Sonnet: Death, Thou Art Great!
Death, Thou art not as cruel as I thought!
Today, I understand Thy special role;
And without thee, this world would be a naught;
Neither Heaven nor Hell would get a soul!
O Death, Thou Thief of Time, when world began!
How stealthily thy job, Thou renderest!
Of all God’s creatures, Thou art cursed by man;
Although, Thou servest him Thy very best.
If man knew when Thou taketh him away,
He would make up for all his sinful ways;
And keep accounts straight for God’s Judgment-Day,
When Hell would cease to exist in that case.
When Heaven could turn meaningless a place!
Then how would men ev’r see the Maker’s face?
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: On Calumny
Be thou a saint and yet the world won't spare;
Be thou most chaste and yet, most tongues will talk;
Be thou a crook and yet people don't care;
Be thou a tiger yet, some men will stalk.
Be thou cruel and yet the world will praise;
Be thou too kind and yet the world will taunt;
Be thou rigid and yet the world can't face;
Be thou timid and yet the world will haunt;
Be thou selfish and yet the world loves thee;
Be thou selfless and yet the world thee hates;
Be thou goodly and yet you are not free;
Be thou evil and yet the world thee mates.
Be thou yourself and yet the world finds fault;
Be thou anything, yet the world will vault.
poem by John Celes
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Be Thou My Vision
Be thou my vision, oh lord of my heart
Nought be all else to me, save that thy art
Thou my best thought in the day and the night
Waking or sleeping, thou presence my light
Be thou my wisdom, be thou my true word
I ever with thee and thou with me lord
Thou my great father and I thy true son
Thou in me dwelling and I with thee one
Be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight
Be thou my armour and be thou my might
Thou my soul shelter, and thy my high tower
Raise thou me heavenwards, oh power of my power
Riches I need not, nor mans empty praise
Thou mine inheritance through all of my days
Thou and thou only though first in my heart
High king of heaven my treasure thou art
Oh high king of heaven, when battle is done
Grant heavens joy to me, bright heaven sun
Christ of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my vision, though ruler of all
Da, da, da, da, da, etc.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hell Yeah
Alright now boys and girls we've got another story for you now!
We want to introduce to you another friend of the Bible!
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
If I were God there would be no explicit sex on T.V.
Like little Opie eating pie when he made it with Aunt Bea
If I were God thou shall not worship false Billy Idols
And thou shall add the Book Of Flavor Flav to the Bible
Thou shall make fun of Hindus thou shall not make a "Speed 2"
If I were God that's what I'd do Heavens no
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
If I were God I'd get a bunch of slaves to do everything
Norwegian lesbians that feed me grapes and know how to sing
If I were God thou shall not wear tube socks with Flip-Flops
Thou shall sit and thou shall spin thou shall even wife swap
Thou shall resist the Olsen Twins
song performed by by Bloodhound Gang from Hooray For Boobies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wilt Thou Take Me For Thy Slave?
Wilt thou take me for thy slave,
With my folly and my love?
Wilt thou take me for the bondsman of thy pride?
Thou who dearer art to me than all the world beside;
For I love thee as no other man can love.
Wilt thou take me to thy soul,
For the truth which thou shalt prove?
Wilt thou clothe me with the riches of thy care?
Thou who dearer art to me than gold and jewels rare;
For I love thee as no other man can love.
Wilt thou take me for thy king,
While the sun and stars shall move?
Wilt thou pay me back the homage I have given?
Oh thou dearer unto me than sun and stars and heaven!
For I love thee as no other man can love.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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A Lesson In Humility
'Tis time, my soul, thou shouldst be purged of pride.
What men are these with thee, whose ill deeds done
Make thee thus shrink from them and be denied?
They are but as thou art, each mother's son
A convict in transgression. Here is one,
Sayest thou, who struck his fellow and he died.
And yet he weeps hot tears. Do thy tears run?
This other thieved, yet clasps Christ crucified.
Where is thy greater virtue? Thinkest thou sin
Is but crime's record on the judgment seat?
Or must thou wait for death to be bowed down?
Oh for a righteous reading which should join
Thy deeds together in an accusing sheet,
And leave thee if thou couldst, to face men's frown!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Holy Sonnet X: Death Be Not Proud
Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men
And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne
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O' Murderous Poverty
O' poverty, thou hast made man prostrate his soul for repast
Thou hast made him swallow the bitter pills of living
Yet thou sing songs of death to his hearing
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel and fiend.
In thy bosom cometh suffering, pains and sorrows
Thou taketh delight when the world's burden heaped upon man
Man toil in vain for subsistence from sunrise to sunset
Yet thou castigate him with thy unseen wand
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel and fiend.
