The Sage
Sequoia, growing grandly
Out of the long ago,
Beloved of Time, whose sons
March by to measures slow,
How tenderly you cherish
All little lives below!
Your mighty column pillars
The blue dome of the sky.
Your foliage plumes with greenness
The clouds that pass on high.
Yet here below slim lilies grow,
And here at peace am I.
How have you won Time over—
That lord of dark renown?
His hand, that withers all things,
Has given your brow a crown.
From your crest forty centuries
Now upon me look down.
Yes, all the lordly ages
Your youth immortal knows,
Yet softly here you fashion
A carpet for the rose,
And smoothly spread a mossy bed
Under my deep repose.
You have defied the lightnings—
They rent and scarred in vain.
Fierce fires have stripped you naked-
You made your peace with pain,
And bloomed again in beauty
To baffle death's disdain.
Where do you win your secret
Of life untroubled, free,
And wise with all the wisdom
Of time's democracy?
What do you hear this many a year?—
Whisper the song to me !
poem by Harriet Monroe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Childless Woman
O Mother of that heap of clay, so passive on your breast,
Now do you stare at death, woman, who yesterday were blest?
Now do you long to fare afar, and guide him on the way
Where he must wander all alone, his little feet astray?
But I now, but I now—
Sons of me seven and seven
The high God seals upon the brow,
And summons from his heaven.
Blest as a bride were you, woman, that time of years agone,
When love, giver of life, came close and led you to his throne.
And blest were you—have you forgot?—when through the moons of pain
The life love-given tugged at your heart and bound you with its chain.
But I now, but I now—
Seared by the high God's scorn—
Lives that will never come to birth
Body of me has borne.
And when the hour was come, woman, your dark and perilous hour,
When the twin spirits, Death and Life, clutched you with jealous power,
Rent by their war you lay half lost, until a baby's cry
Summoned you forth past world on world to sit with God on high.
But I now, but I now—
Never my baby's voice
Has called me forth from vales of woe
With seraphs to rejoice.
You in your arms have clasped him, woman, and fed him at your breast.
You sang him little songs at night, and lulled him to his rest.
The ages gone were yours then, and yours the years to be.
You gave him of your hope and saw the light no eye shall see.
But I now, but I now—
Sons of me born in dream
Cry out for robes of flesh; I see
Their wistful eyes agleam.
O mother of that heap of clay so passive on your breast—
Now do you stare at death, woman?—nay, peace, for you are blest.
Blest are you in your joy, woman, blest are you in your pain—
Once more he calls you past the worlds to sit. with God again.
But I now, but I now—
Sons of me nine and nine,
That looked on life and death with me,
Are neither God’s nor mine.
poem by Harriet Monroe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Snake Worship
Placing a whip
on the heads of reason
he said, 'Long live, democracy! '
With shells strewn everywhere
he proposed for 'peace zone'
and said
'Long live, peace! '
Biting the parched bellies and naked bodies
like a cobra
he said, 'Long live patience! '
and declared that he was Naag - the snake god
and for centuries
in this meek county
got the people to worship him.
In the name of democracy
peace and patience
he bit those that irked his eyes
as long as blood lasted in their bodies
and as they fell dead, devoid of blood
he threw their carcasses;
some on the bank of Seti
and others inside Bhiman jungle
or towards Sukhana
and many in places still uncovered.
On his part, however
he continued to make people
worship his glory as Naag-
the snake god.
Defiling the pace of change
we too continued revering him
but this time
he stripped himself, stark naked
beyond the imagined limits
till everyone could see things
and in haste
amid fears
he put on the snake-shaped cap
in his bid to hoodwink us
as he always did
and displayed a fake smile
facing us.
Once again
he talked of democracy.
In fact, he was enacting a play
wherein we inferred
he was a true serpent;
we whispered among ourselves.
This time too, however
the same danger persisted.
Helpless, we meekly listened.
