Worldly Wisdom
If it were in my dead Past’s power
To let my Present bask
In some lost pleasure for an hour,
This is the boon I’d ask:
Re-pedestal from out the dust
Where long ago ‘twas hurled,
My beautiful incautious trust
In this unworthy world.
The symbol of my souls own truth –
I saw it go with tears –
The sweet unwisdom of my youth –
That vanished with the years.
Since knowledge brings us only grief,
I would return again
To happy ignorance and belief
In motives and in men.
For worldly wisdom learned in pain
Is in itself a cross,
Significant mayhap of gain,
Yet sign of saddest loss.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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To-Day
OH God, where hast thou hidden Truth? Oh Truth,
Where is the road to God?
Lo, we, that should be old, have learned our youth;
We are not manly ripe; we have not dower
Of all the wisdom that a world can gain
In the centuries of work, peace, war, hope, pain;
We are not strong with all the gathered power
From age to age left our inheritance;
We stand not near the goal, there by the advance
Of step on step, through mire and blood and tears,
Forgotten fathers trod;
We are new in a new world; where shall we know,
Where in the ancient years,
Sign-marks to guide us on the way we go?
We are new in a new world. As children learn
Life by surprise and doubt,
So life must learn itself at each return
Of the upsoaring Phoenix birth from sleep
Among the ashes of an ended Past.
In its own strength, and singly from the last,
Each age's long To-day begins to creep
In baby paces whitherward it goes.
And from too far with too unsure a close,
Like void sonorous echoes in the hill,
Yesterday's voice rings out,
So gives the questioning turmoil of our cries
Answer such as we will.
Has Past writ Present in its histories?
Our fathers saw, we see not with their eyes,
Knew, and we learned in vain:
We seek old wisdoms in a novel wise;
We toil beginners of the things that are;
Like lessons which we early get by rote,
Heedless of meaning in the words we quote,
And by and by, the schoolroom left afar,
Discern at last their sense or find a new,
The just, the unjust, the counterfeit, the true,
We said from books upon our fathers' shelves,
All must be learned again:
We, children-like, still wondering as we grow,
Change, and become ourselves,
And only as ourselves can henceforth know.
How shall we know? what must we do? what be?
Answer us, Life, instead:
Past speaks us a dead tongue, we look to thee
And know thee teacher—yet a tardy one;
For now we labour, fearing to what end;
We journey, dimly seeing where we tend;
We do, and question was it rightly done;
Doubt and distrust of self beside us stand;
And who will find us Truth? where is her hand
To guide us on or back by the round path,
Leading but whence it led,
She travels on from God to reach him by?
What is the name she hath
To find her by to-day? Life, make reply.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Beyond the grief.
It seems as if we are stalled by our grief,
unable to move away from it – and I wonder
if we will ever get over the loss of you. In time
they say we will, that one day we will finally be free
of the sadness that burdens our hearts, and we will dance
in our remembrance, and there will be no more tears.
But if that's true, I must admit I will miss the tears
when there is an eventual easing of the grief.
I am not as eager to begin the dance
of life without you, for the world has lost its wonder
for me, some of its shine - and being free
seems awfully relative - I suppose just like time.
I can still so clearly recall the last time
we were all together - the tears
we shared, even laughter, when you were set free
of this earthly pain - and even in our grief,
we were filled with such wonder
as we witnessed the end of life's dance.
When I was a little boy you used to let me dance
on the top of your shoes, moving in time
to the music on the radio. Is it any wonder
that music, to this day, brings tears
of joy, mingled with the ever-present grief,
which still has not set me completely free.
I now realize there is a cost to love; it's not free -
for when you love, you buy a ticket to the dance
of life - which comes with joy and pain, celebration and grief.
And if you have lived a long enough time,
as I have, even when the loss brings never ending tears,
with a broken heart, it's worth all of the pain, and it's no wonder
people love so fiercely - so much so that they cease to wonder
about the why, when or where - and now I realize that I am free
to love, and to lose, which will bring with it many tears.
But each tear is worth it - and seems to make the dance
more authentic. In the end, I will measure my time
by how much of it was filled with love, and with grief.
