John Farrell
The pen falls from his nerveless hand,
The light is fading from his eyes,
The brain that nobly served his land
Darkens and dies.
No, never dies! From hour to hour
The burning thought is living still;
Onward it speeds with gath’ring power
To strengthen and fulfil.
Build him no mockery of stone,
Nor shame him with your idle praise;
He liveth in his work alone
Through all our days.
Sleep, heart of gold, ’twas not in vain
You loved the struggling and the poor
And taught in sweet yet strenuous strain
To battle and endure.
The lust of wealth, the pride of place,
Were not a light to guide thy feet,
But larger hopes and wider space
For hearts to beat.
O, brother, dead! Thus, one by one,
Our broken swords remain to tell
The fight is o’er, the work is done,
Sleep! “It is well.”
poem by George Essex Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Work, Sleep, Work, Sleep, Work
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work.
Oh free me please with gentle ease
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work!
This odium, pounding tedium
Of my work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
Just whisk me off to lands afar
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
That grinding train of rhythmic pain
Called ‘Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.’
Poor neural circuits fizzle and pop
In work, sleep, work, sleep, work,
In trying to make some sense of all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
But Hark! I see a golden gleam -
A saving spirit of hope:
‘You’re fired! ’ He screams. What news to bear,
This wondrous hangman’s rope!
So now I’m free, released from all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
Eternal peace and rest for me, no
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Failure
THE BOY went out from the ranges grim,
And the breath of the mountains went with him;
With a song in his heart and a smile on his face,
And a light in his eyes for a foremost place:
And the good green earth, and the salt sea spray,
And the soft blue skies, they were his that day;
And, like Eden, ringed with a golden fire—
Afar rose the Land of His Heart’s Desire.
The boy went down to the city’s strife,
And his face was lost in the surge of life;
But a Power that he did not understand
Had nerved his brain and his fighting hand.
And he strove and failed, and he rose and won—
And he failed again ere the fight was done;
But he battled on when the days were dire
To win to the Land of His Heart’s Desire.
And there, in the heart of the stress and din,
’Mid want and labour and wealth and sin,
The strong man struggled with shining eyes,
And forced a passage, and grasped the prize.
And he cried to the Power who had lent the fire:
“Lo! Fame is the Land of My Heart’s Desire!
Give the cup to me with a beaded brim.”
And the Power that he knew not gave it him.
But the air is keen on the Cliffs of Fame,
And the shafts that fly have a deadly aim!
With a foothold scarce, and a sleepless dread
For the gulfs below and the heights o’erhead,
He cried to the Power who had steeled his hand:
“I am outcast yet from my Fairyland!
For Fame is a land where no strength may tire,
But Love is the Land of My Heart’s Desire!”
Then there came to the man all his dream of Love,
With the brow of snow and the eyes of a dove,
With the glint of the sun on her wavy hair,
And her soul as pure as her face was fair.
Like a living lily to him she came,
Till his eyes were wet and his soul was flame,
And she called to him, with an outstretched hand,
And they entered into the Promised Land.
But there came a day when he asked his soul,
“Is this the land, and is this the goal?”
In his heart there lay what his lips denied—
The pang of a hunger unsatisfied.
“For Fame,” he said, “and for Love I wrought;
They are not the things that I should have sought:
’Tis to boundless power that my dreams aspire—
And Wealth is the Land of My Heart’s Desire!”
Then the Power that he did not understand
Gave him ships and houses and gold and land,
And the man’s power grew with each passing year;
But his thoughts were vexed with a sleepless fear,
And his hair grew gray with the iron strain
Of the dread of loss and the lust of gain,
And he bowed his head on his hands and said.
“All things are mine, but my heart is dead!”
And he thought of the boy from the ranges grim
With the breath of the mountains over him,
With a song in his heart and a smile on his face,
And a light in his eyes for a foremost place,
And the good green earth and the salt sea spray,
And the soft blue skies that were his that day,
When, like Eden, ringed with a golden fire,
Afar rose the Land of His Heart’s Desire.
