Epitaph on the Monument of a Fair Maiden Lady, Who Died at Bath, and is There Interred
Below this marble monument is laid
All that heaven wants of this celestial maid.
Preserve, O sacred tomb, thy trust consigned;
The mould was made on purpose for the mind:
And she would lose, if, at the latter day,
One atom could be mixed with other clay;
Such were the features of her heavenly face,
Her limbs were formed with such harmonious grace:
So faultless was the frame, as if the whole
Had been an emanation of the soul;
Which her own inward symmetry revealed,
And like a picture shone, in glass annealed;
Or like the sun eclipsed, with shaded light;
Too piercing, else, to be sustained by sight.
Each thought was visible that rolled within;
As through a crystal case the figured hours are seen.
And heaven did this transparent veil provide,
Because she had no guilty thoughts to hide.
All white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies,
For marriage, though it sullies not, it dyes.
High though her wit, yet humble was her mind;
As if she could not, or she would not find
How much her worth transcended all her kind.
Yet she had learned so much of heaven below,
That when arrived, she scarce had more to know;
But only to refresh the former hint,
And read her Maker in a fairer print.
So pious, that she had no time to spare
For human thoughts, but seemed confined to prayer;
Yet in such charities she passed the day,
'Twas wondrous how she found an hour to pray.
A soul so calm, it knew not ebbs or flows,
Which passion could but curl, not discompose.
A female softness, with a manly mind;
A daughter duteous, and a sister kind;
In sickness patient, and in death resigned.
poem by John Dryden
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My Progeny Destined To Lie In Heaven's Womb
My progeny destined to lie in heaven's womb
Never to be born, myths of one's mind
Hidden from earth, from her dirt filled tomb
Safe in heaven with seraphs of heavenly kind
Veiled by heavenly white,
Playing on a star
Ablaze with celestial light,
Loving all from afar
My progeny seest, mine heavenly love
And knowest mine heart, mine heart alone
Laid in the womb of heaven beyond and above
To heaven's delight, there thou art only known
To heaven, to heaven, O! To heavenly only be born
Never on earth, wert souls are left forlorn…..
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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The Legend of St. Laura
Saint Laura, in her sleep of death,
Preserves beneath the tomb
---'Tis willed where what is willed must be---
In incorruptibility
Her beauty and her bloom.
So pure her maiden life had been,
So free from earthly stain,
'Twas fixed in fate by Heaven's own Queen,
That till the earth's last closing scene
She should unchanged remain.
Within a deep sarcophagus
Of alabaster sheen,
With sculptured lid of roses white,
She slumbered in unbroken night
By mortal eyes unseen.
Above her marble couch was reared
A monumental shrine,
Where cloistered sisters, gathering round,
Made night and morn the aisle resound
With choristry divine.
The abbess died: and in her pride
Her parting mandate said,
They should her final rest provide,
The alabaster couch beside,
Where slept the sainted dead.
The abbess came of princely race:
The nuns might not gainsay:
And sadly passed the timid band,
To execute the high command
They dared not disobey.
The monument was opened then:
It gave to general sight
The alabaster couch alone:
But all its lucid substance shone
With præ.ternatural light.
They laid the corpse within the shrine:
They closed its doors again:
But nameless terror seemed to fall,
Throughout the live-long night, on all
Who formed the funeral train.
Lo! on the morrow morn, still closed
The monument was found:
But in its robes funereal drest,
The corpse they had consigned to rest
Lay on the stony ground.
So pure her maiden life had been,
So free from earthly stain,
'Twas fixed in fate by Heaven's own Queen,
That till the earth's last closing scene
She should unchanged remain.
Fear and amazement seized on all:
They salled on Mary's aid:
And in the tomb, unclosed again,
With choral hymn and funeral train,
The corpse again was laid.
So was it found when morning beamed:
In solemn suppliant strain,
The nuns implored all saints in heaven,
That rest might to the corpse be given,
Which they entombed again.
On the third night a watch was kept
By many a friar and nun:
Trembling, all knelt in fervebt parayer,
Till on the dreary midnight air
Rolled the deep bell-toll, "One!"
The saint within the opening tomb
Like marble statue stood:
All fell to earth in deep dismay:
And through their ranks she passed away,
In calm unchanging mood.
No answering sound her footsteps raised
Along the stony floor:
Silent as death, severe as fate,
She glided through the chapel gate,
And none beheld her more.
The alabaster couch was gone:
The tomb was void and bare:
For the last time, with hasty rite,
Even 'mid the terror of the night,
They laid the abbess there.
'Tis said, the abbess rests not well
In that sepulchral pile:
But yearly, when the night comes round,
And dies of "One" the bell's deep sound
She flits along the aisle.
