Sweetly Sings the Thrush
Sweetly sings the thrush
among the meadows fair.
All whose senses hear her
wish to wander there.
To be in tune with her fair voice
brings joy into your heart.
She sings of love for what she sees
of which you are a part.
Sweetly sings the thrush
before the night has come.
All the creatures of the day
are saddened when she's done.
To hear the silence of the night
you must wait for another ‘morrow.
For her song that permeates the air
to take away your sorrow.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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My Heart Sings
My heart sings.
My heart sings the songs of happiness.
My heart sings the songs of joy.
My heart sings the songs of peace.
My heart sings the songs of the Blues.
My heart sings the songs of the Gospel.
My heart sings the songs of good news.
My heart cries a melody for all to hear.
My heart sings the harmonies of love.
My heart sings a song of beauty
that comes from the Thorne Birds
just before they die.
My heart sings songs to keep me alive.
My heart sings songs for as long as it beats.
My heart sings forever.
My heart sings haluwasa.
My heart sings.
poem by Jennifer Burns
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A Love Song
My heart sings a love song
whenever you are near.
It sings the sweetest song
for everyone to hear.
For those who know what love is
will know just what I mean.
For they will have heard
that love song
that so sweetly sings.
4 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Spring Carol
WHEN loud by landside streamlets gush,
And clear in the greenwood quires the thrush,
With sun on the meadows
And songs in the shadows
Comes again to me
The gift of the tongues of the lea,
The gift of the tongues of meadows.
Straightway my olden heart returns
And dances with the dancing burns;
It sings with the sparrows;
To the rain and the (grimy) barrows
Sings my heart aloud -
To the silver-bellied cloud,
To the silver rainy arrows.
It bears the song of the skylark down,
And it hears the singing of the town;
And youth on the highways
And lovers in byways
Follows and sees:
And hearkens the song of the leas
And sings the songs of the highways.
So when the earth is alive with gods,
And the lusty ploughman breaks the sod,
And the grass sings in the meadows,
And the flowers smile in the shadows,
Sits my heart at ease,
Hearing the song of the leas,
Singing the songs of the meadows.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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O Lord My God! - -Carl Boberg
O Lord my God!
When I in awesome wonder
consider all the worlds
Thy hands have made
I see the stars,
I hear the rolling thunder,
The power throughout the universe displayed
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
When through the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook and feel the geltle breeze;
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
And when I think that God, His Son not sparing,
Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in; -
That on the cross my burden gladly bearing,
He bled to take away my sin; -
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
And there proclaim, My God, How great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
poem by Sangnam Nam
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Answer To A Child's Question
Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,
The linnet, and thrush say, 'I love and I love!'
In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong;
What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving, all come back together.
Then the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he--
'I love my Love, and my Love loves me!'
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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A Song
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear;
There is ever a something sings alway:
There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear,
And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.
The sunshine showers across the grain,
And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree;
And in and out, when the eaves dip rain,
The swallows are twittering ceaselessly.
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair,
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear--
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear
There is ever a song somewhere!
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue:
The robin pipes when the sun is here,
And the cricket chirrups the whole night through.
The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow,
And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear;
But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow,
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair,
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear--
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear--
There is ever a song somewhere!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Voice that Sings
The voice that sings across the night
Of long forgotten days and things,
Is there an ear to hear aright
The voice that sings?
It is as when a curfew rings
Melodious in the dying light,
A sound that flies on pulsing wings.
And faded eyes that once were bright
Brim over, as to life it brings
The echo of a dead delight,
The voice that sings.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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To-Morrow
The robin chants when the thrush is dumb,
Snow smooths a bed for the clover,
Life flames anew, and days to come
Are sweet as the days that are over.
The tide that ebbs by the moon flows back,
Faith builds on the ruins of sorrow,
The halcyon flutters in winter's track,
And night makes way for the morrow.
