John Galsworthy
Not for vague honors, not for treacherous power
He lived and toiled thro' this, his earthy span;
But to uphold and cultivate the dower,
God-given, for enlightment of man,
Here was no tale of talents mis-applied,
But of gifts to the last hour multiplied.
Grave, kindly scrivener, moved to no swift wrath
By tyrannies or Greed's condoning pleas:
Pity was there for Vandal and for Goth
Clutching insensate at earth's vanities.
Pity was there, with truth and justice, when
He held his shining mirror up to men.
That they might see themselves; not as they seem
To smug content and sleek complacency
Lulled by the opiate of their false dream;
But as some wise, kind visitant might see
And weigh and, by wise standards, judge the worth
Of all the sad frailities of earth.
So he has lived; and so he lays him down
Leaving a picture with us at the end,
Not of some grim reformer's fretful frown;
But of a pitying, understanding friend.
And if, thro' him, this blundering world should gain
One mite in wisdom, life were not in vain.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
Do Not Pity Me
Do not pity me, my friend.
Do not pity me.
For I have always lived my life
the way I wanted it to be.
I played. I sang
and laughed a lot.
And all the tears
I cried, I forgot.
Do not pity me, my friend.
Do not pity me.
For I was granted gifts from God,
gifts you cannot see.
A feeling of freedom,
a feeling of peace,
an intuitive knowing
that troubles do cease.
Do not pity me, my friend.
Do not pity me.
For I have learned my lessons well
and know I hold the key
that opens up my diary.
Its pages are filled with anecdotal times
that ring out like bells
and sweet wind chimes.
A marriage of joys
with two baby boys,
a childhood filled
with more than just toys,
Aches and pain
that helped me retain
compassion for those
that suffer life's blows.
So do not pity me, my friend.
Do not pity me.
For I can smile and I can say
I lived my life how I wanted it to be.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Let's Power Our Wish
Let's power our wish thro' Sankara prophesy,
Divining sacred-self, killing ego malady.
Let's power our wish thro' Chanakya pledge,
Capturing the center, digging out edge.
Let's power our wish thro' Kabir tale,
Shaping up unity, splitting up let fail.
Let's power our wish thro' Gandhian path,
Eyeing on patience, ruling out spleen dirt.
Let's power our wish thro' Raman effect,
Opining on noesis, closing out ignorance defect.
Let's power our wish thro' Teresa style,
Dealing with generosity, banging greed by mile.
poem by Ramesh Anand
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The Warrior King
Albert, King of the Belgians,
Lived for his whole reign thro'
The father and friend of his people,
Soldier and statesman, too.
When his armies rode to the carnage,
'Twas their King who rode at their hear
To battle as great Kings battled...
And Albert the King is dead.
Albert, King of the Belgians,
Looking at doomed Louvain,
Wept for the plight of his people,
Grieved for his country's pain.
But the pride of a King upheld him;
The strength of a true King stayed,
And the love of a wise King triumphed
Thro' the travail, undismayed.
Albert, King of the Belgians,
After the red war's close,
Seeking no rest from his labors,
As a builder now arose;
Lending his life to service,
Turning to tasks anew,
Healing his country's war-wounds
Builder and comforter, too.
Albert, King of the Belgians,
Died as a Man would die,
Prone on earth's broad bosom,
Under the open sky.
To a swift and merciful passing,
Here went, at the end of his span,
A greater that King of his people
A wise and well-loved man.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Drama
Ah, well, the thing that lived lives on,
And who are we to say it nay?
When Vandal and when Goth had gone,
Long, long beyond great Caesar's day,
The Arts that sought for heights sublime,
Still scaled Olympus, scorning time.
And we who tread this little earth,
Seeking for profit or for fame,
And count one life's poor efforts worth
The meed of all the world's acclaim -
How do we count? What do we bring
To earth's great final reckoning?
Oh, are we not as little boys
Striving to conquer sea and air,
Playing a while with futile toys
To fight the bogey of despair?