How long are we going to heed?
The same danger
is still ringing, however!
©
poem by Matrika Pokharel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Time Re Written
Time goes fast
Time goes slow
Time sees love ones pass
Time sees the living grow
Time finds it hard to forget
Time can store up treasures and sorrows, and very hard to let go...
Time rushes fast
Time stops and starts
Time is shown by nights turn into days
Time makes all the seasons change
Time is going slowly at times but
Time can race you across the line
Time awaits for you to have peace but
Time can also hide sadness deep
Time is sometimes patient
Time can be kind
Time often cruel and
Time can be so so unkind
Time is a second
Time is minute, hour, even days and months
Time is not possible for us to keep
But right now...I wish time will not pass me by
Nor it slip back into yesterday day...
For i have much to look forward
In Time...and much more afar
I am certain now that
Time is a precious thing and will bring along amazing things...
Time...more time...and much much time
And somehow i feel a bit lost at this...
Time
Perhaps only when the dark night comes at long last
I will stop thinking about
Time
For time will no longer matter then
And only then... until then
Each second, Every minute...Even hour and all these Endless days
Bientôt mon chéri, venez à moi
poem by AngelLucianna Vesna
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Forever Free
Sumptuous river where healing flows
Leave the sleeping world behind
Ephemeral gardens in the forest grow
Retreat to shelter of peace of mind
The base has not been taken away
Stand on words that untie the knots
Know that turmoil shall pass someday
Build your house on the solid rock
Time withers all fleeting dreams
Restless lament like passing ships
Hello, goodbye on the capricious sea
Kisses bitter and sweet on volatile lips
Love falls like an apple from the tree
The beauty begins to slowly fade
Pride refuses to bow and bend its knee
Who shall open up the eternal gate?
Who has made the mighty dawn?
Why do the stars shine at night?
Death makes every king a pawn
Beyond the touch of time is light
Soul lives and seeks an eternal crown
Look at the stars with an open mind
Venture and see what can be found
We are awakened stardust in time
Awake to all the wondrous beauty
A moment of loves golden mirth
Let the Spirit reveal all you see
We are travelers from birth to birth
In a blink of an eye we will be gone
Let the voice of the universe speak
Only the soul hears the grand song
Join the chorus of the forever free
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Peace In Our Time
Thank you for the gift
The freedom to wonder
In search of the light
Are we gonna let it shine
Forgiveness is the key
The perfect emotion
Will you show us the way
To peace in our time
Where the wild wind blows
The deserts are shiftin
And the seed will grow
In the sands of time
From the darkest night
A new day is dawning
Its a long long way
To peace in our time
Tell me where can we find
Peace in our - in our time
Where can we find
Peace in our time
From a distant shore
Voices are crying
Can you hear them call
Are we gonna light their way
Salvation is the key
We have to keep tryin
What we need right now
Peace in our time
Tell me where can we find
Peace in our - in our time
Where can we find
Peace in our time
Thank you for the chance
To light up the darkness
Leading the way
Show us to the promised land
Tear down these walls
That keep us imprisoned
What were prayin for
Is peace in our time
Tell me where can we find
Peace in our - in our time
Where can we find
Peace in our time
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Time's Defeat
Time has made conquest of so many things
That once were mine. Swift-footed, eager youth
That ran to meet the years; bold brigand health,
That broke all laws of reason unafraid,
And laughed at talk of punishment. Close ties
Of blood and friendship, and that joy of life,
Which reads its music in the major key
And will not listen to a minor strain-
These things and many more are spoils of time.
Yet as a conqueror who only storms
The outposts of a town, and finds the fort
Too strong to be assailed, so time retreats
And knows his impotence. He cannot take
My three great jewels from the crown of life;
Love, sympathy, and faith; and year on year
He sees them grow in lustre and in worth,
And glowers by me, plucking at his beard,
And dragging as he goes, a useless scythe.