No longer will I wonder whether or not I should dance,
I will just be free, stepping in and out of time,
wearing my tears like a badge of honor as I move beyond the grief.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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How beautiful is
How beautiful is the Belief, when we belief in the God
How beautiful are the Creatures, when we belief in the Creator
How beautiful is the Motherhood, when we belief in the Sacrifices
How beautiful is the Fatherhood, when we belief in the Battles
How beautiful is the Childhood, when we belief in the Innocence
How beautiful is the Dream, when we belief in the Ambition
How beautiful is the Contentment, when we belief in the Simplicity
How beautiful is the Life, when we belief in the dead
How beautiful is the Love, when we belief in the Care
How beautiful is the Happiness, when we belief in the Sadness
How beautiful is the Relationships, when we belief in the Tender
How beautiful is the Fruit, when we belief in the Farming
How beautiful is the Confidence, when we belief in Our self
How beautiful is the Beauty, when we belief in Our eyes
How beautiful is the World, when we belief in Peace
How beautiful is the Friendship, when we belief in Brotherhood
How beautiful is the Marriage, when we belief in Sharing
How beautiful is the World, when we belief in the Peace
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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God Can’t Be Beaten
Satan the world has so deceived
Through wanton lust for sin
But faith, the gift through Christ’s received
Will see God’s children win
True knowledge that the Lord is real
We purchase through belief
When in due course God’s strength we feel
It’s then to Satan’s grief
The devil tries to keep us blind
The truth he seeks to hide
But God is never hard to find
With Jesus as our guide
We need but come to seek His face
The Lord who’s true and just
Will wrap us in His warm embrace
To Satan’s sheer disgust
Power through prayer will Christ bestow
To cast the foe from sight
Though God at times may seem us slow
His timing’s always right
Satan would have us think him dead
So man from Christ would stray
But those who hold the Lord has said
Will live to win the day
Through faith alone our God we trust
Through faith, the Lord we please
Faith also brings to eat the dust
The devil to his knees
Through Christ who is who’s first and last
Who lives though once was dead
When Satan tells you of your past
Remind Him what’s ahead.
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Genius
A hundred generations have gone into its making,
With all their love and tenderness, with all their dreams and tears;
Their vanished joy and pleasure, their pain and their heart-breaking,
Have colored this rare blossom of the long-unfruitful years.
Their victory and their laughter for this have strong men given,
For this have sweet, dead women paid in patience which survives
That a great soul might bring the world, as from the gate of heaven,
All that was rich and beautiful in those forgotten lives.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Paris and the Golden Apple
The best of possessions
I am holding in my hand-
The Golden Apple on which is written-
'For the most fairest'.
Strange is the way Fate works,
And I, a mortal, is chosen to select
Who among Hera, Athene and Venus
is the most fairest!
Hera said-
'Power is the ultimate goal of life,
every head must bow down before power-
with love or with fear-
The world stands before you trembling,
And you will govern it with iron rod.
Give me the apple and see
what I have to offer.'
Athene Said -
Knowledge is Power, and
Power is but the shadow of Wisdom-
always following like a faithful servent;
I will bless you with the light of wisdom
And elighten your soul from within
So that you can judge the past, present and future.
Venus smiled and said -
What drink can quench the thirst of the soul?
And can remove the hundred fevers of heart?
Can Wisdom or Power do this?
no, they don't.
Only Beauty can touch the soul softly
and can revive its vitality.
Then give me the apple and in return
Take the best of gifts the world can offer-
The most beautiful woman as your wife.
What a real dellima I am in!
Which on to chose, which one to avoid-
between Power, Wisdom and Beauty?
Power is a weapon,
But, Wisdom is the mind's eye,
Yet Beauty is the only pleasure
of the eye and soul.
So, Beauty I prefer to Power and Wisdom;
I will offer the apple to Venus
and will have the most beautiful woman as my wife.
Did Paris make a mistake
In chosing Beauty over Power and Wisdom?
Well, History holds proof of this-
Look at the burning Troy
and take lesson therefrom;
Let not one more Troy burn,
Let not one more Paris is born.
poem by Nazmul Haque
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I Shall Not Forget
I shall not forget you. The years may be tender,
But vain are their efforts to soften my smart;
And the strong hands of Time are too feeble and slender
To garland the grave that is made in my heart.
Your image is ever about me, before me,
Your voice floats abroad on the voice of the wind;
And the spell of your presence, in absence, is o'er me,
And the dead of the past, in the present I find.
I cannot forget you. The one boon ungiven,
The boon of your love, is the cross that I bear.
In the midnight of sorrow I vainly have striven
To crush in my heart the sweet image hid there;
To banish the beautiful dreams that are thronging
The halls of my memory, dreams worse than vain;
For the one drop withheld, I am thirsting and longing,
For the one joy denied, I am weeping in pain.
I would not forget you. I live to remember
The beautiful hopes that bloomed but to decay,
And brighter than June glows the bleakest December,
When peopled with ghosts of the dreams passed away.