While, in the end, invention's lure
Finds us relief - but never cure.
Invention? Men may, late or soon,
Thro' high ambition's urge, aspire,
And, so aspiring, win the boon
Of great and ultimate desire.
But art? Or talkies? Nothing loth,
I'm game to own there's room for both.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Vale
So ends a life, lived to the full alway,
Thro' peace, thro' war, thro' honored peace again,
From youth unto the closing of his day
Lived simply. Yet a giant among men
Today steals quietly to seek his rest
As quietly he lived, yet none his peer.
In service of his land he gave his best
And, in simplicity, found greatness here.
Seeking no honour but his country's thanks,
No man among us won a place more high.
Comrade and leader where the myriad ranks
Stand now with bended heads as John goes by.
Ever a man, a soldier and a friend
In every heart some echo of the knell
That marks his passing throbs for this great end,
Saying in requiem, 'Pass, John, all is well.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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An Epitaph
I've lived a rather careless life,
And many a fault have I;
But I'd have you not stress the strife
What time I come to die.
I'd rather have you talk about
My qualities humane;
As one who cut the rough stuff out,
And has not lived in vain.
So, when you seek to laud my worth,
Write this - let truth prevail:
'He lived for many years on earth,
Yet never killed a whale.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Need For Prayer
While you've been sleeping,
The world has moved on...
The planets still circle mid the stars,
While on Earth we know of Man,
The plunderer unchanged...
Pity, that, when you consider...
It would have been better
If somehow he would have cared.
If only more had prayed...
Perhaps there would have been
Less sorrows, setbacks, deaths...
Perhaps more smiles, more hugs,
More wisdom, more joy.
Perhaps more poems, more songs,
More statues and pictures.
Golden opportunities lost...
Alas, so many ignored the Lord!
Forgot Him or never knew Him,
Or knew Him then distrusted Him,
Or got distracted by love and kisses
And cuddles and promises...
Swept away on a tide of titillations.
Swamped, engulfed, tossed here and there,
No longer caring or sharing...
Or sorrows came that diminished faith,
Belittled it, spurned it, scorned it...
Made it seem as pointless, nothing,
An utter waste of time and energy...
Pity, that, when you consider...
For Jesus wasn't born without reason.
He lived and loved with purpose.
He spent nights in prayer, alone...
Could you not spend one hour with ME?
He asked His friends before His arrest!
What, not one single hour with ME?
But they were tired, too...
And while they were sleeping...
The world changed and their dearest friend, too...
The next day He was dead...
That was when they couldn't sleep...
Hence the need for prayer...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Thistledown
She danced thro' life as light as thistledown,
The grace of Columbine, charm of Pierette,
These, and that blithesome quality of thistledown,
With memory of her linger by us yet.
A fairy, slipping thro' a world material,
Shaming dull men made gross thro' mundance schemes,
She came to us, a being half ethereal,
To lure us into lands of strange, sweet dreams.
One hour she gave us of Elysian rapture,
A mood, a vision lamentably rare;
And now in vain our dark minds would recapture
The wholesome sweetness of her dancing there
Dancing, and ever dancing, gaily, smilingly,
Lending her genius in a hundred parts.
Leading us on to Fairyland beguilingly,
Dancing and dancing straight into our hearts.
And she has gone. What need is there to tell us
She was not ours who guessed not half her worth?
Or that the high gods, watching, had grown jealous
That she should waste such sweetness on mere earth?
So she who for a little while was lent to us
To cleanse with poetry the hearts of men
A sprite, a fairy pitying Heaven sent to us
Like thistledown is wafted from our ken.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Great Spirits
When the earth was young
And the air was sweet
And the mountains kissed the sky
In the far beyond, with its many paths
Man and nature lived side by side
The pretty wisdom does not come without learning
And revision not wholly with our eyes
We can think that we see
Truly see you're around us
But when we look
Do we see with open minds?