Once in the dark he plotted with his friend
Grim death, to steal my treasures. Death replied:
'They are immortal, and beyond thy reach:
I could but set them in another sphere,
To shine with greater lustre.'
Time and Death
Passed on together, knowing their defeat;
And I am singing by the road of life.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Vanity of All Worldly Things
As he said vanity, so vain say I,
Oh! Vanity, O vain all under sky;
Where is the man can say, "Lo, I have found
On brittle earth a consolation sound"?
What isn't in honor to be set on high?
No, they like beasts and sons of men shall die,
And whilst they live, how oft doth turn their fate;
He's now a captive that was king of late.
What isn't in wealth great treasures to obtain?
No, that's but labor, anxious care, and pain.
He heaps up riches, and he heaps up sorrow,
It's his today, but who's his heir tomorrow?
What then? Content in pleasures canst thou find?
More vain than all, that's but to grasp the wind.
The sensual senses for a time they pleasure,
Meanwhile the conscience rage, who shall appease?
What isn't in beauty? No that's but a snare,
They're foul enough today, that once were fair.
What is't in flow'ring youth, or manly age?
The first is prone to vice, the last to rage.
Where is it then, in wisdom, learning, arts?
Sure if on earth, it must be in those parts;
Yet these the wisest man of men did find
But vanity, vexation of the mind.
And he that know the most doth still bemoan
He knows not all that here is to be known.
What is it then? To do as stoics tell,
Nor laugh, nor weep, let things go ill or well?
Such stoics are but stocks, such teaching vain,
While man is man, he shall have ease or pain.
If not in honor, beauty, age, nor treasure,
Nor yet in learning, wisdom, youth, nor pleasure,
Where shall I climb, sound, seek, search, or find
That summum bonum which may stay my mind?
There is a path no vulture's eye hath seen,
Where lion fierce, nor lion's whelps have been,
Which leads unto that living crystal fount,
Who drinks thereof, the world doth naught account.
The depth and sea have said " 'tis not in me,"
With pearl and gold it shall not valued be.
For sapphire, onyx, topaz who would change;
It's hid from eyes of men, they count it strange.
Death and destruction the fame hath heard,
But where and what it is, from heaven's declared;
It brings to honor which shall ne'er decay,
It stores with wealth which time can't wear away.
It yieldeth pleasures far beyond conceit,
And truly beautifies without deceit.
Nor strength, nor wisdom, nor fresh youth shall fade,
Nor death shall see, but are immortal made.
This pearl of price, this tree of life, this spring,
Who is possessed of shall reign a king.
Nor change of state nor cares shall ever see,
But wear his crown unto eternity.
This satiates the soul, this stays the mind,
And all the rest, but vanity we find.
poem by Anne Bradstreet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Vanity of All Worldly Things, The
As he said vanity, so vain say I,
Oh! Vanity, O vain all under sky;
Where is the man can say, "Lo, I have found
On brittle earth a consolation sound"?
What isn't in honor to be set on high?
No, they like beasts and sons of men shall die,
And whilst they live, how oft doth turn their fate;
He's now a captive that was king of late.
What isn't in wealth great treasures to obtain?
No, that's but labor, anxious care, and pain.
He heaps up riches, and he heaps up sorrow,
It's his today, but who's his heir tomorrow?
What then? Content in pleasures canst thou find?
More vain than all, that's but to grasp the wind.
The sensual senses for a time they pleasure,
Meanwhile the conscience rage, who shall appease?
What isn't in beauty? No that's but a snare,
They're foul enough today, that once were fair.
What is't in flow'ring youth, or manly age?
The first is prone to vice, the last to rage.
Where is it then, in wisdom, learning, arts?
Sure if on earth, it must be in those parts;
Yet these the wisest man of men did find
But vanity, vexation of the mind.
And he that know the most doth still bemoan
He knows not all that here is to be known.
