A Power-Plant
The Fisk Street turbine power station in Chicago
The invisible wheels go softly round and round—
Light is the tread of brazen-footed Power.
Spirits of air, caged in the iron tower,
Sing as they labor with a purring sound.
The abysmal fires, grated and chained and bound,
Burn white and still, in swift obedience cower;
While far and wide the myriad lamps, aflower,
Glow like star-gardens and the night confound.
This we have done for thee, almighty Lord;
Yea, even as they who built at thy command
The pillared temple, or in marble made
Thine image, or who sang thy deathless word.
We take the weapons of thy dread right hand,
And wield them in thy service unafraid.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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The Clay
Thou shalt do what Thou wilt with thine own hand,
Thou form'st the spirit like the moulded clay;
For those who love Thee keep thy just command,
And in thine image grow as they obey;
New tints and forms with every hour they take
Whose life is fashioned by thy spirit's power;
The crimson dawn is round them when they wake,
And golden triumphs wait the evening hour;
The queenly-sceptred night their souls receives,
And spreads their pillows 'neath her sable tent;
Above them Sleep their palm with poppy weaves,
Sweet rest Thou hast to all who labor lent;
That they may rise refreshed to light again
And with Thee gather in the whitening grain.
poem by Jones Very
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Universal Wheels
(natures retalliation)
All the fields are
Smoke and flame, fire in the sky
Its a state of emergency
Much more than meets the eye
Just hide away your tears
There are many more hidden fears
As the universal wheels
Go round n round n round
Rivers of pollution
Taking life from living things
Running out of oxygen
There is no way to win
We ignore the signs of nature
Got to learn to live beside her
As the universal wheels
Go round n round n round
Better take good care of
All the things you say and do
Round n round n round ...
Look out for the warning sign
Now its up to you
Theres a mighty eight point six
Waiting in the ground
When she opens up
This world will humble to the sound
There is only one real power
Creating life by the hour
See the universal wheels
See the universal wheels
See the universal wheels
Go round n round n round ...
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 118 part 1
v.6-15
C. M.
Deliverance from a tumult.
The Lord appears my helper now,
Nor is my faith afraid
What all the sons of earth can do,
Since heav'n affords its aid.
'Tis safer, Lord, to hope in thee,
And have my God my friend,
Than trust in men of high degree,
And on their truth depend.
Like bees, my foes beset me round,
A large and angry swarm;
But I shall all their rage confound
By thine almighty arm.
'Tis through the Lord my heart is strong,
In him my lips rejoice;
While his salvation is my song,
How cheerful is my voice!
Like angry bees, they girt me round;
When God appears they fly;
So burning thorns, with crackling sound,
Make a fierce blaze and die.
Joy to the saints and peace belongs;
The Lord protects their days:
Let Isr'el tune immortal songs
To his almighty grace.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Praise for Creation and Providence
I sing the mighty power of God,
that made the mountains rise,
That spread the flowing seas abroad,
and built the lofty skies.
I sing the wisdom that ordained
the sun to rule the day;
The moon shines full at God's command,
and all the stars obey.
I sing the goodness of the Lord,
who filled the earth with food,
Who formed the creatures through the Word,
and then pronounced them good.
Lord, how Thy wonders are displayed,
wherever I turn my eye,
If I survey the ground I tread,
or gaze upon the sky.
There's not a plant or flower below,
but makes Thy glories known,
And clouds arise, and tempests blow,
by order from Thy throne;
While all that borrows life from Thee
is ever in Thy care;
And everywhere that we can be,
Thou, God art present there.
poem by Isaac Watts
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In War-Time: A Prayer Of The Understanding
Lo, this is night. Hast thou, oh sun, refused
Thy countenance, or is thy golden arm
Shortened, or from thy shining place in heaven
Art thou put down and lost? Neither hast thou
Refused thy constant face, nor is thine arm
Shortened, nor from thy principality
Art thou deposed, oh sun. Ours, ours, the sin,
The sorrow. From thy steadfast noon we turned
Into the eastern shade-and this is night.
Yet so revolves the axle of the world,
And by that brief aversion wheels us round
To morn, and rolls us on the larger paths
Of annual duty. Thou observant moon,
That dancest round the seasonable earth
As David round the ark, but half thy ring
In process, yet, complete, the circular whole
Promotes thee, and expedes thy right advance,
And all thy great desire of summer signs.
