National Monuments
Count not the cost of honour to the dead!
The tribute that a mighty nation pays
To those who loved her well in former days
Means more than gratitude for glories fled;
For every noble man that she hath bred,
Lives in the bronze and marble that we raise,
Immortalized by art's immortal praise,
To lead our sons as he our fathers led.
These monuments of manhood strong and high
Do more than forts or battle-ships to keep
Our dear-bought liberty. They fortify
The heart of youth with valour wise and deep;
They build eternal bulwarks, and command
Eternal strength to guard our native land.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Sonnets of the Empire: Australia to England
By all the deeds to Thy dear glory done,
By all the life blood spilt to serve Thy need,
By all the fettered lives Thy touch hath freed,
By all Thy dream in us anew begun;
By all the guerdon English sire to son
Hath given of highest vision, kingliest deed,
By all Thine agony, of God decreed
For trial and strength, our fate with Thine is one.
Still dwells Thy spirit in our hearts and lips,
Honour and life we hold from none but thee
And if we live Thy pensioners no more
But seek a nation's might of men and ships,
'Tis but that when the world is black with war
Thy sons may stand beside Thee strong and free.
poem by Archibald Thomas Strong
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Australia to England
By all the deeds to Thy dear glory done,
By all the life blood spilt to serve Thy need,
By all the fettered lives Thy touch hath freed,
By all Thy dream in us anew begun;
By all the guerdon English sire to son
Hath given of highest vision, kingliest deed,
By all Thine agony, of God decreed
For trial and strength, our fate with Thine is one.
Still dwells Thy spirit in our hearts and lips,
Honour and life we hold from none but thee
And if we live Thy pensioners no more
But seek a nation's might of men and ships,
'Tis but that when the world is black with war
Thy sons may stand beside Thee strong and free.
poem by Archibald Thomas Strong
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Victoria Regina
A thousand years by sea and land
Our race hath served the island kings,
But not by custom's dull command
To-day with song her Empire rings:
Not all the glories of her birth,
Her armed renown and ancient throne,
Could make her less the child of earth
Or give her hopes beyond our own:
But stayed on faith more sternly proved
And pride than ours more pure and deep,
She loves the land our fathers loved
And keeps the fame our sons shall keep.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad
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The Heritage
Our Fathers in a wondrous age,
Ere yet the Earth was small,
Ensured to us a heritage,
And doubted not at all
That we the children of their heart,
Which then did beat so high,
In later rime should play like part
For our posterity.
A thousand years they steadfast built,
To 'vantage us and ours,
The Walls that were a world's despair,
The sea-constraining Towers:
Yet in their midmost pride they knew,
And unto Kings made known,
Not all from these their strength they drew,
Their faith from brass or stone.
Youth's passion, manhood's fierce intent,
With age's judgment wise,
They spent, and counted not they spent,
At daily sacrifice.
Not lambs alone nor purchased doves .
Or tithe of trader's gold--
Their lives most dear, their dearer loves,
They offered up of old.
Refraining e'en from lawful things,
They bowed the neck to bear
The unadorned yoke that brings
Stark toil and sternest care.
Wherefore through them is Freedom sure;
Wherefore through them we stand,
From all but sloth and pride secure,
In a delightsome land.
Then, fretful, murmur not they gave
So great a charge to keep,
Nor dream that awestruck Time shall save
Their labour while we sleep.
Dear-bought and clear, a thousand year,
Our fathers' title runs.
Make we likewise their sacrifice,
Defrauding not our sons.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Ships that Won't Go Down
We hear a great commotion
'Bout the ship that comes to grief,
That founders in mid-ocean,
Or is driven on a reef;
Because it's cheap and brittle
A score of sinners drown.
But we hear but mighty little
Of the ships that won't go down.
Here's honour to the builders –
The builders of the past;
Here's honour to the builders
That builded ships to last;
Here's honour to the captain,
And honour to the crew;
Here's double-column headlines
To the ships that battle through.
They make a great sensation
About famous men that fail,
That sink a world of chances
In the city morgue or gaol,
Who drink, or blow their brains out,
Because of "Fortune's frown".
But we hear far too little
Of the men who won't go down.
The world is full of trouble,
And the world is full of wrong,
But the heart of man is noble,
And the heart of man is strong!
They say the sea sings dirges,
But I would say to you
That the wild wave's song's a paean
For the men that battle through.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Gayashuta to the Sons of Onas
My brothers! Sons of Onas! hear my voice!
