In The Harbour: A Quiet Life. (From The French)
Let him who will, by force or fraud innate,
Of courtly grandeurs gain the slippery height;
I, leaving not the home of my delight,
Far from the world and noise will meditate.
Then, without pomps or perils of the great,
I shall behold the day succeed the night;
Behold the alternate seasons take their flight,
And in serene repose old age await.
And so, whenever Death shall come to close
The happy moments that my days compose,
I, full of years, shall die, obscure, alone!
How wretched is the man, with honors crowned,
Who, having not the one thing needful found,
Dies, known to all, but to himself unknown.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Related quotes
Those Born In Obscure Times
Those born in obscure times
Do not remember their way.
We, children of Russia's frightful years
Cannot forget a thing.
Incinerating years!, do you bring tidings
of madness or of hope?
The days of war, the days of freedom
Have left a bloody sheen on our faces.
There is a muteness - the tocsin bell
Has made us close our lips.
In our hearts, once so ardent,
There is a fateful emptiness.
Let the croaking ravens
Take flight above our deathbed -
O Lord, O Lord, may those more worthy than us,
Behold Thy kingdom!
poem by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
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A Moment To Remember
A moment to Remember
This night is too beautiful to behold, moon and silence. My heart aches.
Know I will wake up at dawn and regret that I can’t take it with me.
It will all be erased one day and I shall not know that I ever lived. I have
nothing, cannot own anything but my own ageing body, all I can do is to
enjoy the rare moments of fulfillments. I hear a plane high up see its light,
full of passengers going home and back to work. Why would anyone want
to leave this place? Across the road, in a darkened house, a man lies dying
racked by pain he can’t even shave himself. He sees not the full moon.
My life consists of moments, not like takes at a film studio that can be done
over and over again till it’s right. Some moments are too sad to behold.
Do not think of this now, I will drink another cold beer, smoke a cigarette,
look at the stars and dream.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Behold
Like morning's first light,
like the stars in the night
my love is a sight
to behold.
Like the heat of the sun,
like the rivers that run
My love is the one
I behold.
Like a delicate wine,
like crystal so fine
I'm glad you are mine
to behold.
Like your smile of delight,
like you looked in bridal white
you still are my sight
to behold.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Psalm VIII: O Lord, Our Lord
O Lord, our Lord, how wondrous great
Is thine exalted name!
The glories of thy heav'nly state
Let men and babes proclaim.
When I behold thy works on high
The moon that rules the night,
And stars that well adorn the sky,
Those moving worlds of light.
Lord, what is man, or all his race,
Who dwells so far below,
That thou should visit him with grace,
And love his nature so?
That thine eternal Son should bear
To take a mortal form;
Made lower than His angels are,
To save a dying worm?
Yet while He lived on earth unknown,
And men would not adore,
The obedient seas and fishes own
His Godhead and his power.
The waves lay spread beneath His feat;
And fish, at his command,
Bring their large shoals to Peter's net,
Bring tribute to his hand.
Those lesser glories of the son
Shone through the fleshly cloud;
Now, we behold Him on His throne,
And men confess Him God.
Let Him be crowned with majesty,
Who bowed His head to death;
And be His honors sounded high,
By all things that have breath.
Jesus, our Lord, how wondrous great
Is thine exalted name!
The glories of thy heavenly state
Let the whole earth proclaim.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Angel And Beauty
An angel with butterfly wings,
gossamer touch of beautiful things.
A satin sash and golden rings,
life is a wonderful thing.
The scarlet touch as sunset dies,
behold the world is full of lies.
The angel spreads its wings and flies,
to everyone’s breathless sighs.
The shadow of reason clouds our mind.
Where are we in ageless time?
Oh, behold my wonderful find,
the reason for living given in this sign.
Step back from this perilous world,
and let the beauties at your feet unfold.
Gaze upon the wealth untold,
of arms stretched out for you to hold.
