When I Am Dead
When I am dead, if some chastened one
Seeing the 'item, ' or hearing it said
That my play is over and my part done
And I lie asleep in my narrow bed -
If I could know that some soul would say,
Speaking aloud or silently,
'In the heat and the burden of the day
She gave a refreshing draught to me';
Or, 'When I was lying nigh unto death
She nursed me to life and to strength again,
And when I laboured and struggled for breath
She smoothed and quieted down my pain';
Or, 'When I was groping in grief and doubt,
Lost, and turned from the light o'er the day,
Her hand reached me and helped me out
And led me up to the better way';
Or, 'When I was hated and shunned by all,
Bowing under my sin and shame,
She, once in passing me by, let fall
Words of pity and hope, that came
Into my heart like a blessed calm
Over the waves of the stormy sea,
Words of comfort like oil and balm,
She spake, and the desert blossomed for me';
Better, by far, than a marble tomb -
Than a monument towering over my head
(What shall I care, in my quiet room,
For headboard or footboard when I am dead?):
Better than glory, or honours, or fame
(Though I am striving for those to-day) ,
To know that some heart would cherish my name
And think of me kindly, with blessings, alway.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Dying Gamblers Story
In a little secret Gambling house in a city known for fame
There sits a man of tender years his head bowed down in shame
That young man told a story as sad as can be
And if you will but listen this is what he said to me.
A year ago I had a wife but she was called one day
And as she lay so near to death she pressed my hand to say
I'm giving you my wedding ring to cherish all your life
And with these words the reaper called away my loving wife.
Soon I started gambling til I never had a thing
And on a hand I thought would win I bet my dead wife's ring
I drew the card and looked at it, Oh God I cried aloud
I've lost my dead wife's wedding ring to this drunken jeering around.
When he had finished speaking he bowed his head and sighed
And we who heard his story knew that he had died
But that dying gamblers story didn't mean a thing
Too bad they said, dealt the cards, and bet his dear wife's ring.
poem by Kenneth T. Schofield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Olinthus Gregory, On Hearing Of The Death Of His Eldest Son, Who Was Drowned As He Was Returning By Water To His Father’s House At Woolrich
IS there a spot where Pity's foot,
Although unsandalled, fears to tread,
A silence where her voice is mute,
Where tears, and only tears, are shed?
It is the desolated home
Where Hope was yet a recent guest,
Where Hope again may never come,
Or come, and only speak of rest.
They gave my hand the pictured scroll,
And bade me only fancy there
A parent's agony of soul,
A parent's long and last despair;
The sunshine on the sudden wave,
Which closed above the youthful head,
Mocking the green and quiet grave,
Which waits the time-appointed dead.
I thought upon the lone fire-side,
Begirt with all familiar thought,
The future, where a father's pride
So much from present promise wrought:
The sweet anxiety of fears,
Anxious from love's excess alone,
The fond reliance upon years
More precious to us than our own:
All past—then weeping words there came
From out a still and darkened room,
They could not bear to name a name
Written so newly on the tomb.
They said he was so good and kind,
The voices sank, the eyes grew dim;
So much of love he left behind,
So much of life had died with him.
Ah, pity for the long beloved,
Ah, pity for the early dead;
The young, the promising, removed
Ere life a light or leaf had shed.
Nay, rather pity those whose doom
It is to wait and weep behind,
The father, who within the tomb
Sees all life held most dear enshrined.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Un-named Hero
I just couldn’t smile only frown
My life was falling tumbling down
Every night it was the same
But in my heart there’s really no one to blame
My heart was hurting in so much pain
From being broken again and again
The words replayed around my head
I would’ve thought by then my heart be dead
All the sorrow was too much to bear
And slowly no one started to care
I’d lay awake in bed at night
In my life was a fading light
My hero had fallen wounded bad
To watch him suffer made me sad
But how still I call him that?
For he caused my life to become that flat
Yet he remains my hero you don’t get why?
He caused my hopes to soar and dreams to fly
He stood by me when I fell down
When I was lost he made me found
He gave me new eyes to view life
And now I see it with less strife
He is my hero can’t you see?
