En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Ascension

Salute the last and everlasting day,
Joy at th' uprising of this Sun, and Son,
Ye whose true tears, or tribulation
Have purely wash'd, or burnt your drossy clay.
Behold, the Highest, parting hence away,
Lightens the dark clouds, which He treads upon ;
Nor doth He by ascending show alone,
But first He, and He first enters the way.
O strong Ram, which hast batter'd heaven for me !
Mild Lamb, which with Thy Blood hast mark'd the path !
Bright Torch, which shinest, that I the way may see !
O, with Thy own Blood quench Thy own just wrath ;
And if Thy Holy Spirit my Muse did raise,
Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise.

poem by John Donne
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Sonnet Cycle For Lady Magdalen

Her of your name, whose fair inheritance
Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo:
An active faith so highly did advance,
That she once knew, more than the Church did know,
The Resurrection; so much good there is
Deliver'd of her, that some Fathers be
Loth to believe one Woman could do this;
But think these Magdalens were two or three.
Increase their number, Lady, and their fame:
To their Devotion, add your Innocence;
Take so much of th'example, as of the name;
The latter half; and in some recompence
That they did harbour Christ himself, a Guest,
Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addresst.

1. La Corona

Deigne at my hands this crown of prayer and praise,
Weav'd in my low devout melancholie,
Thou which of good, hast, yea art treasury,
All changing unchang'd Antient of dayes;
But doe not, with vile crowne of fraile bayes,
Reward my muses white sincerity,
But what thy thorny crowne gain'd, that give mee,
The ends of Glory, which doth flower alwayes;
The ends crowne our workes, but thou crown'st our ends,
For, at our end begins our endlesse rest;
The first last end, now zealously possest,
With a strong sober thirst, my soule attends.
'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high,
Salvation to all that will is nigh.

2. Annunciation

Salvation to all that will is nigh;
That All, which alwayes is All every where,
Which cannot die, yet cannot chuse but die,
Loe, faithfull Virgin, yeelds himselfe to lye
In prison in thy wombe; and though he there
Can take no sinne, nor thou give, yet he'will weare
Taken from thence, flesh, which deaths force may trie.
Ere by the spheares time was created, thou
Wast in his minde, who is thy Sonne, and Brother;
Whom thou conceiv'st, conceiv'd; yea thou art now
Thy Makers maker, and thy Fathers mother;
Thou'hast light in darke; and shutst in little roome,
Immensity cloystered in thy deare wombe.

3. Nativitie

Immensity cloystered in thy deare wombe,
Now leaves his welbelov'd imprisonment,
There he hath made himselfe to his intent
Weake enough, now into our world to come;
But Oh, for thee, for him, hath th'Inne no roome?
Yet lay him in this stall, and from the Orient,
Starres, and wisemen will travell to prevent
Th'effect of Herods jealous generall doome.
Seest thou, my Soule, with thy faiths eyes, how he
Which fils all place, yet none hold him, doth lye?
Was not his pity towrds thee wondrous high,
That would have need to be pittied by thee?
Kisse him, and with him into Egypt goe,
With his kinde mother, who partakes thy woe.

4. Temple

With his kinde mother who partakes thy woe,
Joseph turne backe; see where your child doth sit,
Blowing, yea blowing out those sparks of wit,
Which himselfe on the Doctors did bestow;
The Word but lately could not speake, and loe
It sodenly speakes wonders, whence comes it,
That all which was, and all which should be writ,
A shallow seeming child, should deeply know?
His Godhead was not soule to his manhood,
Nor had time mellowed him to this ripenesse,
But as for one which hath a long taske, 'tis good,
With the Sunne to beginne his businesse,
He in his ages morning thus began
By miracles exceeding power of man.

5. Crucifying

By miracles exceeding power of man,
Hee faith in some, envie in some begat,
For, what weake spirits admire, ambitious, hate;
In both affections many to him ran,
But Oh! the worst are most, they will and can,
Alas, and do, unto the immaculate,
Whose creature Fate is, now prescribe a Fate,
Measuring selfe-lifes infinity to a span,
Nay to an inch. Loe, where condemned hee
Beares his owne crosse, with paine, yet by and by
When it beares him, he must beare more and die.
Now thou art lifted up, draw mee to thee,
And at thy death giving such liberall dole,
Moyst, with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule.