Then clear on his startled ear there fell
A voice like the sound of a silver bell:
“To each is the work that he best can do,
But you turned from the work when it called to you.
And you sought instead for the vulgar praise,
For the lips of love, and for prosperous days.
And with all that the world can give you here,
You have lost the thing that you hold most dear.
For who hears the word that the Gods inspire—
In his work finds the Land of His Heart’s Desire.”
poem by George Essex Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Brother, You’ll Take My Hand
NOT to the sober and staid,
Leading a quiet life,
But to men whose paths are laid
Ever through storm and strife—
Here is a song from me,
Sent to the tragic West,
Message of sympathy
To the hearts that can never rest.
This is the song I send
Out to the Western land—
Sinner, and martyr, and friend,
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
To you who have loved and lost;
To you whose souls have died
Cursing a fair false face
And the red warm lips that lied;
Loved with a boyish love,
With a love that was pure and true,
That set one woman above
The world that was known to you;
Eating your heart out now
Alone on a waste of sand—
I have been played with too.
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
To you who were loved too well,
And who cast that love aside
When your vanity was replete
And your passion was satisfied—
Haunted now day and night;
Haunted in every place
By the eyes of a suicide,
Set in a dead girl’s face.
Crouched in your misery
Out where the stars are grand—
O I am haunted too!
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
To you who had wealth or name,
Friends, love, and a future fair,
And who sacrificed all for drink
And the nights of Leicester Square:
In by the drunken town,
Out on the barren tramp,
Pacing it up and down
Alone by the listening camp;
Crouched in your agony,
Hiding your eyes with your hand—
I had the ball at my feet—
Brother! I understand.
There is a light for all;
Hold up your head and live!
Forgive the woman who wronged,
And the dead girl will forgive.
Brood not, but work for good;
Work in the world of men—
Strong is the man who fell
And rose from the depths again.
There shall be peace for you,
Sinners, who win the land.
I would fight upward too—
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Maker
Oh, Oh Deep water
Black, and cold like the night
I stand with arms wide open
I've run a twisted mile
I'm a stranger
in the eyes of the maker
I could not see
for fog in my eyes
I could not feel
for the fear in my life
From across the great divide
In the distance i saw a light
Jean baptiste
walking to me with the maker
My body is bent and broken
by long and dangerous sleep
I can work the fields of abraham
and turn my head away
I'm not a stranger
in the hands of the maker
Brother john
Have you seen the homeless daughters
standing there
with broken dreams
I have seen the flaming swords
there over east of eden
burning in the eyes of the maker
burning in the eyes of the maker
burning in the eyes of the maker
burning in the eyes of the maker
oh river rise from your sleep
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Maker
(daniel lanois)
Oh, oh deep water, black and cold like the night
I stand with arms wide open
Ive run a twisted line
Im a stranger in the eyes of the maker
I could not see for the fog in my eyes
I could not feel for the fear in my life
From across the great divide, in the distance I saw a light
Of jean baptistes hes walking to me with the maker
My body my body is bent and broken by long and dangerous sleep
I cant work the fields of abraham and turn my head away
Im not a stranger in the hands of the maker
Brother john, have you seen the homeless daughters
Standing there with broken wings
I have seen the flaming swords
There over east of eden
Burning in the eyes of the maker
Burning in the eyes of the maker
Burning in the eyes of the maker
Oh, river rise from your sleep
Oh, river rise from your sleep
Oh, river rise from your sleep
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 49 part 1
v.6-14
C. M.
Pride and death; or, The vanity of life and riches.
Why doth the man of riches grow
To insolence and pride,
To see his wealth and honors flow
With every rising tide?
[Why doth he treat the poor with scorn,
Made of the self-same clay,
And boast as though his flesh was born
Of better dust than they?]
Not all his treasures can procure
His soul a short reprieve,
Redeem from death one guilty hour,
Or make his brother live.
