From Beyond
Here there is balm for every tender heart
Wounded by life;
Rest for each one who bore a valiant part
Crushed in the strife.
I suffered there and held a losing fight
Even to the grave;
And now I know that it was very right
To suffer and be brave.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Related quotes
Sonnet: Let Sufferings Come, So What!
My suff’rings isn’t big compared to others;
Each one’s sufferings appear too much to him!
How suffered my freedom-fighter brothers!
We tend to think that each one’s life is grim.
How pioneers suffer in walks of life!
How prisoners suffer in lone cellars!
How leaders strive to ward off unique strife!
How people suffer when come down pillars!
Suffered have many, much more than any;
How suffered Christ for man’s sins on the cross!
Sufferings in life will visit so many;
A man who suffers is now his own boss!
Sufferings are nothing when God is beside;
In suff’ring souls on earth, God will reside.
poem by John Celes
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People Choose To Lay Up On Their Backsides
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
Hear them talk about their pains,
And those agonies they reveal.
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
And...
Listen how they boast about,
Reasons why they choose NOT to heal.
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
People like to stay flat on their back-
Sides!
People like to moan and that's a fact.
People like to stay flat on their back-
Sides!
People like to feel that keep it real...
To suffer!
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
And...
People choose to lay up on their backsides!
Listen to their reasons NOT to heal!
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.
I have suffered this.
And...
I suffer from that.'
People choose to lay up on their backsides!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Farewell My Rebel Latvian (For Erica)
Farewell my noble rebel so cold and deep the grave
But you were not afraid of death and you were always brave
You were my favourite brother the one I loved the best
The rebel heart from Latvia has gone to peaceful rest.
I remember back in Germany when you and your friend ran away
You planned to go to Latvia to join the rebel fray
But of course ye did not make it as ye were far too young
you were the lad of action who spoke with rebel tongue.
Farewell my brother Johnny you never lived to see
the greatest dream you ever had that Latvia might be free,
Free of the tyrant Soviets and their brutality
We had so much in common we loved our own Country.
Farewell my rebel Latvian with dignity you died
You bore your suffering bravely and and faced the end with pride
God thought you'd suffered too much and on your life quenched the light
And now you're in a freer World where you won't have to fight
Farewell my rebel brother my heart is flood with tears
You were my king and hero in hard and bitter years
But god he loved you better he took you from your pain
And we will meet in heaven I know we'll meet again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Only The Brave One
Only the brave one can smile though not winning only the brave are gracious in defeat
Only the brave one though seen as successful never does show any sign of conceit
If for some reason from the Queen you do not accept a knighthood that does not prove lack of grace on your part
That only proves that you are a good person that you are one who does follow your heart
You've proved yourself in the heat of the battle and you became a hero when the war was won
It has been said that your victims were many but everyone you killed was some mother's son
Many see you as a brave ageing hero a hero once and a hero today
But I am not one who agrees with the many I look at life in a different way
On what is brave I do have my opinions but that doesn't mean my opinions are right
I've never discharged a gun at another for God or Country I never would fight
Maybe I do seem off in my opinions but that's your opinion and that suits me fine
You belong to what's known as majority thinking but are your opinions much better than mine
Only the brave one will speak for the oppressed one that's my opinion though I'm far from brave
But fear is a thing that helps me to keep living I fear the coldness of the earthy grave.