But whither passed the virgin saint,
To slumber far away,
Destined by Mary to endure,
Unfettered in her semblance pure,
Until the judgement day?
None knew, and none may ever know:
Angels the secret keep:
Impenetrable ramparts bound,
Eternal silence dwells around,
The chamber of her sleep.
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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Grace, 'Tis a Charming Sound
Grace, ’tis a charming sound,
Harmonious to mine ear;
Heaven with the echo shall resound,
And all the earth shall hear.
Grace first contrived the way
To save rebellious man;
And all the steps that grace display
Which drew the wondrous plan.
Grace first inscribed my name
In God’s eternal book;
’Twas grace that gave me to the Lamb,
Who all my sorrows took.
Grace led my roving feet
To tread the heavenly road;
And new supplies each hour I meet,
While pressing on to God.
Grace taught my soul to pray
And made mine eyes o’erflow;
’Twas grace which kept me to this day,
And will not let me go.
Grace all the work shall crown,
Through everlasting days;
It lays in heaven the topmost stone,
And well deserves the praise.
O let Thy grace inspire
My soul with strength divine
My all my powers to Thee aspire,
And all my days be Thine.
poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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What is Heaven Like?
What is Heaven like?
Is Heaven the mansion
made of pure gold
and precious jewels?
Is Heaven the city
one of a kind?
Is Heaven the place full
of love, joy,
peace and happiness?
Is Heaven the place
where there’s no sickness,
no disease and no growing old?
Is Heaven the place
where angels abide?
Is Heaven the place
where God is visible
to the human eye?
What is Heaven like?
That’s the best place to live.
I wonder Oh I wonder
as I sit here.
poem by Noreen Ann Jenkins
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Rare Thoughts that Never Go away
Has anyone out there reading this
Ever thought about that one person that is always in your thoughts and they never go away?
Well many of us out there are too scared of what or whom we miss
And then there are some of us that can't stop thinking of them throughout the day
Well I am this kind of person that just met a person not long ago
And I am here to say that my thoughts are of this person that I really admire
There are so many people that say how you can feel that way about someone who you barely know
I simply tell them that I trust in the Lord's every desire
Even though finding that one kind of person in everyone's life is rare
Who is always willing to listen and be gentle and kind
I hope that everyone can find this type of person that seems to always be there
Because I want her to know this is why she is always on my mind
And this is why these thoughts never go away
Because of the friendship that has come from the Heaven Above
This is why I am glad, for these thoughts are here to stay
And hopefully those thoughts and feelings will turn from friendship to passionate love
By Frank Pulver
poem by Frank Pulver
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Heaven Only Knows
(heaven only knows...)
Oh, I know its strange
But I think that its about to change
So Ill take the chance
To get back into the straight again
Chorus:
Heaven only knows (Im really on the level)
Heaven only knows (Im trying to find a way)
Heaven only knows (Im walking down the straight & lonely road today)
(again...)
(heaven only knows...)
Now the sun will shine
And Im gonna work it out this time
And before the light
All I gotta take is one more night.
Repeat chorus
Heaven only knows, heaven only knows
Heaven only knows, heaven only knows
Heaven only knows, heaven only knows
Heaven only knows, heaven only knows
Heaven only knows.
(heaven only knows)
As the hours go by
I can only wonder why
You can change your mind
But you never change the price.
Repeat chorus
Heaven only knows, heaven only knows
Heaven only knows, heaven only knows.
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meditating meditation for M lady Ernestine
Ignore the fleeting thoughts which pass
across the surface of your mind
Reflections in a looking glass
which leave nothing solid behind.
They briefly show then fade away
Like shooting stars across the sky.
Of no importance any way.
Not worth the time it takes to try.
To understand what they might mean.
If they’re important they will slow
their pace so that they can be seen
as something which you need to know.
Command your mind to concentrate
and pay attention to one thought.
Be single minded contemplate.
Is this the truth which you have sought.
Reducing the complexity
of half formed thoughts which multiply
to simple singularity.
Grows easier each time you try.
If you achieve an empty mind
completely undistracted by,
Stray random thoughts of any kind.
Experience epiphany.
For one brief moment understand.
We are all small parts of just one whole.
Then you will know you can’t command
the forward movement of your soul.
The quest you are engaged upon
is something which we all must do.
Accept this fact and carry on
How long it takes is up to you.
03/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Soul song: Is This Farewell, Or Simply Au Revoir?
