNOW PEACE
AND THEY JUST GRIN AND BEAR IT
AND KNOW THATS WHAT MOM WILL DO
AND THAT'S WHY DAD IS STEWING MAD
AND THATS WHY MOM'S SO BLUE
THERE'S ARE A LOT OF STORIES
AND MOST OF THEM ARE TRUE
AND IN THEIR TRAGIC GLORY
THEY HELP TO MEND A FEW
THE PATH TO SELF ENLIGHTENMENT
THE PATH TO MAKING DOUGH
THE PATH TO BEING HUMANE
THE PATH A COUGAR MAY KNOW
ALL OF LIFES A STORY
JUST WAITING TO UNFOLD
AND WE DON'T KNOW HOW THIS STORY
EVER WILL BE TOLD
SO, TO YOU LITTLE LADIES
WHO'S MOM'S OUT GETTING LAID
DON'T LOOK AT THIS AS GUIDELINE'S
DON'T SEE IT AS THE WAY
INSTEAD SEE IT FOR WHAT IT IS
THE TRUTH'S THAT IT CONVEYS
THERE'RE MANY PATHS BEFORE YOU
AND MOST HAVE BRIGHTER WAYS
WITH PROMISES TO FULFILL
TO WORK TOWARDS EVERY DAY
LITTLE LADIES OF MAGIC
MOST DEAR TO MY HEART
THIS SONG IS FOR YOU IN THESE DAY'S
AS YOU GO GENTLY INTO THE DARK
THERE IS A BRIGHTER FUTURE
JUST WAITING THERE FOR YOU
TO SHOW UP AND DO WONDERS
AND AMAZE WITH ALL YOU DO
DON'T JUDGE YOUR MOM SO HARSHLY
SHE'S TRYING TO HAVE FUN
SHE'S DOING WHAT SHE HAS TO DO
SHE'S LOST A BIT, AND SOME
A COUGAR PROWLS FOREVER
SEACHING FOR SOMETHING NEW
ON HER QUEST OF DOING
SHE FORGOT ME AND YOU
poem by Talile Ali
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The real learning
Learning is not just to read and write.
To learn to live with, to stand by truth,
To uphold virtue, to get aesthetic sense,
To trim the skill and to heal the earth
Are the true learning one must have.
10.07.2001, Pkd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Anger, an attribute of devil
As the white ant eats up the wood
Anger eats up thy wisdom
Bravery doesn't lie in taking revenge
It lies in checking thy anger
Anger is an attribute of devil
In anger thou forget the difference
Between good and bad
Thou art like a devil who is devoid of virtue
Anger keeps thee away from God
For he ignores thy sin howsoever grave it is
And wishes thee to ignore the infirmities of
Thy counterpart.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Hymn XIII: Happy Soul that Free from Harms
Happy soul that free from harms
Rests within his Shepherd's arms!
Who his quiet shall molest?
Who shall violate his rest?
Jesus doth his spirit bear,
Jesus takes his every care;
He who found the wandering sheep,
Jesus still delights to keep.
O that I might so believe,
Steadfastly to Jesus cleave,
On his only love rely,
Smile at the destroyer nigh;
Free from sin and servile fear,
Have my Jesus ever near,
All his care rejoice to prove,
All his paradise of love!
Jesus, seek thy wandering sheep,
Bring me back, and lead, and keep;
Take on thee my every care,
Bear me, on thy bosom bear:
Let me know my Shepherd's voice,
More and more in thee rejoice,
More and more of thee receive,
Ever in thy Spirit live:
Live, till all thy life I know,
Perfect through my Lord below,
Gladly then from earth remove,
Gathered to the fold above.
O that I at last may stand
With the sheep at thy right hand,
Take the crown so freely given,
Enter in by thee to heaven!
poem by John Wesley
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Hymn XIII: Happy Soul that Free from Harms
Happy soul that free from harms
Rests within his Shepherd's arms!
Who his quiet shall molest?
Who shall violate his rest?
Jesus doth his spirit bear,
Jesus takes his every care;
He who found the wandering sheep,
Jesus still delights to keep.
O that I might so believe,
Steadfastly to Jesus cleave,
On his only love rely,
Smile at the destroyer nigh;
Free from sin and servile fear,
Have my Jesus ever near,
All his care rejoice to prove,
All his paradise of love!
Jesus, seek thy wandering sheep,
Bring me back, and lead, and keep;
Take on thee my every care,
Bear me, on thy bosom bear:
Let me know my Shepherd's voice,
More and more in thee rejoice,
More and more of thee receive,
Ever in thy Spirit live:
Live, till all thy life I know,
Perfect through my Lord below,
Gladly then from earth remove,
Gathered to the fold above.
O that I at last may stand
With the sheep at thy right hand,
Take the crown so freely given,
Enter in by thee to heaven!
poem by Charles Wesley
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A Dead Rose
O Rose! who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,---
Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day,---
If breathing now,---unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,---
If shining now,---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was,---
If dropping now,---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,
Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now,---would coldly overrun thee.
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,---
If passing now,---would blindly overlook thee.
The heart doth recognise thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,---
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee!
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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