Episcopal Harvest Home
To dinner table all do march
Through evergreen triumphal arch ;
On top the Union Jack it floats
On each side sheaves of wheat and oats.
Great pumpkins and big ears of corn
They do this rural arch adorn ;
We are reminded now 'tis fall,
And boys enjoy game of foot-ball.
With joy at night each one did gaze At the mighty bonfires blaze ;
The tree leaves shone like silver bright,
The lanterns, too, were pleasing sight.
poem by James McIntyre
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Related quotes
Evergreen Tree
I long to see the evergreen tree,
Green and covered with needles free,
Thinking of Christmas approaching fast,
I cut and dragged the tree home at last.
Displaying the tree means Christmastime's start,
A yearly tradition to gladden each heart.
The children think of Santa Claus in the north,
While words of joy and good will are bursting forth.
The evergreen tree is a sparkling sight,
Adorned with lights and ornaments so bright,
Topped by an angel with wings of gold,
Creating much joy among the young and old.
The decorated evergreen tree will display
A beautiful sight every night and day,
Until the festivities of the Holy Season will end,
The tree will be stripped of its finery again.
May those you love appreciate Christmas dearly
To share your faith and traditions freely.
Let us never fail to remember this holy day,
Why we adorn and display evergreen trees anyway.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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This House
In this house
walls vault
rise to high windows,
arch to sky and tree.
See the bright table,
gleaming plates!
Onions are steaming
in the fragrant air; Oh, hear
the happy clatter
of dinner
in this house.
poem by Steven Federle
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Arch
one longs
to be at the middle of
the arch
door,
arch hands falling
on the side of the
hips,
gaze maps out
the other leg of the
arch
door, and finds ultimately
the source
of restlessness
the air is the
suspect
why the room is
confused
it thinks that it is
a boat at sea and there is
a storm
that causes its
vertigo
the nauseous philosophy
of the lost
existentialist
embracing pain hoping to
find the window
a frame of reference
a space between
where the jump has to
be made
at last...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Corn and Catholics
"What! still those two infernal questions,
That with our meals our slumbers mix --
That spoil our tempers and digestions --
Eternal Corn and Catholics!
Gods! were there ever two such bores?
Nothing else talk'd of night or morn --
Nothing in doors, or out of doors,
But endless Catholics and Corn!
Never was such a brace of pests --
While Ministers, still worse than either,
Skill'd but in feathering their nests,
Plague us with both, and settle neither.
So addled in my cranium meet
Popery and Corn, that oft I doubt,
Whether this year, 'twas bonded Wheat
Or bonded Papists, they let out.
Here, landlords, here, polemics nail you,
Arm'd with all rubbish they can rake up;
Prices and Texts at once assail you --
From Daniel these, and those from Jacob.
And when you sleep, with head still torn
Between the two, their shapes you mix,
Till sometimes Catholics seem Corn --
Then Corn again seems Catholics.
Now, Dantzic wheat before you floats --
Now, Jesuits from California --
Now, Ceres, link'd with Titus Oats,
Comes dancing through the "Porta Cornea."
Oft, too, the Corn grows animate,
And a whole crop of heads appears,
Like Papists, bearding Church and State --
Themselves, together by the ears!
In short, these torments never cease;
And oft I wish myself transferr'd off
To some far, lonely land of peace,
Where Corn or Papists ne'er were heard of.
Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole,
For -- if my fate is to be chosen
'Twixt bores and icebergs -- on my soul,
I'd rather, of the two, be frozen!
poem by Thomas Moore
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The Rainbow
Triumphal arch, that fills the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.
Still seem, as to my childhood's sight,
A midway station given,
For happy spirits to alight,
Betwixt the earth and heaven.
poem by Thomas Campbell
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Rainbow
I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth.
Genesis ix. 13.
SOFT falls the mild, reviving shower
From April's changeful skies,
And rain-drops bend each trembling flower
They tinge with richer dyes.
Soon shall their genial influence call
A thousand buds to day,
Which, waiting but their balmy fall,
In hidden beauty lay.
E'en now full many a blossom's bell
With fragrance fills the shade;
And verdure clothes each grassy dell,
In brighter tints arrayed.
But mark! what arch of varied hue
From heaven to earth is bowed?
Haste, ere it vanish, haste to view
The Rainbow in the cloud.
How bright its glory! there behold
The emerald's verdant rays,
The topaz blends its hue of gold
With the deep ruby's blaze.