Once loving you truly, I love you forever;
I mourn not in weak, idle grief for the past;
But the love in my bosom can never, oh never
Pass out, or another pass in, first or last.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Saddest Hour
The saddest hour of anguish and of loss
Is not that season of supreme despair
When we can find no least light anywhere
To gild the dread, black shadow of the Cross;
Not in that luxury of sorrow when
We sup on salt of tears, and drink the gall
Of memories of days beyond recall—
Of lost delights that cannot come again.
But when, with eyes that are no longer wet,
We look out on the great, wide world of men,
And, smiling, lean toward a bright to-morrow,
Then backward shrink, with sudden keen regret,
To find that we are learning to forget:
Ah! then we face the saddest hour of sorrow.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Knowledge Shall Increase
Learned people in the world gain more knowledge as each day goes by,
Unfortunately they never seem to acknowledge The Lord up in the sky.
Diplomas, certificates, and achievements are their present disguise,
But, The Lord up above will make foolishness the wisdom of the wise.
In the Bible the prophet Daniel stated that knowledge would increase,
However, in light of this increasing knowledge where is their peace.
Even in this world there's a peace to be found, this you can be sure,
But this peace is not of the world, but in the knowledge of The Lord.
The Lord also spoke of a famine that will spread throughout the land,
But his is not the normal famine of food that is known to common man.
It will be a spiritual famine, a worldwide famine of God's Holy Word,
Men's hearts will become harder, even some of those who have heard.
Soon all of the knowledge of the earth will be a thing of the past,
While only the knowledge of The Lord through all Eternity will last.
Man's wisdom and knowledge can be necessary down here on the earth,
But the knowledge for Heaven is higher and must include a New Birth.
This knowledge required for Eternity you will find in only one place,
It is found in God's Holy Bible, which we received through His Grace.
This knowledge is essential for everyone, when all is said and done,
For the only knowledge that will save you, is knowledge of The Son.
(Copyright © 06/2002)
My Sister, Lost and Found
I had a sister for seventeen years,
She went missing, many tears,
We wondered what she was up to,
We didn't know she was forced to,
By her sick boyfriend,
This abusive boyfriend,
He controlled her every move,
Kept her weak, there's no prove.
When father died, the saddest truth,
When father died, the loss of youth,
Broken spell of the gnome,
Born again, little sister calls home
Father's prayers were heard,
Sad, No father's love, this lost bird,
But mother's love still remain,
To cut through the years of pain,
Her journey on trust has just begun,
My sister, has returned to the sun.
Copyright Philo Yan August 25,2012
To Hurt Me and Kill Me
It has been really long since I expressed my pain
Although, trust me my pain has not vanished
Only difference is that I am trying to pretend as if pain is not
Still, pain is a lot
Pain is slicing my soul and breaking me apart
That is what loneliness does
As evil thoughts always return
However, the thoughts are temporary
As in my life, I have truly loved you
Even though I know, no more you think of me
I am lost and breaking apart
Pretending, I am not and loneliness is really present
To hurt me and kill me.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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On The Death Of My Father
My brain has turned to ash, and yes,
My mouth is dust,
And love is grief, and death is
But the loss of trust;
While life is paupered, futures turn,
Feed on the past,
And dwell on words you might have…
If I’d only asked!
No point to dwell again, but yet
I must, I will;
Was there some hint, a glimpse perhaps
You’d long distilled,
Was I so blind, insensible
And dead to grief
That death could snatch you carelessly,
Some petty thief.
Perspectives shift, horizons narrow,
Drift my sand,
Your loss has marked my end, that shallow
Sleight of man,
What now remains of you, I am
Though poor in creed,
For what you were was love, and this
I’ve lost indeed.
1 August 1987
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Who Actually Killed Christ?
Christ came to die for you and me and on the cross He set us free,
Freed from a life of sin and pain, freed my friend to be Born-Again.
Everyone who looks to the cross shall be saved from eternal loss,
Jesus came to save all who are lost and on Calvary He paid the cost.
It was the determination of God you see to nail His Son upon a tree,
Though He died at the hands of men God foreknew just how and when.
It was Satan's biggest loss for Christ claimed Victory on the cross,
It pleased God, at His Son's cost, as He saved sinners who were lost.
Worldly wisdom could not see that religion played a part at Calvary,
God's sign that The Law did end was when the temple curtain was rent.
God ended any need for religious dross when He turned to the cross,
With man now redeemed at the cross man's religion has been tossed.
Religion doesn't set men free, but only the finished work on Calvary,
Men's rules still leave you in sin, only in Christ are you forgiven.
The true Church of the Bloody Cross started on the day of Pentecost.
From that day at all cost believers have sought out all who are lost.