--------------------
poem by Francis Duggan
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Chained Heart
Unchain this wounded heart: let the healing conquer the patches
Unchain this wounded soul: let love flow through it's crystal clear veins
Unchain me: Unchain my heart
Through your love: I found myself
Through your sorrow: I got hurt
Through your pain: I found never drying tears
Unchain me: Unchain my heart
I held on too long
I held on something strong
I held on something sincere
I held on something special
Unchain me: Unchain my heart
Am in a prison: A prison of love
Finding the key for unknown locks is complicated
Setting me free is the last option in his mind
For the pain: I went through
For the love your found hard to return
For the times you took me for granted
Unchain me: Unchain my heart;
Unchain me: Unchain my heart
A heart that loves you:
A heart that waited for you
A heart that is bleeding
A heart that is almost loosing its beat
Unchain me: Unchain this wounded heart of mine
poem by Sylviah Salima
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Darling
Hey my darling don’t be so sad
It’s not good but it’s not that bad
You’ve lost just one battle
Rest of the war is yet to be fought
You’ve to save the things from being distraught
Oh my angel don’t feel so low
Bring back your smile that shining glow
What is past and that is gone
Those were just bad days, bad phase of your life
Life is calling you forget all those strifes
O my sweetheart please don’t cry
Don’t lose your heart without a try
You’ve few dead dreams
Now put them in to the grave
Stand up with the time and be a little brave
Darling darling! Don’t look at the dust
You have to keep the faith & your trust
Just one wrong move
Now get ready for the right
You’re not alone baby, together we’ll fight
Yes my sweet lady I’m with you
My love kisses you in everything you do
This is the time for new beginning
Just go ahead and fight with no fear & aghast
And I will take care of your broken heart
poem by Sourav RCY
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I rose—because He sank
616
I rose—because He sank—
I thought it would be opposite—
But when his power dropped—
My Soul grew straight.
I cheered my fainting Prince—
I sang firm—even—Chants—
I helped his Film—with Hymn—
And when the Dews drew off
That held his Forehead stiff—
I met him—
Balm to Balm—
I told him Best—must pass
Through this low Arch of Flesh—
No Casque so brave
It spurn the Grave—
I told him Worlds I knew
Where Emperors grew—
Who recollected us
If we were true—
And so with Thews of Hymn—
And Sinew from within—
And ways I knew not that I knew—till then—
I lifted Him—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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A Cave Like A Grave
I've put your love in a cage
I've held your love and your pain
With both of my hands with my regrets
I've dumped your love and my regrets in the cage
Since the day that you've gone
Journey for me has begun
I've hidden your love and It's pain
I've dug the cave like a grave
I've held the memories with my hand
I've touched the pain, Ah I cried vain
One by one I've added them to the cave
All your promises were undone
You've gone.
I've put the cave like a grave
Upon my shoulders I held your ache unaware
Years long years you were there
Inside my heart never went
I've held you with me in rough
I cried, I suffered pain, oh in vain
I held you with me all these years. Never could leaving the past years
I've held them like a bag
filled with fires and with pain
Since the day that you've gone The misery of love for me was begun
Today I want you to know
I've thrown away the cage including all your aches
I left my soul free, out of the grave of your love
The journey for me has found an end.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Sonnet: In Strife, My Soul for God Truly Athirsts
When intense strife afills my heart with woes,
And problems of all sorts dullens my mind,
And supervenes insomnia by foes,
In God and prayer, solace I still find.
When things don’t happen timely when I want,
Immersed in grief, my heart seems wounded much,
With solutions eluding, think I can’t,
I plead and long for Maker’s magic touch.
When all seems lost in life on earth to me,
And not a person offers words of love,
In solitude, I suffer verily,
My only comfort is my God above.
In strife, my soul for God truly athirsts;
When sin-forgiven, jubilantly bursts.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-25-2006
poem by John Celes
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You Changed My Life
You changed my life
Came along in a time of strife
In hunger and need
You made my heart bleed
You changed my life
You changed my life
Now the nature of man
Is to beg and to steal
Id do it myself
Its not so unreal
The call of the wilds
Forever at my door
Want me to fly like an eagle
Being chained to the floor, but
You changed my life
Came along in a time of strife
In hunger and need
You made my heart bleed
You changed my life
You changed my life
Eating with the pigs
Off a fancy tray
I was bold, I was looking good
And to have a nice day
It all seemed so proper
And so elite
Eating absolute garbage
While being so discreet.
You changed my life
Came along in a time of strife
In hunger and need
You made my heart bleed
You changed my life
You changed my life
You were glowing in the light
Being peaceably calm
Well, how often does a man dance
To the beat of the balm?