No matter what he’ll always be
So when I lie in bed at night
I am filled with a different light
A new hope and no despair
He showed me I’ve got Jesus always there
That’s why he is my hero I’m left without a doubt
Whenever I’m in trouble it’ll always get sort out
I smile lift my head and sigh
To my old life I can say goodbye
I been through many up’s and downs
But now it’s all been turned around
So I can stand here today
Confident to say
Thanks to my hero
And tell him
I love you always.
poem by Iizgam French
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Youth and Calm
'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is here,
And ease from shame, and rest from fear.
There's nothing can dismarble now
The smoothness of that limpid brow.
But is a calm like this, in truth,
The crowning end of life and youth,
And when this boon rewards the dead,
Are all debts paid, has all been said?
And is the heart of youth so light,
Its step so firm, its eye so bright,
Because on its hot brow there blows
A wind of promise and repose
From the far grave, to which it goes;
Because it hath the hope to come,
One day, to harbour in the tomb?
Ah no, the bliss youth dreams is one
For daylight, for the cheerful sun,
For feeling nerves and living breath -
Youth dreams a bliss on this side death.
It dreams a rest, if not more deep,
More grateful than this marble sleep;
It hears a voice within it tell:
Calm's not life's crown, though calm is well.
'Tis all perhaps which man acquires,
But 'tis not what our youth desires.
poem by Matthew Arnold (1852)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Lost & Found
Chorus:
I was lost then I was found your love has turned my
Life around
You gave me hope when hope was running low
I was dead now Im alive your faith allowed me to
Survive
You touched my life when I was touch and go
I tripped the light fell into a trance
I tendered the song in my soul for dime and a dance
A line of tears a stash of shame
A fool lost in a losing game this whole life through
til there was you
(chorus)
I lost my heart my head my watch and my will
Enchanted by lawyers in love and a little white pill
A king a clown a falling star
For rich for poor still there you are God only knows
I love you so
(chorus)
A king a clown a falling star
For rich for poor still there you are
A rush a ride a rock a rave
A dead man walking on the waves
A life the only love could save
(chorus)
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Easter Day, II
So in the sinful streets, abstracted and alone,
I with my secret self held communing of mine own.
So in the southern city spake the tongue
Of one that somewhat overwildly sung,
But in a later hour I sat and heard
Another voice that spake another graver word.
Weep not, it bade, whatever hath been said,
Though He be dead, He is not dead.
In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
Weep not beside His tomb,
Ye women unto whom
He was great comfort and yet greater grief;
Nor ye, ye faithful few that wont with Him to roam,
Seek sadly what for Him ye left, go hopeless to your home;
Nor ye despair, ye sharers yet to be of their belief;
Though He be dead, He is not dead,
Nor gone, though fled,
Not lost, though vanished;
Though He return not, though
He lies and moulders low;
In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
Sit if ye will, sit down upon the ground,
Yet not to weep and wail, but calmly look around.
Whate’er befel,
Earth is not hell;
Now, too, as when it first began,
Life is yet life, and man is man.
For all that breathe beneath the heaven’s high cope,
Joy with grief mixes, with despondence hope.
Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief;
Or at least, faith unbelief.
Though dead, not dead;
Not gone, though fled;
Not lost, though vanished.
In the great gospel and true creed,
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Upon a Fit of Sickness,Anno 1632 Aetatis Suae, 19
Twice ten years old not fully told
since nature gave me breath,
My race is run, my thread spun,
lo, here is fatal death.
All men must die, and so must I;
this cannot be revoked.
For Adam's sake this word God spake
when he so high provoked.
Yet live I shall, this life's but small,
in place of highest bliss,
Where I shall have all I can crave,
no life is like to this.
For what's this but care and strife
since first we came from womb?
Our strength doth waste, our time doth haste,
and then we go to th' tomb.
O bubble blast, how long can'st last?
that always art a breaking,
No sooner blown, but dead and gone,
ev'n as a word that's speaking.
O whilst I live this grace me give,
I doing good may be,
Then death's arrest I shall count best,
because it's Thy decree;
Bestow much cost there's nothing lost,
to make salvation sure,
O great's the gain, though got with pain,
comes by profession pure.
The race is run, the field is won,
the victory's mine I see;
Forever known, thou envious foe,
the foil belongs to thee.
poem by Anne Bradstreet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fool
"But it isn't playing the game," he said,
And he slammed his books away;
"The Latin and Greek I've got in my head
Will do for a duller day."