And thou, oh sun, our centre, who thyself
Art satellite, and, conscious of the far
Archelion, in obedience of free will
And native duty, as the good man walks
Among the children's faces, with thine house
About thee, least and greatest, first and last,
Makest of the blue eternal holiday
Thy glad perambulation; and thou, far
Archelion, feudatory still, of one
Not sovran nor in fee of paramount power;
Moons round your worlds, worlds round your suns, suns round
Such satraps as in orderly degree
Confess a lordlier regent and pervade
A vaster cycle-ye, so moved, commoved,
Revolving and convolving, turn the heavens
Upon the pivot of that summery star,
Centre of all we know: and thou, oh star,
Centre of all we know, chief crown of crowns,
Who art the one in all, the all in one,
And seest the ordered whole-nought uninvolved
But all involved to one direct result
Of multiform volution-in one pomp,
One power, one tune, one time, upon one path
Move with thee moving, Thou, amid thy host
Marchest-ah whither?
--Oh God, before Whom
We marshal thus Thy legioned works to take
The secret of Thy counsel, and array
Congress and progress, and, with multitude
As conquerors and to conquer, in consent
Of universal law, approach Thy bound,
Thine immemorial bound, and at Thy face
Heaven and earth flee away; oh Thou Lord God,
Whether oh absolute existence, Thou,
The Maker, makest, and this fair we see
Be but the mote and dust of that unseen
Unsought unsearchable; or whether Thou
Whose goings forth are from of old, around
Thy going in mere effluence without care
Breathest creation out into the cold
Beyond Thee, and, within Thine ambient breath,
So walkest everlasting as we walk
The unportioned snows; or whether, meditating
Eternity, self-centred, self-fulfilled,
Self-continent, Thou thinkest and we live,
A little while forgettest and we fade,
Rememberest and we are, and this bright vision
Wherein we move, nay all our total sum
And story, be to Thee as to a man
When in the drop and rising of a lid
Lo the swift rack and fashion of a dream,
No more; oh Thou inscrutable, whose ways
Are not as ours, whose form we know not, voice
Hear not, true work behold not, mystery
Conceive not, who-as thunder shakes the world
And rings a silver bell-hast sometime moved
The tongue of man, but in Thy proper speech
Wearest a human language on a word
As limpets on a rock, who, as Eternal,
Omnipotential, Infinite, Allwise,
In measure of Thine operation hast
No prime or term, in subject as in scheme
No final end, in eidol as in act
Nought but the perfect God; oh Thou Supreme,
Inaudible, Invisible, Unknown,
Thy will be done.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Psalm 89 part 2
v.7ff
C. M.
The power and majesty of God; or, Reverential worship.
With rev'rence let the saints appear,
And bow before the Lord;
His high commands with rev'rence hear,
And tremble at his word.
How terrible thy glories be!
How bright thine armies shine!
Where is the power that vies with thee,
Or truth compared to thine?
The northern pole and southern rest
On thy supporting hand;
Darkness and day, from east to west,
Move round at thy command.
Thy words the raging winds control,
And rule the boist'rous deep;
Thou mak'st the sleeping billows roll,
The rolling billows sleep.
Heav'n, earth, and air, and sea, are thine,
And the dark world of hell;
How did thine arm in vengeance shine
When Egypt durst rebel!
Justice and judgment are thy throne,
Yet wondrous is thy grace;
While truth and mercy, joined in one,
Invite us near thy face.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Song of a Train
A monster taught
To come to hand
Amain,
As swift as thought
Across the land
The train.
The song it sings
Has an iron sound;
Its iron wings
Like wheels go round.
Crash under bridges,
Flash over ridges,
And vault the downs;
The road is straight --
Nor stile, nor gate;
For milestones -- towns!
Voluminous, vanishing, white,
The steam plume trails;
Parallel streaks of light,
THe polished rails.
Oh, who can follow?
The little swallow,
The trout of the sky:
But the sun
Is outrun,
And Time passed by.
O'er bosky dens,
By marsh and mead,
Forest and fens
Embodied speed
Is clanked and hurled;
O'er rivers and runnels;
And into the earth
And out again
In death and birth
That know no pain,
For the whole round world
Is a warren of railway tunnels.
Hark! hark! hark!
It screams and cleaves the dark;
And the subterranean night
Is gilt with smoky light.
Then out again apace
It runs its thundering race,
The monster taught
To come to hand
Amain,
That swift as thought
Speeds through the land
The train.
poem by John Davidson
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Ask What I Shall Give Thee (III)
Behold the throne of grace!
