Lost on the Lady Elgin
Up from the poor man's cottage--
Forth from the mansion door;
Sweeping across the waters,
And echoing 'long the shore;
Caught by the morning breezes--
Borne on the evening gale;
Cometh a voice of mourning,
A sad and solemn wail.
Lost on the Lady Elgin!
Sleeping to wake no more!
Number'd in that three hundred,
Who fail'd to reach the shore!
Oh! 'tis the cry of children,
Weeping for parents gone;
Children who slept at evening,
But orphans woke at dawn.
Sisters for brothers weeping,
Husbands for missing wives--
Such are the ties dis-sever'd
With those three hundred live.
Staunch was the noble steamer--
Precious the freight she bore;
Gaily she loosed her cables,
A few short hours before.
Grandly she swept out harbor,
Joyfully ran her bell;
Little thought we, 'ere morning,
'Twould toll so sad a knell.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Related quotes
The Great Titanic
It was on one Monday morning just about one o'clock
When that great Titanic began to reel and rock;
People began to scream and cry,
Saying, 'Lord, am I going to die?'
Chorus
It was sad when that great ship went down,
It was sad when that great ship went down,
Husbands and wives and little children lost their lives,
It was sad when that great ship went down
.
When that ship left England it was making for the shore,
The rich had declared that they would not ride with the poor,
So they put the poor below,
They were the first to go.
While they were building they said what they would do,
We will build a ship that water can't go through;
But God with power in hand
Showed the world that it could not stand.
Those people on that ship were a long ways from home,
With friends all around they did n't know that the time had come;
Death came riding by,
Sixteen hundred had to die.
While Paul was sailing his men around,
God told him that not a man should drown;
If you trust and obey,
I will save you all to-day.
You know it must have been awful with those people on the sea,
They say that they were singing, 'Nearer My God to Thee.'
While some were homeward bound,
Sixteen hundred had to drown.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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One Hundred Ripples
One hundred ripples I mark today
One hundred steps along my way
One hundred steps lead to the pond
One hundred trees there do surround
One hundred birds nesting among the trees
One hundred bees filling the air with these
One hundred bees buzzing about in the air
One hundred flowers are pollinating there
One hundred flowers provide the aromas sweet
For one hundred bouquets given to lovers as treat
One hundred lovers walk the winding pathway
One hundred times to find romance there each day
One hundred times they will reach to explore
One hundred pebbles found along the pond shore
One hundred pebbles carry wishes through the air
One hundred ripples on surface creating there
One hundred ripples then spreading out will begin
One hundred waves soon lapping at the shore again
One hundred waves providing the means for
One hundred more pebbles to reach the shore
One hundred pebbles scatter along the pathway
One hundred steps retraced at the end of the day
One hundred small steps... this latest poem was conceived to denote
One hundred little ripples... spreading from 100 poems I wrote
poem by Mary Havran
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A rare gypsy rarely seen!
A gypsy was left to the mercy of God,
along with her two children in rags.
To give her hell, her husband has left her there.
Dowry or giving birth to only girls,
adultery or ambition to have a shelter
was not the cause for their wrangle.
“ Stop ranting me in filthy words in the bazaar”
She pleaded but he evinced no change.
She complained to the police and he was
driven out of that coastal village.
In the late mid-night, when I went out of my office,
I saw something dark at the verandah
of a class-room nearby.
I walked slowly there with some fear
as small snakes would lie on the sand.
A lady was squatting beside the wall,
huddling together her sleeping children.
“ Don’t stay here. Get lost! ” I shouted.
“ In the morning I’ll go out. Till then, permit me”,
She begged and covered her children with her saree.
“ Get into the room and stay there for the night”,
I said to her to save her kids from the cold.
“ I can’t be a hostess to this village hooligans.
They will hunt me down in this doorless room”.
Her reply made me pity her more.
She told me she would earn some money
by doing some work for wages the next day
and go to a place where her clan are camping.
I promised her a hundred rupees at dawn
and she could go by bus to join her kin.
“ Sorry, I can’t return that money.
So I don’t want it from you”,
She said with all humility.
“ When you become rich, you give it back”,
I muttered with a smile.
“ I can’t be rich. Anyhow I get it in the morning”, she said.
When I went out with a hundred rupee note at sunrise,
she wasn’t there but her children were gathering fruits
under a tamarind tree and they told me
that their mother had gone to clear weeds in fields;
she would be back with money in the evening
and they would go to Tambaram Railway Station
where their grandmother has been living.
“ Oh, the gypsies are far better than others
Who long to have freebies from the government”
I thought myself and smiled.
-------------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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The Air Is Tense, The Air Is Dense
It was a silent evening, this silent
evening,
When a land whose air was tense,
Heard the cries of its children,
As a plane whose air was dense,
Hit the ground and broke its wings.