"Rubbish!" I cried; "The bugle's call
Isn't for lads from school."
D'ye think he'd listen? Oh, not at all:
So I called him a fool, a fool.
Now there's his dog by his empty bed,
And the flute he used to play,
And his favourite bat . . . but Dick he's dead,
Somewhere in France, they say:
Dick with his rapture of song and sun,
Dick of the yellow hair,
Dicky whose life had but begun,
Carrion-cold out there.
Look at his prizes all in a row:
Surely a hint of fame.
Now he's finished with, -- nothing to show:
Doesn't it seem a shame?
Look from the window! All you see
Was to be his one day:
Forest and furrow, lawn and lea,
And he goes and chucks it away.
Chucks it away to die in the dark:
Somebody saw him fall,
Part of him mud, part of him blood,
The rest of him -- not at all.
And yet I'll bet he was never afraid,
And he went as the best of 'em go,
For his hand was clenched on his broken blade,
And his face was turned to the foe.
And I called him a fool . . . oh how blind was I!
And the cup of my grief's abrim.
Will Glory o' England ever die
So long as we've lads like him?
So long as we've fond and fearless fools,
Who, spurning fortune and fame,
Turn out with the rallying cry of their schools,
Just bent on playing the game.
A fool! Ah no! He was more than wise.
His was the proudest part.
He died with the glory of faith in his eyes,
And the glory of love in his heart.
And though there's never a grave to tell,
Nor a cross to mark his fall,
Thank God! we know that he "batted well"
In the last great Game of all.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Elegiac Stanzas On The Death Of Sir Peter Parker, Bart.
There is a tear for all that die,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
But nations swell the funeral cry,
And Triumph weeps above the brave.
For them is Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:
In vain their bones unburied lie,
All earth becomes their monument!
A tomb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue:
The present hours, the future age,
For them bewail, to them belong.
For them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hush'd, their name the only sound;
While deep Remembrance pours to Worth
The goblet's tributary round.
A theme to crowds that knew them not,
Lamented by admiring foes,
Who would not share their glorious lot?
Who would not die the death they chose?
And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined
Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
And early valour, glowing, find
A model in thy memory.
But there are breasts that bleed with thee
In woe, that glory cannot quell;
And shuddering hear of victory
Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.
Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?
When cease to hear thy cherish'd name?
Time cannot teach forgetfulness
While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.
Alas! for them, though not for thee,
They cannot choose but weep the more;
Deep for the dead the grief must be,
Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.
October 1814.
Words of Comfort
In my mind thoughts will flow, from The Truth I have come to know,
To words of light and encouragement, to the places I’ve been sent.
A comfort to all who do believe, and a light to all who are deceived,
God’s encouragement to a brother, while words of Truth to another.
Comforting words that I can say, to brighten a brother’s dismal day,
Words filled with hope and love, that point to our Savior, up above.
Words of Truth that only come, through The Spirit from God’s Son,
Who comes to dwell in our heart, from where words He does impart.
This to bring the lost to The Truth, through loving words not reproof,
So through our words men can see, The Loving Father of all Eternity,
Who came to die, to give us life, through His Only Son, Jesus Christ.
Who now lives, so that all men, through The Son can be Born Again.
Then receive The Spirit spoken of, when they accept His Son’s Love.
To be used upon this temporal earth, through the power of New Birth,
And the washing and regeneration, through His Blood unto Salvation.
Which only comes from God’s Son, the Lord and Savior of everyone.
You too will share the Living Word, speaking Truth until all have heard,
The saving Truth of God’s Salvation, Christ who came for every nation.
And then you will be a comfort too, to all who believe like me and you,
Speaking words of comfort friend, about life in Christ that has on end.
(Copyright ©06/2007)
The Unhappy One
“HE is false to the heart!' she said, stern-lipped; 'he is all untruth;
He promises fair as a tree in blossom, and then
The fruit is rotten ere ripe. Tears, prayers and youth,
All withered and wasted! and still—I love this falsest of men!'
Comfort? There is no comfort when the soul sees pain like a sun:
It is better to stare at the blinding truth: if it blind, one woe is done.
We cling to a coward hope, when hope has the seed of the pain:
If we tear out the roots of the grief, it will never torment again.
