God's Grandeur
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge |&| shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast |&| with ah! bright wings.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Related quotes
Today... 'Holy Servant
Oh Holy Servant of God
The pathways of earth You trod
walked with mankind healing the blind
Oh Holy Servant of God
Oh Holy Servant of God
the hill of Calvary You trod
and from that cross You saved the lost
Oh Holy Servant of God
Oh Holy Servant of God
all the way to the grave You trod
and from that grave reached out to save
Oh Holy Servant of God
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
The Hero
Dont you like to see the hero take his licks like a man
Stand up and be tested and be true ?
Would you like to be a hero in your life ? well you can
Did you know its up to you ?
Would you trade your place with jesus on the cross if you could
Shining through eternity ?
Would it bother you to know that you can be just as good
As you really want to be ?
And if youre bound to do your duty then its time that you do
Look your future in the face
For the most important person in the world, which is you,
Or the whole damn human race
Chorus:
Theres a holy band of angels flying high through the night
Where no mortal ever trod
Singing holy, holy, holy, holy, oh, jesus christ
Is the lord almighty god
You see, the good thing is you dont have to be as good as jesus to
Start out with
All you gotta do ask yourself, how would gary cooper have done it
Or john kennedy
Or martin luther king
Or malcom x ?
Chorus:
Theres a holy band of angels flying high through the night
Where no mortal ever trod
Singing holy, holy, holy, holy, oh, jesus christ
Is the lord almighty god
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today... 'The Holy One
The Holy One came from God
and the paths of earth He trod.
Climbing Calvary's Hill
He died to fulfil God's will.
And those He came to save
rolled the stone over His grave.
But He did not see decay
and rose up on the third day.
The Holy One from God
The pathway to Glory trod.
Triumphantly ascending
all other men transcending.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
The Old Road
THE ROAD is left that once was trod
By man and heavy-laden beast;
And new ways opened, iron-shod,
That bind the land from west to east.
I asked of Him who all things knows
Why none who lived now passed that way:
Where rose the dust the grass now grows?
A still, low voice was heard to say,—
“Thou knowest not why I change the course
Of him who travels: learn to go,
Obey the Spirit’s gentle force,
Nor ask thou where the stream may flow.
“Man shall not walk in his own ways,
For he is blind and cannot see;
But let him trust, and lengthened days
Shall lead his feet to heaven and Me.
Then shall the grass the path grow o’er,
That his own wilfulness has trod;
And man nor beast shall pass it more,
But he shall walk with Me, his God.”
poem by Jones Very
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Son Of The Soil
Black, strong tatooed by the sun.
He toils and never tires.
He is the son of the soil.
Forget all these fake wana be's! You see today
wanting to be everything they see on tv.
he is the Son of the soil, raised up in the language of the ancetrals.
Taught to hunter and respect the traditions.
Raised up in the secret sacred things of the land.
Spilt his blood in the soil at the riverside at the age of 13.
He knew where his destiny lay at the age of 16.
Had his first encounter at 18.
She was a true daughter of the soil breed well by the women of the land.
Son of the soil taught by the elders the ways of women.
Son of the soil, taught by nature the way to survive.
Son of the soil, taught to endure by the woman he shares his purity with.
Son of the soil,
arise and toil for your destiny calls.
Toil to protect the weak,
to safeguard the rites,
to up root all menace and vallians from the west.
Son of the soil its your time to stand and be heard.
poem by Tigana Chileshe
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East And West
The Day has never understood the Gloaming or the Night;
Though sired by one Creative Power, and nursed at Nature's breast;
The White Man ever fails to read the Dark Man's heart aright;
Though from the self-same Source they came, upon the self-same quest;
So deep and wide, the Great Divide,
Between the East and West.
But like a shadow on a screen, mine eyes behold, above
The yawning gulf, a dim forecast, of structures strong and broad;
Where caste, and colour prejudice, by countless feet down trod,
With old traditions crushed by Time, pave smooth the bridge of Love;
And all the creed that men shall heed
Is consciousness of God.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Paradise: In A Symbol
Golden-winged, silver-winged,
Winged with flashing flame,
Such a flight of birds I saw,
Birds without a name:
Singing songs in their own tongue
(Song of songs) they came.