It was a teary morning, this teary
morning,
When friends had lost friends,
And parents, children,
And children, parents,
And all, something.
It is a painful thing, this painful moment,
If while reading this out loud,
Your voice begins to fade,
As your heart carries pain to your chord.
It is a thin line, oh thin children,
We are here and we are 'is',
And in one step,
We are there, and now 'was'.
It is a marvelment, to my marveled
mind,
When a man wakes and brushes his
teeth,
Holds a bag and hits the streets,
Stands in the middle of an oblivious
crowd,
And offers them transportation to the
world beyond.
It is an ache, in an aching heart,
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
I write that peace and love be born,
And wisdom and hope not be put to bed.
In this age, in an aging world,
Live each day as thy last,
And in no time you will be right,
Hurt no more and hurt no one,
For the air is tense and the air is dense,
And though time like man has come and
gone,
Time will be here and man no more.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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A Little Boy Lost
‘Nought loves another as itself,
Nor venerates another so,
Nor is it possible to thought
A greater than itself to know.
‘And, father, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door.’
The Priest sat by and heard the child;
In trembling zeal he seized his hair,
He led him by his little coat,
And all admired his priestly care.
And standing on the altar high,
‘Lo, what a fiend is here!’ said he:
‘One who sets reason up for judge
Of our most holy mystery.’
The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain:
They stripped him to his little shirt,
And bound him in an iron chain,
And burned him in a holy place
Where many had been burned before;
The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such things done on Albion’s shore?
poem by William Blake from Songs of Experience (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Song of The Coffle Gang
This song is said to be sung by Slaves, as they are chained in gangs,
when parting from friends for the far off South-children taken from
parents, husbands from wives, and brothers from sisters.
See these poor souls from Africa,
Transported to America:
We are stolen, and sold to Georgia, will you go along with me?
We are stolen and sold to Georgia, go sound the jubilee.
See wives and husbands sold apart,
The children's screams!-it breaks my heart;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
O, gracious Lord? when shall it be,
That we poor souls shall all be free?
Lord, break them Slavery powers-will you go along with me?
Lord, break them Slavery powers, go sound the jubilee.
Dear Lord! dear Lord! when Slavery'll cease,
Then we poor souls can have our peace;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Be Here In The Morning
Its been such a long day so you better hurry home
Lit all my incense and I wish you were home
Only five minutes and you walk through my door
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life full
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life
Stay here on the weekend and unplug the phone
(alright then)
No calls from korthoff, parks, or grillo
I only hope that you come here alone
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life full
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be Here In The Mornin'
It's been such a long day so you better hurry home
Lit all my incense and i wish you were home
Only five minutes and you walk through my door
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life full
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life
Stay here on the weekend and unplug the phone
(alright then)
No calls from korthoff, parks, or grillo
I only hope that you come here alone
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life full
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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San Stefano
(A Ballad of the Bold Menelaus)
It was morning at St. Helen's, in the great and gallant days,
And the sea beneath the sun glittered wide,
When the frigate set her courses, all a-shimmer in the haze
And she hauled her cable home and took the tide.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore,
When the bold _Menelaus_ put to sea.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore,
When the bold _Menelaus_ put to sea.
She was clear of Monte Cristo, she was heading for the land,
When she spied a pennant red and white and blue;
They were foemen, and they knew it, and they'd half a league in hand,
But she flung aloft her royals, and she flew.
She was nearer, nearer, nearer, they were caught beyond a doubt,
But they slipped her into Orbetello Bay,
And the lubbers gave a shout as they paid their cables out,
With the guns grinning round them where they lay.
Now, Sir Peter was a captain of a famous fighting race,
Son and grandson of an admiral was he;
And he looked upon the batteries, he looked upon the chase,
And he heard the shout that echoed out to sea.
And he called across the decks, 'Ay! the cheering might be late
If they kept it till the _Menelaus_ runs;
Bid the master and his mate heave the lead and lay her straight
For the prize lying yonder by the guns!'
When the summer moon was setting, into Orbetello Bay
Came the _Menelaus_ gliding like a ghost;
And her boats were manned in silence, and in silence pulled away,
And in silence every gunner took his post.
With a volley from her broadside the citadel she woke,
And they hammered back like heroes all the night;
But before the morning broke she had vanished through the smoke
With her prize upon her quarter grappled tight.