Man didn't say but God decreed that Jesus was pierced for you and me.
It was by His Father that Jesus was sent to be the Savior of all men.
It pleased God to use the cross to shed His blood to save the lost.
And He will judge all who scoff and in the Fire they will be tossed.
A Woman’s Sonnets: II
Nay, dear one, ask me not to leave thee yet.
Let me a little longer hold thy hand.
Too soon it is to bid me to forget
The joys I was so late to understand.
The future holds but a blank face for me,
The past is all confused with tears and grey,
But the sweet present, while thy smiles I see,
Is perfect sunlight, an unclouded day.
Speak not of parting, not at least this hour,
Though well I know Love cannot Time outlast.
Let me grow wiser first and gain more power,
More strength of will to deal with my dead past.
Love me in silence still, one short hour's space:
'Tis all I ask of thee, this little grace.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Divine Device
Would it be loss or gain
To hapless human-kind
If we could feel no pain
Of body or of mind?
Would it be for our good
If we were calloused so,
And God in mercy should
End all our woe?
I wonder and I doubt:
It is my bright belief
We should be poor without
The gift of grief.
For suffering may be
A blessing, not a bane,
And though we sorrow we
Should praise for Pain.
Aye, it's my brave belief
That grateful we should be,
Since in the heart of grief
Is love and sympathy,
We do not weep in vain,
So let us kiss the rod,
And see in purging Pain
The Grace of God.
poem by Robert William Service
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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
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As When From Dreams Awaking
AS when from dreams awaking
The dim forms float away
Whose visioned smiles were making
Our darkness bright as day;
We vainly strive, while weeping,
From their shining spirit track,
(Where they fled while we were sleeping,)
To call those dear ones back!
Like the stars, some power divides them
From a world of want and pain;
They are there, but daylight hides them,
And we look for them in vain.
For a while we dwell with sadness,
On the beauty of that dream,
Then turn, and hail with gladness
The light of morning's beam.
So, when memory's power is wringing
Our lonely hearts to tears,
Dim forms around us bringing
That brightened former years:
Fond looks and low words spoken,
Which those dreamy days could boast,
Rise; till the spell be broken,
We forget that they are lost!
But when the hour of darkness rolls
Like heavy night away;
And peace is stealing o'er our souls,
Like the dawn of summer day:
The dim sweet forms that used to bless,
Seem stealing from us too;
We loved them-but joy's sunniness
Hath hid them from our view!
Oh could day beam eternally,
And Memory's power cease,
This world, a world of light would be,
Our hearts were worlds of peace:
But dreams of joy return with night,
And dwell upon the past-
And every grief that clouds our light,
Reminds us of the last!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Joy that's half too keen, and true
Joy that's half too keen, and true,
Makes us tears.
Oh! the sweetness of the tears!
If such joy at hand appears,
Snatch it, give thine all for it;
Joy that is so exquisite,
Lost, comes not new.
One blossom for a hundred years.
Grief that's fond and dies not soon
Makes delight.
Oh! the pain of the delight!
If thy grief be love's aright,
Tend it close and let it grow:
Grief so tender not to know
Loses Love's boon.
Sweet Philomel sings all the night.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Knowledge Is There to Gain From This
It is difficult to escape the power held,
By those acknowledging a knowledge.
Once it is there and gets one wide awake...
All exits to get away from it,
Seem to be permanently closed.
There are no fences to jump,
Or keys to unlock gates.
Even the faking of not having it,
Is hard to do when ignorance approaches.
There have been cases,
In which attempts have been made...
To masquerade a wisdom,
For the sake of keeping peace.
Since all peace wishes to do is to live in it.
This can not be done.
It seems that ignorance becomes offended.
And conflicts begin!
The forces of ignorance struggle to win.
Leaving consequences for them to suffer!
And knowledge is there to gain from this.
But it is ignorance that is stubborn.
Wanting to prove without knowledge...
Alone it can exist in the spreading of its nonsense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Carpe Diem
Age saw two quiet children
Go loving by at twilight,
He knew not whether homeward,
Or outward from the village,
Or (chimes were ringing) churchward,
He waited, (they were strangers)
Till they were out of hearing
To bid them both be happy.
'Be happy, happy, happy,
And seize the day of pleasure.'
The age-long theme is Age's.
'Twas Age imposed on poems
Their gather-roses burden
To warn against the danger
That overtaken lovers
From being overflooded
With happiness should have it.
And yet not know they have it.
But bid life seize the present?
It lives less in the present
Than in the future always,
And less in both together
Than in the past. The present
Is too much for the senses,
Too crowding, too confusing-
Too present to imagine.
poem by Robert Frost
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