Look around at things you’ve done,
at pleasures you have found,
and seek the soft and sandy ground,
where lies the happy children sounds.
poem by David Harris
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All Alone
Once upon a time, they sent a rocket to the moon
With scientific instruments to test conditions there
But just before they closed the door
One scientist expelled a germ
That accidentally found its way aboard and stowed away
For three years it remained undetected on the moon
It was the only living creature there
"I'm all alone
I'm all alone
Behold the mystery that is me"
Then one day the scientists recovered all their gear
Excited by the prospect of unearthly things inside
They found, to their astonishment, a living thing within
It seemed to bear good tidings from somewhere in outer space
"You're not alone
You're not alone
Behold the mystery that is me"
Soon they figured out the heinous error they had made
And now the earthly germ had something else it seemed to say...
"We're all alone
We're all alone
Behold the mystery
Behold the mystery
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Behold
I get it done
behold plenitude
focused
behold joy
behold greatness of god
behold wonderful life
behold charisma
behold
poem by Johnny Walks
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The freedom cry
She used to live a happy life,
until a strange hand came and took her away.
She used to be free like the birds in the sky,
until one day, her freedom was set ablaze.
She used to feel the joy of life,
but now life feels like a plague.
She was taken far away,
very very far away
away from her her motherland
into a foriegn land to be a slave.
Now, her smiles have fade,
her joy misplaced.
Her cheerful heart is filled with tears,
for she is still very little in years.
Now, life seems meaningless
in hurts, life felt like hell.
She cry all day, even with no cloth to where
but there is none to wipe her tears.
She is no more treated with respect,
for her rulling days were ended.
Behold! See how the mighty have fallen,
the daughter of the great king is forgottten.
Not even her father's wealth could bring her back,
for she is nowhere to be found in the stranger's land.
Her hope faded, her fate lost
her joy ended, her heart void.
Her sorrowful days seems endless,
her dark days seems timeless.
Until one day her freedom cry was heard,
by that lovely stranger with so much beard
who had come from a beautiful city afar,
behold! He is the king's right hand.
Tears of joy rolled down her face,
smile on joy was once again seen on her eyes.
Behold! Back are the happy days,
for she's been saved by the freedom cry.
poem by Randy Micheal
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Great Is The Son
Great is the Son when his work is done
Heavens portals are lifted up
Thy will be done on earth as in heaven
He goes wide through the celestial gates
Be ye lifted up you everlasting doors
And let the king of glory come in
Jesus meets the angels who are with him
We behold the ancient days.
The firmament paint repose
Every flower and trees in the garden,
Glitter and shine like a terrestrial rose.
All the gold we fined in the ground,
They were made by the great Son,
Fashion among human took our sin
And in him we have found God.
Great is the son who binds the cool shade
In the night slips the light around the world,
He makes us not afraid,
To walk in a world of darkness,
Because he is the everlasting light
Shining through the key hole of our heart.
poem by Gerry Legister
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Son Of Perdition
Behold the stars that shine above and on the beast newborn.
Behold the man who knows not love, just bitterness and scorn.
Behold the man of ill repute - his smiles that gleam and gleam.
Behold the man behind the suit - his hatred is extreme.
Behold the answers that he shares, his miracles and gifts.
Behold the economic scares and problems that he lifts.
Behold the dark tools of his trade, his sorceries and spells.
Behold the blasphemies displayed as if from poisoned wells.
Behold the leaders in his thrall, the slaves and armies, too.
Behold the devils at his call and what he made them do.
Behold the billions he controlled like puppets on their strings.
Behold the billions in his fold and kings his underlings.
Behold the horns upon his head to match his demon heart.
Behold the souls that he misled, the lives he tore apart.
Behold what God will send to Hell! Unsaved! No remission!
Behold what prophecies foretell... Lost son of perdition...
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Moon Of Eid
O, the moon! We've gathered,
To catch thy lovely sight,
Thou art harbinger of joy,
And on thy face lies delight.
Children look happy, elder smile,
Thy presence's brought them light,
Bestowed gifts for prayer and fast,
Their face shining in the night.
O, moon! We've pain behind our joy,
Behold them all from thy height,
They're homeless, orphan and terrified,
How'll they celebrate Eid in this plight?
One has lost one's father or mother,
Who would feed sweets, hug themtight,
Or parents sit dreaming their killed children,
How is this Eid when joy's taken flight?
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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Days
I am a Day . . .
My sky is grey,
My wind is wild,
My sea high-piled:
In year of days the first
In misery . . .