One to another calling,
Each answering each,
One to another calling
In their proper speech:
High above my head they wheeled,
Far out of reach.
On wings of flame they went and came
With a cadenced clang,
Their silver wings tinkled,
Their golden wings rang,
The wind it whistled through their wings
Where in Heaven they sang.
They flashed and they darted
Awhile before mine eyes,
Mounting, mounting, mounting still
In haste to scale the skies—
Birds without a nest on earth,
Birds of Paradise.
Where the moon riseth not,
Nor sun seeks the west,
There to sing their glory
Which they sing at rest,
There to sing their love-song
When they sing their best:
Not in any garden
That mortal foot hath trod,
Not in any flowering tree
That springs from earthly sod,
But in the garden where they dwell,
The Paradise of God.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Triumph of the People
LO, the gods of Vice and Mammon from their pinnacles are hurled
By the workers’ new religion, which is oldest in the world;
And the earth will feel her children treading firmly on the sod,
For the triumph of the People is the victory of God.
Not the victory of Churches, nor of Punishment and Wrath,
Not the triumph of the sceptic, throwing shadows on the path,
But of Christ and love and mercy o’er the Monarch and the Rod,
For the harvest of the Saviour is the aftermath of God.
O the Light of Revelation, since the reign of Care began,
Has been shining through the ages on the darkened eyes of man.
And the willing slave of Error—he is senseless as a clod—
For the simple Book of Nature is the written scroll of God.
Who will dare to say the sunlight on the pregnant Earth was shed
That the few might rest and fatten, while the many fight for bread?
Lo, there springs a common garden, where the foot of Greed hath trod,
For the victory of Labour was the prophecy of God.
Mother Earth, in coming seasons, shall fulfil her motherhood;
Then the children of her bosom never more shall want for food,
And oppression shall no longer grind the people iron-shod;
For the lifted hand of Labour is the upraised hand of God.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Out Of Africa
We trod and trod only for out of Africa
We still tread in summer
We always cry out for help
The help of numerous African feebles
We at rest squeeze and squeeze only for gold
We still squeeze ourselves to the fumes
Fumes of poverty by our sites of sights on board
And we never overcome ourselves
We indeed tread and trod for a hand
For out of Africa is our face
Our face of dark and red continent of bungs
But nicely and strongly made
We can't stand near ourselves
Only if well induced
Add power to these poor mothers
Our energetic mothers with children ahead
These African frameworks, these poor beings!
We exceedingly tread for help
For Africa is not for Africans' hope
Yes we can states engulfed by this sky
We need to come out of these flakes
We trod and trod for out of Africa
We still tread in summer
We always flip for alittle push
Push for a support of our wholesome
For without kings' look we are drowned
And these heaps of feebles shall dance at us all
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Song Of The Rail
Oh, an ugly thing is an iron rail,
Black, with its face to the dust.
But it carries a message where winged things fail;
It crosses the mountains, and catches the trail,
While the winds and the sea make sport of a sail;
Oh, a rail is a friend to trust.
The iron rail, with its face to the sod,
Is only a bar of ore;
Yet it speeds where never a foot has trod;
And the narrow path where it leads, grows broad;
And it speaks to the world in the voice of God;
That echoes from shore to shore.
Though the iron rail, on the earth down flung,
Seems kin to the loam and the soil,
Wherever its high shrill note is sung,
Out of the jungle fair homes have sprung,
And the voices of babel find one tongue,
In the common language of toil.
Of priest, and warrior, and conquering king,
Of Knights of the Holy Grail,
Of wonders of winter, and glories of spring,
Always and ever the poets sing;
But the great God-Force, in a lowly thing,
I sing, in my song of the rail.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Hidden Room
I marvel if my heart,
Hath any room apart,
Built secretly its mystic walls within;
With subtly warded key.
Ne'er yielded unto me--
Where even I have surely never been.