The promise calls me near;
There Jesus shows a smiling face,
And waits to answer prayer.
That rich atoning blood,
Which sprinkled round I see;
Provides for those who come to God,
An all-prevailing plea.
My soul ask what thou wilt,
Thou canst not be too bold;
Since his own blood for thee he spilt,
What else can he withhold.
Beyond thy utmost wants
His love and pow'r can bless;
To praying souls he always grants,
More than they can express.
Since 'tis the Lord's command,
My mouth I open wide;
Lord open thou thy bounteous hand,
That I may be supplied.
Thine image, Lord, bestow,
Thy presence and thy love;
I ask to serve thee here below,
And reign with thee above.
Teach me to live by faith,
Conform my will to thine;
Let me victorious be in death,
And then in glory shine.
If Thou these blessings give,
And wilt my portion be;
Cheerful the world's poor toys I leave,
To them who know not thee.
poem by John Newton
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Psalm 148
Proper Metre.
Praise to God from all creatures.
Ye tribes of Adam, join
With heav'n, and earth, and seas,
And offer notes divine
To your Creator's praise:
Ye holy throng
Of angels bright,
In worlds of light,
Begin the song.
Thou sun with dazzling rays,
And moon that rules the night,
Shine to your Maker's praise,
With stars of twinkling light:
His power declare,
Ye floods on high,
And clouds that fly
In empty air.
The shining worlds above
In glorious order stand,
Or in swift courses move,
By his supreme command:
He spake the word,
And all their frame
From nothing came,
To praise the Lord.
He moved their mighty wheels
In unknown ages past,
And each his word fulfils
While time and nature last:
In diff'rent ways
His works proclaim
His wondrous name,
And speak his praise.
PAUSE.
Let all the earth-born race,
And monsters of the deep
The fish that cleave the seas,
Or in their bosom sleep;
From sea and shore
Their tribute pay,
And still display
Their Maker's power.
Ye vapors, hail, and snow,
Praise ye th' almighty Lord,
And stormy winds that blow,
To execute his word:
When lightnings shine,
Or thunders roar,
Let earth adore
His hand divine.
Ye mountains near the skies,
With lofty cedars there,
And trees of humbler size,
That fruit in plenty bear;
Beasts wild and tame,
Birds, flies, and worms,
In various forms,
Exalt his name.
Ye kings and judges, fear
The Lord, the sovereign King;
And while you rule us here,
His heav'nly honors sing;
Nor let the dream
Of power and state
Make you forget
His power supreme.
Virgins and youths, engage
To sound his praise divine,
While infancy and age
Their feebler voices join:
Wide as he reigns
His name be sung
By every tongue
In endless strains.
Let all the nations fear
The God that rules above;
He brings his people near,
And makes them taste his love:
While earth and sky
Attempt his praise,
His saints shall raise
His honors high.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Father of light, and life, and love!
Father of light, and life, and love!
Thyself to us reveal;
As saints below, and saints above,
Thy sacred presence feel.
Not with the eye of mortal sense
By angels round the throne,
Or happy souls departed hence,
Art Thou in glory known.
No sun by day, no moon by night
For this our spirits need;
Who walk by faith, and not by sight,
They feel Thee nigh indeed.
Light in thy light the blind may see,
No more by sin estranged;
Light in the Lord, so let us be
Into thine image changed.
Since Thou Thyself dost still display
Unto the pure in heart,
O make us children of the day
To know Thee as Thou art.
For Thou art light and life and love;
And thy redeemed below
May see Thee as thy saints above,
And know Thee as they know.
poem by James Montgomery
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Night Coming Out Of A Garden
Through the still air of night
Suddenly comes, alone and shrill,
Like the far-off voice of the distant light,
The single piping trill
Of a bird that has caught the scent of the dawn,
And knows that the night is over ;
(She has poured her dews on the velvet lawn
And drenched the long grass and the clover),
And now with her naked white feet
She is silently passing away,
Out of the garden and into the street,
Over the long yellow fields of the wheat,
Till she melts in the arms of the day.
And from the great gates of the East,
With a clang and a brazen blare,
Forth from the rosy wine and the feast
Comes the god with the flame-flaked hair ;
The hoofs of his horses ring
On the golden stones, and the wheels
Of his chariot burn and sing,
And the earth beneath him reels;
And forth with a rush and a rout
His myriad angels run,
And the world is awake with a shout,
' He is coming ! The sun ! The sun ! '
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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The Sword
THE FORGING OF THE SWORD.