Oh pity me!
I am a Day
Accurst.
"Sweet Day, not curst but blest:
Behold upon my breast
My baby born
Your early morn.
Safe in my arms alway . . .
Oh precious Day,
let tempest be,
You are to me
In heart of mine
Divine."
* * * * * * *
I am a Day . . .
From dawn's pure ray
Like to a peerless gem
In summer's diadem,
My sky so softly dreams,
my breeze is bland:
My sea is blue and creams
Upon the sand,
Behold! Of days the Queen
I reign serene.
"Oh Day, not blest but curst!
Let savage storm-rack burst,
i will not care . . .
For Lo! I bear
My baby's coffin to the height.
Ah! Would it were the foulest night
To match my mood''s
Ingratitude.
I cannot not pray . . .
Go your fell way,
Accursed Day!"
poem by Robert William Service
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Experience
I.
LIKE Crusoe with the bootless gold we stand
Upon the desert verge of death, and say:
'What shall avail the woes of yesterday
To buy to-morrow's wisdom, in the land
Whose currency is strange unto our hand?
In life's small market they have served to pay
Some late-found rapture, could we but delay
Till Time hath matched our means to our demand.'
But otherwise Fate wills it, for, behold,
Our gathered strength of individual pain,
When Time's long alchemy hath made it gold,
Dies with us - hoarded all these years in vain,
Since those that might be heir to it the mould
Renew, and coin themselves new griefs again.
II.
O, Death, we come full-handed to thy gate,
Rich with strange burden of the mingled years,
Gains and renunciations, mirth and tears,
And love's oblivion, and remembering hate,
Nor know we what compulsion laid such freight
Upon our souls - and shall our hopes and fears
Buy nothing of thee, Death? Behold our wares,
And sell us the one joy for which we wait.
Had we lived longer, life had such for sale,
With the last coin of sorrow purchased cheap,
But now we stand before thy shadowy pale,
And all our longings lie within thy keep -
Death, can it be the years shall naught avail?
'Not so,' Death answered, 'they shall purchase sleep.'
poem by Edith Wharton
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He, who was born
He, who was born in stagnant year
Does not remember own way.
We, kids of Russia's years of fear,
Remember every night and day.
Years that burned everything to ashes!
Do you bring madness or grace?
The war's and freedom's fire flashes
Left bloody light on every face.
We are struck dumb: the toxsin's pressure
Has made us tightly close lips.
In living hearts, once full of pleasure,
The fateful desert now sleeps.
And let the crying ravens soar
Right over our death-bed,
May those who were striving more,
O God, behold Thy Kingdom's Great!
poem by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
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The Missing Finger
You left us with ten fingers and,
Came back with nine fingers;
What really went wrong?
Fifteen years away from home,
We are yet to know what really went wrong;
Fifteen years away to make some money,
What really went wrong with your missing finger?
You made enough money and thought that,
You were richer than the President;
Today, you've returned home poorer than before!
There is time for everything,
A time to gain and a time to lose;
What really went wrong?
From a flight to your plight,
Who will help you now?
Fifteen years awayto make some money,
But today you can't even eat well at home;
From a flight to your plight,
Today you can't even sleep well at home;
Fifteen years away to make some money,
The very colours of the rainbow with a view;
You left us with ten fingers and,
Came back home with nine fingers;
What really went wrong?
From a flight to your plight,
Fifteen years away to make some money;
From the land of red, gold and green! !
From a flight to a plight,
It's all part of a lesson;
You are now at home at last.
The President was at the stadium but,
Where were you?
It is better to be humble than to boast.
Flight, sight, might, bright, tight, light;
You're poorer than fifteen years ago!
Bite, kite, height, fight, eight, plight;
You're poorer than fifteen years ago!
Quiet, rite, white, night, site, write;
You're poorer than fifteen years ago!
Today, the President is better off than you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Lo And Behold
I pulled out for San Anton',
I never felt so good.
My woman said she'd meet me there
And of course, I knew she would.
The coachman, he hit me for my hook
And he asked me my name.
I give it to him right away,
Then I hung my head in shame.
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
I come into Pittsburgh
At six-thirty flat.
I found myself a vacant seat
An' I put down my hat.