Ah, surely I know all
The bright and cheerful hall
With the fire ever red upon its hearth;
My friends dwell with me there,
Nor comes the step of Care
To sadden down its music and its mirth.
Full well I know as mine,
The little cloister'd shrine
No foot but mine alone hath ever trod;
There come the shining wings--
The face of one who brings
The pray'rs of men before the throne of God.
And many know full well,
The busy, busy cell,
Where I toil at the work I have to do,
Nor is the portal fast,
Where stand phantoms of the past,
Or grow the bitter plants of darksome rue.
I know the dainty spot
(Ah, who doth know it not?)
Where pure young Love his lily-cradle made;
And nestled some sweet springs
With lily-spangled wings--
Forget-me-nots upon his bier I laid.
Yet marvel I, my soul,
Know I thy very whole,
Or dost thou hide a chamber still from me?
Is it built upon the wall?
Is it spacious? is it small?
Is it God, or man, or I who holds the key?
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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The Moon-Path
The full, clear moon uprose and spread
Her cold, pale splendor o'er the sea;
A light-strewn path that seemed to lead
Outward into eternity.
Between the darkness and the gleam
An old-world spell encompassed me:
Methought that in a godlike dream
I trod upon the sea.
And lo! upon that glimmering road,
In shining companies unfurled,
The trains of many a primal god,
The monsters of the elder world;
Strange creatures that, with silver wings,
Scarce touched the ocean's thronging floor,
The phantoms of old tales, and things
Whose shapes are known no more.
Giants and demi-gods who once
Were dwellers of the earth and sea,
And they who from Deucalion's stones,
Rose men without an infancy;
Beings on whose majestic lids
Time's solemn secrets seemed to dwell,
Tritons and pale-limbed Nereids,
And forms of heaven and hell.
Some who were heroes long of yore,
When the great world was hale and young;
And some whose marble lips yet pour
The murmur of an antique tongue;
Sad queens, whose names are like soft moans,
Whose griefs were written up in gold;
And some who on their silver thrones
Were goddesses of old.
As if I had been dead indeed,
And come into some after-land,
I saw them pass me, and take heed,
And touch me with each mighty hand;
And evermore a murmurous stream,
So beautiful they seemed to me,
Not less than in a godlike dream
I trod the shining sea.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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London Roses
'ROWSES, Rowses! Penny a bunch!' they tell you--
Slattern girls in Trafalgar, eager to sell you.
Roses, roses, red in the Kensington sun,
Holland Road, High Street, Bayswater, see you and smell you--
Roses of London town, red till the summer is done.
Roses, roses, locust and lilac, perfuming
West End, East End, wondrously budding and blooming
Out of the black earth, rubbed in a million hands,
Foot-trod, sweat-sour over and under, entombing
Highways of darkness, deep gutted with iron bands.
'Rowses, rowses! Penny a bunch!' they tell you,
Ruddy blooms of corruption, see you and smell you,
Born of stale earth, fallowed with squalor and tears--
North shire, south shire, none are like these, I tell you,
Roses of London perfumed with a thousand years.
poem by Willa Sibert Cather
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This is my Father’s World
This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.
This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.
This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world: the battle is not done:
Jesus Who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and Heav’n be one.
This is my Father’s world, dreaming, I see His face.
I ope my eyes, and in glad surprise cry, “The Lord is in this place.”
This is my Father’s world, from the shining courts above,
The Beloved One, His Only Son,
Came—a pledge of deathless love.
This is my Father’s world, should my heart be ever sad?
The lord is King—let the heavens ring. God reigns—let the earth be glad.
This is my Father’s world. Now closer to Heaven bound,
For dear to God is the earth Christ trod.
No place but is holy ground.
This is my Father’s world. I walk a desert lone.
In a bush ablaze to my wondering gaze God makes His glory known.
This is my Father’s world, a wanderer I may roam
Whate’er my lot, it matters not,
My heart is still at home.
poem by Maltbie Davenport Babcock
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Tristitiae
O well for him who lives at ease
With garnered gold in wide domain,
Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,
The crashing down of forest trees.
O well for him who ne'er hath known
The travail of the hungry years,
A father grey with grief and tears,
A mother weeping all alone.
