Hidden Sins
FOR every sin that comes before the light,
And leaves an outward blemish on the soul,
How many, darker, cower out of sight,
And burrow, blind and silent, like the mole.
And like the mole, too, with its busy feet
That dig and dig a never-ending cave,
Our hidden sins gnaw through the soul, and meet
And feast upon each other in its grave.
A buried sin is like a covered sore
That spreads and festers 'neath a painted face;
And no man's art can heal it evermore,
But only His—the Surgeon's—promised grace.
Who hides a sin is like the hunter who
Once warmed a frozen adder with his breath,
And when he placed it near his heart it flew
With poisoned fangs and stung that heart to death.
A sculptor once a granite statue made,
One-sided only, just to fit its place:
The unseen side was monstrous; so men shade
Their evil acts behind a smiling face.
O blind! O foolish! thus our sins to hide,
And force our pleading hearts the gall to sip;
O cowards! who must eat the myrrh, that Pride
May smile like Virtue with a lying lip.
A sin admitted is nigh half atoned;
And while the fault is red and freshly done,
If we but dropp our eyes and think,—'tis owned,—
'Tis half forgiven, half the crown is won.
But if we heedless let it reek and rot,
Then pile a mountain on its grave, and turn,
With smiles to all the world,—that tainted spot
Beneath the mound will never cease to burn.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Related quotes
Sonnet: Eternal Light
As long as there was some light, I could see;
And when the lights went out, I became blind,
Like a mole; the window-pane did I find!
The light came through, I regained acuity.
The blind can’t see even in broad daylight,
But they discern what men with eyes cannot!
The latter struggle more than what blind ought!
Men cannot see at night without moonlight.
In light or darkness, who helps man to see?
’Tis Maker-God, the true light of the world;
Man’s inward eye can see his destiny;
A soul in sin, to divine light is cold.
God is Light in light and in darkness;
No man is blind, his soul in God’s harness!
poem by John Celes
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Half The World
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Half the world hates
What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway
Half the world lives
Half the world makes
Half the world gives
While the other half takes
Half the world is
Half the world was
Half the world thinks
While the other half does
Half the world talks
With half a mind on what they say
Half the world walks
With half a mind to run away
Half the world lies
Half the world learns
Half the world flies
As half the world turns
Half the world cries
Half the world laughs
Half the world tries
To be the other half
Half of us divided like a torn-up photograph half of us are
Trying to reach the other half
Half the world cares
While half the world is wasting the day
Half the world shares
While half the world is stealing away
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half The World
Half the world lives,
Half the world makes,
Half the world gives
While the other half takes.
Half the world hates,
Half the world runs away,
Half the world's late,
Half the world praises the day.
Half the world is,
Half the world was,
Half the world thinks,
Half the world does.
Half the world lies,
Half the world burns,
Half the world cries
While the other half turns.
Half the world cares,
Half the world weeps,
Half the world shares,
Half the world keeps.
Half the world sings,
Half the world laughs,
Half the world brings,
Half the world tries to be the other half.
End.
The Mole From The Ministry
If you think theres something wrong
Holes appearing on your lawn
Dont you blame the man next door
Its not him
Flowers walk from place to place
Dark spot moves around your face
Objects vanish without trace
Its not you
Im the mole from the ministry
And youll all bow down to me
Im the mole in your potting shed
Im the bad thoughts inside your head
And you wont catch me
(fish and visitors smell after three days)
If you thinks theres something strange
Garden starts to rearrange
From perfect lawn to mountain range
Its not you
Im the mole from the ministry
Working underground
And youll all bow down to me
Moving facts and figures all around
Im the mole in your potting shed
Undermine your world
Im the bad thoughts inside your head
And you shouldnt think me, no!
And you shouldnt think me
Mole
Mole
Mole
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grace
My stock lies dead and no increase
Doth my dull husbandry improve:
O let thy graces without cease
Drop from above!
If still the sun should hide his face,
Thy house would but a dungeon prove,
Thy works, night's captives: O let grace
Drop from above!
The dew doth ev'ry morning fall;
And shall the dew outstrip thy dove?
The dew, for which grass cannot call,
Drop from above.
Death is still working like a mole,
And digs my grave at each remove:
Let grace work too, and on my soul
Drop from above.
Sin is still hammering my heart
Unto a hardness, void of love:
Let suppling grace, to cross his art,
Drop from above.
O come! for thou dost know the way.