Yet not alone to charm thy sight
Was given the vision fair;?
Gaze on that arch of colored light,
And read God's mercy there.
It tells us that the mighty deep,
Fast by th' Eternal chained,
No more o'er earth's domains shall sweep,
Awful and unrestrained.
It tells that seasons, heat and cold,
Fixed by his sovereign will,
Shall, in their course, bid man behold
Seed-time and harvest still;
That still the flower shall deck the field,
When vernal zephyrs blow;
That still the vine its fruit will yield,
When autumn sun-beams glow.
Then, child of that fair earth! which yet
Smiles with each charm endowed,
Bless thou His name, whose mercy set
The Rainbow in the cloud!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Croquet by Moonlight
On a moonlight evening, in the month of May,
A number of young people were playing at croquet,
They mingled together, the bashful with the gay,
And had a pleasant time and chat, while playing at croquet.
CHORUS:
This play they call croquet, croquet,
This play they call croquet,
It is amusement for the young,
This play they call croquet.
On that pleasant evening, the moon shone clear and bright,
And every heart among that crowd was filed with great delight.
It was a merry party, for lady Dell was there
Her merry laugh above the rest was heard by all, so fair.
CHORUS: This play, etc.
She was the belle that evening, admired by great and small,
And all the boys liked to play with the girl and blue ball.
She was a splendid player, so lively and so gay,
For she was skilled in playing that pleasant game croquet.
CHORUS: This play, etc.
Two young men among them, that loved this pretty Dell;
Although I write about them, their names I will not tell.
They were fine young fellows, so bashful, and yet so gay;
They tried to beat the girl that with the blue ball play.
CHORUS: This play, etc.
Ah! with those handsome fellows, Dell thought she'd have some fun,
"The one of you that'll catch me, may see me safely home."
The play began in earnest, between those fine young men,
To catch the girl with the blue ball, was impossible for them.
CHORUS: This play, etc.
She went around the play-ground, so full of life and gay,
She left them at the farther arch, so she beat them at croquet.
It was late that evening, and as I went away,
I know not how they came out, in that pleasant game, croquet.
CHORUS: This play, etc.
So croquet by moonlight is pleasant, as you see,
For business cares were laid aside, in that little company.
So playing at croquet, croquet, so playing at croquet,
It is amusement for the young folks, this play of croquet.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Bringing Our Sheaves with Us
The time for toil is past, and night has come,--
The last and saddest of the harvest-eves;
Worn out with labor long and wearisome,
Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,
Each laden with his sheaves.
Last of the laborers thy feet I gain,
Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves
That I am burdened not so much with grain
As with a heaviness of heart and brain;--
Master, behold my sheaves!
Few, light, and worthless,--yet their trifling weight
Through all my frame a weary aching leaves;
For long I struggled with my hapless fate,
And staid and toiled till it was dark and late,--
Yet these are all my sheaves.
Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,--
Brambles and flowers, dry stalks, and withered leaves
Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet
I kneel down reverently, and repeat,
"Master, behold my sheaves!"
I know these blossoms, clustering heavily
With evening dew upon their folded leaves,
Can claim no value nor utility,--
Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be
The glory of my sheaves.
So do I gather strength and hope anew;
For well I know thy patient love perceives
Not what I did, but what I strove to do,--
And though the full, ripe ears be sadly few,
Thou wilt accept my sheaves.
poem by Elizabeth Chase Allen from The Atlantic Monthly, vol. 2
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Stone Birdbath!
A stone birdbath overflowing with snow,
Under an arch of ivy vine
Bright green leaves are long gone
A stone birdbath overflowing with snow!
A bemused bird hovering over–not know
It used to take its fill – devine
A stone birdbath overflowing with snow
Under an arch of ivy branches!
poem by Deva De Silva
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Duet
Milestone:
All my troubles disappear,
When the dinner-bell I hear,
Over woodland, dale, and fell,
Swinging slow with solemn swell,---
The dinner-bell! the dinner-bell!
Hippy:
What can bid my heart-ache fly?
What can bid my heart-ache die?
What can all the ills dispel,
In my morbid frame that dwell?
The dinner-bell! the dinner-bell!
Both:
Hark!---along the tangled ground,
Loudly floats the pleasing sound!
Sportive Fauns to Dryads tell,
'Tis the cheerful dinner-bell!
