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Saints

They raise up saints
in the religions I've known.
And then they carve them
in white marble stone.
What have they done
to deserve such praise?
Have they done anything more
than our poor earthly slaves?

It seems to me
that they're so far away.
Why do people pray to them
every single day?
Sainthood is saved
for holy ones,
not sisters, brothers and sons,
who may not be holy
but give up their lives.
Their white marble stone
never ever survives.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Monument For The Soldiers

A monument for the Soldiers!
And what will ye build it of?
Can ye build it of marble, or brass, or bronze,
Outlasting the Soldiers' love?
Can ye glorify it with legends
As grand as their blood hath writ
From the inmost shrine of this land of thine
To the outermost verge of it?

And the answer came: We would build it
Out of our hopes made sure,
And out of our purest prayers and tears,
And out of our faith secure:
We would build it out of the great white truths
Their death hath sanctified,
And the sculptured forms of the men in arms,
And their faces ere they died.

And what heroic figures
Can the sculptor carve in stone?
Can the marble breast be made to bleed,
And the marble lips to moan?
Can the marble brow be fevered?
And the marble eyes be graved
To look their last, as the flag floats past,
On the country they have saved?

And the answer came: The figures
Shall all be fair and brave,
And, as befitting, as pure and white
As the stars above their grave!
The marble lips, and breast and brow
Whereon the laurel lies,
Bequeath us right to guard the flight
Of the old flag in the skies!

A monument for the Soldiers!
Built of a people's love,
And blazoned and decked and panoplied
With the hearts ye build it oft
And see that ye build it stately,
In pillar and niche and gate,
And high in pose as the souls of those
It would commemorate!

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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He Alone Is Worthy

Sing along with the angels,
Adorned in white,
Kneel before Him
In honor of His throne
Sing along.

Thank Him for His mercy
For His council
Thank Him for His Glory
Thank Him.

Holy holy holy
Is His name
King forever
King of heaven and earth
Holy holy is He.

Mighty is His name
His kingdom everlasting
His love all enduring
Mighty is He.

Clap your hands
Stamp your feet
Raise your voices
And praise Him
For He alone is worthy
He alone is holy
Praise Him.

poem by Buxton Shippy
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Sing a New Song

O sing a new song, to our God above,
Avoid profane ones, 'tis for holy choir:
Let Israel sing song of holy love
To him that made them, with their hearts on fire:
Let Zion's sons life up their voice, and sing
Carols and anthems to their heavenly king.

Let not your voice alone his praise forth tell,
But move withal, and praise him in the dance;
Cymbals and harps, let them be tuned well,
'Tis he that doth the poor's estate advance:
Do this not only on the solemn days,
But on your secret beds you spirits raise.

O let the saints bear in their mouth his praise,
And a two-edged sword drawn in their hand,
Therewith for to revenge the former days,
Upon all nations, that their zeal withstand;
To bind their kings in chains of iron strong,
And manacle their nobles for their wrong.

Expect the time, for 'tis decreed in heaven,
Such honor shall unto his saints be given.

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Holy, Holy, Holy

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee;
Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!
Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore Thee,
Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
Cherubim and seraphim falling down before Thee,
Who was, and is, and evermore shall be.
Holy, holy, holy! though the darkness hide Thee,
Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see;
Only Thou art holy; there is none beside Thee,
Perfect in power, in love, and purity.
Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
All Thy works shall praise Thy Name, in earth, and sky, and sea;
Holy, holy, holy; merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!

song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here I Come-4

Holy holy is He
So merciful
Lion and King
Wonderful Counselor
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.

Most High God
Holy holy
Prince of Peace
Mighty Redeemer
King of Kings
Most High God
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.

Take my sins
As far as the east
Is from the west
Purge me
With your precious blood
Shelter me
From the storms
Cover me
With your glory
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.