Man roams about the street with no shoes for his feet
And with no vest upon his already worn out bones
Having his repast from the table crumbs of other folks
Not certain of where the next crumbs of survival cometh
Yet you castigate him with thy unseen wand
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel and fiend.
His offspring sick and pale then die ere his face
His heart become a place where dirge and elegy meet
And he ask 'Poverty, why thou puncture the tube of my happiness?
Why art thou the architect of man's sorrows and grieves'.
Yet thou castigate him with thy unseen wand
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel, cruel, cruel even fiend.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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Intrigue
THOU art my love
And thou art the peace of sundown
When the blue shadows soothe
And the grasses and the leaves sleep
To the song of the little brooks
Woe is me.
Thou art my love,
And thou art a storm
That breaks black in the sky
And, sweeping headlong,
Drenches and cowers each tree
And at the panting end
There is no sound
Save the melancholy cry of a single owl
Woe is me!
Thou art my love
And thou art a tinsel thing
And I in my play
Broke thee easily
And from the little fragments
Arose my long sorrow
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a weary violet
Drooping from sun-caresses.
Answering mine carelessly
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art the ashes of other men's love
And I bury my face in these ashes
And I love them
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art the beard
On another man's face
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a temple
And in this temple is an altar
And on this altar is my heart
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a wretch.
Let these sacred love-lies choke thee
For I am come to where I know your lies as truth
And your truth as lies
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a priestess
And in thy hand is a bloody dagger
And my doom comes to me surely
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a skull with ruby eyes
And I love thee
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And I doubt thee
And if peace came with my murder
Then would I murder
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art death
Aye, thou art death
Black and yet black
But I love thee
I love thee
Woe, welcome woe, to me.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Holy Sonnet X:Death be not proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne
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Holy Sonnet X
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne
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All Pervading Consciousness
And as His Essence all the world pervades
Naught in Creation is, save this alone.
Upon the waters has He fixed His Throne,
This earth suspended in the starry space,
Yet what are seas and what is air? For all
Is God, and but a talisman are heaven and earth
To veil Divinity. For heaven and earth,
Did He not permeate them, were but names;
Know then, that both this visible world and that
Which unseen is, alike are God Himself,
Naught is, save God: and all that is, is God.
And yet, alas! by how few is He seen,
Blind are men's eyes, though all resplendent shines
The world by Deity's own light illumined,
0 Thou whom man perceiveth not, although
To him Thou deignest to make known Thyself;
Thou all Creation art, all we behold, but Thou,
The soul within the body lies concealed,
And Thou dost hide Thyself within the soul,
0 soul in soul! Myst'ry in myst'ry hid!
Before all wert Thou, and are more than all!
poem by Farid ud-Din Attar Abu Hamid bin Abu Bakr Ibrahim
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Upon The Thief
The thief, when he doth steal, thinks he doth gain;
Yet then the greatest loss he doth sustain.
Come, thief, tell me thy gains, but do not falter.
When summ'd, what comes it to more than the halter?
Perhaps, thou'lt say, The halter I defy;
So thou may'st say, yet by the halter die.
Thou'lt say, Then there's an end; no, pr'ythee, hold,
He was no friend of thine that thee so told.
Hear thou the Word of God, that will thee tell,
Without repentance thieves must go to hell.
But should it be as thy false prophet says,
Yet nought but loss doth come by thievish ways.
All honest men will flee thy company,
Thou liv'st a rogue, and so a rogue will die.
Innocent boldness thou hast none at all,
Thy inward thoughts do thee a villain call.
Sometimes when thou liest warmly on thy bed,
Thou art like one unto the gallows led.
Fear, as a constable, breaks in upon thee,
Thou art as if the town was up to stone thee.
If hogs do grunt, or silly rats do rustle,
Thou art in consternation, think'st a bustle
By men about the door, is made to take thee,
And all because good conscience doth forsake thee.
Thy case is most deplorably so bad,
Thou shunn'st to think on't, lest thou should'st be mad.
Thou art beset with mischiefs every way,
The gallows groaneth for thee every day.
Wherefore, I pr'ythee, thief, thy theft forbear,
Consult thy safety, pr'ythee, have a care.
If once thy head be got within the noose,
'Twill be too late a longer life to choose.
As to the penitent thou readest of,
What's that to them who at repentance scoff.
Nor is that grace at thy command or power,
That thou should'st put it off till the last hour.
I pr'ythee, thief, think on't, and turn betime;
Few go to life who do the gallows climb.
poem by John Bunyan
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Holy Sonnet 10 - Death be not proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more, Death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne from Holy Sonnets
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Confessional
Search thou my heart;
If there be guile,
It shall depart
Before thy smile.
