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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Crown Him With Many Crowns
Musical adaptation: michael w. smith
Crown him with many crowns,
The lamb upon the throne:
Hark! how the heavnly anthem drowns
All music but its own!
Awake, my soul, and sing
Of him who died for thee,
And hail him as thy matchless king
Thru all eternity.
Crown him with many crowns
Crown him with many crowns
Crown him the lord of heavn:
One with the father known.
One with the spirit thru him givn
From yonder glorious throne.
To thee be endless praise.
For thou hast died for me;
Be thou, o lord, thru endless days
Adored and magnified
Adored and magnified
Crown him with many crowns
His glories now we sing,
Who died and rose on high,
Who died eternal life to bring
And...lives that death may die.
Crown him with many crowns
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What You Want Wid Bess?
Bess
Oh... what you want wid bess?
Shes gettin ole now;
Take a fine young gal
For to satisfy crown.
Look at this chest
An look at these arms you got.
You know how it always been with me,
These five years I been yo woman,
You could kick me in the street,
Then when you wanted me back,
You could whistle, an there I was
Back again, lickin yo hand.
Theres plenty better lookin gal than bess.
Can you see, Im with porgy,
Now and forever
I am his woman, he would die without me.
Oh, crown, wont you let me go to my man, to my man.
He is a cripple an needs my love, all my love.
What you want wid bess? oh, let me go to my man. . .
Crown
What I wants wid other woman,
I gots a woman, yes,
An dat is you, yes, dat is you, yes,
I need you now an youre mine jus as long as I want you.
No cripple goin take my woman from me.
You got a man tonight an that is crown, yes, crown, yes
Crown.
Youre my woman, bess, Im tellin you, now Im your man.
(pressing her very close)
Bess
What you want with bess?
(boat whistles)
Lemme go, crown dat boat, its goin wiout me!
Crown
You aint goin nowhere!
Bess
(weakening)
Take yo hands off me, I say, yo hands, yo hands, yo hands.
(crown kisses her passionately)
Crown
I knows you ain change - wid you and me it always be the
Same. git in dat thicket.
(bess backs into woods; crown follows.)
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Satans Jewel Crown
(edgar l. eden)
Now if I were a queen and a ruler of nations,
With diamonds and jewels profound
Well, Id rather know that I had salvation
Than to know my reward
Would be satans jewel crown
Ive worm it so long but God for my
Soul has reached down
His love set me free
He made me his own, and helped me cast off
Satans jewel crown
Oh, the life that I live so sinful and needless,
Drinkin and runnin around
All the things that I do for the love of the devil
I know my reward
Will be satans jewel crown
Satans jewel crown
Ive worn it so long
But God for my soul has reached down
His love set me free
He made me his own, and helped me cast off
Satans jewel crown
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Satan's Jewel Crown
Now if I were a queen and a ruler of nations,
With diamonds and jewels profound
Well, I'd rather know that I had salvation
Than to know my reward
Would be Satan's jewel crown
I've worm it so long but God for my
Soul has reached down
His love set me free
He made me His own, and helped me cast off
Satan's jewel crown
Oh, the life that I live so sinful and needless,
Drinkin' and runnin' around
All the things that I do for the love of the devil
I know my reward
Will be Satan's jewel crown
Satan's jewel crown
I've worn it so long
But God for my soul has reached down
His love set me free
He made me His own, and helped me cast off
Satan's jewel crown
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eternal Crowns
Christ, King of Kings was born a babe to grow and die in our stead,
He was honored with a scarlet robe a crown of thorns upon his head.
Although Christ was mocked and forced to wear an ugly crown of pain,
The faithful who should have died, they're promised a crown of gain.
Paul says that runners in a race receive a crown that will not last,
But we will receive Eternal Crowns that at Jesus' feet will be cast.
Paul even refers to those he led to Christ as his joy and his crown,
And these are people just like you and me from any city or any town.
But one won't receive a victor's crown unless he obeys all the rules,
This makes some adjust their pace to win, but not the simple fools.
But the man who perseveres under trials by fools who create strife,
And to those who love Him, God above has promised the Crown of life.
Many like Paul, on that day shall receive a Crown of righteousness,
This to all who longed for Jesus' return with a special Seriousness.