What is it then? To do as stoics tell,
Nor laugh, nor weep, let things go ill or well?
Such stoics are but stocks, such teaching vain,
While man is man, he shall have ease or pain.
If not in honor, beauty, age, nor treasure,
Nor yet in learning, wisdom, youth, nor pleasure,
Where shall I climb, sound, seek, search, or find
That summum bonum which may stay my mind?
There is a path no vulture's eye hath seen,
Where lion fierce, nor lion's whelps have been,
Which leads unto that living crystal fount,
Who drinks thereof, the world doth naught account.
The depth and sea have said " 'tis not in me,"
With pearl and gold it shall not valued be.
For sapphire, onyx, topaz who would change;
It's hid from eyes of men, they count it strange.
Death and destruction the fame hath heard,
But where and what it is, from heaven's declared;
It brings to honor which shall ne'er decay,
It stores with wealth which time can't wear away.
It yieldeth pleasures far beyond conceit,
And truly beautifies without deceit.
Nor strength, nor wisdom, nor fresh youth shall fade,
Nor death shall see, but are immortal made.
This pearl of price, this tree of life, this spring,
Who is possessed of shall reign a king.
Nor change of state nor cares shall ever see,
But wear his crown unto eternity.
This satiates the soul, this stays the mind,
And all the rest, but vanity we find.
poem by Anne Bradstreet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Monument
I built myself a monument, eternal and miraculous,
It's higher than the Pyramids, than metal it is harder;
Swift winds and thunder cannot knock it down
The flight of time cannot demolish it.
Thus I won't really die! The part of me that's largest
Will baffle death, and will escape decay,
My fame will grow, and never wither,
As long as Slavs are honored in this world.
And word of me shall spread from the White Sea to the Black,
Where Volga, Don, Neva and Ural rivers flow,
Each member of the countless tribes will know
How from obscurity I found my way to fame,
By daring first in lively Russian speech
To celebrate the virtues of Felitsa,
To talk of God with intimate simplicity,
And with a smile announce the truth to kings.
O Muse! take pride in your well-earned rewards,
Disdain all those who show disdain for you,
And with an easy and unhurried hand,
With dawn eternal crown your brow.
poem by Gavril Romanovich Derzhavin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bow Before My Death
I lie beneath the flame this night,
I bow before my death,
He takes my hand,
And holds me close,
Death embraces me,
He says the time has come,
Beginning now meets end,
He says the fires taken me,
And now it's time to walk,
Walk the path of fates sweet song.
I lie beneath the flame this night,
I bow before my death,
The fires stripped me of my sins,
Humility my pride,
Now death guides me through the dark,
And speaks to me kind words,
'The pain has stopped,
It won't come back,
Your senses now are cleansed,
The soul has been washed clean',
He says the end is pleasure.
I lie beneath the flame this night,
I bow before my death,
Death's a man clothed in blue jeans,
A white shirt stained with blood,
Death holds a knife,
Death slits my throat,
Death is the end of my beginning.
I lie beneath the flame this night.
I bow before my death.
poem by Holly Heron
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Have I Done Wrong?
Here again to show the sadness, pain, and grief
Not of lost love, but a pain so bleak
A life that seems so meek
A darkened shadow that creeps it way to kill
To kill the ones who show no lives, low-lives
A time shall come when a time shall pass
A time when time has started to tick, to click
Madness fills the veins of grief
Insanity thrives even deeper
But a time shall come when the grasses shall grow green
The sky will be blue, and the storm will calm
The mind will ease, the heart will slow
And a new life begins
Now the new life has begun, but pain still thrives
And grief and hatred are still strong
Happiness is losing
Excitement long gone
What have I done wrong?
poem by Alex Fischer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
America, A Prophecy
The shadowy Daughter of Urthona stood before red Orc,
When fourteen suns had faintly journey'd o'er his dark abode:
His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron:
Crown'd with a helmet and dark hair the nameless female stood;
A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night,
When pestilence is shot from heaven: no other arms she need!