[Life is a blessing can't be sold,
The ransom is too high;
Justice will ne'er be bribed with gold,
That man may never die.]
He sees the brutish and the wise,
The tim'rous and the brave,
Quit their possessions, close their eyes,
And hasten to the grave.
Yet 'tis his inward thought and pride,-
My house shall ever stand
And that my name may long abide,
I'll give it to my land."
Vain are his thoughts, his hopes are lost,
How soon his memory dies!
His name is written in the dust
Where his own carcass lies.
PAUSE.
This is the folly of their way;
And yet their sons, as vain,
Approve the words their fathers say,
And act their works again.
Men void of wisdom and of grace,
If honor raise them high,
Live like the beast, a thoughtless race,
And like the beast they die.
[Laid in the grave like silly sheep,
Death feeds upon them there,
Till the last trumpet break their sleep
In terror and despair.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Can Beauty Remain Beauty?
Can beauty remain beauty without light?
No beauty survives without light in sight
To endure the pangs sharp of age in flight,
For fair with folly dead plunges at night.
When beauty blooms into beauty divine,
Showered with wisdom married to light to shine,
To border of no ending on the line,
Lifted is beauty's life onto cloud nine.
Life valued more in thought than gold man eyes,
Beats thrones, castles held in esteem that dies.
Vessels with covetousness, wrath, spite, lust, pride,
Greed, sloth do sink into oblivion wide.
Life is nature, who stores light in sublime.
Such beauty saved as truth lives on with time.
poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
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Psalm 146
Praise to God for his goodness and truth.
Praise ye the Lord, my heart shall join
In work so pleasant, so divine;
Now, while the flesh is mine abode,
And when my soul ascends to God.
Praise shall employ my noblest powers,
While immortality endures;
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last.
Why should I make a man my trust?
Princes must die and turn to dust;
Their breath departs, their pomp, and power,
And thoughts, all vanish in an hour.
Happy the man whose hopes rely
On Isr'el's God; he made the sky,
And earth, and seas, with all their train,
And none shall find his promise vain.
His truth for ever stands secure;
He saves th' oppressed, he feeds the poor;
He sends the lab'ring conscience peace,
And grants the pris'ner sweet release.
The Lord hath eyes to give the blind;
The Lord supports the sinking mind;
He helps the stranger in distress,
The widow and the fatherless.
He loves his saints, he knows them well,
But turns the wicked down to hell:
Thy God, O Zion! ever reigns;
Praise him in everlasting strains.
poem by Isaac Watts
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A Prayer For The King's Majesty
22nd January, 1901.
THE Queen is dead. God save the King,
In this his hour of grief,
When sorrow gathers memories in a sheaf
To lay them on his shoulders as he stands
Inheriting her glories and her lands--
First gain of his at which his Mother's voice
Has not been first to bless and to rejoice--
A man, set lonely between gain and loss.
(O words of love the heart remembereth,
O mighty loss outweighing every gain!)
A Son whose kingdom Death's arm lies across,
A King whose Mother lies alone with Death
Wrapped in the folds of white implacable sleep.
O God, who seest the tears Thy children weep,
O God, who countest each sad heart-beat, see
How our King needs the grace we ask of Thee!
Thou knowest how little and how vain a thing
Is Empire, when the heart is sick with pain--
God, save the King!
The Queen is dead. The splendour of her days,
The sorrow of them both alike merge now
In the new aureole that lights her brow.
The clamour of her people's voice in praise
Must hush itself to the still voice that prays
In the holy chamber of Death. Tread softly here,
A mighty Queen lies dead.
Her people's heart wears black,
The black bells toll unceasing in their ear,
And on the gold sun's track
The great world round
Like a black ring the voice of mourning goes,
Till even our ancient foes
With eyes downbent, and brotherly bared head,
Keep mourning watch with us. This is the hour
When Love lends all his power
To speed grief's arrows from the bow of Death,
When sighs are idle breath,
When tears are fountains vain.
She will not wake again,
Not now, not here.