Or if to me thou wilt not move,
Remove me, where I need not say,
'Drop from above.'
poem by George Herbert
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My half
Oh my half
i know your name bether than mine
i know your face bether than my face
i meet your eyes
in the shadow of dark
and they give me light
with you; magnetic love
if you are with me
my lungs breath
my heart beat
my wings fly
my feets high
oh you my half
you meanin more
than my love
you are my life
my lair my hope
that what
you are now
and then
you are my love
baby..
you are my half
let say my whole.
poem by Sallam Yassin
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The Veil
THE SISTER
Why, brother, why upon me stare?
Why do your brows so fiercely lower?
Your eyes like funeral torches glare,
Beneath their gloomy looks I cower.
Why do I see your sashes rent?
Why have you thrice your fingers laid
Upon the sheath? What dire intent
Makes you half draw the glittering blade?
FIRST BROTHER
Raised you today your veil, and face displayed!
SISTER
Home from the bath my path I took—
Brothers! Look not so terribly!—
And I was hidden from the look
Of every unbeliever's eye.
But as the Mosque I hurried by,
Close covered in my palanquin,
Stifled beneath the mid-day sky,
I loosed my veil to breathe between.
SECOND BROTHER
Did not a man then pass in Cafton green?
SISTER
Ah, yes, perhaps it may be so;
But he ne'er saw my face. My brothers,
Together you are whispering low—
What whisper you to one another?
You would not kill me? On your soul
He saw me not! My oath believe!
Have mercy! Your blind rage control!
Your poor young sister, O reprieve!
THIRD BROTHER
Blood-red I saw the sun sink down at eve.
SISTER
Mercy, O mercy! Brothers, cease,
Your daggers stab me to the heart!
Brothers! I cling about your knees!
O veil! White veil! The cause thou art!
Brothers! Your dying sister prop,
Tear not my bleeding hand away—
Darkness come o'er me—with me stop—
The veil of death shuts out the day.
FOURTH BROTHER
Unlifted by your hands this veil will stay.
poem by Victor Hugo
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Ego Trip
With A Guilt Ridden Frown Hidden Smiling Deep Down
Laughing At The Crowd Nauseating Sound As The Blind
Lead The Blind On A Crusade For Sight Corralled In The Corner
This Leash Is Too Tight I Can't Keep Up This Act
Please Expand The Role Choking On Dialogue
You've All Heard Before With A Guilt Ridden Frown Hidden Smiling
Deep Down Dying Inside Paint A Smile On This Clown
Tainted Face Jaded By Disgrace Regurgitate Your Faith
Fornicate Your Mind All That Hides Inside Roll Around
song performed by by Mushroomhead from Mushroomhead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gothic poetry Volume II; , Gothic romance shall be put away by death
Gothic romance shall be put away by death
I give my heart beneath my dead soul of heart
A loved dyeing my heart stops biting
Feelings of love has lost filled with sore of sorrow
Heat of the heart become so numb filled with sore once more
When feelings dies to death shall be a part into a divides hearts
One romance of love is a fatal of feeling appearing
Dies slowly as it lost of morning his loved
A pale face that frozen very much of cold
Beneath the fresh skin that once wasn’t frozen
A pealing skin once a beautiful gothic princesses
A written words “I shall dies with “my loved & my prince
Which I lost has dies cut with a love which
A slash with blood pouring a pound her bed
Where she laid a silent slept at the top of her dead bed
Yet she dies hours ago when her prince has dies long ago
A funeral for one a gothic lost her heart
Broth to two graves where the lover bury with
A peach of loved beneath the grave of death
poem by Putri Misnia Shary Bahri
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Archives
Fear of a mound,
tumbling down
on the half-buried, half dead
archives of desires, comes
like a stampede of hoops on my chest.
I lie alone in a desert of insanity.
From the sea of agony
one dropp of salted tear,
the title of a wasted life, brings
the blood stained truth.
I want to wash my eyes again.
To watch the autumn leaves falling
on impeccable stones
for forgiveness.
We were not the fruits.
A song of blind water
enters the earth
to kiss the roots,
foo giving liberation from
sun leaked night.
poem by Satish Verma
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Finding Graves No More
Silence was uneasy for a moment
for my soul was deranged.
Harrowed up to the greatest degree
I was racked with eternal torment.
In my heart, a silhouette of death I see;
blinding darkness carried me
to the grave which I have dug for me.
No candles, no flowers... just darkness,
mere darkness where shadows were
suppressed and quietude - a stranger;
for despite the stillness of silence
was the mourning of my soul...
that brought me to the brim of sorrow.