Invulnerable though naked, save where clouds roll round her loins
Their awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night;
For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise,
But dumb till that dread day when Orc assay'd his fierce embrace.
'Dark Virgin,' said the hairy youth, 'thy father stern, abhorr'd,
Rivets my tenfold chains while still on high my spirit soars;
Sometimes an Eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a Lion
Stalking upon the mountains, and sometimes a Whale, I lash
The raging fathomless abyss; anon a Serpent folding
Around the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbs
On the Canadian wilds I fold; feeble my spirit folds,
For chain'd beneath I rend these caverns: when thou bringest food
I howl my joy, and my red eyes seek to behold thy face--
In vain! these clouds roll to and fro, and hide thee from my sight.'
Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy,
The hairy shoulders rend the links; free are the wrists of fire;
Round the terrific loins he seiz'd the panting, struggling womb;
It joy'd: she put aside her clouds and smiled her first-born smile,
As when a black cloud shews its lightnings to the silent deep.
Soon as she saw the terrible boy, then burst the virgin cry:
'I know thee, I have found thee, and I will not let thee go:
Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa,
And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark death.
On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictions
Endur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep.
I see a Serpent in Canada who courts me to his love,
In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru;
I see a Whale in the south-sea, drinking my soul away.
O what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frost
Mingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent.
This is eternal death, and this the torment long foretold.'
poem by William Blake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Life is but a lesson...
At birth I was ripped from my warm safe place,
Yet now I fear death so I flee it with haste.
As a babe in my youth I yearned for more years,
But as time's passed me by it's age I now fear...
Into this world I was born and life gave me breath,
Now each path that I choose always leads to my death.
For both death and life are old inseperable friends,
My life's but a lesson just a means to an end...
If I live life to the fullest will time pass me by?
If I start asking questions will I ever know why?
Wisdom is gibberish and gibberish is clear,
What I most wanted once is now what I most fear...
When I want most to live will it be time to die?
I dont want life to end! Will that be my last cry?
I think death must be life and to leave is to stay,
So I pray hell is heaven when my life slips away...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Youth and Calm
'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is here,
And ease from shame, and rest from fear.
There's nothing can dismarble now
The smoothness of that limpid brow.
But is a calm like this, in truth,
The crowning end of life and youth,
And when this boon rewards the dead,
Are all debts paid, has all been said?
And is the heart of youth so light,
Its step so firm, its eye so bright,
Because on its hot brow there blows
A wind of promise and repose
From the far grave, to which it goes;
Because it hath the hope to come,
One day, to harbour in the tomb?
Ah no, the bliss youth dreams is one
For daylight, for the cheerful sun,
For feeling nerves and living breath -
Youth dreams a bliss on this side death.
It dreams a rest, if not more deep,
More grateful than this marble sleep;
It hears a voice within it tell:
Calm's not life's crown, though calm is well.
'Tis all perhaps which man acquires,
But 'tis not what our youth desires.
poem by Matthew Arnold (1852)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
The Moat
AROUND this lichened home of hoary peace,
Invulnerable in its glassy moat,
A breath of ghostly summers seems to float
And murmur mid the immemorial trees.
The tender slopes, where cattle browse at ease,
Swell softly, like a pigeon's emerald throat;
And, self-oblivious, Time forgets to note
The flight of velvet-footed centuries.
The very sunlight hushed within the close,
Sleeps indolently by the Yew's slow shade;
Still as a relic some old Master made
The jewelled peacock's rich enamel glows;
And on yon mossy wall that youthful rose
Blooms like a rose that never means to fade.
poem by Mathilde Blind
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On a Spanish Cathedral
DEEP under the spires of a hill, by the feet of the thunder-cloud trod,
I pause in a luminous, still, magnificent temple of God!