O great and good and infinitely dear,
O Mother of your people, sleep is sweet,
No more Life's thorny ways will wound your feet.
O Mother dear, sleep sound!
When you shall wake,
Your brows freed from the crown that made them ache
So many a time, and wear the heavenly crown,
Then, then you will look down
On us who love you, and, remembering,
The love of earth will breathe with us our prayer,
Our prayer prayed here, joined to your prayer prayed there:
Who knows what radiant answer it may bring?
'God save the King!'
The Queen is dead. God save the King!
From all ill thought and deed,
From heartless service and from selfish sway,
From treason, and the vain imagining
Of evil counsellors, and the noisome breed
Of flatterers who eat the soul away,
God save the King!
From loss and pain and tears
Such as her many years
Brought her; from battle and strife,
And the inmost hurt of life,
The wounds that no crown can heal,
No ermine robes conceal,
God save the King!
God, by our memories of his Mother's face,
By the love that makes our heart her dwelling-place,
Grant to our sorrow this desired grace:
God save the King!
* * * * * * * * *
The Queen is dead. God save the King.
This is no hour when joy has leave to sing;
Only, amid our tears, we are bold to pray,
More boldly, in that we pray sorrowing,
In this most sorrowful day.
God, who wast of a mortal Mother born,
Who driest the tears with which Thy children mourn,
God, save the King!
Look down on him whose crown is wet with tears
In which its splendour fades and disappears--
His tears, our tears, tears out of all her lands.
The Queen is dead.
God! strengthen the King's hands!
God, save the King!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Greeting Poem
There was a sound in the wind to-day,
Like a joyous cymbal ringing!
And the leaves of the trees talked with the breeze,
And they altogether were singing,
For they knew that an army, both bold and strong,
A brave, brave army, was coming,
Not with the fife and sounds of strife,
With marshal music and drumming,
Not with stern faces and gleaming swords,
That would make blood to flow like water,
While brother and brother should slay each other
On wholesale fields of slaughter;
But rather like rills from a thousand hills,
That ripple through valley and heather,
On, on to the sea, with a song of glee,
Till they meet and mingle together.
They come from the South, and the East, and the West,
The bravest and best in the nation.
They come at no idle and aimless quest,
But to work for a world's salvation.
From the Scot's fair land and from England's strand,
O'er mountain and heather and ocean,
They come; and the foe by their coming shall know
The strength of a Templar's devotion.
On the earnest brows, in the thoughtful eyes,
We read the unchanging story-
They fight in their might for the truth and the right,
And not for vain name or glory.
O grandest of armies! O bravest of bands!
We give you a cordial greeting,
And the blood of our warm hearts beats in the hands
That are offered to you in meeting.
The heart of a Templar is never cold,
Nor stands it aloof from a brother,
And his hand is steady, and always ready
To clasp the hand of another.
In God's great Book, where but angels look,
On pages of spotless beauty
Are written in letters of living light
A Templar's vow and his duty.
'For ever and ever,' the promise reads,
For ever and ever 'twas given.
And who keeps or breaks the pledge that he takes
Must meet the record in heaven.
Our order is noble and grand and strong,
And is gathering strength each hour,
And the good of the earth proclaim its worth,
While the foe turns pale at its power.
And we of the State that men call great,
The nation's brave 'Badger' daughter,
Step by step as we go, are defeating the foe,
While we add to the hosts of cold water.
With a chief at our head whom the foe may well dread,
The Sherman or Grant of our battles,
By day and by night we fight the good fight,
Though never a cannon rattles.
For the tongue and the pen are the swords of our men,
And prayer keeps them whetted and polished;
They will let God's light in on the foe's licensed sin,
Till the traffic of death is abolished.
With cunning hands we fashioned the strands
Of a stout restraining tether,
To fasten the beast, for a season at least,
And our statesmen tied it together.
The beast strains the rope with the idle hope
Of making it weaker or longer,
But the Templars to-day are working away
To make it shorter and stronger.
We give you greeting-we need your aid!