Your eyes were on fire
Your feet were of brass
In a world that you made
You were an outcast
You changed my life
Came along in a time of strife
In hunger and need
You made my heart bleed
You changed my life
You changed my life
Truce makers and partakers
Of every selfish whim
Her running to meet me running to her
And you running back to him
Their destruction of my confidence
Was like a sharpness of the tongue
I said: make my faith greater
But I was a little high strung
You changed my life
Came along in a time of strife
In hunger and need
You made my heart bleed
You changed my life
You changed my life
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don’t ask the God
Don’t ask the God for anything!
He cannot make you rich without
Making others poor to suit.
He didn’t form the Himalayas
Without digging the Pacific.
You must suffer for you inflict;
You are a victim of chances;
You too will get lost like the rest.
Your asking is others’ losing.
Yours is a part and the others’
Is the rest to make you exist.
You can bear the cross as feathers
And shy the crown as thorns the least.
Don’t ask the God for anything!
28.05.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Jesse James
Jesse James was a lad who killed many a man.
He robbed the Glendale train.
He stole from the rich and he gave to the poor,
He’d a hand and a heart and a brain.
Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,
Three children, they were brave,
But that dirty little coward that shot Mister Howard,
Has laid Jesse James in his grave.
It was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,
I wonder how he does feel,
For he ate of Jesse’s bread and he slept in Jesse’s bed,
Then he laid Jesse James in his grave.
Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,
He’d never see a man suffer pain,
And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank,
And stopped the Glendale train.
It was on a Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright,
He stopped the Glendale train,
And the people all did say for many miles away,
It was robbed by Frank and Jesse James.
It was on a Saturday night, Jesse was at home,
Talking to his family brave,
Robert Ford came along like a thief in the night,
And laid Jesse James in his grave.
The people held their breath when they heard of Jesse’s death,
And wondered how he ever came to die,
It was one of the gang called little Robert Ford,
That shot Jesse James on the sly.
Jesse went to his rest with his hand on his breast,
The devil will be upon his knee,
He was born one day in the county of Clay
And he came from a solitary race.
This song was made by Billy Gashade,
As soon as the news did arrive,
He said there was no man with the law in his hand
Could take Jesse James when alive.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Salute Wounded Soldier
To serve is a blessing
to battle is a endless honor
to all that served we salute
for the dead we praise their heroism
to drape they coffin with our flag
a 21 gun salute, flags at half staff
we give very little to the wounded
they suffer the most, life ever changing
suffering pain, fighting the nightmares
left to heal, lots to deal with
from the bed they fight for life
pray for healing, what their families are dealing
life changes, minds destroyed, bodies mangled
they fight to survive, strong then life
stronger than us, they will over come
wounds will heal, the nightmares remain
coping with new limbs and faces
proud they stand, Honor they are
Heroes to all, loved by all
thanking for serving, your real deserving
the wounded soldier, the beholder
our deserving heroes, our icons
a salute to all of you
all will not be forgotten
your in our hearts, its an honor
Salute Wounded Soldiers
poem by Michael Peterson
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Charles Sumner. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fourth)
Garlands upon his grave
And flowers upon his hearse,
And to the tender heart and brave
The tribute of this verse.
His was the troubled life,
The conflict and the pain,
The grief, the bitterness of strife,
The honor without stain.
Like Winkelried, he took
Into his manly breast
The sheaf of hostile spears, and broke
A path for the oppressed.
Then from the fatal field
Upon a nation's heart
Borne like a warrior on his shield!--
So should the brave depart.
Death takes us by surprise,
And stays our hurrying feet;
The great design unfinished lies,
Our lives are incomplete.
But in the dark unknown
Perfect their circles seem,
Even as a bridge's arch of stone
Is rounded in the stream.
Alike are life and death,
When life in death survives,
And the uninterrupted breath
Inspires a thousand lives.
Were a star quenched on high,
For ages would its light,
Still travelling downward from the sky,
Shine on our mortal sight.