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls with all you know
The key to understanding
Is to see through others' eyes
Find a way to help us
See from all sides
Truly see from all sides
Teach our children to look deeper than the surface
See the world through another's eyes
For to be blind me on yourself
Is to look but not see it
Knowing much is not enough to be wise
To see the wonder
In all we've been given
In a world that's not always as it seems
On the part that we choose
Turn every corner
Follow on, for another begins
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls with all you know
Key to understanding
Is to see through others' eyes
Find a way to help us
See from all sides
Truly see from all sides
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls with all you know
Key to understanding
Is to see through others' eyes
Find a way to help us
See from all sides
Truly see from all sides
See from all sides
song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pain And Time Strive Not
What part of the dread eternity
Are those strange minutes that I gain,
Mazed with the doubt of love and pain,
When I thy delicate face may see,
A little while before farewell?
What share of the world’s yearning-tide
That flash, when new day bare and white
Blots out my half-dream’s faint delight,
And there is nothing by my side,
And well remembered is farewell?
What drop in the grey flood of tears
That time, when the long day toiled through,
Worn out, shows nought for me to do,
And nothing worth my labour bears
The longing of that last farewell?
What pity from the heavens above,
What heed from out eternity,
What word from the swift world for me?
Speak, heed, and pity, O tender love,
Who knew’st the days before farewell!
poem by William Morris
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Ode IX: At Study
I.
Whither did my fancy stray?
By what magic drawn away
Have I left my studious theme?
From this philosophic page,
From the problems of the sage,
Wandering thro' a pleasing dream?
II.
'Tis in vain alas! i find,
Much in vain, my zealous mind
Would to learned wisdom's throne
Dedicate each thoughtful hour:
Nature bids a softer power
Claim some minutes for his own.
III.
Let the busy or the wise
View him with contemptuous eyes;
Love is native to the heart:
Guide its wishes as you will;
Without Love you'll find it still
Void in one essential part.
IV.
Me though no peculiar fair
Touches with a lover's care;
Though the pride of my desire
Asks immortal friendship's name,
Asks the palm of honest fame,
And the old heroic lyre;
V.
Though the day have smoothly gone,
Or to letter'd leisure known,
Or in social duty spent;
Yet at eve my lonely breast
Seeks in vain for perfect rest;
Languishes for true content.
poem by Mark Akenside
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Psalm 90
Man mortal, and God eternal
A mournful song at a funeral.
Through every age, eternal God,
Thou art our rest, our safe abode;
High was thy throne ere heav'n was made,
Or earth thy humble footstool laid.
Long hadst thou reigned ere time began,
Or dust was fashioned to a man;
And long thy kingdom shall endure
When earth and time shall be no more.
But man, weak man, is born to die,
Made up of guilt and vanity;
Thy dreadful sentence, Lord, was just,
"Return, ye sinners, to your dust."
[A thousand of our years amount
Scarce to a day in thine account;
Like yesterday's departed light,
Or the last watch of ending night.
PAUSE.
Death, like an overflowing stream,
Sweeps us away; our life's a dream,
An empty tale, a morning flower,
Cut down and withered in an hour.]
[Our age to seventy years is set;
How short the time! how frail the state!
And if to eighty we arrive,
We rather sigh and groan than live.
But O how oft thy wrath appears,
And cuts off our expected years!
Thy wrath awakes our humble dread;
We fear the power that strikes us dead.]
Teach us, O Lord, how frail is man;
And kindly lengthen out our span,
Till a wise care of piety
Fit us to die, and dwell with thee.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Talents Die Easily In Africa!
Oh talents, oh talents!
Talents do die easily in Africa;
But, talents are special gifts which,
Money cannot buy.
It is a special gift,
It is in you,
You don't even need a Higher Degree for them;
Talents are everywhere on this earth.
The talents of Africa do die very often,
Who is even ready to listen to them?
The true talents of the Africans go to the drain.
Like a rain on a train,
Like an early wake up call without a view;
Life is really so strange over here in Africa.
I have a dream!
But, who will listen?