At the forging of the Sword--
The mountain roots were stirr'd,
Like the heart-beats of a bird;
Like flax the tall trees wav'd,
So fiercely struck the Forgers of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
So loud the hammers fell,
The thrice seal'd gates of Hell,
Burst wide their glowing jaws;
Deep roaring, at the forging of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
Kind mother Earth was rent,
Like an Arab's dusky tent,
And monster-like she fed--
On her children; at the forging of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
So loud the blows they gave,
Up sprang the panting wave;
And blind and furious slew,
Shrill-shouting to the Forgers of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
The startled air swift whirl'd
The red flames round the world,
From the Anvil where was smitten,
The steel, the Forgers wrought into the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
The Maid and Matron fled,
And hid them with the dead;
Fierce prophets sang their doom,
More deadly, than the wounding of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword--
Swift leap'd the quiet hearts,
In the meadows and the marts;
The tides of men were drawn,
By the gleaming sickle-planet of the Sword!
* * * * *
Thus wert thou forged, O lissome sword;
On such dusk anvil wert thou wrought;
In such red flames thy metal fused!
From such deep hells that metal brought;
O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,
But dumbly rul'st, king and lord!
Less than the Gods by some small span,
Slim sword, how great thy lieges be!
Glint but in _one_ wild camp-fire's light,
Thy God-like vassals rush to thee.
O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,
But dumbly rul'st, king and lord!
Sharp, God, how vast thy altars be!
Green vallies, sacrificial cups,
Flow with the purple lees of blood;
Its smoke is round the mountain tops.
O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,
But dumbly rul'st, king and lord!
O amorous God, fierce lover thou!
Bright sultan of a million brides,
Thou know'st no rival to _thy_ kiss,
Thy loves are _thine_ whate're betides,
O sword, dread lord, thou speak'st no word,
But dumbly rul'st, king and lord.
Unflesh thee, sword! No more, no more,
Thy steel no more shall sting and shine,
Pass thro' the fusing fires again;
And learn to prune the laughing vine.
Fall sword, dread lord, with one accord,
The plough and hook we'll own as lord!
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Sonnet: The Holy Cross
O, Let me carry Thine Cross in some way!
Though weary yet, O Let me help Thee, Lord;
O, Let me share the weight of sins, I pray;
And let me show the world, Love’s Cross and word.
Thine Cross is life to sinners world-over;
Thine Cross is Light to ones blinded sans faith;
I want to live God as Thine Cross-lover!
To follow Thee, my Lord, if Thou sayeth.
O how, I wish my soles could tread Thine path;
O how, I wish my shoulders bear Thine weight!
O Let my soul be cleansed by Thine blood-bath!
Usher me Lord, before it could grow late!
O Let me Lord, prevent Thee from one fall!
O answer me Lord, hasten to my call!
poem by John Celes
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Cotton Jenny
Theres a house on a hill
By a worn down weathered old mill
In the valley below where the river winds
Theres no such thing as bad times
And a soft southern flame
Oh cotton jennys her name
She wakes me up when the sun goes down
And the wheels of love go round
Wheels of love go round
Love go round, love go round
A joyful sound
I aint got a penny for cotton jenny to spend
But then the wheels go round
When the new day begins
I go down to the cotton gin
And I make my time worth while to them
Then I climb back up again
And she waits by the door
Oh cotton jenny Im sore
And she rubs my feet while the sun goes down
And the wheels of love go round
Wheels of love go round
Love go round, love go round
A joyful sound
I aint got a penny for cotton jenny to spend
But then the wheels go round
In the hot, sickly south
When they say well shut my mouth
I can never be free from the cotton grind
But I know I got whats mine
Shes a soft southern flame
Oh cotton jennys her name
She wakes me up when the sun goes down
And the wheels of love go round
Wheels of love go round
Love go round, love go round
A joyful sound
I aint got a penny for cotton jenny to spend
But then the wheels go round
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song for the Night
O the Night, the Night, the solemn Night,
When Earth is bound with her silent zone,
And the spangled sky seems a temple wide,
Where the star-tribes kneel at the Godhead's throne;
O the Night, the Night, the wizard Night,
When the garish reign of day is o'er,
And the myriad barques of the dream-elves come
In a brightsome fleet from Slumber's shore!