6. Resurrection

Moyst, with one drop of thy blood, my dry soule.
Shall (though she now be in extreme degree
Too stony hard, and yet to fleshly,) bee
Freed by that drop, from being starv'd, hard or foule,
And life, by this death abled, shall controule
Death, whom thy death slue; nor shall to mee
Feare of first or last death, bring miserie,
If in thy little booke my name thou enroule,
Flesh in that long sleep is not putrified,
But made that there, of which and for which 'twas;
Nor can by other meanes be glorified.
May then sinnes sleep, and deaths soone from me passe,
That wak't from both, I againe risen may
Salute the last, and everlasting day.

7. Ascention

Salute the last, and everlasting day,
Joy at the uprising of this Sunne, and Sonne,
Yee whose just teares, or tribulation
Have purely washt, or burnt your drossie clay;
Behold the Highest, parting hence away,
Lightens the darke clouds, which hee treads upon,
Nor doth hee by ascending, show alone,
But first hee, and hee first enters the way.
O strong Ramme, which hast batter'd heaven for mee,
Mild Lambe, which with thy blood, hast mark'd the path;
Bright Torch, which shin'st that I the way may see
Oh, with thy owne blood quench thy owne just wrath,
And if thy holy Spirit, my Muse did raise,
Deigne at my hands this crown of prayer and praise.

poem by John Donne
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La Corona

Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise,
Weaved in my lone devout melancholy,
Thou which of good hast, yea, art treasury,
All changing unchanged Ancient of days.
But do not with a vile crown of frail bays
Reward my Muse's white sincerity ;
But what Thy thorny crown gain'd, that give me,
A crown of glory, which doth flower always.
The ends crown our works, but Thou crown'st our ends,
For at our ends begins our endless rest.
The first last end, now zealously possess'd,
With a strong sober thirst my soul attends.
'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high ;
Salvation to all that will is nigh.

poem by John Donne
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Prayer Is the Soul's Sincere Desire

Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire,
Unuttered or expressed;
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.

Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath,
The Christian’s native air,
His watchword at the gates of death;
He enters heaven with prayer.

O Thou, by Whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way;
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod:
Lord, teach us how to pray!

Prayer is the contrite sinner’s voice,
Returning from his ways,
While angels in their songs rejoice
And cry, “Behold, he prays!”

The saints in prayer appear as one
In word, in deed, and mind,
While with the Father and the Son
Sweet fellowship they find.

No prayer is made by man alone
The Holy Spirit pleads,
And Jesus, on th’eternal throne,
For sinners intercedes.

O Thou by Whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way,
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod:
Lord, teach us how to pray.

poem by James Montgomery
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We Sing to Thee, Thou Son of God

We sing to Thee, Thou Son of God,
Fountain of life and grace;
We praise Thee, Son of Man, whose blood
Redeemed our fallen race.

Thee we acknowledge God and Lord,
The Lamb for sinners slain;
Who art by heaven and earth adored,
Worthy o'er both to reign.

To Thee all angels cry aloud,
Through heaven's extended coasts: -
Hail! holy, holy, holy Lord
Of glory and of hosts.

The cherubim and seraphim
Incessant sing to Thee;
The worlds and all the powers therein
Adore Thy majesty.

The prophets' goodly fellowship,
In radiant garments dressed,
Praise Thee, Thou Son of God, and reap
The fulness of Thy rest.

The apostles' glorious company
Thy righteous praise proclaim:
The martyred army glorify
Thine everlasting name.

Through all the world, Thy churches join
To call on Thee their Head,
Brightness of majesty Divine,
Who every power hast made.

Among their number, Lord, we love
To sing Thy precious blood.
Reign here, and in the worlds above,
Thou Holy Lamb of God!

poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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Hymn 1

A new song to the Lamb that was slain.

Rev. 5:6-12

Behold the glories of the Lamb
Amidst his Father's throne;
Prepare new honors for his name,
And songs before unknown.