And ever a strain, of joys the sum,
Sings on in the heart of the lover—
In death sings on—that days to come
Are sweet as the days that are over!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Velvet
(paul waaktaar / lauren savoy)
Her skin is like velvet
Her face cut from stone
Her eyes when shes smiling
Will never reach home
But hear how she sings
Her touch would be tender
Her lips would be warm
But when were together
Im always alone
But hear how she sings
But hear how she sings
Hear how she sings
Her skin is like velvet
So I went to her home
Her place like a palace
With things you cant own
Her skin is like velvet
And hear how she sings
Hear how she sings...
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song In The Wind
There's a wind in the air
Filled with song
A gentle voice
Low and long -
It sings life
And it sings time
It blows so easily through
Hearts and minds -
It's the word of wisdom
And the entirety of the ages
Embracing all being
From the audacious to the sages -
It sings out
Lifelong
Continuously calling
In a soulful song -
It's always there for everyone
Blowing free
Even unto our very last day
As it carries us, one by one, into eternity -
It is the Song in the wind
The Voice of the soul
It's the living sound
Every heart mysteriously, somehow does hear and know -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Soul sings other’s poem
Soul sings other’s poem
When you don’t write one
It sings as if it is a dawn
In a tune of silence
Undresses unaware of around
Echoes to the strokes
As if it is climax…
Sings a song of rape
Unless you write one of Union….
Soul sings other’s poem
poem by Free Birds
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My Peggy Is a Young Thing
My Peggy is a young thing,
Just enter'd in her teens,
Fair as the day, and sweet as May
Fair as the day, and always gay.
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm not very auld,
Yet well I like to meet her at
The Wawking of the Fauld.
My Peggy speaks sæ sweetly,
When'er we meet alane,
I wish næ mair to lay my care,
I wish næ mair of a' that's rare.
My Peggy speaks sæ sweetly,
To a' the lave I'm cauld;
But she gars a' my spirits glow
At Wawking of the Fauld.
My Peggy smiles sæ kindly,
Whene'er I whisper Love,
That I look down on a' the Town,
That I look down upon a Crown.
My Peggy smiles sæ kindly,
It makes my blythe and bauld,
And naithing gi'es me sic delight,
As Wawking of the Fauld.
My Peggy sings sæ saftly,
When on my pipe I play;
By a' the rest it is confest,
By a' the rest, that she sings best.
My Peggy sings sæ saftly,
And in her songs are tald,
With innocence the wale of Sense,
At Wawking of the Fauld.
poem by Allan Ramsay
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Every Rose Has Its Thorn
[Originally by Poison]
We both lie silently still in the dead of the night
Although we both lie close together
We feel miles apart inside
Was it somethin' I said or somethin' I did
Did my words not come out right
Tho' I tried not to hurt you
Tho' I tried
But I guess that's why they say
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Yea it does
I listen to your favorite song playin' on the radio
Hear the DJ say love's a game of
Easy come and easy go
But I wonder does he know
Has it ever felt like this
And I know that you'd be here right now
If I could have let you know somehow I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Though it's been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like the knife that cuts you
The wound heals, but the scar, that scar remains
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
So I hear you've found somebody new
And that I never meant that much to you
To hear that tears me up inside
And to see you cuts me like a knife, I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Song
Can you hear how she sings her song
and how it contents her so?
Can you tell when she sings it
where it has her go?
No, I think only she can say
as it takes her to a place
beyond this world, beyond this time
to somewhere out in space.
There she finds the comfort
that her soul is searching for.
There she finds the enchantment
that her fingers are aching for.
That's why each day she sings her song.
It's a transport for her mind.
For without her song she would always be
in a place her heart can't find.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Thorn
We both lie silently still in the dead of the night
Although we both lie close together
We feel miles apart inside
Was it somethin' I said or somethin' I did
Did my words not come out right
Tho' I tried not to hurt you
Tho' I tried
But I guess that's why they say
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Yeah it does
I listen to your favorite song playin' on the radio
Hear the DJ say love's a game of
Easy come and easy go
But I wonder does he know
Has it ever felt like this
And I know that you'd be here right now
If I could have let you know somehow I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Though it's been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like the knife that cuts you
The wound heals, but the scar, that scar remains
I know I could have saved our love that night
If I'd known what to say
Instead if making love
We both made our separate ways
Now I hear you've found somebody new
And that I never meant that much to you
To hear that tears me up inside
And to see you cuts me like a knife, I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silence (Part I)
Sometimes I see you as my child,
Sometimes I see you as my sweetheart,
And when I look into your eyes,
I see that tender and sweet smile,
And I want to say what’s in my heart,
And I want to tell you how I feel,
But my voice remains there, still,
And I just stare at your loving face,
And let the love from my heart,
Flow like a wild river in furious race,
to enfold your sweet and pure soul
with a sea of love and tenderness.