So when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken,
The light he leaves behind him lies
Upon the paths of men.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Cricket King
Graeme Smith willing to take the risk
of injuring the broken bone in his hand,
while his elbow is to be operated upon,
for thirty minutes he held the bat, suffered
the pain, deeming it worth the gain to fend
for his country, Australians appreciating his
valiant effort, a standing ovation in fair
sportsmanship
I’m astounded, how can people suffer
so much willingly, how could he cut away
plaster of Paris and enter the game, what
beautiful spirit, what integrity – the most
loyal captain who never abandon his ship,
I’m so proud of this cricket King of our
South African team!
poem by Margaret Alice
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Then trust me there's nothing like drinking, So pleasant on this side of the grave: It keeps the unhappy from thinking, And makes e'en the valiant more brave.
quote by Charles Dibdin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Held Up With Just A Stick
Held up with just a stick.
Held up with just a stick.
Held up with just a stick.
Held up with just a stick.
Held up with just a stick,
It seems...
Held up with just a stick,
One's head...
Held up with just a stick,
Their arms and their legs...
Needing to be fed.
And...
Held up with just a stick,
One's pride...
Held up with just a stick,
Two eyes and two ears...
Living poverty so near,
To...
Famish it is clear.
And...
Held up with just a stick,
Hunger.
Held up with just a stick,
Life!
Held up with just a stick,
Blight!
And those who fight death in their sight.
Held up with just a stick,
Life!
Held up with just a stick,
Pride!
Held up with just a stick,
Blight!
And those who fight death in their sight.
Held up with just a stick,
And...
There's no benefit to it.
Held up with just a stick,
Life!
Held up with just a stick,
Pride!
Held up with just a stick,
Blight!
And living this is NOT a gift.
Held up with just a stick,
And...
There's no benefit to it.
Held up with just a stick.
Held up with just a stick.
Held up with just a stick.
Held up with just a stick.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We Need Fear For Survival
Of valour on the battlefield and in other ways we hear
But only the most foolhardy one would never know of fear
We need fear for survival may they rest in peace the brave
Their reward for their bravery the cold and darkness of the grave.
We need fear for survival the very brave are dead
And little use to them 'twould seem if good things of them are said
We need a bit of fear in us in order to stay alive
Few of the brave to a ripe old age have been known to survive.
I'd rather live to a ripe old age than have died young and brave
We need a bit of fear in us for to keep cheating the grave
Why would you even wish to die though your better days are long gone
Our will to live is always strong and it keeps us keeping on.
The fear of death is a healthy fear the brave seem to die young
Though of no use to the deceased if their praises are sung
In their graves they do never hear the bugler for them play
They lay in peace forever more that's life as some might say.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Best Medicine
Life is full of fun and laughter
Children are happy
What more could you ask after
Happiness is, God's free gift in life
Smart people know
And stay out of strife
You work hard all day
You come home to rest
You'll do it all tomorrow
It's part of life's test
A big storm is coming,
You know it's gonna rain
So laughter triggers something in your brain
Which helps to alleviate, all that pain
You have to be brave, you have to be bold
laughter: It's the best medicine
The best that I have been told
poem by Catherine Passmore
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The Troubadour
Glowing with love, on fire for fame
A Troubadour that hated sorrow
Beneath his lady's window came,
And thus he sung his last good-morrow:
'My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my true-love's bower;
Gaily for love and fame to fight
Befits the gallant Troubadour.'
And while he marched with helm on head
And harp in hand, the descant rung,
As faithful to his favourite maid,
The minstrel-burden still he sung:
'My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my lady's bower;
Resolved for love and fame to fight
I come, a gallant Troubadour.'
Even when the battle-roar was deep,
With dauntless heart he hewed his way,
'Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep,
And still was heard his warrior-lay:
'My life it is my country's right,
My heart is in my lady's bower;
For love to die, for fame to fight,
Becomes the valiant Troubadour.'
Alas! upon the bloody field
He fell beneath the foeman's glaive,
But still reclining on his shield,
Expiring sung the exulting stave:-
'My life it is my country's right,
My heart is in my lady's bower;
For love and fame to fall in fight
Becomes the valiant Troubadour.'
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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