"What's the matter, Molly, dear,
What's the matter with your mound?"
"What's it to ya, Moby Dick?
This is chicken town!"
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
I bought my girl
A herd of moose,
One she could call her own.
Well, she came out the very next day
To see where they had flown.
I'm goin' down to Tennessee,
Get me a truck 'r somethin'.
Gonna save my money and rip it up!
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
Now, I come in on a ferris wheel
An' boys, I sure was slick.
I come in like a ton of bricks,
Laid a few tricks on 'em.
Goin' back to Pittsburgh,
Count up to thirty,
Round that horn and ride that herd,
Gonna thread up!
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
song performed by by Bob Dylan, music by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hymn 19
The song of Simeon; or, Death made desirable.
Luke 2:27ff
Lord, at thy temple we appear,
As happy Simeon came,
And hope to meet our Savior here;
O make our joys the same!
With what divine and vast delight
The good old man was filled,
When fondly in his withered arms
He clasped the holy child!
"Now I can leave this world," he cried,
"Behold, thy servant dies;
I've seen thy great salvation, Lord,
And close my peaceful eyes.
"This is the light prepared to shine
Upon the Gentile lands,
Thine Isr'el's glory, and their hope
To break their slavish bands."
[Jesus! the vision of thy face
Hath overpowering charms;
Scarce shall I feel death's cold embrace,
If Christ be in my arms.
Then while ye hear my heart-strings break,
How sweet my minutes roll!
A mortal paleness on my cheek,
And glory in my soul.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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At the Airport
Fingers drumming on his lips
Eyes gazing deep into space
Baggage tucked between legs
Still unsure when the flight will take off
Fellow passenger waits at the airport.
Another one's serious, reading a novel
Adjusting the Nike cap to cover his eyes
Newspaper shuffles with a purring sound
A professional reviews his assignment
What a place to gain some knowledge!
One sips a coke, one takes a bite
Group of three play cards, a world unto themselves
A couple talk to their daughter
While the baby sleeps in mother's arms
Baby bottle and bags packed on the cart.
Behold the few that await an arriving flight
Man and lady developing a dialogue
One looking through the glass window
With all the eagerness on his face
A place filled with all emotions and moods.
Commotion rises as the boarding's announced
Baby and the family enter and then one by one
March through the corridor and fill up the plane
Waiting lounge's empty as the final call is made
I'm early for my flight and await my cycle.
poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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Coeur De Lion
I.
RICHARD the Lion-hearted, crowned serene
With the true royalty of perfect man;
Seated in stone above the praise or ban
Of these mixed crowds who come gaping lean
As if to see what the word 'king' might mean
In those old times. Behold! what need that rim
Of crown 'gainst this blue sky, to signal him
A monarch, of the monarchs that have been,
And, perhaps, are not?--Read his destinies
In the full brow o'er-arching kingly eyes,
In the strong hands, grasping both rein and sword,
In the close mouth, so sternly beautiful:--
Surely, a man who his own spirit can rule;
Lord of himself, therefore his brethren's lord.
II.
'O Richard, O mon roi.' So minstrels sighed.
The many-centuried voice dies fast away
Amidst the turmoil of our modern day.
How know we but these green-wreathed legends hide
An ugly truth that never could abide
In this our living world's far purer air?--
Nevertheless, O statue, rest thou there,
Our Richard, of all chivalry the pride;
Or if not the true Richard, still a type
Of the old regal glory, fallen, o'er-ripe,
And giving place to better blossoming:
Stand--imaging the grand heroic days;
And let our little children come and gaze,
Whispering with innocent awe--'This was a King.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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It was grace
Time was never on our side,
Yet you didnt take my side,
I had you always, in my mind,
Never anywhere did i hide,
By your side my love i abide,
Believing never to divide,
Growing deeper and more inside,
We never had a fight,
Yet my heart you broke with might,
I loved you in the day,
And more in the night,
It was never an act of mercy,
Behold it was grace
However im happy you made a choice,
Loving me was your choice,
Yet leaving me was, also
Oh..you are happy i can see,
Your happiness mean a lot,
Move on I wont cry,
Leave me i wont die,
Betrayed but life goes on,
It was never an act of mercy,
Behold it was grace
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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