Ay, even if part of our life is lost, and the deep-laid nerves
That carry all joy to the heart are wounded or killed by the knife;
When a gangrene sinks to the bone, it is only half-death that serves;
And a life with a cureless pain is only half a life.
But why unhealed must the spirit endure? There are drugs for the body's dole;
Have we wholly lived for the lower life? Is there never a balm for the soul?
O Night, cry out for the healer of woe, for the priest-physician cry,
With the pouring oil for the bleeding grief, for the life that may not die!
'He is false to the heart!' she moaned; 'and I love him and cannot hate!'
Then bitterly, fiercely —'What have I done, my God, for such a fate?'
'Poor heart!' said the Teacher; 'for thee and thy sorrow the daily parables speak.
Thy grief, that is dark, illumes for me a sign that was dim and weak.
In the heart of my garden I planted a tree —I had chosen the noblest shoot:
It was sheltered and tended, and hope reached out for the future's precious fruit.
The years of its youth flew past, and I looked on a spreading tree
All gloried with maiden blossoms, that smiled their promise to me.
I lingered to gaze on their color and shape—I knew I had chosen well;
And I smiled at the death that was promise of life as the beautiful petals fell.
But the joy was chilled, though the lip laughed on, by the withered proof to the eye:
The blossoms had shielded no tender bud, but cradled a barren lie.
Before me it lay, the mystery—the asking, the promise, the stone;
The tree that should give good fruit was bare—the cause unseen, unknown!
'But I said: ' Next year it shall bourgeon, my part shall be faithfully done;
My love shall be doubled—I trust my tree for its beautiful strength alone.'
But tenderness failed, and loving care, and the chalice of faith was dried
When the next spring blossoms had spoken their promise smiled at the sun and lied;
The heart of the petals was withered to dust. Then, for duty, I trusted again;
For who should stand if God were to frown on the twice-told failures of men?
Unloving I tended, with care increased, but never a song or smile;
For duty is love that is dead but is kept from the grave for a while.
The third year came, with the sweet young leaves, and I could not fear or doubt;
But the petals smiled at the sun and lied,—and the curse in my blood leaped out!
'This corpse,' I cried, 'that has cumbered the earth, let it hence to the waste be torn!'
That moment of wrath beheld its death—while to me was a life-truth born:
The straight young trunk at my feet lay prone; and I bent to scan the core,
And there read the pitiful secret the noble sapling bore.
Through the heart of the pith, in its softest youth, it had bored its secret way,
A gnawing worm, a hideous grief,—and the life it had tortured lay
Accursed and lost for the cruel devil that nestled its breast within.
Ah, me, poor heart! had I known in time, I had cut out the clinging sin,
And saved the life that was all as good and as noble as it seemed!'
He ceased, and she rose, the unresigned, as one who had slept and dreamed;
Her face was radiant with insight: 'It is true! it is true!' she said;
'And my love shall not die, like your beautiful tree, till the hidden pain is dead!'
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Please Be Quiet
He spoke and spoke so many words
and she just silently thought.
He had an opinion on everything.
She listened and then she sought
silence again, just said Amen
to all those words he said,
Soon thoughts came to her head.
She thought about life.
She thought about love.
She thought about
all he was speaking of.
She thought about nights
where silence prevailed.
She thought about days
where the speaking assailed
her ears.
She'd been thinking and thinking
for too many years.
The quietness was peaceful
but now brought her to tears.
For she missed the sound
of all his words.
She missed everything he said.
He was gone and all was quiet
for all his words were dead.
The thoughts were still there.
The words were not.
And what was it he said?
She forgot.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Man Like Me
Should you ever meet
A man like me
On a road or some busy street
With a back so scared
Head bent low
And eyes that have seen defeats
With a soul that fight the past
Where sorrow's play their broken harps
A living death, and all that's left
It this man with a broken heart
My family? Well? They've no right
To judge, or critize, nor even condemn
Because, sometimes their actions
Are just like them
Oh such careless steps, such thoughtless deeds
Oh how my misery starts
For I have faced, so much abuse
And that's what gave this broken heart
So humble, I think you could be
When I come passing by
For even the greatest...(God) ...