There is work for many a morrow,
There are beautiful souls going down in the bowls,
There are homes that are burdened with sorrow,
There are mourning captives all over the earth,
Hugging the fetters that bind them.
We must show them the light, we must set them aright,
We must work for them all as we find them.
With a soaring 'Faith,' that is stronger than death,
We must work while the day hangs o'er us.
We are brave and strong, and our battle-song
Has 'Hope' for the ringing chorus.
With 'Charity' broad as the mercy of God,
We must lift up the fallen neighbor,
And the Lord's dear band, in the angel land,
Will smile on our blesséd labor.
Welcome, brave warriors in God's holy cause!
The hearts in our bosoms are beating
As one heart to-night, filled with pride and delight-
Welcome, thrice welcome, our greeting.
And though soon between will lie long miles of green,
Though oceans divide us for ever,
The ties which now bind heart with heart, mind with mind,
The hand of Death only can sever.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Insomnia & The Hole In The Universe
My brother kicked his feet to sleep
My brother kicked his feet to sleep
My brother kicked his feet to sleep
And I sang the dirge song
.
My brother never missed a beat
My brother kicked his feet to sleep, sweet feet
My brother kicked his feet to sleep
And I sang the dirge song
.
Angel, dont you have some bagels in my oven?
Lady, dont you know a man when you see one?
Crazy lady with the shiny shoes, where are you?
Kick you feet and calm the space that makes
You hollow
.
Little swamis got his bowl to eat
Little swami always walks his beat, sweet feet
Little swamis got his bowl to eat
And I sing the dirge song
.
Its amazing how they come to see
The little swami with his bowl to eat, sweet feet
The little swami only wears a sheet
And wont sing the dirge song
.
Anal, tight-assed soldier with that dogged heart
Put down your gun
We are ready to explode, we gotta take it smart
And take it slow
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood, Milk, & Sky
The siren sings a lonely song - of all the wants and hungers
[of all the wants and hungers]
The lust of love a brute desire - the ledge of life goes under
[the ledge of life goes under]
Divide the dream into the flesh - kaleidoscope and candle eyes
[kaleidoscope and candle eyes]
Empty winds scrape on the soul - but never stop to realize
[but never stop to realize]
Animal whisperings - intoxicate the night
[intoxicate the night]
Hypnotize the deperate - slow motion light
[slow motion light]
Wash away into the rain - blood, milk and sky
[blood, milk and sky]
Hollow moons illuminate - and beauty never dies
[and beauty never dies]
Running wild, running blind
[Running wild, running blind]
I breathe the body deep
[I breathe the body deep]
1,000 years beside myself
[1,000 years beside myself]
I do not sleep
[I do not sleep]
Seduce the world it never screams
[Seduce the world it never screams]
Dead water lies
[Dead water lies]
Ride the only one who knows
[Ride the only one who knows]
Beauty never dies
[Beauty never dies, never dies, never dies, never dies, never dies, never dies, never dies, never dies,]
song performed by by White Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood, Milk, Sky
The siren sings a lonely song - of all the wants and hungers
[of all the wants and hungers]
The lust of love a brute desire - the ledge of life goes under
[the ledge of life goes under]
Divide the dream into the flesh - kaleidoscope and candle eyes
[kaleidoscope and candle eyes]
Empty winds scrape on the soul - but never stop to realize
[but never stop to realize]
Animal whisperings - intoxicate the night
[intoxicate the night]
Hypnotize the deperate - slow motion light
[slow motion light]
Wash away into the rain - blood, milk and sky
[blood, milk and sky]
Hollow moons illuminate - and beauty never dies
[and beauty never dies]
Running wild, running blind
[running wild, running blind]
I breathe the body deep
[i breathe the body deep]
1,000 years beside myself
[1,000 years beside myself]
I do not sleep
[i do not sleep]
Seduce the world it never screams
[seduce the world it never screams]
Dead water lies
[dead water lies]
Ride the only one who knows
[ride the only one who knows]
Beauty never dies
[beauty never dies, never dies, never dies, never dies, never dies, never dies, never dies, never dies,]
song performed by by White Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Euthanasia
When Time, or soon or late, shall bring
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,
Oblivion! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed!