Let elders worship at his feet,
The church adore around,
With vials full of odors sweet,
And harps of sweeter sound.

Those are the prayers of the saints,
And these the hymns they raise,
Jesus is kind to our Complaints,
He loves to hear our praise.

[Eternal Father, who shall look
Into thy secret will?
Who but the Son shall take that book,
And open every sea]?

He shall fulfil thy great decrees,
The Son deserves it well:
Lo! in his hand the sovereign keys
Of heav'n, and death, and hell!]

Now to the Lamb that once was slain
Be endless blessings paid;
Salvation, glory, joy, remain
For ever on thy head.

Thou hast redeemed our souls with blood,
Hast set the pris'ners free;
Hast made us kings and priests to God,
And we shall reign with thee.

The worlds of nature and of grace
Are put beneath thy power;
Then shorten these delaying days,
And bring the promised hour.

poem by Isaac Watts
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Sweet empty sky of June without a stain,

O Lord, the hope of Israel, all they that forsake
Thee shall be ashamed ; and they that depart from
Thee, shall be written in the earth, because they have
forsaken the Lord, the fountain of living waters.
Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed ; save me,
and I shall be saved, for Thou art my health, and my
great deliverer.
I said in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to
the gates of the grave ; I have deprived myself of the
residue of my years.
I said, I shall not see the Lord, even the Lord in the
land of the living : I shall behold man no more with
the inhabitants of the world.
O Lord ! by Thee doth man live, and from Thee is
the life of my spirit : therefore wilt Thou recover me,
and make me to live.
Thou hast in love to my soul delivered it from the
pit of corruption ; for Thou hast cast all my sins
behind Thy back.
For Thy name's sake hast Thou put off thine anger ;
for Thy praise hast Thou refrained from me, that I
should not be cut off.
For the grave cannot praise Thee, death cannot
celebrate Thee : they that go down into the pit, cannot
hope for Thy truth.
The living, the living, he shall praise Thee, as I do
this day : the father to the children shall make known
Thy truth.
O Lord ! Thou hast been merciful, Thou hast
brought back my life from corruption : Thou hast
redeemed me from my sin.
They that follow after lying vanities, forsake their
own mercy.
Therefore shall Thy songs be with me, and my
prayer unto the God of my life.
I will go unto the altar of my God, unto God, the
joy of my youth ; and in Thy fear will I worship
towards Thy holy temple.
I will sacrifice unto Thee with the voice of thanks-
giving ; I will pay that which I have vowed ; sal-
vation is of the Lord.

poem by Henry Vaughan
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Israel O Israe

Israel O Israel
God came for you in flesh and blood
Left Christ with the key to hell
To Heaven too, yet you can’t tell
Israel O Israel.
Woman travails with sin as a child
Bishops cry
Angels sigh
Men die
And you labour in birth
Alas a child without breath
Israel O Israel
Suffer not your child to wrath.

Woman walks around naked
Still she is blackened, darkened
In sight
Cavalry is full of blood
Blood O blood
Don’t go don’t dry
Wash o Israel, wash
For in sin you lie
Wash before the blood says bye.

Woman travails with sin
Widowed and tears of darkness
Woman blinks in blindness.
Bishops cry
Saints cry
Jesus cries
For woman with child-sin
In wails aloud.
Israel o Israel
Bishops cry.

You have grown talons
Become a wolf,
Wondering on paths to pits of hell
You’ve become a boat ready to set sail
On lakes of fire.
Israel o woman
Put to birth, let go of the child
Come away from death’s lair
Thou art fair
Come hither from the forsaken valley
Come to life at cavalry.
Israel O Israel!
Wash o widow, wash!
Travail no more
For you’re pregnant with sin
Come away from the unseen
O fair woman
God loves you, he cares for you
Preachers cry
Pastors cry
And you o Israel cries
Tears pour as tall
Long like ancient of days
With spots, a suspension-a sol
Live o woman live!
Alive in God’s bosom.