My brain is with various talents but,
Who will help me with my dreams?
Talents, talents, talents! !
Africa turns to regress in this field while,
Others do progress!
Our talents can be useful,
It's time we give a helping hand;
Oh talents, oh talents!
It's time we listen to those who have them;
Cos', we are the world.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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If I Gave You My Heart
If I gave you my heart
Where would you be
Would it mean nothing
If not for me
If I gave you my eyes
What would they see
Would they see nothing
If not for me
But I gave you my hand and my sign and my soul on the earth
And I gave up on truth when I heard about the words
I lived out of love when I gave it away
And I sold off my soul when theres no one to pay
If I gave you my hand
What would it write
Would it say nothing
Or say its alright
If I gave you my arms
Would they hold you tight
First blood (? ) in morning
Or bid you goodnight
And I gave you my strength and my worth and I gave you my gift
And I moved on the first and I left us to drift
And I reap from the soil and I build hopes from wood
Its a new better life and we have to ensure
And I gave you my dream of the world and you stole the key
You sang to the wind in the whole ? ? ? sea
And I feel my weight and I guard my soul
And I found my beliefs when I found my control
I gave you my hand and my soul on the earth
And I gave up on the truth when I heard about the words
So I lived out of love when I gave it away
And I sold off my soul when theres no one to pay
Another version
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If I gave you my heart where would you be,
Would it mean nothing if not for me?
If I gave you my eyes what would they see,
Would they see nothing if not for me?
But I gave you my hand and my sign,
And my soul on the earth,
And I gave up on truth,
When I heard about the worst
So I lived out of love
When I gave it away
And I sold off my soul
When there was no-one to pay
If I gave you my hand what would it write
Would it say nothing or say its alright
If I gave you my arms would they hold you tight
First light of morning or bid you goodnight
And I gave you my strength and my worth
And I gave you my gift
And I moved on the first
And I left us to drift
And Ill reap from the soil
And Ill build home from wood
Its a new better life
And we have 2 and should
And I gave you my dream of the world
And we stood on the quay
And we sang to the wind
And the whole darkening sea
And I feel my weight
And I guard my soul
And I found my beliefs
When I found my control
I gave you my hand
And my soul on the earth
And I gave up on truth
When I heard about the worst
So I lived out of love
When I gave it away
And I sold off my soul
When there was no-one to pay
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There You were
There you were
You’re always laughing at me
Is that how life’s supposed to be?
Each night I cry
Don’t tell me you don’t know why
But I rose up to live once more
From the grave of my depression.
You were too blind to see my real worth
But I lived again
There you were abusing me
Torturing my life inside out
I still don’t know why
Is that how life’s supposed to be?
But I rose up to live once more
From the grave of my depression
You were too blind to see my real worth
But I lived again
A day won’t go by
When I think of you
How cruel you were to me
And how I became stronger
Day by day
From the thoughts of you
Giving and not taking
From me, for me
And I rose up to live once more
From the grave of my depression
You were too blind to see my real worth
And I lived again
Now you are helping me
That’s how life’s supposed to be
There you are being a friend
But is it true until the end?
And you raised me up to live once more
From the grave of my depression
You re-gained your sight and saw my worth
And you lived again
There you were
poem by Lyrael Myrna
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Bastards of Bastions
Orphaned are those,
Barely sitting in their nodded stupors.
Drifting back and forth through wishes.
With compositions of conditions,
That keep them weak.
In minds defined by a life lived,
On inner city streets.
These are bastards of bastions...
Raised to be defeated.
No one to encourage,
Made efforts to keep.
These are bastards of bastions...
Raised to be defeated.
No one to encourage,
Made efforts to keep.
So they,
Find uselessness as no crime!
As a pity rips them.
And this pity grips them.
As they validate a nonsense lived.
As a pity rips them.
And this pity grips them.
As they validate a nonsense lived.
So they,
Find uselessness as no crime!
As a pity rips them.
And this pity grips them.
As a pity rips them.