At the steps of the altar august—a vision of angels in stone—
I kneel, with my head to the dust, on the floors by the seraphim known.
No father in Jesus is near, with the high, the compassionate face;
But the glory of Godhead is here—its presence transfigures the place!
Behold in this beautiful fane, with the lights of blue heaven impearled,
I think of the Elders of Spain, in the deserts—the wilds of the world!
I think of the wanderers poor who knelt on the flints and the sands,
When the mighty and merciless Moor was lord of the Lady of Lands.
Where the African scimitar flamed, with a swift, bitter death in its kiss,
The fathers, unknown and unnamed, found God in cathedrals like this!
The glow of His Spirit—the beam of His blessing—made lords of the men
Whose food was the herb of the stream, whose roof was the dome of the den.
And, far in the hills by the sea, these awful hierophants prayed
For Rome and its temples to be—in a temple by Deity made.
Who knows of their faith—of its power? Perhaps, with the light in their eyes,
They saw, in some wonderful hour, the marvel of centuries rise!
Perhaps in some moment supreme, when the mountains were holy and still,
They dreamed the magnificent dream that came to the monks of Seville!
Surrounded by pillars and spires whose summits shone out in the glare
Of the high, the omnipotent fires, who knows what was seen by them there?
Be sure, if they saw, in the noon of their faith, some ineffable fane,
They looked on the church like a moon dropped down by the Lord into Spain.
And the Elders who shone in the time when Christ over Christendom beamed
May have dreamed at their altars sublime the dream that their fathers had dreamed,
By the glory of Italy moved—the majesty shining in Rome—
They turned to the land that they loved, and prayed for a church in their home;
And a soul of unspeakable fire descended on them, and they fought
And laboured a life for the spire and tower and dome of their thought!
These grew under blessing and praise, as morning in summertime grows—
As Troy in the dawn of the days to the music of Delphicus rose.
In a land of bewildering light, where the feet of the season are Spring’s,
They worked in the day and the night, surrounded by beautiful things.
The wonderful blossoms in stone—the flower and leaf of the Moor,
On column and cupola shone, and gleamed on the glimmering floor.
In a splendour of colour and form, from the marvellous African’s hands
Yet vivid and shining and warm, they planted the Flower of the Lands.
Inspired by the patience supreme of the mute, the magnificent past,
They toiled till the dome of their dream in the firmament blossomed at last!
Just think of these men—of their time—of the days of their deed, and the scene!
How touching their zeal—how sublime their suppression of self must have been!
In a city yet hacked by the sword and scarred by the flame of the Moor,
They started the work of their Lord, sad, silent, and solemnly poor.
These fathers, how little they thought of themselves, and how much of the days
When the children of men would be brought to pray in their temple, and praise!
Ah! full of the radiant, still, heroic old life that has flown,
The merciful monks of Seville toiled on, and died bare and unknown.
The music, the colour, the gleam of their mighty cathedral will be
Hereafter a luminous dream of the heaven I never may see;
To a spirit that suffers and seeks for the calm of a competent creed,
This temple, whose majesty speaks, becomes a religion indeed;
The passionate lights—the intense, the ineffable beauty of sound—
Go straight to the heart through the sense, as a song would of seraphim crowned.
And lo! by these altars august, the life that is highest we live,
And are filled with the infinite trust and the peace that the world cannot give.
They have passed, have the elders of time—they have gone; but the work of their hands,
Pre-eminent, peerless, sublime, like a type of eternity stands!
They are mute, are the fathers who made this church in the century dim;
But the dome with their beauty arrayed remains, a perpetual hymn.
Their names are unknown; but so long as the humble in spirit and pure
Are worshipped in speech and in song, our love for these monks will endure;
And the lesson by sacrifice taught will live in the light of the years
With a reverence not to be bought, and a tenderness deeper than tears.
poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
God’s Peace
There is a peace available, in troubled times, but not to all,
A peace available all the time, greater than peace of mind,
And this peace goes everywhere, to handle every tiny care,
But it has no limits to, the problems it can see you through.