Israel o Israel
Now you smile
Pastors smile
Angels rejoice
Bishops smile
Jesus smiles for your new voice
O fair woman.
In Christ there’s more
Take his palm come ashore
To a holy hall
A new Heaven and earth
A life anew, everlasting with a girth
Of eternity
Thou art fair for the husband man
To live in charity
In waters of gold and prosperity
After the new birth
Praise, extol the LORD with your mouth
Sing psalms
You are unto HIM a wife
Israel o woman to you shall be the tree of life.
And a voice spoke:
“BEHOLD, THE TABERNACLE OF GOD IS WITH MEN
AND HE WILL DWELL WITH THEM
AND THEY SHALL BE HIS PEOPLE
AND GOD HIMSELF SHALL BE WITH THEM
AND BE THEIR GOD.”
Israel o lamb’s wife.

poem by Chanda Mwenechanya
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Sonnet LIV: Yet Read at Last

Yet read at last the story of my woe,
The dreary abstracts of my endless cares,
With my life's sorrow interlined so,
Smok'd with my sighs and blotted with my tears,
The sad memorials of my miseries,
Penn'd in the grief of mine afflicted ghost,
My life's complaint in doleful elegies,
With so pure love as Time could never boast.
Receive the incense which I offer here,
By my strong faith ascending to thy fame,
My zeal, my hope, my vows, my praise, my prayer,
My soul's oblation to thy sacred name,
Which name my Muse to highest heav'ns shall raise
By chaste desire, true love, and virtuous praise.

poem by Michael Drayton
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While History's Muse

While History's Muse the memorial was keeping
Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves,
Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping,
For hers was the story that blotted the leaves.
But oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright,
When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame,
She saw History write,
With a pencil of light
That illumed the whole volume, her Wellington's name.

"Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
The grandest, the purest, even thou hast yet known;
Though proud was thy task, other nations unchaining,
Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own.
At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast stood,
Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame,
And, bright o'er the flood
Of her tears, and her blood,
Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's name."

poem by Thomas Moore
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Eucharist

the last and perfect celebration of mankind
center in the breaking of bread; bless and thank
by Christ in the eve of his death

it is the ultimate and the final vow of self giving
of what the wisdom of salvation mean to man,
the gift of servitude is just a beginning to the
Calvary of life

the death that He freely accepted from the
Father's hand, a sacrifice of what meant to
share what you have in life, a will being of every
things of He who is bound to give of what all that
has given

a mighty of self-giving, a sacrificial lamb comes to
reveal thy heaven's home, a receptacle of all sin
whose blood will hold on the angry God, pacify by
His own blood and nail in the most brutal death in
human race

what wonder that He gives, when life flows in the
wounded chest, flows as it goes in the soil where
it rest, even the heaven's dark clouds witness the
lamb that give, wondered by million of angels
in the paradise it cease

the cross comes to gives us the true God, whose
father sudden the only begotten Son of God, it was
the moment that last through out eternity

Christ come in witness to the Father's love, a
love that beyond death, He lives with him for thy
Father everlasting love transcends beyond death,
through his death

as the Eucharist passion our hearts, the unity of the
Holy Spirit guide us to thy everlasting soul, it is by
taking Christ in the Eucharist He lives in us, leave
nothing to believe of what is taken, but live what is to
believe that Christ gives the life that afraid no death
and leads us to the Father in heaven

let our soul be lifted high to the most heavenly Father
and brings us to life Everlasting

poem by Antonio Liao
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What Is Prayer?

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
Unuttered or expressed;
The motion of a hidden fire,
That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear;
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach
The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air;
His watchword at the gates of death -
He enters heaven with prayer.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,
Returning from his ways;
While angels in their songs rejoice
And cry, 'Behold, he prays!'

The saints in prayer appear as one,
In word, in deed, and mind;
While with the Father and the Son,
Sweet fellowship they find.

No prayer is made by man alone
The Holy Spirit pleads;
And Jesus, on th' eternal throne
For sinners intercedes.

O Thou! by Whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way;
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod:
Lord, teach us how to pray.

As fail the waters from the deep,
As summer brooks run dry,
Man lieth down in dreamless sleep,
His life is vanity.

