The Captive Knight
The prisoned thrush may brook the cage,
The captive eagle dies for rage.
Lady of the Lake.
'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound!
And the knight look'd down from the Paynim's tower,
And a Christian host, in its pride and power,
Thro' the pass beneath him wound.
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'I knew 'twas a trumpet's note!
And I see my brethren's lances gleam,
And their pennons wave by the mountain stream,
And their plumes to the glad wind float!
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'I am here, with my heavy chain!
And I look on a torrent sweeping by,
And an eagle rushing to the sky,
And a host, to its battle-plain!
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'Must I pine in my fetters here?
With the wild wave's foam, and the free bird's flight,
And the tall spears glancing on my sight,
And the trumpet in mine ear?
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'They are gone! they have all pass'd by!
They in whose wars I had borne my part,
They that I lov'd with a brother's heart,
They have left me here to die!
Sound again, clarion! Clarion, pour thy blast!
Sound! for the captive's dream of hope is past.'
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Related quotes
REbel for friend Rema
The cockerel crew at break of day.
Bid working men to make their way
to where they earned their honest crust
when hunger drives a man needs must.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
So harness Dobbin to the plough
and leave behind a straight furrow
or hasten to the factory
amongst the grim machinery.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
Of if perchance you’re office bound
surrounded only by the sound
of papers shuffled to and fro.
You have no choice you still must go.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
On winter mornings dark and cold
and summer days when it grows hot.
But I don’t care I am grown old
and have retired so I will not.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
3-Aug-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Cease
cease our pain God
Cease our anger God
Cease the war God
Cease the dark days God
Cease the rain God
Cease the strong winds that are blowing everywhere God
Cease our hunger God
Cease our thirst God
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Fortess of Grace
You are my refuge,
my strong and safe high tower,
The source of all my strength.
Everlasting strength,
Unending power,
Unassailable peace,
Mighty, perfect love.
Your passion overwhelms me,
Your love washes over
my spirit like a wave.
I hear you in the quiet,
I hear you in the storm,
The clarion call in battle,
The whisper that brings the calm.
Tower of Peace,
Tower of Love,
Fortress of Grace.
© 2008
poem by Jeffrey Stultz
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Dear America
America! Arise to your historical day,
The clarion call has sounded,
Another day of your history is on target
This major milestone must be faced,
Presidential Election, November 6th,2012.
People from afar, to your shore came
To engage in the American dream,
A dream of peace, love, prosperity
A dream of hope and security.
The American inspirational journey of evolution,
Science and techology
Now, behold a new dawning, a day of decision
Which way is up! Which way is right for America?
The world watching in quietness,
For, it is written, long time ago,
'Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation;
And every city or house divided against itself shall not stand.' Matthew 12: 25
The splendour of gigantic showplaces,
The glamourous entertainment centres
The power of the presidency,
The force of the military,
Oh the thrilling sport enthusiasts,
Thus America, America, America, you are great!
America, America, America
A resounding decision must be made,
For behold neer too far the trumpet shall sound
And to battle you shall be called.
Search ye citizens within your uttermost selves for strength
When delivering your votes,
For, today, the clarion call is heard,
America, America, America,
Your leadership is the key to world peace.
Your leadership matter to the world at large.
Winston Harding
poem by Winston Harding
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The Wrath of Ants
God in All His Wisdom Grants;
Power to creatures great n' small
Evil beware! The wrath of ants!
When men hear His clarion call
poem by Ray Lucero
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Answer
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim,
One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Sound, Sound the Clarion
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim,
One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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A pond fly
A pond fly gazes up
And sees the day erupt
I don't want to be eaten
My wings plucked
Can't I dry them on the wing?
And hear the clarion of wind
Before bearing
On my song to sing!
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife,
Throughout the sensual world proclaim,
One crowded hour of glorious life,
Is worth an age without name.
quote by Thomas Osbert Mordaunt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The BBC has the obligation to think big. And at the moment, that clarion call sounds an uncertain note to me.
quote by Jonathan Dimbleby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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sanctity is a divine clarion call
to every soul
to decide sometime
quote by by John Celes
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Driff me off
yield with full of awesome memory,
languish in the option of time, of where I
settle my complete hope of surrender to
the wave of the sky, I command to lie
down my hand
put off the flower that floats and come
to the magic of the stream, the waiting is
gone as the captive dream cease no one
in the sun
pour out all the water spells, the drifted
echo, lives in the air, listen my blooming
dear your escape is only in dream, for
your sweet touch may be gone; as the
water goes through the stream and the
wind may come the same, the pain may
always live to win
go crystal water, as the drifted sky comes
to end and let the passing tears leaves in
the air.......
poem by Antonio Liao
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Trumpets Of The Mind
Sound, sound forever, clarions of thought!
When Joshua 'gainst the high-walled city fought,
He marched around it with his banner high,
His troops in serried order following nigh,
But not a sword was drawn, no shaft outsprang;
Only the trumpets the shrill onset rang.
At the first blast, smiled scornfully the king,
And at the second sneered, half-wondering:
'Hop'st thou with noise my stronghold to break down?'
At the third round the ark of old renown
Swept forward, still the trumpets sounding loud,
And then the troops with ensigns waving proud.
Stepped out upon the old walls children dark,
With horns to mock the notes and hoot the ark.
At the fourth turn, braving the Israelites,
Women appeared upon the crenelated heights--
Those battlements embrowned with age and rust--
And hurled upon the Hebrews stones and dust,
And spun and sang when weary of the game.