And Gayashuta's spirit shall rejoice;
For age has settled on his drooping head;
His hopes have wither'd, and his joys have fled.
When youth and strength were seated on his brow,
He felt not hunger, pain, and want, as now;
For then the wild deer bounded o'er the plain,
And never was his arrow sped in vain.
Our land embraced the mountain and the flood,
The chase—our pleasure—furnish'd us with food.
The red man's tribes the mighty Spirit bless'd,
And every stranger was his welcome guest.
With pleasure, when they sought our lonely haunts,
We gave them shelter, and relieved their wants.
My brothers! when your fathers sought our shores,
The wide extended fertile plains were ours.
They loved the land their mighty ships had found,
And Onas call'd his red-skinn'd brethren round—
They ask'd us, and we gave them of our land,
Whereon to plant, and where their wigwams stand:
And Gayashuta's voice was foremost heard,
To urge and aid the suit his friend preferr'd.
My brothers! Gayashuta had not thought,
When first the Groves of Pines* your fathers sought,
Of age or weakness—strength was in his frame,
And cowards shrunk beneath his eye of flame.
Your fathers saw him then,—he now is old,
And you will ne'er his alter'd form behold,
His wither'd, bending form, that scarce appears
The ghost of what it was in former years.
He wonders, when his shadow meets his eye,
It is so shrunk, so changed from days gone by!
No longer can he track the flying game,
Or point the arrow with unerring aim;
He has no children to supply his wants,
The whites have scared the wild deer from his haunts.
In hunting all the day the youth must toil,
And scarce the chase will yield sufficient spoil
To satisfy themselves—there is none left
For those who are of friends and strength bereft.
For Gayashuta is not here alone—
A remnant yet remains of days long gone.
They were your fathers’ friends, they now are weak,
And poor and feeble—shall they vainly speak!
My brothers! Sons of Onas! in his youth,
Your fathers gave this belt, the badge of truth,
To Gayashuta, this he sends to you,
The ancient bond of friendship to renew.
Look on this belt! and should it warm your heart,
Then comfort to your fathers’ friends impart.
My brothers! we are men, and only say
That we are hungry, naked, old, and gray.
We have no other friends on whom to call,
Than you, the Sons of Onas, friends to all.
(*The place where Philadelphia now stands was called by the Indians the Grove of the long pine trees.)
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Psalm 103 part 2
v.8-18
L. M.
God's gentle chastisement; or, His tender mercy to his people.
The Lord, how wondrous are his ways!
How firm his truth! how large his grace!
He takes his mercy for his throne,
And thence he makes his glories known.
Not half so high his power hath spread
The starry heav'ns above our head,
As his rich love exceeds our praise,
Exceeds the highest hopes we raise.
Not half so far hath nature placed
The rising morning from the west,
As his forgiving grace removes
The daily guilt of those he loves.
How slowly doth his wrath arise!
On swifter wings salvation flies;
And if he lets his anger burn,
How soon his frowns to pity turn
Amidst his wrath compassion shines;
His strokes are lighter than our sins
And while his rod corrects his saints,
His ear indulges their complaints.
So fathers their young sons chastise
With gentle hand and melting eyes;
The children weep beneath the smart,
And move the pity of their heart.
PAUSE.
The mighty God, the wise and just,
Knows that our frame is feeble dust;
And will no heavy loads impose
Beyond the strength that he bestows.
He knows how soon our nature dies,
Blasted by every wind that flies;
Like grass we spring, and die as soon,
Or morning flowers that fade at noon.
But his eternal love is sure
To all the saints, and shall endure;
From age to age his truth shall reign,
Nor children's children hope in vain.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad 'Aziz Moradabadi'
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Hymn 166
The Divine Perfections.
How shall I praise th' eternal God,
That infinite Unknown?
Who can ascend his high abode,
Or venture near his throne?
[The great Invisible! he dwells
Concealed in dazzling light;
But his all-searching eye reveals
The secrets of the night.
Those watchful eyes that never sleep
Survey the world around
His wisdom is a boundless deep
Where all our thoughts are drowned.]
[Speak we of strength? his arm is strong
To save or to destroy;
Infinite years his life prolong,
And endless is his joy.]
[He knows no shadow of a change
Nor alters his decrees;
Firm as a rock his truth remains
To guard his promises.]
[Sinners before his presence die;
How holy is his name!
His anger and his jealousy
Burn like devouring flame.]
Justice upon a dreadful throne
Maintains the rights of God;
While Mercy sends her pardons down,
Bought with a Savior's blood.