No band of friends or heirs be there,
To weep, or wish, the coming blow:
No maiden, with dishevelled hair,
To feel, or feign, decorous woe.
But silent let me sink to earth,
With no officious mourners near:
I would not mar one hour of mirth,
Nor startle friendship with a tear.
Yet Love, if Love in such an hour
Could nobly check its useless sighs,
Might then exert its latest power
In her who lives, and him who dies.
'Twere sweet, my Psyche! to the last
Thy features still serene to see:
Forgetful of its struggles past,
E’en Pain itself should smile on thee.
But vain the wish?for Beauty still
Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath;
And women's tears, produced at will,
Deceive in life, unman in death.
Then lonely be my latest hour,
Without regret, without a groan;
For thousands Death hath ceas’d to lower,
And pain been transient or unknown.
'Ay, but to die, and go,' alas!
Where all have gone, and all must go!
To be the nothing that I was
Ere born to life and living woe!
Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,
Count o'er thy days from anguish free,
And know, whatever thou hast been,
'Tis something better not to be.
Mind Power
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
So when you walk through the door
Is this the bottom word
The fortress of violence will fall
When the tide will turn
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Is there a place you belong
When there is no love
The light that shines is so strong
When you come out of the dark
Yeah
Were living in a violent world
It makes our heart just freeze
Lets melt the ice with heart and soul
To heal a world that bleeds
(to heal a world that bleeds)
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
So when you walk through the door
Is this the bottom word
The fortress of violence will fall
When the tide will turn
So when you walk through the door
You can make it too
The fortress of violence will fall
If you want it to
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brunton Stephens
Dedicated by special permission to Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria.
We cried, “How long!” We sighed, “Not yet;”
And still with faces dawnward set
“Prepare the way,” said each to each,
And yet again, “Prepare,” we said;
And toil, re-born of resolute speech,
Made straight the path her feet should tread:—
Now triumph, faithful hands and steadfast wills,
For, lo! whose pomp the bannered Orient fills?
Whose feet are these upon the morning hills?
Farewell, Sweet Faith! thy silver ray
Now dies into the golden day.
Farewell, Bright Dream, by minstrels sung!
For She whom all our dreams foreran
Has leaped to life, a Pallas sprung
Consummate from the brain of man,
Whom now we hail in mortal guise and gait,
Thought clothed with flesh, partaker of our state,
Made corporal in us now corporate!
Ah, now we know the long delay
But served to assure a prouder day,
For while we waited came the call
To prove and make our title good—
To face the fiery ordeal
That tries the claim to Nationhood—
And now in pride of challenge we unroll,
For all the world to read, the record-scroll
Whose bloody script attests a Nation's soul.
O ye, our Dead, who at the call
Fared forth to fall as heroes fall,
Whose consecrated souls we failed
To note beneath the common guise
Till all-revealing Death unveiled
The splendour of your sacrifice,
Now, crowned with more than perishable bays,
Immortal in your country's love and praise,
Ye, too, have portion in this day of days!
And ye who sowed where now we reap,
Whose waiting eyes, now sealed in sleep,
Beheld far off with prescient sight
This triumph of rejoicing lands—
Yours, too, the day! for though its light
Can pierce not to your folded hands,
These shining hours of advent but fulfil
The cherished purpose of your constant will,
Whose onward impulse liveth in us still.
Still lead thou vanward of our line,
Who, shaggy, massive, leonine,
Could'st yet most finely phrase the event—
For if a Pisgah view was all
Vouchsafed to thine uncrowned intent,
The echoes of thy herald-call
Not faintlier strive with our saluting guns,
And at thy words through all Australia's sons
The “crimson thread of kinship” redder runs.