It was in my cold and silent grave that I wept
and shed the tears that drenched
my heart that once was brave.
Harrowed up with the memories of my sins
I dug and dug, so as to find
those sins that I buried long ago
and take them out - they burden my heart
with the burden that I could not carry anymore.
But lo, I could find them no more!
Again, I dug - I'm sure I buried them
somewhere in my heart.
And all I found were devoid parts;
for how it happened, I never knew.
And then for a sudden...
a melody played in my heart
that brought me tears of pain or joy
I never was certain, as the words
of the song was in my heart written:
'I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me.
Confused at the grace that so fully He proffers me.
I tremble to know that for me He was crucified,
that for me a sinner He suffered, He bled and died.
Oh it is wonderful that He should care for me,
enough to die for me.
Oh it is wonderful, wonderful to me.'
He took away those graves in my heart with His blood.
I thought of any way to repay Him-
of something to offer that I have.
Yet I have nothing but my heart...
and my broken heart I give -
hoping, still hoping that he would receive.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Mid-Forest Fear
SHE is standing at the gate,
Tall and sweet,
And although the hour be late
She will greet
Me, her lover,
Smiling over
Absent mind and tardy feet.
‘Rest,’ I’ll say to her, ‘and more rest,’
As she wraps her love around me,
And I’ll tell her of the forest,
Of the strange, fear-haunted forest
Where the fleshless beings found me.
For I trod a rock-strewn rude way
Thinking only of my lover,
When the moonlight on the woodway,
Made a weird-way of the woodway,
And a place where demons hover.
For the leaves that had been sleeping
On the sodden soil-bed lying,
Look a motion and ’gan creeping,
Like a thousand small feet creeping,
And there rose a distant sighing.
Why the trees did droop their tresses,
Weeping leaves for something under,
And what bode in dim recesses,
Feline-lurked in dim recesses,
Paled my cheeks and heart to ponder.
Had I feet I would have hurried,
But the moonlit forest chained me,
Soul and body grasped and worried,
With frost-fingers gripped and worried,
Till, half-stayed, my hurt heart pained me.…
‘Rest,’ I’ll say, ‘my Love, and more rest;
Things unseen have life and motion
And they haunt the moonlit forest—
Soul-affronting haunt the forest,
And men meet them on the ocean.’
She will look so grave and kind,
Saying ‘Rest—
Rest is here for heart and mind
On this breast—
Put aside all
Fancies idle,
I will shield you—Love is best.’
poem by Roderic Quinn
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The Cross Roads
There was an old man breaking stones
To mend the turnpike way,
He sat him down beside a brook
And out his bread and cheese he took,
For now it was mid-day.
He lent his back against a post,
His feet the brook ran by;
And there were water-cresses growing,
And pleasant was the water's flowing
For he was hot and dry.
A soldier with his knapsack on
Came travelling o'er the down,
The sun was strong and he was tired,
And of the old man he enquired
How far to Bristol town.
Half an hour's walk for a young man
By lanes and fields and stiles.
But you the foot-path do not know,
And if along the road you go
Why then 'tis three good miles.
The soldier took his knapsack off
For he was hot and dry;
And out his bread and cheese he took
And he sat down beside the brook
To dine in company.
Old friend! in faith, the soldier says
I envy you almost;
My shoulders have been sorely prest
And I should like to sit and rest,
My back against that post.
In such a sweltering day as this
A knapsack is the devil!
And if on t'other side I sat
It would not only spoil our chat
But make me seem uncivil.
The old man laugh'd and moved. I wish
It were a great-arm'd chair!
But this may help a man at need;
And yet it was a cursed deed
That ever brought it there.
There's a poor girl lies buried here
Beneath this very place.
The earth upon her corpse is prest
This stake is driven into her breast
And a stone is on her face.
The soldier had but just lent back
And now he half rose up.
There's sure no harm in dining here,
My friend? and yet to be sincere
I should not like to sup.
God rest her! she is still enough
Who sleeps beneath our feet!
The old man cried. No harm I trow
She ever did herself, tho' now
She lies where four roads meet.
I have past by about that hour
When men are not most brave,
It did not make my heart to fail,
And I have heard the nightingale
Sing sweetly on her grave.
I have past by about that hour
When Ghosts their freedom have,
But there was nothing here to fright,
And I have seen the glow-worm's light
Shine on the poor girl's grave.
There's one who like a Christian lies
Beneath the church-tree's shade;
I'd rather go a long mile round
Than pass at evening thro' the ground
Wherein that man is laid.