The dinner-bell! the dinner-bell!
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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Harvest Song
I am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown. All my oats are cradled.
But I am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them.
And I hunger.
I crack a grain between my teeth. I do not taste it.
I have been in the fields all day. My throat is dry.
I hunger.
My eyes are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a blind man who stares across the hills, seeking stack'd fields of other harvesters.
It would be good to see them . . crook'd, split, and iron-ring'd handles of the scythes. It would be good to see them, dust-caked and blind. I hunger.
(Dusk is a strange fear'd sheath their blades are dull'd in.)
My throat is dry. And should I call, a cracked grain like the oats...eoho--
I fear to call. What should they hear me, and offer me their grain, oats, or wheat, or corn? I have been in the fields all day. I fear I could not taste it. I fear knowledge of my hunger.
My ears are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a deaf man who strains to hear the calls of other harvesters whose throats are also dry.
It would be good to hear their songs . . reapers of the sweet-stalk'd cane, cutters of the corn...even though their throats cracked and the strangeness of their voices deafened me.
I hunger. My throat is dry. Now that the sun has set and I am chilled, I fear to call. (Eoho, my brothers!)
I am a reaper. (Eoho!) All my oats are cradled.
But I am too fatigued to bind them. And I hunger.
I crack a grain. It has no taste to it.
My throat is dry...
O my brothers, I beat my palms, still soft, against the stubble of my harvesting. (You beat your soft palms, too.) My pain is sweet. Sweeter than the oats or wheat or corn. It will not bring me knowledge of my hunger.
poem by Jean Toomer
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Evergreen Tree
Oh darling, will our love be like an evergreen tree
Stay ever green and young as the seasons go
Your kisses could make love grow like an evergreen tree
Bloom in the summers sun and the winters snow
On every branch will blossom, dreams for me and you
Our tree of love will stay ever green, if our hearts stay ever true
Oh darling, I love you so, dont you know that Ill be
True til the leaves turn blue on the evergreen tree
On every branch will blossom, dreams for me and you
Our tree of love will stay ever green, if our hearts stay ever true
Oh darling, I love you so, dont you know that Ill be
True til the leaves turn blue on the evergreen tree
On the evergreen tree, on the evergreen tree.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blaze Of Love
We are running out of time
Weve got one foot on the rock, and one foot over the line
This love, this loves not turning back
Well I dont know about you, but me Im following that
Late at night, watching you sleep, and I know inside, Im over the edge
Chorus:
Im goin down, down, down, in a blaze of love, in a blaze of love
Im goin down, down, down, in a blaze of love, in a blaze of love
Oh you, you can run away
You can shatter my world, scatter my dreams all over the place
But i, Ive grown to love these chains
You can tear em apart but I dont wanna escape
I close my eyes, picture your smile and I know inside, Im over the edge
Im goin down, down, down, in a blaze of love, in a blaze of love
Im goin down, down, down, in a blaze of love, blaze of love
Blaze of love
Blaze of love
(guitar solo)
Oh, Im over the edge...in a blaze of love
(down, down, down, blaze of love) blaze of love
(down, down, down) in a blaze of love, in a blaze of love
Im goin down, down, down, down, down, down
In a blaze of love (blaze of love)
Down, down, down, in a blaze of love...
song performed by by Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Taking On The Arch Angel, Dark Angel, The Exiled Angel(Orginal Now Viewable)
I say to the arch angel,
I say to dark angel,
I say to the exiled angel,
I falter not, you can try all you want.
Still I shall sing my silhouette.
Of that which makes me love, me care,
I will never fall into despair.
No matter the poison in the air.
Use the confused as weapons to
attack my unwillingness to surrender.
I defy you in every way.
Even when I worn out my stay.
I will not lash out, I will sit back and take it.
For my sins can be forgiven.
My prejudice can not.
So I will not say what could be said with no regret.
So I say arch angel, I say dark angel,
I say exiled angel I falter not, no matter
what you got hanging over my head,
my soul is not dead,
my ultimate pledge has not been broken.
So come on hit me from every direction.
Its only my life at risk.
No one else, shall be punished for my mistakes.
Yes they have caused great heart break.
But in the end its for the better.
I shall do this alone in the cold and dark.
Still my insides burn.
On fire till the day I die.
So i say to the arch angel,
i say to the dark angel,
i say to the exiled angel.
I falter not, never ask why,
and look to the sky.