You are so holy
You went to the cross
For me
So holy
You bled for me
So holy
You paid a price
I could not pay
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.

poem by Buxton Shippy
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Holy Is The Lord

Holy is your name, in all the earth I worship you
Holy is your name, in all the earth I come to you
Holy is your name, in all the earth I sing to you
Holy, Holy, Holy is your name

Holy are you Lord, I come before your throne and bow
Holy are you Lord, I come into your presence now
Holy are you Lord I listen to the angels sing
Holy, Holy, Holy are you Lord

Holy are you Lord, my heart it leaps within my chest
Holy are you Lord, Its in your arms I find my rest
Holy are you Lord, the saints around the world they sing
Holy, Holy, Holy are you Lord

Now listen to the saints, they sing Holy are you Lord
Now listen to them cry to you, Holy are you Lord
There is a cry around the world, they lift their voice and sing
Holy, Holy, Holy are you Lord

I come before your throne to sing, Holy is your name
I come before your throne to sing, I'll never be the same
Pour our out your fire of love on me, this is what I sing
Holy, Holy, to the risen King

poem by Frank McEleny
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The Temple - What Makes It Of Worth

You may delve down to rock for your foundation piers,
You may go with your steel to the sky
You may purchase the best of the thought of the years,
And the finest of workmanship buy.
You may line with the rarest of marble each hall,
And with gold you may tint it; but then
It is only a building if it, after all,
Isn't filled with the spirit of men.

You may put up a structure of brick and of stone,
Such as never was put up before;
Place there the costliest woods that are grown,
And carve every pillar and door.
You may fill it with splendors of quarry and mine,
With the glories of brush and of pen —
But it's only a building, though ever so fine,
If it hasn't the spirit of men.

You may build such structure that lightning can't harm,
Or one that an earthquake can't raze;
You may build it of granite, and boast that its charm
Shall last to the end of all days.
But you might as well never have builded at all,
Never cleared off the bog and the fen,
If, after it's finished, its sheltering wall
Doesn't stand for the spirit of men.

For it isn't the marble, nor is it the stone
Nor is it the columns of steel,
By which is the worth of an edifice known;
But it's something that's living and real.

poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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I was zero

I came across engraved broken piece of marble stone which revealed life achievement of a person as under: -

Name : - God 'son
Birth place
&timing : - Holy land, time knot known,
Achievement: - descended on land, ate, drank, merry and back to
heavenly base.

History : - falk tales revealed 'he did nothing, no sin,
No ill will,

' Lies here greatest son of soil of our time '
' We pray such soul should visit our land'

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Cry Of Vatos

[backwards]
First part:
(? )praise God brothers and sisters.
Just once or twice is good for your soul, praise god!
Accept jesus into your heart and you will saved.
You will receive everlasting life.
Listen to me, Ive sinned, I know.
Second part:
Praise jesus and you will be saved, saved, saved...
Praise god, you are healed, healed, healed...

song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give Thanks To The Holy One

Give thanks to the holy one
That created you in his image
Give thanks to the holy one
That gave you life
Give thanks to the holy one
That gave your health
Give thanks for the holy one
That invited you to his table
For holy communion
Give thanks to the holy one
That made heaven and earth
Give thanks to the holy one
That made the lake here at home
That connects you with the other part of the world

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Solitude

This is the maiden Solitude, too fair
For mortal eyes to gaze on--she who dwells
In the lone valley where the water wells
Clear from the marble, where the mountain air
Is resinous with pines, and white peaks bare
Their unpolluted bosoms to the stars,
And holy Reverence the passage bars
To meaner souls who seek to enter there;
Only the worshipper at Nature's shrine
May find that maiden waiting to be won,
With broad calm brow and meek eyes of the dove,
May drink the rarer ether all divine,
And, earthly toils and earthly troubles done,
May win the longed-for sweetness of her love.

poem by James Lister Cuthbertson
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Sonnet XIII: Behold What Hap

Behold what hap Pygmalion had to frame
And carve his proper grief upon a stone;
My heavy fortune is much like the same:
I work on flint, and that's the cause I moan.
For hapless, lo, ev'n with mine own desires,
I figur'd on the table of my heart
The fairest form, the world's eye admires,
And so did perish by my proper art.
And still I toil, to change the marble breast
Of her, whose sweetest grace I do adore,
Yet cannot find her breath unto my rest:
Hard is her heart, and woe is me, therefore.
O happy he that joy'd his stone and art,
Unhappy I to love a stony heart.

poem by Samuel Daniel
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Easter Island