It was evening at St. Helen's in the great and gallant time,
And the sky behind the down was flushing far;
And the flags were all a-flutter, and the bells were all a-chime,
When the frigate cast her anchor off the bar.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for the colours at the fore,
When the bold _Menelaus_ came from the sea.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore,
When the bold _Menelaus_ came from the sea.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Green Pastures
(traditional/brian ahern)
Troubles and trials often betray those
On in the weary body to stray
But we shall walk beside the still waters
With the good shepherd leading the way
Those who have strayed were sought by the master
He who once gave his life for the sheep
Out on the mountain still he is searching
Bringing them in forever to keep
Going up home to live in green pastures
Where we shall live and die never more
Even the lord will be in that number
When we shall reach that heavenly shore
We will not heed the voice of the stranger
For he would lead us all to despair
Following on with jesus our savior
We shall all reach that country so fair
Going up home to live in green pastures
Where we shall live and die never more
Even the lord will be in that number
When we shall reach that heavenly shore
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Dig Love
I dig love
I dig love
I dig love
Hm, I dig love in the morning
I dig love in the evening
I dig love and I want you to know I dig love
I love dig
I love dig
I love dig
Hm, I love dig in the morning
I love dig every evening
I dig love and I want you to know I dig love
Small love, big love, I dont care
Loves all good love to me
Left love, right love, anywhere love
Theres a rare love, come on and get it, its free
I dig love
I dig love
I dig love
Hm, I dig love in the morning
I dig love in the evening
I dig love and I want you to know I dig love
Bought love, short love, in any port
Loves always there to see
Make love, take love, but you should give love
And try to live love, come on thats where you should be
I dig love
I dig love
I dig love
Hm, I dig love in the morning
I dig love in the evening
I dig love and I want you to know I dig love
Yes, I want you to know I dig love
Yes, I want you to know I dig love
To know I dig love
Yes, I do
I dig love (repeat and fade)
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Worth A Shot
What kind of lottery have we won?
When we are here having fun
War-torn countries at the end of a gun
Where the dying has just begun
People dying
Children crying
Widows weeping
Justice sleeping
Contemplate this, it would be a start
With wisdom and effort we may impart
For someone’s existence, a piece of our heart
Making a difference before we depart
People dying
Children crying
Widows weeping
Justice sleeping
Corporate America are you hearing this?
Can anyone see how they are so remiss?
Reaping millions where ignorance is bliss
Their dollars filling their own void, an abyss
People dying
Children crying
Widows weeping
Justice sleeping
It’s what we do with what we’ve got
It’s who we help with who knows what
It’s sharing with those who have not
Don’t you think it’s worth a shot?
poem by Rose Falcone
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Shall I See My Boy Again
Must I die so soon? ah, far away
By blue Ohio's shore,
A little group waits patiently
Till this sad war is o'er;
A little face is often pressed
Against the window pane,
Oh, chaplain only tell me this
Shall I see my boy again?
Must I never press close to my heart
The rings of shining hair,
Or listen to my bright-eyed child
Whisper his evening prayer,
Shall I never hear his bounding step
Across the cottage floor?
It were not hard to die, chaplain,
Could I see my boy once more.
When morning broke with solemn tread
On old Potomac's banks,
His comrades laid the soldier down -
Discharged from the ranks,
But many a day o'er western hills,
By blue Ohio's shore,
A little boy will patient wait,
When this sad war is o'er.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Martha
SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,-- sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,-- would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'Tis fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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One Long Day
As morning sunlight awoke me and I looked over to where you lay and saw that you spot had been not slept in I knew it was going to be one long day.
One long day of missing your morning kiss and your smile.
One long day because every time the wind blows I'd be sniffing for your scent lofting through the air.
One long day of walking along the shore in search of your footprints in the sand.
Then as the sun sets and I get ready for bed the knowledge that you will once again be not next to me will turn this one long day into and even longer night.
The Charge At Port Hudson
'Niggers won't fight' ah ha!
'Niggers won't fight' ah ha!
'They are no good for war,
One in a hundred.'
Let Mississippi's shore,
Flooded with negro gore,
Echo back evermore:
See our six hundred.
Firm as the granite rock,
Full to the cannon's shock,
With a faith none dare mock,
Earth's ties all sundered;
Every man firm in his place
Staring death in the face,
Battling for home and race
Marched our six hundred.
Crash falls the iron hail,
Making the stoutest pale,
All but the bravest fail,
Old veterans wondred.
Fighting with purpose high,
Fighting until they die,
Bravely for liberty,
Fell that six hundred.
Villians that shun the light,
Traitors who hate the right,
Cowards who dare not fight,
Own that ye blundered.
Spurning the name of slave,
Bravest amid the brave,
Each fills a soldier's grave,
Noble six hundred.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Burning of the Steamer City of Montreal
A sad tale of the sea I will relate, which will your hearts appal
Concerning the burning of the steamship "City of Montreal,"
Which had on board two hundred and forty-nine souls in all,
But, alas! a fearful catastrophe did them befall.
The steamer left New York on the 6th August with a general cargo,
Bound for Queenstown and Liverpool also;
And all went well until Wednesday evening the 10th,
When in an instant an alarming fire was discovered at length.