But well for him whose foot hath trod
The weary road of toil and strife,
Yet from the sorrows of his life.
Builds ladders to be nearer God.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Mother Nature
Have you ever spent the hours
just gazing at the stars,
contemplating all the wonders
in this universe of ours?
The beauty of each flower.
Their fragrances we smell.
The magnificence of color,
and each intricate detail.
Have you looked out at the ocean
as waves crash to the shore,
and felt the awesome power
of it's great majestic roar?
The many colors of a rainbow
as it arc's across the sky,
almost takes my breath away.
Is it any wonder why?
Have you sat with one you love
to watch the falling sun,
spraying rays of reddish haze
to show the day is done.
All the beauty that surrounds us
in this world whereon we trod,
is not from "Mother" nature,
but from our "Father"……God.
poem by Ron Tranmer
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To a Friend
With a Volume of Verses.
TO you who dwell withdrawn, above
The world's tumultuous strife,
And, in an atmosphere of love,
Have triumphed over life;
To you whose heart has kept so young
Beneath the weight of years,
I give these passion flowers of song,
Still wet with undried tears.
You too have trod that stony path
Which steeply winds afar,
And seen, through nights of storm and wrath,
The bright and Morning Star;
Where, shining o'er the Alps of time
On valleys full of mist,
It beckons us to peaks sublime,
Oh, brave Idealist.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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San Miniato
SEE, I have climbed the mountain side
Up to this holy house of God,
Where once that Angel-Painter trod
Who saw the heavens opened wide,
And throned upon the crescent moon
The Virginal white Queen of Grace,--
Mary! could I but see thy face
Death could not come at all too soon.
O crowned by God with thorns and pain!
Mother of Christ! O mystic wife!
My heart is weary of this life
And over-sad to sing again.
O crowned by God with love and flame!
O crowned by Christ the Holy One!
O listen ere the searching sun
Show to the world my sin and shame.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. August
ON THE THAMES
The river Thames has many a dear delight
In summer days for souls which know not guile,
Or souls too careless of the vain world's spite
To heed its frowning while the heavens smile.
In boyhood all our pleasure was in toil,
As with bent backs we laboured at the oar;
We loved to spend our strength in the turmoil
Of speed disputed, conquered, conqueror.
But other years brought other joys. Alas!
Where is fair Rosamund, our heart's first queen,
Whose foot so lightly trod with us the grass,
Though burdened with the hundred loves of men,
At Kew, at Skindle's? But no more of this.
We still have joys, and still old Thames is green.
Still on his back we float awhile and press
His hand in hope, and call it happiness.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Peace Tonight
Honey pick the red corner shoes
The ones that hardly ever get used
I knelt in front of my whole collection
And Im picking you a special selection
On a no news is good news middle of mid-year day
I feel no ill with time to kill I wanna play
Lets make peace tonight
(lets make peace tonight)
The moon is bare and shining bright
(moon is shining bright)
Lets make peace tonight in a good time
(lets make peace tonight)
Im callin on my good friends today
You know the drives about an hour away
And well be pitching up a tent by the trees
And well be wading in the river to our knees
Oh now loves been planted and were checking out the yield
Its two black dogs and a white one their running in the field
Lets make peace tonight
(lets make peace tonight)
The moon is bare and shining bright
(moon is shining bright)
Well lets make peace tonight in a good time
(lets make peace tonight)
Oh
Oh
Oh
Well we used to have some money but we spent it
(used to have some money but we spent it)
Yeah so when we want to have it then we rent it
(when we want to have it we rent it)
But were cuttin up the rug and I know you love me love me
(were cuttin up the rug and I know you love me)
And the best of everything here is free
(everything here is free)
Oh when things get messy then we tidy up the room
Well be no stranger to that dustpan and the broom
Lets make peace tonight
(lets make peace tonight)
The moon is bare and shining bright
(moon is shining bright)
Lets make peace tonight
(lets make peace tonight)
The moon is bare and shining bright
(moon is shining bright)
Lets make peace tonight in a good time
(lets make peace tonight)
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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