At the fifth circuit came the blind and lame,
And with wild uproar clamorous and high
Railed at the clarion ringing to the sky.
At the sixth time, upon a tower's tall crest,
So high that there the eagle built his nest,
So hard that on it lightning lit in vain,
Appeared in merriment the king again:
'These Hebrew Jews musicians are, me-seems!'
He scoffed, loud laughing, 'but they live on dreams.'
The princes laughed submissive to the king,
Laughed all the courtiers in their glittering ring,
And thence the laughter spread through all the town.
At the seventh blast the city walls fell down.
poem by Victor Hugo
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Worship
There is no worship now,—the idol stands
Within the spirit's holy resting place!
Millions before it bend with upraised hands,
And with their gifts God's purer shrine disgrace;
The prophet walks unhonored mid the crowd
That to the idol's temple daily throng;
His voice unheard above their voices loud,
His strength too feeble 'gainst the torrent strong;
But there are bounds that ocean's rage can stay
When wave on wave leaps madly to the shore:
And soon-the prophet's word shall men obey,
And hushed to peace the billows cease to roar;
For he who spoke—and warring winds kept peace,
Commands again—and man's wild passions cease.
poem by Jones Very
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O Lemme Go, My Time Has Come!
O lemme go, my time has come!
I smell death somewhere lurking near;
With weakened frame, I must welcome,
My end of earthly stay, sans fear!
O lemme go, my time has come!
My pain and suff'rings may now cease;
My job on earth is done/ half-done;
So, let me breathe my last in peace!
O lemme go, my time has come!
I tried to do the best I could;
I hear my Saviour's clarion call;
So, let me leave this world for good!
O lemme go, my time has come!
The Lord awaits with open arms;
The narrow road, I always trod;
So, let my body go to worms!
O lemme go, my time has come!
The love of flesh and world can't stop;
I see my earthly journey's end;
So, to my Master's wish, I bend!
O lemme go, my time has come!
Don't grieve or cry for me at all;
God's time for me has ended here;
So, let me dress up in my pall!
O lemme go, my time has come!
My kith and kin, do pray for me;
My soul will soon be freed at last;
So, long I for eternity!
O lemme go, my time has come!
The angels wait to take my soul;
No one can be perfect all life;
So, let me get my rod/reward!
O lemme go, my time has come!
Most of my time, I lived for God,
The Lord well knows all sins of mine;
So, let me not argue, opine!
O lemme go, my time has come!
My Heaven's road has come to end;
I'm gonna be with God above;
So, lemme go, my time is up!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 21-08-12
poem by John Celes
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Excelsior
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said:
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Flee Babylon
The Lord our God, He lights our path
In the way that we must go
And the world is tossed by every wave
The wind it blows it to and fro
Stand up, stand up for Jesus
That is our clarion call
As the world begins to crumble
And the walls begin to fall
Why should we fear the darkness?
Why should we fear the light?
Wake up ye sleepy Christians
It's time to stand and fight
We bear the armor of the Lord
Let's step into the fray
Come now and fight while there's still light
And walk while its yet day
For fast the night approaches
With murder in its hand
The gates of hell have come to see
That we no longer stand
And even though they spill our blood
And victory they will hail
And all around be darkness
The gates shall not prevail
For Christ in all His glory
Will come and fill the sky
You'll hear the trumpet blowing
You'll hear the angel cry
Behold the King of glory
He's in His battle dress
And every knee on earth shall bow
And every tongue confess
Tha Jesus Christ is Lord of Lords
And He is King of kings
All glory to Emmanuel
Is what the angel sings
poem by Frank McEleny
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My soul is dark
I
My soul is dark—Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.—
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again—
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
'Twill flow—and cease to burn my brain—
II
But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first—
I tell thee—Minstrel! I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst—
For it hath been by sorrow nurst,
And ached in sleepless silence long—
And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst,
And break at once—or yield to song.
poem by Byron (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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They are still existing.
Ideals realized,
They cease to be ideals.
Hopes attained,
They cease to be hopes.
Beliefs proven,
They cease to be beliefs.
Faiths established,
They cease to be faiths.
Mind, faith in god
And belief in His deeds
Are still existing.
29.04.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Tryst with Destiny (in poem form for India’s 64th Independence Day)
And when the clock struck twelve midnight,
Fourteenth, august, forty-seven,
An Asian nation turned awake,
While world slept on in slumber deep!
A hundred years of freedom fight
Came to a grinding halt that night,
As Pandit Nehru gave his speech,
‘Tryst with destiny’ with reach!
India awoke to freedom life,
Despite a hundred years of strife,
And took a pledge anew to stay
A nation, free with peace each day!
That moment was so rare indeed;
A nation’s soul was stirred to lead,
And show the world its powerful seed,
As nations totally paid heed.
India’s history thus saw a dawn:
A struggle great ended that morn,
As success finally newborn,
Did Motherland with pride adorn.
With freedom came newer duties;
The failures of the past did cease;
The country was given new lease –
A cure for this strange a disease!
The nation was a sovereign state,
On that magical hour and date;
As leaders vowed to change the fate
Of Indian people’s long a wait.
A star of freedom rose in east,
Heralding celebration, feast;
A hope anew was born that day,
To never cease, oh, come what may!
The star would never set at all –
The Nation’s Father’s clarion call,
The architect of freedom’s hall,
Was Gandhiji (Bapu) , man tall!
He held the torch of freedom high;
Many freedom fighters did die;
And many people heaved a sigh;
As democracy stood too nigh!
‘Jai Hind! Jai Bharat! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 8-06-2010
poem by John Celes
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