And this pity grips them.
Orphaned are those,
Barely sitting in their nodded stupors.
Drifting back and forth through wishes.
With compositions of conditions,
That keep them weak.
In minds defined by a life lived,
On inner city streets.
As a pity rips them.
And this pity grips them.
As they validate a nonsense lived.
Bastards of bastions!
As a pity rips them.
And this pity grips them.
As they validate a nonsense lived.
Bastards of bastions!
As a pity rips them.
And this pity grips them.
As they validate a nonsense lived.
Bastards of bastions,
And born from quick passions.
As a pity rips them.
And this pity grips them.
As a pity rips them.
And this pity grips them.
As a pity rips them.
And this pity grips them.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Mrs. M. B. On Her Birthday
Oh be thou blest with all that Heav'n can send,
Long Health, long Youth, long Pleasure, and a Friend:
Not with those Toys the female world admire,
Riches that vex, and Vanities that tire.
With added years if Life bring nothing new,
But, like a Sieve, let ev'ry blessing thro',
Some joy still lost, as each vain year runs o'er,
And all we gain, some sad Reflection more;
Is that a Birth-Day? 'tis alas! too clear,
'Tis but the funeral of the former year.
Let Joy or Ease, let Affluence or Content,
And the gay Conscience of a life well spent,
Calm ev'ry thought, inspirit ev'ry grace.
Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face.
Let day improve on day, and year on year,
Without a Pain, a Trouble, or a Fear;
Till Death unfelt that tender frame destroy,
In some soft Dream, or Extasy of joy,
Peaceful sleep out the Sabbath of the Tomb,
And wake to Raptures in a Life to come.
poem by Alexander Pope
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Hope Is Not For The Wise
Hope is not for the wise, fear is for fools;
Change and the world, we think, are racing to a fall,
Open-eyed and helpless, in every newscast that is the news:
The time's events would seem mere chaos but all
Drift the one deadly direction. But this is only
The August thunder of the age, not the November.
Wise men hope nothing, the wise are naturally lonely
And think November as good as April, the wise remember
That Caesar and even final Augustulus had heirs,
And men lived on; rich unplanned life on earth
After the foreign wars and the civil wars, the border wars
And the barbarians: music and religion, honor and mirth
Renewed life's lost enchantments. But if life even
Had perished utterly, Oh perfect loveliness of earth and heaven.
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Ellen Terry in the Merchant of Venice
As there she lives and moves upon the scene,
So lived and moved this radiant womanhood
In Shakespeare's vision; in such wise she stood
Smiling upon Bassanio; such her mien
When pity dimmed her eyelids' golden sheen,
Hearing Antonio's story, and the blood
Paled on her cheek, and all her lightsome mood
Was gone. This shape in Shakespeare's thought has been!
Thus dreamt he of her in gray London town;
Such were her eyes; on such gold-colored hair
The grave young judge's velvet cap was set;
So stood she lovely in her crimson gown.
Mine were a happy cast, could I but snare
Her beauty in a sonnet's fragile net.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Jesus Christ, the King of Kings
Jesus Christ, the King of Kings!
His wise Word, in ears most rings;
And His praise, each church choir sings;
His one birth for earth, joy brings!
Jesus Christ, true God, true man,
Was but born with short life-span;
His great feat, repeat none can;
Seeing Him, all devils ran!
He started Christianity!
He came from eternity,
For sinners, and show pity;
He lives in heaven’s city.
His realm is not of this earth;
Prophets did forecast his birth;
Repentance can bring men mirth;
Pray to Him and get the worth!
Jesus Christ is creator;
He is Lord and protector;
His angels, men monitor;
For God’s grace, say, ’Confiteor’!
Jesus comes a second time;
He is God in every clime!
His wisdom stands for all time;
His great works are sung in rhyme!
Crucified, in pain, He lay;
He died but rose on third day!
He loved souls, scriptures say;
He’s the Truth, the Light and Way!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 25-11-11
poem by John Celes
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