And for all the pastors who faithfully pointed all to the coming day,
Friend, they will receive a crown of glory that will never fade away.
And the Tribulation Saints tested with unheard of hate and strife,
Being faithful to the point of death, will receive the crown of life.
Then all will see The Son of Man with a crown of gold upon his head,
With a sickle harvesting souls, leaving behind the spiritually dead.
(Copyright © 06/2003)
King Henry: My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
line from Henry VI, Act III, Scene 1, script by William Shakespeare (1590)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Sonnet: Mother Mary’s Crown
The crown on Mary’s head has disappeared:
Perhaps got stolen by some vandal fool!
The grotto’s glass lay broken and blood-smeared;
The shutter’s lock was broken by some tool!
I wondered why this thing had happened thus!
The robber eyed the ‘golden crown’ perhaps;
Would not the one who stole invite God’s curse?
The news has hit the headlines in bold caps!
Could not a miracle retrieve the crown?
Can any pow’r remove the Queen’s head-gear?
It makes a holy person to well frown;
Another crown will come from hearts too dear!
The Queen of Heaven needs no earthly crown!
God bestowed unmatched glory on His own!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-12-11
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crown of Gold, Crown of Thorn
In any quest for love, just like many others
A winner is proclaimed from all the contenders
The shining crown of gold, just one but who would wear
Decided by a judge, the heart or mind, either
and the winner is...
In this ever changing world, it's not easy to say
Who the real winner is till come the time and day
Was it the winner who lost or the loser who won
Or did the crown of gold became a crown of thorn
In this uncertain world, no one can ever say
Who'll really win or lose, only the time and day
poem by Pacific Hernandez
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Twist Me A Crown Of Wind-Flowers
Twist me a crown of wind-flowers;
That I may fly away
To hear the singers at their song,
And players at their play.
Put on your crown of wind-flowers:
But whither would you go?
Beyond the surging of the sea
And the storms that blow.
Alas! your crown of wind-flowers
Can never make you fly:
I twist them in a crown to-day,
And to-night they die.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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To Lord Thurlow
'I lay my branch of laurel down.
Then thus to form Apollo's crown.
Let every other bring his own.'~Lord Thurlow's lines to Mr. Rogers
'I lay my branch of laurel down.'
Thou 'lay thy branch of laurel down!'
Why, what thou'st stole is not enow;
And, were it lawfully thine own,
Does Rogers want it most, or thou?
Keep to thyself thy wither'd bough,
Or send it back to Doctor Donne:
Were justice done to both, I trow,
He'd have but little, and thou--none.
'Then thus to form Apollo's crown.'
A crown! why, twist it how you will,
Thy chaplet must be foolscap still.
When next you visit Delphi's town,
Inquire amongst your fellow-lodgers,
They'll tell you Phoebus gave his crown,
Some years before your birth, to Rogers.
'Let every other bring his own.'
When coals to Newcastle are carried,
And owls sent to Athens, as wonders,
From his spouse when the R egent's unmarried,
Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders;
When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel,
When Castlereagh's wife has an heir,
Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel,
And thou shalt have plenty to spare.
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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King Without A Crown
Welcome to the great republic
Guess I should show you round
Where once I was a king
And now I am a clown
The love that we once shared
Made a king of me
But now youre gone... but now youre gone
All I face is poverty
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned
But heaven dont boast - no heaven dont boast
The jewel - the pretty jewel I just pawned
Every cloud has a silver lining
Every dog has its day
Oh but I guess the sun stopped shining
On the day you went away
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Yes Im a king - king! king without a crown
Bathed in former glory
Deposed from my throne
How do I get to tell my story?
When all gets your answerphone...
But you aint home
With the love you gave
I felt like royalty
But now youre face to face - face to face
With one ex-member of the aristocracy
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Theres no need to feel down
Yeah just take a look around
Youll see a man whos just a man
Nothing more
A king without a crown
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In children’s glory
The root toils and takes pride in its crown.
The crown beams but gives no credit to the root.
Birds and animals all admire the crown
For the fruits and the shades they obtain.
They attach least importance to the root.
The root still sticks to the vanity of its pride
As parents take pride in children’s glory.
05.07.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Exchange For His Soul!