Search thou my soul;
Be there deceit,
'T will vanish whole
Before thee, sweet.
Upon my mind
Turn thy pure lens;
Naught shalt thou find
Thou canst not cleanse.
If I should pray,
I scarcely know
In just what way
My prayers would go.
So strong in me
I feel love's leaven,
I 'd bow to thee
As soon as Heaven!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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To Mary
If I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not weep for thee;
But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be:
It never through my mind had past
The time would e'er be o'er,
And I on thee should look my last,
And thou shouldst smile no more!
And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill smile again;
And still the thought I will not brook,
That I must look in vain.
But when I speak—thou dost not say
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid;
And now I feel, as well I may,
Sweet Mary, thou art dead!
If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art,
All cold and all serene—
I still might press thy silent heart,
And where thy smiles have been.
While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have,
Thou seemest still mine own;
But there—I lay thee in thy grave,
And I am now alone!
I do not think, where'er thou art,
Thou hast forgotten me;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart
In thinking too of thee:
Yet there was round thee such a dawn
Of light ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore!
poem by Charles Wolfe
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On Death
Death, thou art a harden’d crook!
Trying souls unwary to hook;
By the waters of a brook;
Few elderly to book.
Never art thou better than Birth!
Without which, no soul gets Mirth;
By Baptism, the Soldier of God
Enters His Abode, of the Lord.
Fie Death! Thou art a fool to steal
Souls unready to die- I feel;
But only through thy cruel Kiss,
Open the gates to Heaven’s Bliss.
God, He redeemed this sinful world
Through you; To show His love, I’m told;
His Resurrection proved Him God!
By thee, man goes to His Abode.
Man dies by fire, water, soil;
Soul climbs the celestial trail;
The unwary cannot get bail!
One day, all must to Him set sail.
Some day, man will have to die!
And in the grave, rest for a while;
The body, soul shall then live come,
For His Judgment, from every tomb!
poem by John Celes
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Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Admonition 20
O thou asker of food, sit for thou wilt eat; and 0 thou asked by death, run not for thou wilt not save thy life.
Whether thou strivest for a maintenance or not
God the most high and glorious will send it to thee;
And if thou rushest into the jaw of a lion or tiger
They will not devour thee unless on the day decreed.
Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho - Be Victorious
Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Come on in and join us under this big
Well decorated and tastefully coloured shelter
Come on in and join us under the
Glittering blue sky and celebrate thy victory
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Despite the fact that thou know
As each day passes thou art nearing thy death
Be thou victorious
Be thou victorious and dance on
The ever burning earthly turmoil
As the flames of black coal
Dance with the waving wind
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Blow away thy sleep
From thy ever bright eyes
And in thy demonstration
Show to the world
That thou art victorious
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Extend thy tender fingers to reach out
The shining stars on the sky
Brushing aside the dogma around them
Be thou victorious
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Overcoming all the obstacles
Bottlenecks between thou and the victory
Let thou be crowned with victory always
Be thou victorious
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Despite thy knowing thy weaknesses
But thou know how to harness thy strengths
And emerge victorious
In all challenging situations
Be thou victorious
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Come on in and join us under this big
Well decorated and tastefully coloured shelter
Come on in and join us under the
Glittering blue sky and celebrate thy victory
Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Still I Feel...
Darling, thou are not exist in our world now
But still in some nights I feel...
(And I) think with surprise that
Thou are still exist in our memory.
Sometimes a star in the late evening sky
That thou saw a few days ago
Who still thinks about thou
And stays up far into the capricious night,
Then I feel thou are still exist in our world.
I see the morning light slowly opens its eyes
Through the thick mist,
After awaking many birds start flying,
Are thou not still with them?
I feel in the heart of a little bird
Sitting in my window cornice
The fire of hope is still burning;
I know thou are still exist in our world
And so is thy love.
poem by Riffat Samad
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Sonnet: Take Thou My…
Take Thou my hands and use them as Thy own;
Thou knowest well their optimum usage;
And I might use them almost like a clown!
Abuse/ misuse them ’fore I reach old-age.
Take Thou my eyes and use them as Thy own,
So that they see just things they’re meant to see;
For I might see things, on which Thou couldst frown,
Or fail to see the things I must freely.
Take Thou my mind and use it as Thy own,
My ears and nose and tongue and skin as well;
My thoughts and actions should not let me down;
Let not my soul forever burn in Hell.
Take Thou my soul and use it as Thy own,
Before I sin and Thou must me disown!
6-8-2001
Dedicated to all Righteous and God-fearing
People of this world!
poem by John Celes
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