Hymn 5
Submission to afflictive providences.
Job 1:21.
Naked as from the earth we came,
And crept to life at first,
We to the earth return again,
And mingle with our dust.
The dear delights we here enjoy,
And fondly call our own,
Are but short favors borrowed now,
To be repaid anon.
'Tis God that lifts our comforts high,
Or sinks them in the grave;
He gives, and, blessed be his name!
He takes but what he gave.
Peace, all our angry passions, then;
Let each rebellious sigh
Be silent at his sovereign will,
And every murmur die.
If smiling mercy crown our lives,
Its praises shall be spread;
And we'll adore the justice too
That strikes our comforts dead.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Related quotes
Run To The ONE Who Comforts
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without delaying.
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without debating...
Which way you should go,
Or who to see to please.
The ONE will get your wishes met,
If you keep your faith to heed.
And with the ONE close you can bet,
You'll have no regrets!
So...
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without delaying.
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without debating...
Who it is you know,
To recommend and suggest...
What it is that you should do,
When the ONE who does it best...
To,
Comfort.
And take that weight off your chest.
And...
Comfort.
To put your mind at rest.
And...
Comfort.
To eliminate those tests...
Others want you to go through,
To keep your life in a wrecked mess.
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without delaying.
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without debating...
Which way you should go,
Or who to see to please.
The ONE will get your wishes met,
If you keep your faith to heed.
Run to the ONE who comforts.
You'll have no regrets!
So...
Run to the ONE who comforts.
Put your mind at rest.
And...
Run to the ONE who comforts.
You'll have no regrets!
So...
Run to the ONE who comforts.
Put your mind at rest.
Run to the ONE who comforts.
No 'other' can do this best.
So...
Run to the ONE who comforts.
And put your mind at rest.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Psalm 67
The nation's prosperity, and the church's increase.
Shine, mighty God, on Britain shine,
With beams of heav'nly grace;
Reveal thy power through all our coasts,
And show thy smiling face.
[Amidst our isle, exalted high,
Do thou our glory stand,
And, like a wall of guardian fire,
Surround the fav'rite land.]
When shall thy name, from shore to shore,
Sound all the earth abroad;
And distant nations know and love
Their Savior and their God?
Sing to the Lord, ye distant lands,
Sing loud with solemn voice;
While British tongues exalt his praise,
And British hearts rejoice.
He, the great Lord, the sovereign Judge,
That sits enthroned above,
Wisely commands the worlds he made
In justice and in love.
Earth shall obey her Maker's will,
And yield a full increase;
Our God will crown his chosen isle
With fruitfulness and peace.
God the Redeemer scatters round
His choicest favors here,
While the creation's utmost bound
Shall see, adore, and fear.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 30 part 2
v.6
L. M.
Health, sickness, and recovery.
Firm was my health, my day was bright,
And I presumed 'twould ne'er be night;
Fondly I said within my heart,
"Pleasure and peace shall ne'er depart."
But I forgot thine arm was strong
Which made my mountain stand so long:
Soon as thy face began to hide,
My health was gone, my comforts died.
I cried aloud to thee, my God,
"What canst thou profit by my blood?
Deep in the dust can I declare
Thy truth, or sing thy goodness there?
"Hear me, O God of grace," I said,
"And bring me from among the dead:"
Thy word rebuked the pains I felt,
Thy pard'ning love removed my guilt.
My groans, and tears, and forms of woe
Are turned to joy and praises now;
I throw my sackcloth on the ground,
And ease and gladness gird me round
My tongue, the glory of my frame,
Shall ne'er be silent of thy name;
Thy praise shall sound through earth and heav'n
For sickness healed and sins forgiv'n.
poem by Isaac Watts
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You Are Unto Dust
You are made from the dust of the earth,
And the Wailing-Wall will be there for you;
For you are unto dust and you shall return unto dust,
And this is just the journey of the spirit.
To the realm of the unknown and to the things we do for love,
And until death put us apart on this side of the planet;
For the flesh goes back to where it belongs to!
Yes, back to the earth.
Death is part of us and we need to learn from others,
For we have to be prepared as well;
For he flesh goes back to where it belongs to;
And out of the dust we were made.
The dust became flesh and today we are human beings,
And from the knowledge of the things to come;
But naked we came and naked we shall return.
Shed no tears on this love,
For death comes for all of us on this earth;
And we need to learn from the facts around us as well,
For it is better to be very righteous than to be buried with evil deeds.
Life is a long road full of sand and,
All that is acquired on this earth is vanity!
Yes, vanity upon vanity! !
For you and i are unto dust and,
Unto dust we shall return at the end of of all things.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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This Hymn Was Made By Sir H. Wotton, When He Was An Ambassador At Venice, In The Time of A Great Sickness There
Eternal Mover, whose diffused Glory,
To shew our groveling Reason what thou art,
Unfolds it self in Clouds of Natures story,
Where Man, thy proudest Creature, acts his part:
Whom yet (alas) I know not why, we call
The Worlds contracted sum, the little all.