Now to my soul, immortal King!
Speak some forgiving word;
Then 'twill be double joy to sing
The glories of my Lord.
poem by Isaac Watts
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A Monument For The Soldiers
A monument for the Soldiers!
And what will ye build it of?
Can ye build it of marble, or brass, or bronze,
Outlasting the Soldiers' love?
Can ye glorify it with legends
As grand as their blood hath writ
From the inmost shrine of this land of thine
To the outermost verge of it?
And the answer came: We would build it
Out of our hopes made sure,
And out of our purest prayers and tears,
And out of our faith secure:
We would build it out of the great white truths
Their death hath sanctified,
And the sculptured forms of the men in arms,
And their faces ere they died.
And what heroic figures
Can the sculptor carve in stone?
Can the marble breast be made to bleed,
And the marble lips to moan?
Can the marble brow be fevered?
And the marble eyes be graved
To look their last, as the flag floats past,
On the country they have saved?
And the answer came: The figures
Shall all be fair and brave,
And, as befitting, as pure and white
As the stars above their grave!
The marble lips, and breast and brow
Whereon the laurel lies,
Bequeath us right to guard the flight
Of the old flag in the skies!
A monument for the Soldiers!
Built of a people's love,
And blazoned and decked and panoplied
With the hearts ye build it oft
And see that ye build it stately,
In pillar and niche and gate,
And high in pose as the souls of those
It would commemorate!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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God’s Eternal Ways
The sun will rise and the sun will set, this my friend, is a sure bet.
For soon the day turns into night, and the sun will go out of sight.
Without any effort on man’s part, the light of day turns into dark.
But soon we see the morning skies, as again the sun begins to rise.
My friend, even in the sky at night, we can see above a lesser light.
Friend, so precise is God’s design that we use the moon to keep time.
For by watching each lunar phase, we can count off a month of days.
God’s ways are certain my friend, and on Him you can surely depend.
As you live through all your days, do you take note of His many ways?
For these are but two my friend, of His many ways, that have no end.
And all eternal are God’s ways, and God will receive Eternal Praise.
But as the sun does set and rise, man my friend, he lives and dies.
For God to receive man’s praise, man also, must have eternal days.
Though man received God’s Breath, sin brought upon man certain death.
However, through God’s Eternal ways, He lengthened man’s mortal days.
And through the death of Jesus Christ, man can inherit Eternal Life.
Soon we will need the moon no more, when we enter Eternity’s Door.
And there will be no more night and Christ The Lamb will be the Light.
Friend, time itself will be no more, as we live with Christ forevermore,
Living with Christ in Eternal Ways, while giving God Eternal Praise.
(Copyright ©11/2004)
A nation to be loved
I loved the nation as anybody did
Who may not prefer prosperous nation to lead?
It is great honor to be a part of any nation
Our existence has been linked with strong relation
What can be situation if we have to live under domination?
Whole of area under occupation and total subjugation
Complete control on movements and limited supply of ration
What all these speak and give indication?
You have heart, body but no soul
The nights may be threatened with the noise of owl
Not good omen for any sensible good citizens
What can be alternatives when all options are frozen?
It is deep love and belonging to nationhood
Most sacred to defend along with motherhood
Thousands of death can be preferred to defend the country
Who else will come and guard like sentry?
No one may tolerate any type of encroachment
There has to be popular rising along with movement
Invaders can not be allowed to settle
Even if we have to shed the blood in battle
The blood must boil from within
The war must be waged to force the win
The chances may look slim and very thin
Yet it is compared to slavery scene
You are seen with scant respect
The land is tied with unholy pact
How can one nation be kept under force?
Without feeling of respect and remorse?
The freedom and liberty is snatched
The nation is denied freedom and plots are hatched
National wealth is deprived of and taken away
The whole of land is under occupation and sway
The people have right to choose their own destiny
Either it comes by peaceful means or by mutiny
No piece of land can be allowed or to be used
Any illegal entry by any means can be refused
You have been forced to follow encirclement
It is at the cost of freedom and enlightenment
We are not slave to fall in line with unreasonable demand
But in fact we are to follow their ideals and brand
Many ways are adopted to encircle the land
The economic blockade or terrorist attack from foreign land
Day light murders with bomb blasts in the streets
How can we maintain harmony and greet?
Still as countrymen and citizens we are bound to act
We can resist unholy alliance and forced pacts
We can live without cloth and bread
But can not walk with dishonor on the dead
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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For Unto Us
For unto us a child is born, the promise to all that God had sworn.