Man lieth down, no more to wake,
Till yonder arching sphere
Shall with a roll of thunder break,
And nature disappear.

Oh! hide me till Thy wrath be past,
Thou, who canst slay or save!
Hide me where hope may anchor fast,
In my Redeemer's grave!

poem by James Montgomery
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Psalm 40

v.5-10
L. M.
Christ our sacrifice.

The wonders, Lord, thy love has wrought,
Exceed our praise, surmount our thought;
Should I attempt the long detail,
My speech would faint, my numbers fail,

No blood of beasts on altars spilt
Can cleanse the souls of men from guilt;
But thou hast set before our eyes
An all-sufficient sacrifice.

Lo! thine eternal Son appears,
To thy designs he bows his ears,
Assumes a body well prepared,
And well performs a work so hard.

"Behold, I come," the Savior cries,
With love and duty in his eyes,
"I come to bear the heavy load
Of sins, and do thy will, my God.

"'Tis written in thy great decree,
'Tis in thy book foretold of me,
I must fulfil the Savior's part;
And lo! thy law is in my heart!

"I'll magnify thy holy law,
And rebels to obedience draw,
When on my cross I'm lifted high,
Or to my crown above the sky.

"The Spirit shall descend and show
What thou hast done, and what I do
The wond'ring world shall learn thy grace,
Thy wisdom, and thy righteousness."

poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 56

Deliverance from oppression and falsehood.

O Thou whose justice reigns on high,
And makes th' oppressor cease,
Behold how envious sinners try
To vex and break my peace.

The sons of violence and lies
Join to devour me, Lord;
But as my hourly dangers rise,
My refuge is thy word.

In God most holy, just, and true,
I have reposed my trust;
Nor will I fear what flesh can do,
The offspring of the dust.

They wrest my words to mischief still,
Charge me with unknown faults;
Mischief doth all their counsels fill,
And malice all their thoughts.

Shall they escape without thy frown?
Must their devices stand?
O cast the haughty sinner down,
And let him know thy hand.

PAUSE.

God counts the sorrows of his saints,
Their groans affect his ears;
Thou hast a book for my complaints,
A bottle for my tears.

When to thy throne I raise my cry,
The wicked fear and flee;
So swift is prayer to reach the sky,
So near is God to me.

In thee, most holy, just, and true,
I have reposed my trust;
Nor will I fear what man can do,
The offspring of the dust.

Thy solemn vows are on me, Lord,
Thou shalt receive my praise;
I'll sing, "How faithful is thy word,
How righteous all thy ways!"

Thou hast secured my soul from death,
O set thy pris'ner free!
That heart and hand, and life and breath,
May be employ'd for thee.

poem by Isaac Watts
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Childless

The Son thou sentest forth is now a Thought-
A Dream. To all but thee he is as nought
As if he had gone back into the same
Bosom that bare him. Oh, thou grey pale Dame,
With eyes so wan and wide, what! knowest thou where
Thy Dream is such a thing as doth up-bear
The earth out of its wormy place? I' the air
Dost see the very fashion of the stone
That hath his face for clay? Deep, deep, hast found
The texture of that single weight of ground
Which to each mole and mark that thou hast known
Is special burden? Nay, her face is mild
And sweet. In Heaven the evening star is fair,
And there the mother looketh for her child.

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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He Alone Is Worthy

Sing along with the angels,
Adorned in white,
Kneel before Him
In honor of His throne
Sing along.

Thank Him for His mercy
For His council
Thank Him for His Glory
Thank Him.

Holy holy holy
Is His name
King forever
King of heaven and earth
Holy holy is He.

Mighty is His name
His kingdom everlasting
His love all enduring
Mighty is He.