For, what are we but lumps of walking clay?
Why should we swel? whence should our spirits rise
Are not bruit Beasts as strong, and Birds as gay,
Trees longer liv'd, and creeping things as wise?
Only our souls was left an inward light,
To feel our weakness, and confess thy might.
Thou then, our strength, Father of life and death,
To whom our thanks, our vows, our selves we owe,
From me thy tenant of this fading breath,
Accept those lines which from thy goodness flow:
And thou that wert thy Regal Prophets Muse,
Do not thy Praise in weaker strains refuse.
Let these poor Notes ascend unto thy throne,
Where Majesty doth sit with Mercy crown'd,
Where my Redeemer lives, in whom alone
The errours of my wandring life are drown'd:
Where all the Quire of heaven resound the same,
That only Thine, Thine is the saving Name.
Well then, my Soul, joy in the midst of Pain;
Thy Christ that conquer'd hell, shall from above
With greater triumph yet return again,
And conquer his own Justice with his Love;
Commanding Earth and Seas to render those
Unto his Bliss, for whom he paid his Woes.
Now have I done: now are my thoughts at peace,
And now my Joyes are stronger then my grief:
I feel those Comforts that shall never cease,
Future in Hope, but present in Belief.
Thy words are true, thy promises are just,
And thou wilt find thy dearly bought in Dust.
poem by Henry Wotton
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The Conclusion
EVEN such is Time, that takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wander'd all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days;
But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God shall raise me up, I trust.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Contemptibility
The leaders who love comforts,
The scholars who seek comforts
And the seers who live in comforts
Deserve contemptibility.
19.01.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Psalm 103 part 1
v.1-7
L. M.
Blessing God for his goodness to soul and body.
Bless, O my soul, the living God,
Call home thy thoughts that rove abroad;
Let all the powers within me join
In work and worship so divine.
Bless, O my soul, the God of grace;
His favors claim thy highest praise:
Why should the wonders he hath wrought
Be lost in silence and forgot?
'Tis he, my soul, that sent his Son
To die for crimes which thou hast done;
He owns the ransom, and forgives
The hourly follies of our lives.
The vices of the mind he heals,
And cures the pains that nature feels
Redeems the soul from hell, and saves
Our wasting life from threat'ning graves.
Our youth decayed, his power repairs;
His mercy crowns our growing years;
He satisfies our mouth with good,
And fills our hopes with heav'nly food.
He sees th' oppressor and th' oppressed,
And often gives the suff'rers rest;
But will his justice more display
In the last great rewarding day.
[His power he showed by Moses' hands,
And gave to Isr'el his commands;
But sent his truth and mercy down
To all the nations by his Son.
Let the whole earth his power confess,
Let the whole earth adore his grace;
The Gentile with the Jew shall join
In work and worship so divine.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 127
The blessing of God on the business and comforts of life.
If God succeed not, all the cost
And pains to build the house are lost;
If God the city will not keep,
The watchful guards as well may sleep.
What if you rise before the sun,
And work and toil when day is done;
Careful and sparing eat your bread,
To shun that poverty you dread;
'Tis all in vain, till God hath blessed;
He can make rich, yet give us rest:
Children and friends are blessings too,
If God our Sovereign make them so.
Happy the man to whom he sends
Obedient children, faithful friends:
How sweet our daily comforts prove
When they are seasoned with his love!
poem by Isaac Watts
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Borrowed
borrowed shirts, borrowed shoes,
borrowed books, borrowed thoughts,
borrowed bed, borrowed lover,
borrowed dreams, borrowed salt.
borrowed children, borrowed mothers,
borrowed study, borrowed lives.
borrowed God, borrowed heaven,
borrowed killers with borrowed knives.
borrowed flags, borrowed lies,
borrowed virtue, borrowed freedom.
borrowed bombs, borrowed bullets,
borrowed puppets, borrowed kingdoms.
borrowed soup bowls, borrowed numbers,
borrowed tents, borrowed bridge.
borrowed hope, borrowed survival,
borrowed till it's sacrilige!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Epitaph
Even such is time, which takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust,
Who in the dark and silent grave
When we have wandered all our ways
Shuts up the story of our days,
And from which earth, and grave, and dust
The Lord will raise me up, I trust.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Even Such Is Time
Even such is time, which takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust,
Who in the dark and silent grave
When we have wandered all our ways
Shuts up the story of our days,
And from which earth, and grave, and dust
The Lord will raise me up, I trust.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Sir Walter Raleigh (The night before his death)
Even such is time, which takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us nought but age and dust;
Which in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days!
And from which grave, and earth, and dust,
The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.'
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Metrical Feet
Trochee trips from long to short;
From long to long in solemn sort
Slow Spondee stalks, strong foot!, yet ill able
Ever to come up with Dactyl's trisyllable.
Iambics march from short to long.