Was never so great
That He didn't stop to help and cry
I've tried not to lose my faith
I've held to love, all my life
Even when among all that strife
So even when sorrow throws, all those poison darts
Or when I've seen hope, all gone
I've walked alone and continued on
With broken heart
My family you've never walked in
this man shoes
Or seen the things, these eyes
have seen
Nor stood and watched with helpless hand
While the heart inside of you dies and stings
I never was a rich man, or master painter
Or had any words of art
Yet I still claim
I Love you same
Even with this broken heart
Life sometimes been so terribly cruel
There was a time I even prayed for death
There was a time of pain... when pain...
Was with every pain filled breath
So I say help that man, or friend
Or even your brother, along this road
It matters not... from where you start
For it was God...whom made you
To help that man, with a broken heart
poem by Clyde Bryson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Broken Chances
My Love,
I don't know how you're going to get this,
But it is my last word on this Earth.
Just what ever you do sit alone and read this.
I want you to be at the lake where you gave me my first kiss,
I want you to sit by the tree that held us, and read this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were my love, my only one person who always made me smile,
You held my hand through so many things, so many firsts.
You were my light you were my smile
And you told me the three deadly words,
The words that always kill, but first make you smile.
I have sewed my mouth shut, so you will never see me smile.
I would melt at the sound of your voice,
I would just sit and listen just to know you were really there,
I would call when you weren't home, just to hear your voice.
My wish every day was to hear you say 'I love you',
To hear your voice.
I have glued my ears so I don't have to listen to your lies.
I remember the feeling of your hands running through my hair,
You'd weave your fingers through it to comfort me,
Sometimes I would act sad just to feel your fingers in my hair,
I would silently smile and melt in your arms.
I remember your fingers running through my blond hair.
I have cut my hair so I can never remember that feeling.
U can see you standing looking at me with your sparkling eyes,
I always see you,
I can never see past those deep eyes,
I can see you smile at me, see your hands reach for mine.
I can still see your eyes.
I have cut my eyes out so I can never again fall into your deceiving eyes.
You made my heart race with butterflies, with hope.
I gave you my heart to keep, you said you'd never break it,
You gave me the one thing i needed ti keep going; hope.
And I fell for the traps, I gave you EVERYTHING.
I ave you all the hope I held in my heart, my soul.
I have stabbed my heart, just so you can't shatter what's already broken.
You became my life, you became my love, my everything.
No matter what happened I still loved you,
And no matter what I tried to give you everything,
And you made me loose so much that I'm left with nothing,
And with my dying breath I give you what was all I had left, my everything.
I take my life to show you what love really means, that it's not the lie you told.
I may not be able to smile when you hold me,
I may not be able to hear your words even if their truth,
I may not be able to remember you soothing touch, or your warmth,
I mat not be able to see your eyes, or your reaching hands,
I may not be able to press my beating heart against your skin,
I may not be able to give you a second chance, for like my heart it is broken,
But After the pain and lies, I believe in what I felt for you,
And hope maybe someday you'll believe the same, and find beauty from pain
Even with nothing left to give you but my word, I breath my last breath for you.
I lay in silence to let you live, to give to you a broken second chance,
For I will always love you,
Be............
by: Bethany Maxwell =)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Destined For Glory
Once upon a time in a forlorn land,
a man on a mission was left at fates hand
In his eyes you could see the whites turn red
Surrounded by evil, abandoned for dead
Born on the run by the sign of the sun
A mail-clad warrior, the chosen one
His name's been cursed, he is bound to fail
A wandering spirit with the will to prevail
By the sign of the moon,
he swore the oath to fight alone
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
He still can recall his father's words
"Don't loose your faith, let your voice be heard"
Echoes from the past will lead him on
By these words of honor, shine like the sun
By the sign of the moon
He swore the oath to fight alone
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
The prophecies spoke of a wandering man
Skilled with steel, black as the night
Normally veiled from the mortal eyes
His hammer arose like a magic force
With a gaze that turned everything into stone
the warrior spoke, "I am the one"
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
What My Heart Wants To Say
you're amazing
so amazing
have I told you
enough
you're my angel
guardian angel
god knows I've been blessed with love
but if I been gone tomorrow
would you know how deep my loves goes
have I ever told you
you're the one
if the words don't come my way
hope its still love
hope it still shows
if the words don't come my way
hope you still know what my heart wants to say
words so tender
I surrender
to this feeling
so true
my affirmation
my inspiration
darling I have been blessed with you
if the words don't come my way
hope you still know
hope it still shows
if the words don't come my way
I hope you still know what my heart wants to say
but if I be gone tomorrow
would you know how deep my loves goes
if I was gone forever
would you know how much I care
you make me feel like flying
and failing all emotion
that everytime you look at me
you see it in my eyes
if the words don't come my way
I hope you still know
if the words don't come my way
I hope you still know
I hope it still shows
if the words don't come my way
I hope you still know
what my heart wants to say
if the words don't come my way
I hope you still know
hope it still shows
if the worst don't come my way
I hope you still know
I hope it still shows
I hope still you know
what my heart wants to say
song performed by by Gareth Gates from What My Heart Wants To Say
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Ichabod
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn
Which once he wore!