O the Night for me,
When blithe and free,
Go the zephyr-hounds on their airy chase;
When the moon is high
In the dewy sky,
And the air is sweet as a bride's embrace!
O the Night, the Night, the charming Night!
From the fountain side in the myrtle shade,
All softly creep on the slumbrous air
The waking notes of the serenade;
While bright eyes shine 'mid the lattice-vines,
And white arms droop o'er the sculptured sills,
And accents fall to the knights below,
Like the babblings soft of mountain rills.
Love in their eyes,
Love in their sighs,
Love in the heave of each lily-bright bosom;
In words so clear,
Lest the listening ear
And the waiting heart may lose them.
O the silent Night, when the student dreams
Of kneeling crowds round a sage's tomb;
And the mother's eyes o'er the cradle rain
Tears for her baby's fading bloom;
O the peaceful Night, when stilled and o'er
Is the charger's tramp on the battle plain,
And the bugle's sound and the sabre's flash,
While the moon looks sad over heaps of slain;
And tears bespeak
On the iron cheek
Of the sentinel lonely pacing,
Thoughts which roll
Through his fearless soul,
Day's sterner mood replacing.
O the sacred Night, when memory comes
With an aspect mild and sweet to me,
But her tones are sad as a ballad air
In childhood heard on a nurse's knee;
And round her throng fair forms long fled,
With brows of snow and hair of gold,
And eyes with the light of summer skies,
And lips that speak of the days of old.
Wide is your flight,
O spirits of Night,
By strath, and stream, and grove,
But most in the gloom
Of the Poet's room
Ye choose, fair ones, to rove.
poem by Daniel Henry Deniehy
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Army Hymn
'OLD HUNDRED'
O LORD of Hosts! Almighty King!
Behold the sacrifice we bring
To every arm thy strength impart,
Thy spirit shed through every heart!
Wake in our breasts the living fires,
The holy faith that warmed our sires;
Thy hand hath made our Nation free;
To die for her is serving Thee.
Be Thou a pillared flame to show
The midnight snare, the silent foe;
And when the battle thunders loud,
Still guide us in its moving cloud.
God of all Nations! Sovereign Lord
In thy dread name we draw the sword,
We lift the starry flag on high
That fills with light our stormy sky.
From treason's rent, from murder's stain,
Guard Thou its folds till Peace shall reign,--
Till fort and field, till shore and sea,
Join our loud anthem, PRAISE TO THEE!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Russia! ! ! !
Russia has power
The power to build a tower
They will never cower
At the site of a bigger tower
Because they still have power
Russia has power over stuff
Because they are really tough
People in Russia never ever run
Because they always have a gun
Russia owns a big bomb
AND SO YOU WILL LISTEN TO THEM!
poem by Puby Mannheimer
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Youth And Death
What hast thou done to this dear friend of mine,
Thou cold, white, silent Stranger? From my hand
Her clasped hand slips to meet the grasp of thine;
Here eyes that flamed with love, at thy command
Stare stone-blank on blank air; her frozen heart
Forgets my presence. Teach me who thou art,
Vague shadow sliding 'twixt my friend and me.
I never saw thee till this sudden hour.
What secret door gave entrance unto thee?
What power in thine, o'ermastering Love's own power?
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Gigantic daughter of the West,
Gigantic daughter of the West,
We drink to thee across the flood,
We know thee most, we love thee best,
For art thou not of British blood?
Should war's mad blast again be blown,
Permit not thou the tyrant powers
To fight thy mother here alone,
But let thy broadsides roar with ours.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound!
To our great kinsmen of the West, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round.
'O rise, our strong Atlantic sons,
When war against our freedom springs!
O speak to Europe through your guns!
They can be understood by kings.
You must not mix our Queen with those
That wish to keep their people fools;
Our freedom's foemen are her foes,
She comprehends the race she rules.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound!
To our dear kinsmen of the West, my friends,
And the great cause of Freedom, round and round.'
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Still They Ride
Jesse rides through the night
Under the main street light
Ridin slow
This ol town, aint the same
Now nobody knows his name
Times have changed, still he rides.
Traffic lights, keepin time
Leading the wild and restless
Through the night
Still they ride, on wheels of fire
They rule the night
Still they ride, the strong will survive
Chasing thunder
Spinning round, in a spell
Its hard to leave this carrousel
round and round
And round and round
(chorus)
song performed by by Journey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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