The peace that I’m speaking of, will only come from above,
Peace God gives to His own, flowing down from His throne,
The peace of God all receive, when by faith they do believe,
The Gospel Truth of His Son, Christ, who died for everyone.
Though He died, now He lives, as this peace to us He gives,
Sent to believers in this life, to shelter them from daily strife,
The Holy Spirit is God’s agent, in whom God’s peace is sent,
The Spirit is our true comforter, giving us peace in trials sore.
This peace for us is secured, by the work done by The Lord,
And the only part left for us, is to place in The Lord our trust,
Then with a loving nod, Christ sends to us the peace of God,
A peace into a believer’s heart, that from God will not depart.
Peace always there for those, keeping eyes on He who rose,
Who gave to them a new life, centered in the peace of Christ,
This as that believer lives, through the Spirit that Christ gives,
Providing them God’s peace, in their heart that will not cease.
(Copyright ©02/2008)
All We Want Is Peace (Please)
Peace, Peace, Please,
Please, Peace, Please,
There’s something we should do
That’s not been done
Something we can win
That’s not been won
Something we can SHOUT OUT
To end all their brutal war games
We Want Peace
Case for war was fake,
Don’t let it fade
More lives can be saved
Got to be brave
Something we can shout out,
We want peace, and we want it right now
Talking is Free
All we want is Peace
All we need is Peace
All we ask is Peace, Please
Peace is all we want
All we crave is Peace
All we miss is Peace
All we lack is Peace
Peace is all we want
Something we can ask,
Before it’s blown
Something we can grow
Before it’s grown
Small green shoots of Peace
To educate next infancy
Believe me
All we want is Peace
All we crave is Peace
All we wish is Peace, please
Peace is all we ask
It’s not a big task
Believe me
It’s easy.
All we want is Peace, All we want is Peace,
All we need is Peace, All we need is Peace.
Peace is all we want,
Peace is all we want
Peace is all we need,
Peace is all we need………………
poem by Gordon David
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Providence of God
Don’t dismiss the providence of God, as He leads with staff and rod,
For those things we can’t comprehend, will work out for us in the end,
Everything works out for our good, as God does what only He could,
In the life of those who believe, blessings from God, they will receive.
Believers don’t sit back and guess, will our Lord God curse or bless?
As Christ takes care of His own, from His Mighty Everlasting Throne,
Or live our lives in fear and dread, for we can rely on The Lord ahead,
Who works out all things in His time, in harmony with His pure design.
Even in those trials that we receive, it may not be just as we perceive,
As The Lord may be attending to, deeper things through me and you,
Things that we need not understand, as God moves His Mighty Hand,
Through those who come to Christ, as our lives, to God, we sacrifice.
God has done what He purposed, and only in Him will we be blessed,
When uncertain times do come, God is where our peace comes from,
Through all the trials that we face, The Lord grants us Amazing Grace,
Placing within our heart a peace, that through all trials does not cease.
God has a Plan that won’t change, and for all eternity what will remain,
Is a New Heaven and New Earth, His places for all those of New Birth,
By The Lord’s Eternal Providence, to be with Christ the Eternal Prince,
Leaving our all trials in the past, to enter a peace that will eternally last.
(Copyright ©04/2009)
Time for everything
All things that happens in the world, happens at the time God chooses..The is a time of love, and a time of hate! The is a time of sorrows, and a time of joy! The is a time of war, and a time of peace! The is a time of birth, and a time of death! The is a of planting, and a time of pulling out! The is a time to succeed, and a time to fail! The is a time of finding, and a time of loosing! The is a time of smoothness, and a time of rudeness! The is a time to be fast, and a time to be slow! Everything has its own time to happen dont rush, wait for the time to come! BY K.r mafojane
poem by K.R Relebogile Mafojane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!