Guarding the carcass, we stripped and devided
To carve up and covet they wait there alone
Keeping the secret the rest have forgotten
And staring in silence from sockets of stone
Built and obeyed with the best of intentions
Stranger than truth and as lost and alone
Stranded like dogs in a star-spangled manger
No good to nothing not even their own
Chorus:
Holy-o-my god-i
Cant see the stars in the sky
For the sun in my eye
Shes like a dream that a world quit believin
Caught in the action back to the sea
How many more might have come from that mountain?
Barely the creatures they struggled to be
Surely the death of so grand an illusion
Left us with legends too great to ignore
Stone-cut survivors of ancient dimensions
Lost in the wonder they came to explore.
Chorus:
Holy star light far brighter
Than the sun in your eye
Singing thy will be done
Repeat chorus:
Holy star light far brighter
Than the sun in your eye
Singing thy will be done

song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Forsaken

Holy Mother of God, Merciful Mary. Hear me! I am very weary. I have come
from a village miles away, all day I have been coming, and I ache for such
far roaming. I cannot walk as light as I used, and my thoughts grow confused.
I am heavier than I was. Mary Mother, you know the cause!

Beautiful Holy Lady, take my shame away from me! Let this fear
be only seeming, let it be that I am dreaming. For months I have hoped
it was so, now I am afraid I know. Lady, why should this be shame,
just because I haven't got his name. He loved me, yes, Lady, he did,
and he couldn't keep it hid. We meant to marry. Why did he die?

That day when they told me he had gone down in the avalanche, and could not
be found until the snow melted in Spring, I did nothing. I could not cry.
Why should he die? Why should he die and his child live? His little child
alive in me, for my comfort. No, Good God, for my misery! I cannot face
the shame, to be a mother, and not married, and the poor child to be reviled
for having no father. Merciful Mother, Holy Virgin, take away this sin I did.
Let the baby not be. Only take the stigma off of me!

I have told no one but you, Holy Mary. My mother would call me 'whore',
and spit upon me; the priest would have me repent, and have
the rest of my life spent in a convent. I am no whore, no bad woman,
he loved me, and we were to be married. I carried him always in my heart,
what did it matter if I gave him the least part of me too? You were a virgin,
Holy Mother, but you had a son, you know there are times when a woman
must give all. There is some call to give and hold back nothing.
I swear I obeyed God then, and this child who lives in me is the sign.
What am I saying? He is dead, my beautiful, strong man! I shall never
feel him caress me again. This is the only baby I shall have.
Oh, Holy Virgin, protect my baby! My little, helpless baby!

He will look like his father, and he will be as fast a runner and as good
a shot. Not that he shall be no scholar neither. He shall go to school
in winter, and learn to read and write, and my father will teach him to carve,
so that he can make the little horses, and cows, and chamois,
out of white wood. Oh, No! No! No! How can I think such things,
I am not good. My father will have nothing to do with my boy,
I shall be an outcast thing. Oh, Mother of our Lord God, be merciful,
take away my shame! Let my body be as it was before he came.
No little baby for me to keep underneath my heart for those long months.
To live for and to get comfort from. I cannot go home and tell my mother.
She is so hard and righteous. She never loved my father, and we were born
for duty, not for love. I cannot face it. Holy Mother, take my baby away!
Take away my little baby! I don't want it, I can't bear it!

And I shall have nothing, nothing! Just be known as a good girl.
Have other men want to marry me, whom I could not touch, after having known
my man. Known the length and breadth of his beautiful white body,
and the depth of his love, on the high Summer Alp, with the moon above,
and the pine-needles all shiny in the light of it. He is gone, my man,
I shall never hear him or feel him again, but I could not touch another.
I would rather lie under the snow with my own man in my arms!