The glory from his gray hairs gone
Forevermore!
Revile him not, the Tempter hath
A snare for all;
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath,
Befit his fall!
Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage,
When he who might
Have lighted up and led his age,
Falls back in night.
Scorn! would the angels laugh, to mark
A bright soul driven,
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark,
From hope and heaven!
Let not the land once proud of him
Insult him now,
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim,
Dishonored brow.
But let its humbled sons, instead,
From sea to lake,
A long lament, as for the dead,
In sadness make.
Of all we loved and honored, naught
Save power remains;
A fallen angel's pride of thought,
Still strong in chains.
All else is gone; from those great eyes
The soul has fled:
When faith is lost, when honor dies,
The man is dead!
Then, pay the reverence of old days
To his dead fame;
Walk backward, with averted gaze,
And hide the shame!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Soul On Fire
Theres a flame that leads our souls astray
No ones safe from its tender touch of pain
And every day its looking for new slaves
To celebrate the beauty of the grave
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverance
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
And again were falling for disgrace
And hate will shelter us from the rain
We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame
And gently raped by the light of day
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
Addicted to our divine despair
(? )
But you will follow us to death
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
With a soul on
Soul on
Soul on
Fire
Soul on fire
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Soul On Fire
There's a flame that leads our souls astray
No one's safe from its tender touch of pain
And every day it's looking for new slaves
To celebrate the beauty of the grave
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverance
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
And again we're falling for disgrace
And hate will shelter us from the rain
We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame
And gently raped by the light of day
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
Addicted to our divine despair
The venom of the cross we bear
The guilt will follow us to death
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
With a soul on
Soul on
Soul on
Fire
Soul on fire
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Go Down, Death
Weep not, weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.
Heart-broken husband--weep no more;
Grief-stricken son--weep no more;
Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more;
She only just gone home.
Day before yesterday morning,
God was looking down from his great, high heaven,
Looking down on all his children,
And his eye fell of Sister Caroline,
Tossing on her bed of pain.
And God's big heart was touched with pity,
With the everlasting pity.
And God sat back on his throne,
And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:
Call me Death!
And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice
That broke like a clap of thunder:
Call Death!--Call Death!
And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven
Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,
Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.
And Death heard the summons,
And he leaped on his fastest horse,
Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.
Up the golden street Death galloped,
And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold,
But they didn't make no sound.
Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,
And waited for God's command.
And God said: Go down, Death, go down,
Go down to Savannah, Georgia,
Down in Yamacraw,
And find Sister Caroline.
She's borne the burden and heat of the day,
She's labored long in my vineyard,
And she's tired--
She's weary--
Do down, Death, and bring her to me.
And Death didn't say a word,
But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,
And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,
And out and down he rode,
Through heaven's pearly gates,
Past suns and moons and stars;
on Death rode,
Leaving the lightning's flash behind;
Straight down he came.
While we were watching round her bed,
She turned her eyes and looked away,
She saw what we couldn't see;
She saw Old Death.She saw Old Death
Coming like a falling star.
But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline;
He looked to her like a welcome friend.
And she whispered to us: I'm going home,
And she smiled and closed her eyes.
And Death took her up like a baby,
And she lay in his icy arms,
But she didn't feel no chill.
And death began to ride again--
Up beyond the evening star,
Into the glittering light of glory,
On to the Great White Throne.
And there he laid Sister Caroline
On the loving breast of Jesus.
And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears,
And he smoothed the furrows from her face,
And the angels sang a little song,
And Jesus rocked her in his arms,
And kept a-saying: Take your rest,
Take your rest.
Weep not--weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!