Long time one whisper'd in his ear--
'Give me my strong, pure soul; behold
'Tis mine to give what men hold dear--
The treasure of red gold.'
'I bribe thee not with crown and throne,
Pale spectres they of kingly pow'r!
I give thee gold--red gold alone
Can crown a king each hour!'
He frown'd, perchance he felt a throe,
Gold-hunger gnawing at his heart--
A passing pang--for, stern and low,
He bade the fiend depart!
Again there came the voice and said:
'Gold for that soul of thine were shame;
Thine be that thing for which have bled
Both Gods and men,--high Fame.
'And in long ages yet to sweep
Their gloom and glory on the day;
When mould'ring kings, forgot, shall sleep
In ashes, dust, and clay:
'Thy name shall, starlike, pulse and burn
On heights most Godlike; and divine,
Immortal bays thy funereal urn
Shall lastingly entwine!'
He sigh'd; perchance he felt the thrill,
The answ'ring pulse to Fame's high call;
But answer made his steadfast will--
'I will not be thy thrall!'
Again there came the voice and cried:
'Dost thou my kingly bribes disdain?
Yet shalt thou barter soul and pride
For things ignobly vain!
'Two shameless eyes--two false, sweet eyes--
A sinful brow of sinless white,
Shall hurl, thy soul from high clear skies
To ME, and Stygian night.
'Beneath the spell of gilded hair,
Thy palms, like sickly weeds, shall die!
God-strong Resolves, a sensuous air
Shall mock and crucify.
'Go to! my thrall at last thou art!
Ere bud to rounded blossom change;
Thou wilt for wanton lips and heart
Most false, thy soul exchange!'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mount Kunchenjunga
Till its bright, till ones' sight,
It’s all white, it’s all white.
Silver flakes have covered,
Or billion tonnes milk is poured;
From here, clouds look down,
It is my Countrys' Crown.
Cloth of snow is spread
and Snowy is the run,
Rocks & plants have to wait,
Months, to see the sun;
Snowy mountain wearing
snowy gown,
It is my countrys' crown.
The horizon turns golden
In the morning Sun rays,
Springs fall shouting
Give me the way;
A place, like Angels' town,
It is my countrys' crown.
The God’s unique architect,
Beyond ones' belief;
Creatures stepping here,
Surely get relief;
A Wonder place, nature has grown;
It is my countrys' crown.
(c) S.D. Tiwari
email [email protected]
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crown
The crown deserves a jewel of pure delight,
Enacting royalty of the highest order.
Fully taught the monarch presides over his palace
And his land of glory, the crown’s holy place.
A holy child has been born. Due to holier work,
The strange men of chivalry travel and flee
To bid them good fortune. Children work as well.
The crown is for the prince to come, the overwhelming,
His highness is a spectacle of the highest delight.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A slave begins by demanding justice and ends by wanting to wear a crown.
quote by Albert Camus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chakra #7
The crown chakra, color purple
1000 Lotus Flower petals unfold.
Meditating in chakra 7, one will
Gain
Awarness
Beauty of the inner world
Cosmic Consciousness
Spititual
Understanding
God-knowing
y ou have heard the expression
I know, what I know.
The crown chakra is open...
poem by Heather Burns
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The Coronet
When for the Thorns with which I long, too long,
With many a piercing wound,
My Saviours head have crown'd,
I seek with Garlands to redress that Wrong:
Through every Garden, every Mead,
I gather flow'rs (my fruits are only flow'rs)
Dismantling all the fragrant Towers
That once adorn'd my Shepherdesses head.
And now when I have summ'd up all my store,
Thinking (so I my self deceive)
So rich a Chaplet thence to weave
As never yet the king of Glory wore:
Alas I find the Serpent old
That, twining in his speckled breast,
About the flow'rs disguis'd does fold,
With wreaths of Fame and Interest.
Ah, foolish Man, that would'st debase with them,
And mortal Glory, Heavens Diadem!
But thou who only could'st the Serpent tame,
Either his slipp'ry knots at once untie,
And disintangle all his winding Snare:
Or shatter too with him my curious frame:
And let these wither, so that he may die,
Though set with Skill and chosen out with Care.
That they, while Thou on both their Spoils dost tread,
May crown thy Feet, that could not crown thy Head.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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