Christ Jesus was born to fulfill, God’s promise to all through Israel.
For unto us a Son is given, One through whom we are all forgiven.
Christ is God’s reconciliation to man, the heart of His eternal plan.
He is to be Wonderful Counselor, One that only God could assure.
Sent with God’s plan to fulfill, with His wonderful and wise counsel.
Christ shall reign as Mighty God, ruling the world with an Iron Rod.
While He comforts His very own, from His Mighty Eternal Throne.
The Everlasting Father He will be, as The God over all of Eternity.
The Father of every single nation; who come to Him for salvation.
Christ will reign as Prince of Peace, with a rule that will not cease.
An everlasting peace shall come, only through God’s Eternal Son.
As Son of David He was know, and shall be exalted to that throne.
And from that humble quiet birth, Christ will reign over all the earth.
Christ was the Messiah awaited for, to rule the world forevermore.
And He will rule just as He said, filling enemies with eternal dread.
Jesus is the name given Him, as He'll save His own from their sin.
The Lamb of God to every nation, that truly seeks God’s salvation.
Immanuel means God with us, and He is one whom you can trust.
Christ is Eternal God my friend, and He will be with you to the end.
(Copyright ©12/2005)
In Memoriam
GROWING to full manhood now,
With the care-lines on our brow,
We, the youngest of the nations,
With no childish lamentations,
Weep, as only strong weep,
5
For the noble hearts that sleep,
Pillowed where they fought and bled,
The loved and lost, our glorious dead!
Toil and sorrow come with age,
Manhood's rightful heritage;
10
Toil our arms more strong shall render,
Sorrow make our hearts more tender,
In the heartlessness of time;
Honour lays a wreath sublime—
Deathless glory—where they bled,
15
Our loved and lost, with glorious dead!
Wild the prairie's grasses wave
O'er each hero's new-made grave;
Time shall write such wrinkles o'er us,
But the future spreads before us
20
Glorious in that sunset land—
Nerving every heart and hand,
Comes a brightness none can shed,
But the dead, the glorious dead!
Lay them where they fought and fell;
25
Every heart shall ring their knell,
For the lessons they have taught us,
For the glory they have brought us.
Tho' our hearts are sad and bowed,
Nobleness still makes us proud—
30
Proud of light their names shall shed
In the roll-call of our dead!
Growing to full manhood now,
With the care-lines on our brow,
We, the youngest of the nations,
35
With no childish lamentations,
Weep, as only strong men weep,
For the noble hearts that sleep
Where the call of duty led,
Where the lonely prairies spread,
40
Where for us they fought and bled,
Our loved, our lost, our glorious dead!
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Hymn 167
The Divine Perfections.
Great God! thy glories shall employ
My holy fear, my humble joy;
My lips in songs of honor bring
Their tribute to th' eternal King.
[Earth, and the stars, and worlds unknown,
Depend precarious on his throne;
All nature hangs upon his word,
And grace and glory own their Lord.]
[His sovereign power what mortal knows?
If be command, who dares oppose?
With strength he girds himself around,
And treads the rebels to the ground.]
[Who shall pretend to teach him skill,
Or guide the counsels of his will?
His wisdom, like a sea divine,
Flows deep and high beyond our line.]
[His name is holy, and his eye
Burns with immortal jealousy
He hates the sons of pride, and sheds
His fiery vengeance on their heads.]
[The beaming of his piercing sight
Bring dark hypocrisy to light;
Death and destruction naked lie,
And hell uncovered to his eye.]
[Th' eternal law before him stands;
His justice, with impartial hands,
Divides to all their due reward,
Or by the sceptre or the sword.]
[His mercy, like a boundless sea,
Washes our load of guilt away;
While his own Son came down and died
T' engage his justice on our side.]
[Each of his words demands my faith;
My soul can rest on all he saith;
His truth inviolably keeps
The largest promise of his lips.]
O tell me, with a gentle voice,
"Thou art my God," and I'll rejoice!
Filled with thy love, I dare proclaim
The brightest honors of thy name.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Rejoice Within
Even in the darkest of days, from our heart, The Lord we can praise,
From the beginning to the very end, we can be truly thankful friend.
Even when all seems to go wrong, Jesus has placed in us His Song,
That from our heart we can raise, joyfully up to The Lord His praise.
As you journey upon this earth, Christ fills you with song and mirth.
And we can praise Him, for who He is, as we ponder Eternal Bliss,
For all this darkness will not last, and soon it will be in eternity past.