But not the memory of the dead,
How loved so'er each sacred head,
To-day can change from glad to grave
The chords that quire a Nation born—
Twin offspring of the birth that gave,
When yester-midnight chimed to morn,
Another age to the Redeemer's reign,
Another cycle to the widening gain
Of Good o'er Ill and Remedy o'er Pain.
Our sundering lines with love o'ergrown,
Our bounds the girdling seas alone—
Be this the burden of the psalm
That every resonant hour repeats,
Till day-fall dusk the fern and palm
That forest our transfigured streets,
And night still vibrant with the note of praise
Thrill brother-hearts to song in woodland ways,
When gum-leaves whisper o'er the camp-fire's blaze.
* * * * *
The Charter's read: the rites are o'er;
The trumpet's blare and cannon's roar
Are silent, and the flags are furled;
But so not ends the task to build
Into the fabric of the world
The substance of our hope fulfilled—
To work as those who greatly have divined
The lordship of a continent assigned
As God's own gift for service of mankind.
O People of the onward will,
Unit of Union greater still
Than that to-day hath made you great,
Your true Fulfilment waiteth there,
Embraced within the larger fate
Of Empire ye are born to share—
No vassal progeny of subject brood,
No satellite shed from Britain's plenitude,
But orbed with her in one wide sphere of good!
* * * * *
O Lady, in whose sovereign name
The crowning word of Union came
That sheds upon thine honoured age
The glory of a rising light,
Across our record's earliest page,
Its earliest word, thy name we write . . .
Symbol, Embodiment, and Guarantee
Of all that makes us and maintains us free,
Woman and Queen, God's grace abide with thee.
poem by James Brunton Stephens
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ring Out , Wild Bells
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maria's Bed
Been on a barbed wire highway 40 days and nights
I ain't complainin', it's my job and it suits me right
I got a sweet soft fever rushin' around my head
I'm gonna sleep tonight in Maria's bed
Got on a dead man suit and smilin' skull ring
Lucky graveyard boots and a song to sing
I keep my heart in my work but trouble's in my head
And I keep my soul in Maria's bed
I been up on sugar mountain, cross the sweet blue seas
I walked the valley of love and tears and mystery
I got run out'a luck and give myself up for dead
And I drank the cool clear waters from Maria's bed
She give me candy stick kisses 'neath a wolf dog moon
One sweet breath and she'll take you mister to the upper room
I was burned by the angels, sold wings of lead
Then I fell in the roses and sweet salvation of Maria's bed
I been out in the desert yeah doin' my time
Searchin' through the dust for fools gold, lookin' for a sign
Holy man said "hold on brother there's a light up ahead"
Ain't nothing like a light that shines on me in Maria's bed
Well I'll take my blessings at the riverhead
I'm living in the light of Maria's bed
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Two Months
June
No hope, no change! The clouds have shut us in,
And through the cloud the sullen Sun strikes down
Full on the bosom of the tortured Town,
Till Night falls heavy as remembered sin
That will not suffer sleep or thought of ease,
And, hour on hour, the dry-eyed Moon in spite
Glares through the haze and mocks with watery light
The torment of the uncomplaining trees.
Far off, the Thunder bellows her despair
To echoing Earth, thrice parched. The lightnings fly
In vain. No help the heaped-up clouds afford,
But wearier weight of burdened, burning air.
What truce with Dawn? Look, from the aching sky,
Day stalks, a tyrant with a flaming sword!
September
At dawn there was a murmur in the trees,
A ripple on the tank, and in the air
Presage of coming coolness -- everywhere
A voice of prophecy upon the breeze.
Up leapt the Sun and smote the dust to gold,
And strove to parch anew the heedless land,
All impotently, as a King grown old
Wars for the Empire crumbling 'neath his hand.
One after one the lotos-petals fell,
Beneath the onslaught of the rebel year,
In mutiny against a furious sky;
And far-off Winter whispered: -- "It is well!
"Hot Summer dies. Behold your help is near,
"For when men's need is sorest, then come I."
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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