So I shall live on and on. Just a good woman. With nothing to warm my heart
where he lay, and where he left his baby for me to care for. I shall not be
quite human, I think. Merely a stone-dead creature. They will respect me.
What do I care for respect! You didn't care for people's tongues
when you were carrying our Lord Jesus. God had my man give me my baby,
when He knew that He was going to take him away. His lips will comfort me,
his hands will soothe me. All day I will work at my lace-making,
and all night I will keep him warm by my side and pray the blessed Angels
to cover him with their wings. Dear Mother, what is it that sings?
I hear voices singing, and lovely silver trumpets through it all. They seem
just on the other side of the wall. Let me keep my baby, Holy Mother.
He is only a poor lace-maker's baby, with a stain upon him,
but give me strength to bring him up to be a man.

poem by Amy Lowell
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Psalm 148

Let the heavens cry out
Let the earth give a shout
Let all the Peoples of the earth not doubt
Our glorious King forever

Let the heavenly angels praise
To our King may every hand raise
May we worship Him all of our days
Our glorious King forever

Praise Him you sun so bright
Praise Him you moon through the night
All of His enemies take flight
From our glorious King forever

Praise Him you creatures of the sea
Praise Him that you swim so free
May our praises eternally be
Of our glorious King forever

Mountains and hills fall down
Stars in the sky make a glorious sound
All ye saints cast down your crowns
Before our glorious King forever

We will praise Him for His marvelous grace
We praise Him for His warm embrace
We praise Him in the holy place
Our glorious King forever

We exalt the King of Kings
Heavenly choirs of angels sings
Of the freedom that our Christ brings
Our glorious King forever

All our praise He does deserve
Let His glory cover all the earth
We shall bow down and worship and serve
Our glorious King forever

poem by Frank McEleny
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Holy City

Holy City
We arrived here yesterday
Holy city
We sat foot here yesterday
Holy city
We felt in love with you already
Holy city
Is the city where our God was born
Holy city
Here we saw where God died in the cross with Pontius pilate
And risen from his death
Holy City
Today we end up in the Sea of Galilee
It is so good to breathe the fresh air from the Sea of Galilee
This sea is amazing
Holy city
This is a journey we will never forget in our lives
Holy city
Has been an interesting point in our lives
Holy city
Was a discovery of our roots

poem by Aldo Kraas
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A Marble Head Of A Handsome God In The Museum

only those who
have the money can afford this trip.
now we are all guided to the
site of an old and famous
country
somewhere in
Europe.
inside the museum is the head
of David
(is he a god? someone asks)
i am amazed
to the stone curl of his hair
and the smooth
white marble stature
before me.

there is no crack.
the greatness persists.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You've Got to Pray

You've got to pray.
Whatever you're doing,
Drop it!
Stop and pray.
Don't delay a moment,
Give God praise!
Raise your voice and shout it.
Spend time with God today!

You've got to pray.
Whatever you're doing,
Drop it!
Stop and pray.
Don't delay a moment,
Give God praise!
Raise your voice and shout it.
Spend time with God today!

So many people think about nothing but themselves.
Wishing for selfish things.
And hoping that God will bring them.

Too many people...
Say they have no time!
And wonder why grief finds them whining...
Out of their minds!

You've got to pray.
Whatever you're doing,
Drop it!
Stop and pray.
Don't delay a moment,
Give God praise!
Raise your voice and shout it.
Spend time with God today!

You gotta pray.
That's what you gotta do!
You gotta pray.
Whatever you say don't delay,
And pray!
Give up the praise.
No doubt about it.
Stop to praise and pray.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In The British Museum

'What do you see in that time-touched stone,
When nothing is there
But ashen blankness, although you give it
A rigid stare?

'You look not quite as if you saw,
But as if you heard,
Parting your lips, and treading softly
As mouse or bird.

'It is only the base of a pillar, they'll tell you,
That came to us
From a far old hill men used to name
Areopagus.'

- 'I know no art, and I only view
A stone from a wall,
But I am thinking that stone has echoed
The voice of Paul,

'Paul as he stood and preached beside it
Facing the crowd,
A small gaunt figure with wasted features,
Calling out loud

'Words that in all their intimate accents
Pattered upon
That marble front, and were far reflected,
And then were gone.

'I'm a labouring man, and know but little,
Or nothing at all;
But I can't help thinking that stone once echoed
The voice of Paul.'

poem by Thomas Hardy
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Psalm 30

Weeping may endure through the night
But joy comes in the morning
You brought my soul up from the grave
And now I dance instead of mourning

Oh Lord will the dust praise you?
Can it declare your truth and sing?
Can it rise up amongst the people?
And decalare you most holy King

Give life to your saints
And breathe on them
Raise them up that they may testify
Of your glory and grace
And your glorious face
Let you majesty fill the night sky

poem by Frank McEleny
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