And as the darkness is no more, we’ll be eternally praising The Lord.
Christ fills us with a joy and peace, which in our trials will not cease.
Friend, from The Spirit living inside, flows a joy that we can not hide.
This joy inside is not from earth, but from Heaven through New Birth.
It’s a joy that sets Believers apart, putting Eternal Peace in our heart.
Friend, all the praise from within, comes not from us but is from Him,
You too can have this peace within, for Christ also died for your sin.
Yes my friend, Christ died for you, Christ died to give you life anew.
You can have New Life in Christ, as His death for you is Eternal Life.
Together we can give God praise, as we look forward to Eternal Days.
Today if you make that Eternal choice, you will friend, forever rejoice.
Rejoice my friend, in The Lord, and then receive an Eternal Reward.
Today is the day you can begin, to live for Christ and rejoice within.
Andrew Jackson
On the life of Andrew Jackson,
Now dear people I will write,
And in sketches, I will tell you
His career with great delight.
His career on earth is ended;
But his name is ever bright,
And his memory is cherished
As a great glorious knight.
The early life of Andrew Jackson,
Its marked in high renown,
As a lover of his country
He proved steadfastly profound,
Through kind teaching of his mother,
That patriot lady brave;
His mind strengthened by her wisdom,
Ere she sank into her grave.
Ah, in manhood, Andrew Jackson,
Was a daring fearless man;
With a strong iron will commanding,
He was loved throughout our land.
He was kind and generous hearted
In his military acts,
Yet was stubborn, while commanding,
And no courage did he lack.
At middle age, Andrew Jackson
Was a noble warlike man,
And was capable of handling
The army at his command.
You can see it by the battles
Of his Indian campaign,
Or the battle of New Orleans,
Where so many men were slain.
The dauntless energy of Jackson,
Oh, should never be forgot,
Or the battle of New Orleans,
Where he diligently fought.
Where he fought to save his country,
From the British fleets of fame;
Through coolness and courage
The victory he did gain.
As commander, Andrew Jackson
Was a soldier of great skill,
And he nobly done his duty
To his country, with good will.
Yet in life his acts were censured,
Ah, by men both great and small.
One the acts that made him trouble
Was the arresting of Judge Hall.
Oh, that act cost Andrew Jackson
Many heart pang in after life,
For he thought it was his duty
In that hard cruel strife
That his soldiers should obey him
And fulfill every command,
As he knew no other method,
He could save his native land.
The people loved Andrew Jackson,
"Old Hickory" was their friend.
As a President o'er our country
He proved faithful to the end.
His career on earth was ended
Eighteen Forty Five; is seen
As a star his name is shining
The "hero" of "New Orleans."
poem by Julia A Moore
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John Cornstalk
Jack Cornstalk lives in the Southern Land—
What says Cornstalk John?
Jack Cornstalk says in a loud firm voice:
“Land of the South, lead on.”
CHORUS:
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!
John Bull lays claim to the Southern Land.
Jack, is the South Land thine?
John Cornstalk cries in a loud, firm voice:
“The Land of the South is mine!”
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!
“By the long, long years my father toiled
In the pioneering band;
By the hardships of those early days,
I claim the Southern Land!”
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!
But where shall the Land of the South lead to?
Where lead the nation’s van?
Jack Cornstalk cries from his strong young heart:
“To the Dynasty of Man.”
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Land of the South, lead on!
Land of the South, lead on, lead on,
Lead on, Land of the South!
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven
Praise, my soul, the King of Heaven;
To His feet Thy tribute bring!
Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven,
Who like me His praise should sing?
Praise Him! praise Him!
Praise the everlasting King!
Praise Him for His grace and favour,
To our fathers in distress!
Praise Him still the same for ever,
Slow to chide, and swift to bless!
Praise Him! praise Him!
Glorious in His faithfulness!
Father-like, He tends and spares us;
Well our feeble frame He knows.
In His hands He gently bears us,
Rescues us from all our foes,
Praise Him! praise Him!
Widely as His mercy flows!
Frail as summer's flower we flourish:
Blows the wind, and it is gone.
But while mortals rise and perish,
God endures unchanging on.
Praise Him, Praise Him,
Praise the high eternal One!
Angels, help us to adore Him;
Ye behold Him face to face:
Sun and moon, bow down before Him;
Dwellers all in time and space,
Praise Him! praise Him!
Praise with us the God of grace!
poem by Henry Francis Lyte
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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