And most of the passengers had gone to their berths for the night,
But when the big bell rang out, oh! what a pitiful sight;
To see mothers and their children crying, was most heartrending to behold,
As the blinding smoke began to ascend from the main hold.
And the smoke before long drifted down below,
Which almost choked the passengers, and filled their hearts with woe;
Then fathers and mothers rushed madly upon the deck,
While the crew were struggling manfully the fire to check.
Oh, it was a soul-harrowing and horrible sight,
To see the brave sailors trying hard with all their might;
Battling furiously with the merciless flames --
With a dozen of hose, but still the fire on them gains.
At length it became apparent the steamer couldn't be saved,
And the passengers were huddled together, and some of them madly raved;
And the family groups were most touching to see,
Especially husbands and wives embracing each other tenderly.
The mothers drew their little ones close to them,
Just like little lambs huddled together in a pen;
While the white foaming billows was towering mountains high,
And one and all on God for protection did cry.
And when the Captain saw the steamer he couldn't save,
He cried, come men, prepare the boats to be launched on the briny wave;
Be quick, and obey my orders, let each one bear a hand-
And steer the vessel direct for Newfoundland.
Then the men made ready the boats, which were eight on board,
Hurriedly and fearlessly with one accord;
And by eight o'clock on Thursday morning, everything was ready
For the passengers to leave the burning steamer that was rolling unsteady.
Then Captain Land on his officers loudly did call,
And the cheery manliness of him inspired confidence in all;
Then he ordered the men to lower the boats without delay,
So the boats were launched on the stormy sea without dismay.
Then women and children were first put into them,
Also a quantity of provisions, then followed the men;
And as soon as the boats were loaded they left the steamer's side,
To be tossed to and fro on the ocean wide.
And just as they left the burning ship, a barque hove in sight,
Which filled the poor creatures' hearts with delight;
And the barque was called the "Trebant," of Germany,
So they were all rescued and conveyed to their homes in safety.
But before they left the barque, they thanked God that did them save
From a cold and merciless watery grave;
Also the Captain received their thanks o'er and o'er,
Whilst the big waves around the barque did sullenly roar.
So good people I warn ye ail to be advised by me,
To remember and be prepared to meet God where'er ye may be;
For death claims his victims, both on sea and shore,
Therefore be prepared for that happy land where all troubles are o'er.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Days They Fly
Hark! The sun it rises
But the mourning dove cries
As morning it dies
Lo, high sun's rise
Hearken! Noontide arrives
But soon the meadowlark sings
And takes to its wings
West, as evening bell rings
Hark! The night the moon illumines
Now hear raven's crow
Those that tarry below
Now midnight you know
Hearken! Morning approaches
Heron's white wings flows
As the seed of dawn grows
No longer caught in dark throes
poem by T.A. Rosenbaum
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I Got The Sun In The Morning
Taking stock of what I have and what I haven't
What do I find?
The things I got will keep me satisfied
Checking up on what I have and what I haven't
What do I find?
A healthy balance on the credit side
Got no diamond
Got no pearl
Still I think I'm a lucky girl
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
Got no mansion
Got no yacht
Still I'm happy with what I got
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
Sunshine
Gives me a lovely day
Moonlight
Gives me the Milky Way
Got no checkbooks
Got no banks
Still I'd like to express my thanks
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
And with the sun in the morning
And the moon in the evening
I'm all right
[2]
Got no mansion
Got no yacht
Still I'm happy with what I got
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
Got no silver
Got no gold
What I got can't be bought or sold
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
Sunshine
Gives me a lovely day
Moonlight
Gives me the Milky Way
Got no checkbooks
Got no banks
Still I'd like to express my thanks
I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night
And with the sun in the morning
And the moon in the evening
I'm all right
[3]
Sunshine
Gives me a lovely day
Moonlight
Gives me the Milky Way
Got no heirlooms
For my kin
Made no will but when I cash in
I leave the sun in the morning and the moon at night
And with the sun in the morning
And the moon in the evening they're all right
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Remember The Torture Room
i remember the torture room
i thought at first
it is hell where hot fires
and forks
hurt my skin and pierce
the flesh of my body
i imagine it
to be this oven
of cinders where
devils with tails
and horns
frighten me
it isn't
the torture room
in fact
is in the big house
where people
come and do not
talk
where we
have no
convergence
of the minds
where
she loves him
but he loves
another
where wives
hate
and batter
their husbands
where husbands
too
slap their wives
and abandon
them
for another
where children
have no
respect
for parents
and where
parents
do not mind
their children
where governments
run the state
for their
own personal
profit
where people
sell their
votes
where there is no care
and love
where hope cannot
thrive
where there is
indifference
violence
and perpetual
hatred and
always for
retaliation and
revenge
it is indeed
a beautiful house
an earth filled
with colors
but those
who live here
have converted
this
into a torture room
we, now live
in the room
that we deserve
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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