There's one that in the church-yard lies
For whom the bell did toll;
He lies in consecrated ground,
But for all the wealth in Bristol town
I would not be with his soul!
Did'st see a house below the hill
That the winds and the rains destroy?
'Twas then a farm where he did dwell,
And I remember it full well
When I was a growing boy.
And she was a poor parish girl
That came up from the west,
From service hard she ran away
And at that house in evil day
Was taken in to rest.
The man he was a wicked man
And an evil life he led;
Rage made his cheek grow deadly white
And his grey eyes were large and light,
And in anger they grew red.
The man was bad, the mother worse,
Bad fruit of a bad stem,
'Twould make your hair to stand-on-end
If I should tell to you my friend
The things that were told of them!
Did'st see an out-house standing by?
The walls alone remain;
It was a stable then, but now
Its mossy roof has fallen through
All rotted by the rain.
The poor girl she had serv'd with them
Some half-a-year, or more,
When she was found hung up one day
Stiff as a corpse and cold as clay
Behind that stable door!
It is a very lonesome place,
No hut or house is near;
Should one meet a murderer there alone
'Twere vain to scream, and the dying groan
Would never reach mortal ear.
And there were strange reports about
That the coroner never guest.
So he decreed that she should lie
Where four roads meet in infamy,
With a stake drove in her breast.
Upon a board they carried her
To the place where four roads met,
And I was one among the throng
That hither followed them along,
I shall never the sight forget!
They carried her upon a board
In the cloaths in which she died;
I saw the cap blow off her head,
Her face was of a dark dark red
Her eyes were starting wide:
I think they could not have been closed
So widely did they strain.
I never saw so dreadful a sight,
And it often made me wake at night,
For I saw her face again.
They laid her here where four roads meet.
Beneath this very place,
The earth upon her corpse was prest,
This post is driven into her breast,
And a stone is on her face.
poem by Robert Southey
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The Queen Mother's Faith: Love Lives On!
My love's not like a red, red rose because a rose can die...
My love lives on, past death it goes and grows not asking why...
It has no need to ask at all the reason it exists...
It simply answers my heart's call, content that it persists.
Think not my death ends love's embrace, for love's eternal, dear...
It overcomes what fools can't face and what all cowards fear.
Death's lost its sting and poison, too! What can it do to me?
In truth, I've seen the Saviour's view who conquered Calvary!
In Him, I hold no fear of death, for it can't crush my soul...
God grants to me eternal breath and blood it can't control!
That's why I'll love you when I'm gone and wait till you join me...
By faith, I've seen the Saviour's Throne, beheld His majesty!
Think not that I'm then lost in space and distanced from your heart,
For I'm still in a state of grace with God's Love to impart...
I'll be with you throughout all time! I'll love you without end!
I'll prove to you that love's sublime - more faithful than a friend!
Believe in me as in the Lord who gave His life to save...
Think not of me as one ignored still dormant in a grave...
I live in Christ, triumphant still! Forgiven all my sins...
I love you now... I always will... I simply serve God's Prince...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Face Of Love
Until tonight
My heart was just half full
Id never known the fruit which fed the soul
But now I see what may put to rest my longing
For I have seen, the face of love
The grace of god, the face of love
In silence I feared my heart
Would remain words unheard
Inside a seperate mess of skin
But now I know that the skin just veils the soul
For I have seen, the face of love
The grace of god, the face of love
So take my hand and knowing
With it I also give my heart
Wanting to never be seperate again
Let eternity begin
If you were flame
Id allow myself to be consumed completely
Were you wind Id wish you to pass through me
But now I know that the skin just veils the soul
For I have seen, the face of love
The grace of god, the face of love
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Creation Of God's Universe
Before the gifts of space and time, before eternity,
The living God, awesome, sublime, chose how such things would be.
From power such as can't be known by any mortal man,
Came forth foundations strong as stone in God's triumphant plan.
The Universe was like a seed that grows into a tree,
And on God's grace was pleased to feed, expanding gracefully...
It prospered in the dark expanse, the void from whence it came,
As if arising from a trance, its brand new life to claim.
The planets and the stars and moons and gaseous clouds transformed.
Beyond the stars came soulful tunes and so God's heart was warmed.
Yet life awaited in the wings, as if the centrepiece,
Thus angels were God's underlings, with lives that never cease.
When planet Earth was realised, from thoughts God chose to share,
New life was made and crystalised, with wonders everywhere!
The lands and seas and skies above were blessed by God's embrace
And as God gazed from up above, He stared upon His face...