Clap your hands
Stamp your feet
Raise your voices
And praise Him
For He alone is worthy
He alone is holy
Praise Him.

poem by Buxton Shippy
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Blood on your hands sister

You said you loved him told him you cared
Promised him forever together
Instead you broke his heart into countless pieces
You drew tears of blood from the Prince of hearts
Hurt his pride with your insolent words
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands

I saw the pain in his eyes
I felt the bitter tears that he cried
Kicked a man when he was down
You left him a broken man
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands

From a loving giving sensitive Prince amongst men
You took your pleasure and stifled his laughter
You took your fill and threw him upon the scrapheap
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands

But his precious tears are wasted
Wasted on a dry barren heart like yours
For his heart is alive and flourishing
Whilst yours is dead and lifeless
He is the victor
Whilst you the loser

You may wash your hands of him
But the stains will never fade
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands

poem by Lilac Wine
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Jesus Dedicated The Law Of Baptism

Jesus took bread blessed broke it
gave it to his disciples and said
'Take, eat; this is My body.'

Jesus took the cup gave thanks
gave it to his chosen disciples
saying 'Drink from it, all of you.

For this is My blood
of the new covenant,
which is shed for many
for the remission of sins. ' Matthew 26: 26-28.

Jesus becomes Christian Covenant

it was necessary
copies of utensils in heaven
should be purified

Christ entered not
into holy places
made with hands
dedicated true copies

Christ entered into heaven
to appear in the presence of God
not as the high priest enters

the most Holy of Holies
once every year with offering blood
animal blood for our sins

Christ freely made atonement
sacrifice his own suffering blood
for the atonement of our sins Hebrews 9: 23-26.

Christ entered not
by means of the blood
of goats and calves

Christ entered the Most
Holy Place once for all
by his own sacred blood

having obtained eternal redemption Hebrews 9: 12.

'How much more, then, will the blood
of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit
offered himself unblemished to God,

cleanse our consciences from acts
that lead to death, so that
we may serve the living God! ' Hebrews 9: 14.

a Christian Covenant blood dedicated
a Spiritual Israelite Law of Jesus Christ
a Spiritual Circumcision Baptism in Christ

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Saved

I was blinded by the devil,
Born already ruined,
Stone-cold dead
As I stepped out of the womb.
By his grace I have been touched,
By his word I have been healed,
By his hand Ive been delivered,
By his spirit Ive been sealed.
Ive been saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved,
Saved,
And Im so glad.
Yes, Im so glad,
Im so glad,
So glad,
I want to thank you, lord,
I just want to thank you, lord,
Thank you, lord.
By his truth I can be upright,
By his strength I do endure,
By his power Ive been lifted,
In his love I am secure.
He bought me with a price,
Freed me from the pit,
Full of emptiness and wrath
And the fire that burns in it.
Ive been saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved,
Saved,
And Im so glad.
Yes, Im so glad,
Im so glad,
So glad,
I want to thank you, lord,
I just want to thank you, lord,
Thank you, lord.
Nobody to rescue me,
Nobody would dare,
I was going down for the last time,
But by his mercy Ive been spared.
Not by works,
But by faith in him who called,
For so long Ive been hindered,
For so long Ive been stalled.
Ive been saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved,
Saved,
And Im so glad.
Yes, Im so glad, Im so glad,
So glad, I want to thank you, lord,
I just want to thank you, lord,
Thank you, lord.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hast Thou Forgotten Me?

HAST thou forgotten me? the days are dark—
Light ebbs from heaven, and songless soars the lark—
Vexed like my heart, loud moans the unquiet sea—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten me? O dead delight
Whose dreams and memories torture me to-night—
O love—my life! O sweet—so fair to see—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten? Lo, if one should say—
Noontide were night, or night were flaming day—
Grief blinds mine eyes, I know not which it be!
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten? Ah, if Death should come,
Close my sad eyes, and charm my song-bird dumb—
Tired of strange woes—my fate were hailed with glee—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten me? What joy have I?
A dim blown bird beneath an alien sky,—
O that on mighty pinions I could flee—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten? Yea, Love’s horoscope
Is blurred with tears and suffering beyond Hope—
Ah, like dead leaves forsaken of the tree,
Thou hast forgotten me.

poem by Philip Joseph Holdsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lift Every Voice and Sing

Lift ev'ry voice and sing,
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the list'ning skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on till victory is won.

Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chast'ning rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered.
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who hast by Thy might,
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand,
True to our God,
True to our native land.

poem by James Weldon Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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