For my purpose is unknown
till he decides it should be shown.
Blind faith, is something you cant touch or taste.
Its deep with in under the skin.
Locked within, waiting to be released like a genetic disease.
It doesn't try to please.
It has but only one need, to believe, in that which cant be seen.
So I say to the arch angel,
i say to the dark angel,
i say to the exiled angel,
i falter not, not matter the cost.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. Finale
'Nunc plaudite!' the Student cried,
When he had finished; 'now applaud,
As Roman actors used to say
At the conclusion of a play;?
And rose, and spread his hands abroad,
And smiling bowed from side to side,
As one who bears the palm away.
And generous was the applause and loud,
But less for him than for the sun,
That even as the tale was done
Burst from its canopy of cloud,
And lit the landscape with the blaze
Of afternoon on autumn days,
And filled the room with light, and made
The fire of logs a painted shade.
A sudden wind from out the west
Blew all its trumpets loud and shrill;
The windows rattled with the blast,
The oak-trees shouted as it passed,
And straight, as if by fear possessed,
The cloud encampment on the hill
Broke up, and fluttering flag and tent
Vanished into the firmament,
And down the valley fled amain
The rear of the retreating rain.
Only far up in the blue sky
A mass of clouds, like drifted snow
Suffused with a faint Alpine glow,
Was heaped together, vast and high,
On which a shattered rainbow hung,
Not rising like the ruined arch
Of some aerial aqueduct,
But like a roseate garland plucked
From an Olympian god, and flung
Aside in his triumphal march.
Like prisoners from their dungeon gloom,
Like birds escaping from a snare,
Like school-boys at the hour of play,
All left at once the pent-up room,
And rushed into the open air;
And no more tales were told that day.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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If you're at a Thanksgiving dinner, but you don't like the stuffing or the cranberry sauce or anything else, just pretend like you're eating it, but instead, put it all in your lap and form it into a big mushy ball. Then, later, when you're out back having cigars with the boys, let out a big fake cough and throw the ball to the ground. Then say, 'Boy, these are good cigars'
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prism of Winter
The sun begins to slowly rise
Into the soft pastel colors of morning
A beautiful sunrise starts a story of winter
Beginning with the sun spreading it's rays of light
The snow is starting to fall in the light of the sun
Falling as light as soft white feathers
Spreading through the bright glow from the sun
An enormous arch spreads through the sky with many colors
This colorful arch adds a beautiful scene to the sky
A rainbow called the Prism of Winter
poem by Sarah Bruun
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Back Alley Wanderings
It's them back alley wanderin's again-
And i got them sneak around blues
Your footsteps on gravel-crackle heavy
Cigarettes with DNA-foot prints from your shoes;
California boys and their raging Redwoods
Just workin' for: The Man-night and day
Coasting along-biding their criminal time in hours
Starlight shimmers upon your shadows at play;
Norhtern Cali leaves an indeliable mark
Just doin' what he says needs done
Always, most always, in pitch dark-
Packing, but not necessarily, a gun;
Would it totally blow ya away, man
If, i told ya-we know who you are and your aim?
Tell ya-back alley wanderin's ain't very smart...
Especially, now that we have the name of your game;
Got me a real bad case of M.S.-
And tell ya-the H.N. is spotlighted glaringly bright-
Wonder just what he'd tell ya to do?
When ya are finally arrested and questioned tomorrow night;
By: Theodora Onken
March 16,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
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Halloween Night
Spooky night Cooky night
Listen to the cool wind blow
Cats screaching at the Jack o' lanterns glow
Bats wait for when it gets late as the trick or treaters do
Amoungst their bussell the leaves begin to russell
Its candy they cant wait to get to
Clouds are flying high high in the sky
Rain begins to fall
Halloween is the spookiest night of all
Party time
I scooped out your eyes, lay them on my plate,
chewed on your flesh, it was creamy and sweet.
Slit your cheeks from side to side as I ate
and gouged out your nose while the music beat.
Black shadows loomed large and you laughed in fright
while I danced round the fire to your delight
you clapped and you chanted that evil night
but your faces looked pale in the bright moonlight.
Halloween is a scream, a laugh, a hoot
And pumpkins make delightful big lanterns
But the best of all if I tell the truth
is wonderful creamy thick pumpkin soup.
Then daddy danced too in his pointy hat
with his scary cloak and his belly fat.
poem by Ruth Walters
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