With a leap and a bound the swift Anapests throng.
One syllable long, with one short at each side,
Amphibrachys hastes with a stately stride --
First and last being long, middle short, Amphimacer
Strikes his thundering hoofs like a proud high-bred Racer.
If Derwent be innocent, steady, and wise,
And delight in the things of earth, water, and skies;
Tender warmth at his heart, with these meters to show it,
WIth sound sense in his brains, may make Derwent a poet --
May crown him with fame, and must win him the love
Of his father on earth and his father above.
My dear, dear child!
Could you stand upon Skiddaw, you would not from its whole ridge
See a man who so loves you as your fond S.T. Colerige.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Far From Everybody
FAR FROM EVERYBODY
Far from everybody
Far from the world of my dreams
Alone in silence I sit
A breeze comforts-
Peace Quiet Distance
My mind is at ease-
How blessed I have been all these years
With a mind that could find times of peace -
My father my dear Father
Who always prayed and pleaded for ‘Peace of Mind'
And could not find it
I am the dream your life realized.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Health to Mark Twain
At his Birthday Feast
With memories old and wishes new
We crown our cups again,
And here's to you, and here's to you
With love that ne'er shall wane!
And may you keep, at sixty-seven,
The joy of earth, the hope of heaven,
And fame well-earned, and friendship true,
And peace that comforts every pain,
And faith that fights the battle through,
And all your heart's unbounded wealth,
And all your wit, and all your health,--
Yes, here's a hearty health to you,
And here's to you, and here's to you,
Long life to you, Mark Twain.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Wandering Justice
Wandering Justice
O! Dear, have I hit a miss?
With wandering justice
When society systems fail
And someone goes to jail
Without any chance of bail
Or ever setting out again on sea to sail
For something they did not do; it is a sad tale
When there is war instead of peace
And dignified people are looking for ass to kiss
Where is justice?
Countries are suffering in health and poverty
Whilst others are enjoying wealth and property
Where is justice?
O! Dear, have I hit a miss?
With wandering justice
When someone you love
Is taken away to the skies above
Where is the justice?
When you read endlessly to take exams
Another passes it with some fraudulent scam
Where is the justice?
When all your life you work so hard
Doesn’t it get you viciously mad?
When the jackpot hits another who is bad
Where is the justice?
When life takes away your child
Because you ignored health symptoms as mild
Where is the justice?
At work when your original innovations
Reward your boss with a standing ovation
Followed by a double or triple promotion
And all you get from the boss is a caution
Where is the justice?
When living a healthy life is nothing but a trick
As destiny picks on you for the sake of a kick
With illnesses for the unhealthy and the weak
All the same you are the one who ends up sick
Where is the justice?
O! Dear, have I hit a miss?
With wandering justice
Fair for all is what I call justice
Moments of rewarding bliss
When a man plants his seeds
Creating numerous mouths to feed
And he provides them with all their needs
I call it Justice!
When you work hard
Indulging in good not bad
And life rewards make you so glad
I call it Justice!
Yet justice often wanders away
Before you have your chance of say
When it wanders, the price is often high to pay
O! Dear, have I hit a miss?
With wandering justice
As it leaves behind a trail of flaws
That is not within the confinement of fair law!
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Olney Hymn 57: The New Convert
The new-born child of gospel grace,
Like some fair tree when summer's nigh,
Beneath Emmanuel's shining face
Lifts up his blooming branch on high.
No fears he feels, he sees no foes,
No conflict yet his faith employs,
Nor has he learnt to whom he owes
The strength and peace his soul enjoys.
But sin soon darts its cruel sting,
And comforts sinking day by day,
What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring,
Proves but a brook that glides away.
When Gideon arm'd his numerous host,
The Lord soon made his numbers less;
And said, 'Lest Israel vainly boast,
My arm procured me this success!'
Thus will He bring our spirits down,
And draw our ebbing comforts low,
That saved by grace, but not our own,
We may not claim the praise we owe.
poem by William Cowper
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Olney Hymn 57: The New Convert
The new-born child of gospel grace,
Like some fair tree when summer's nigh,
Beneath Emmanuel's shining face
Lifts up his blooming branch on high.
No fears he feels, he sees no foes,
No conflict yet his faith employs,
Nor has he learnt to whom he owes
The strength and peace his soul enjoys.
But sin soon darts its cruel sting,
And comforts sinking day by day,
What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring,
Proves but a brook that glides away.
When Gideon arm'd his numerous host,
The Lord soon made his numbers less;
And said, 'Lest Israel vainly boast,
My arm procured me this success!'
Thus will He bring our spirits down,
And draw our ebbing comforts low,
That saved by grace, but not our own,
We may not claim the praise we owe.
poem by William Cowper
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Sunday Morning - II
Why should she give her bounty to the dead?
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth,
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
Divinity must live within herself:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
All pleasures and all pains, remembering
The bough of summer and the winter branch.
These are the measures destined for her soul.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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