Sometimes there’s so much to say,
but nothing flows from my lips,
And only silence is there to stay,
And only the silence I should keep,
Because what I had to say was already said,
How words could express
never-ending love and tenderness?
How could I just say at one time,
I love you more than my own life?
And there remains the deep silence,
Silence and more silence,
to signal that divine presence,
of my silent love; my heart’s essence.
But this silence is not empty silence,
when divine love fills all my senses,
when nature’s beauty colours your soul,
and fades away all pity and woe.
Because when there is silence,
you can hear the silent language,
the heavenly music of my heart’s song,
God’s eternal music He’s been playing all along,
And in that silence you’ll hear my song,
The endless tune that my love sings,
with the sweetest notes in your luscious dreams,
which eternally flow like endless streams.
(2009)
poem by Roberto Echanes
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When Smokey Sings
Debonair lullabies in melodies revealed
In deep despair on lonely nights
He knows just how you feel
The slyest rhymes - the sharpest suits
In miracles made real
Like a bird in flight on a hot sweet night
You know youre right just to hold her tight
He soothes it right - makes it outtasite
And everythings good in the world tonight!
When smokey sings - I hear violins
When smokey sings - I forget everything
As shes packing her things
As shes spreading her wings
The front door might slam
But the back door it rings
And smokey sings...he sings
Elegance in eloquence - for sale or rent or hire
Should I say - yes I match his best
Then I would be a liar
Symphonies that soothe the rage
When lovers hearts catch fire
Like a bird in flight on a hot sweet night
You know youre right just to hold her tight
He soothes it right - makes it outtasite
And everythings good in the world tonight!
When smokey sings - I hear violins
When smokey sings - I forget everything
As shes packing her things
As shes spreading her wings
Smashing the hell
With the heaven she brings
Then smokey sings...he sings
Luther croons
Slys the original - originator
James screams
Marvin was the only innovator
But nothing can compare
Nothing can compare
When smokey sings
When smokey sings - I hear violins
When smokey sings - I forget everything
As shes packing her things
As shes spreading her wings
She threw back the ring
When smokey sings...
Smokey sings...
Smokey sings...
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Continually the red weaver gambols
Continually the red weaver gambols around,
when the dove continually sings in sorrow
and he lands frolicking on the wet ground,
before it takes insects to its chicks
that twitter, jump up and down in the nest,
and at night when the moon rises silver-white,
when small sounds pierce through everything
then I hear a joyous song and then I hear him
tell about life, about every small thing,
when that small bird sings with caring affection.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Song Without End
Love sings a song,
a song without end.
It can be heard
singing out from everything.
When love sings its song,
a song without end.
Young and old hearts flutter
whenever they hear its call.
The sad and the lonely
under its spell fall.
When love sings its song,
a song without end.
Whose chorus can be heard
as the breeze whispers
among the trees
and all hearts fall
under loves rhapsody.
25 August 2008
poem by David Harris
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We Sing History
History sings, sings what?
Violence? Peace? No.
History sings of truth…
History sings of facts,
which becomes music to our ears.
Like birds chirping
early in the morning.
We learn it. We treasure it.
We sing it… we sing it.
We became part of it.
It was always burning
since the world’s been turning…
History is an endless song.
Distressing, cheerful.
So many cries, so many deaths.
They fought for freedom,
we fight for peace.
Have we won?
Haven’t they heard we won the war
what do they keep on fighting for?
History sings of truth…
History sings of facts,
which becomes music to our ears?
Like stars gleaming
in the dark naked sky.
It’s always there.
So why sing it? Why hear it?
Why learn it? Why treasure it?
Because…
we’re part of it….
poem by Fritzner Erauda
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