The ocean like a mirror showed the smile that He portrayed,
Amid the face of light that glowed with pride at all He'd made.
Then God made symbols of that smile when Adam first met Eve,
Yet chose to leave them for a while, their freewill to receive.
From that day on, sin entered in, but God shared prophecy!
A great redeemer would yet win... Christ did at Calvary!
The Big Bang was the hammerblow, the first nail to force down,
Which forced His holy blood to flow, more so than just His crown.
Yet God had promised to His Son, He'd raise Him from the dead!
And so, when death was truly done, God healed the blood He shed.
If God can do so much for Man, forgiving all our sins,
It's obvious He's got a plan, yet here all life begins...
What use is it to live and die as lost souls yet unsaved?
Reflect on this and ask God why in Christ our sins are waived.
The Universe, for all it's worth, can't praise God like we do!
That's why Lord Jesus came to Earth... To die for me and you...
Denis Martindale, copyright February 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Soldier's Grave
THERE'S a white stone placed upon yonder tomb,
Beneath is a soldier lying -
The death-wound came, amid sword and plume,
When banner and ball were flying.
Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast,
By wet wild flowers surrounded;
The church shadow falls o'er the place of his rest,
Where the steps of his childhood bounded.
There were tears, that fell from manly eyes,
There was woman's gentle weeping,
And the wailing of age and infant cries,
O'er the grave, where he lies sleeping.
He had left his home in his spirit's pride,
With his father's sword and blessing;
He stood with the valiant, side by side,
His country's wrongs redressing.
He came again, in the light of his fame,
When the red campaign was over;
One heart, that, in secret, had kept his name,
Was claimed by the soldier lover.
But the cloud of strife came upon the sky;-
He left his sweet home for battle;
Left his young child's lisp for the loud war-cry,
And the cannon's long death-rattle.
He came again - but an altered man:
The path of the grave was before him,
And the smile, that he wore, was cold and wan,
For the shadow of death hung o'er him.
He spoke of victory - spoke of cheer:-
These are the words, that are vainly spoken
To the childless mother, or orphan's ear,
Or the widow, whose heart is broken.
A helmet and sword are engraved on the stone,
Half hidden by yonder willow;
There he sleeps, whose death in battle was won,
But he died on his own home pillow.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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He Stalks Slim Beauty after Lord Byron She Walks in Beauty
He stalks slim beauty's silent flight
through sunless streets, 'neath sullen skies;
stands gall, all's worst below wrong, spite,
defeat, cheat aspect, shady eyes.
This yellow liver would end her light
rich heaven to gaudy fay denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
impairing graceful loveliness.
Itch raves to touch each raven tress,
hard hollow follows fairest face;
his thoughts touch base with base duress
impure, now fear unequal race.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
once soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
where smile once won, now life's tints flow,
destroying days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love was innocent!
(12 October 2011)
She walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Escape.
Let me escape,
From my own machinations,
From my own bitter creations,
I feel like I am in an ice cage,
There's half water and half ice,
I am half frozen and half shaky,
I am half alive and half dead,
I feel like breaking through this cage,
My soul wants to runaway,
Breaking these walls,
Out of my isolation,
Out of my despair,
In this revolution,
Out of this confusion,
And escape,
Out of this hollowness,
Out of this pain, half endured and half erupting,
With this volcanic heart, aching hard,
Out of myself,
Out of this lava I breathe...
Out of this story, untold, unread,
And escape, just escape...
poem by Ayesha Riaz
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The Pressed Gentian
The time of gifts has come again,
And, on my northern window-pane,
Outlined against the day's brief light,
A Christmas token hangs in sight.
The wayside travellers, as they pass,
Mark the gray disk of clouded glass;
And the dull blankness seems, perchance,
Folly to their wise ignorance.
They cannot from their outlook see
The perfect grace it hath for me;
For there the flower, whose fringes through
The frosty breath of autumn blew,
Turns from without its face of bloom
To the warm tropic of my room,
As fair as when beside its brook
The hue of bending skies it took.
So from the trodden ways of earth,
Seem some sweet souls who veil their worth,
And offer to the careless glance
The clouding gray of circumstance.
They blossom best where hearth-fires burn,
To loving eyes alone they turn
The flowers of inward grace, that hide
Their beauty from the world outside.
But deeper meanings come to me,
My half-immortal flower, from thee!
Man judges from a partial view,
None ever yet his brother knew;
The Eternal Eye that sees the whole
May better read the darkened soul,
And find, to outward sense denied,
The flower upon its inmost side
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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