'Soul' – you’ve stood your ground now
for many thousand years; even when
they said God’s dead – and lightning did not strike..
you’ve held our hopes of heaven; even when
we ceased to know just where they were
no longer sky and blue and white and grey,
in thunder and in innocence;
and kept our thoughts of death and life,
filed ‘To Whom It May Concern’;
you have two lodgings still: within
church doors; at graveside; and at prayer;
more of a signpost: ‘Keep to
the public path’, than certain destination;
and still living in that music’s ecstasy
that stirs the feet and lets the heart burst forth…
but now? as God and heaven hide their face
because we cease to look their way,
have you drawn up that lovely silken veil
across your face; that Indian face
that knows its ‘soul’ as servant of the Self;
has known it now for full ten thousand years?
or do you lurk now in laboratories
of cranial research, brain-scan; and
consulting rooms of cognitive research;
to walk in, smile and laugh and say
oh did you miss me? …
or do you whisper in the present ear
of writers on The Power of Now?
Or one day soon, will you reveal
you were, before the Holy Spirit was?
Tomorrow, Soul, how shall I say your name
in silent prayer? in mind beyond all words?
Love needs no name in presence evermore; so,
'Soul' – is this farewell? or simply, au revoir?
*
[out of a conversation with a Doctor of Theology]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Trying To Get To Her
Trying to get to her
To tell her that there is so much in my mind
That I want her to know
She is now in heaven with Alan
That happiness that was finally found
There are no mountains low enough for them
No roads wide enough for them
Yes peace surrounds them everyday
Yes I still have there love in my heart, my mind, and my soul
Birds are singing for them in heaven
A song
So peaceful
So beautiful and relaxing to hear
They never get tired of hearing it
God is now on their side
Protecting them and keeping their spirit alive
Their soul is at rest in heaven
The sun always shines in heaven during the day
But at night it is a different thing
The moon and the stars come out in full force
Heaven is a paradise for them
They found it a long time a go
What else could be more beautiful than heaven?
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Heaven Help Me
If you want it you can have it
Thats what you said
But I dont want the things that you leave behind
Take the pictures, take the windows and the walls
But baby wont you leave me my peace of mind
Oh such a waste of time
Oh such a waste
I still want you baby
Heaven help me heaven help me
Talk to strangers talk to strangers
Heaven help me
Over you
Help me over you
I cant seem to take these changes
Everything reminds my heart of you
Thought the first time was the last time
Of being apart
Now I find Im having to search again
Itll happen
Its gotta happen
Come together
I just wish somebody would tell me when
Oh such a waste of time
Oh such a waste
I still want you baby
(chorus)
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
(repeat chorus twice)
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
Youre someone elses lady
So sad without you darlin
The gods of love cant help me now
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
song performed by by George Michael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prayer
In my perfect world
Theres no need to right the wronged
Laid down my burden
I know I did not carry the weight
Not sure to who responsibility belonged
I turned a blind eye
While waiting for the hand of fate to still the waters
Heal all the broken hearts
And hope it could be done without a sacrifice
And maybe I just wouldnt pay the price
Ive fought this long enough
Now I send the prayer to heaven for the chance to be
A better man than the man I see
I send the prayer to heaven, lay your hands on me
I aint a saint but to this I swear I send the prayer
And now I feel all I can do is not enough
My rome is burning and Im standing at the deep abyss
But every passion started with an act of love
And every act of love, started with a single kiss
Father, father your gift was my world of light
And Ive betrayed you with a single judas kiss
Ive been my own executioner
But its not just me anymore
Now I send the prayer to heaven for the chance to be
A better man than the man I see
I send the prayer to heaven, lay your hands on me
I aint a saint but to this I swear
Burn my wasted pride
Open your heart to this
Theres a voice thats crying somewhere
Deep inside my soul for shelter
Now I send the prayer to heaven for the chance to be
A better man than the man I see
I send the prayer to heaven, lay your hands on me
I aint a saint but to this I swear
Now I send the prayer to heaven for the chance to be
A better man than the man I see
I send the prayer to heaven, lay your hands on me
I aint a saint but to this I swear I send the prayer...
Now I send a prayer to heaven...
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From Love to Friendship
If you would have me love once more,
The blissful age of love restore;
From wine's free joys, and lovers' cares,
Relentless time, who no man spares,
Urges me quickly to retire,
And no more to such bliss aspire.
From such austerity exact,
Let's, if we can, some good extract;
Whose way of thinking with this age
Suits not, can ne'er be deemed a sage.
Let sprightly youth its follies gay,
Its follies amiable display;
Life to two moments is confined,
Let one to wisdom be consigned.
You sweet delusions of my mind,
Still to my ruling passion kind,
Which always brought a sure relief
To life's accurst companion, grief.
Will you forever from me fly,
And must I joyless, friendless die?
No mortal e'er resigns his breath
I see, without a double death;
Who loves, and is beloved no more,
His hapless fate may well deplore;
Life's loss may easily be borne,
Of love bereft man is forlorn.
'Twas thus those pleasures I lamented,
Which I so oft in youth repented;
My soul replete with soft desire,
Vainly regretted youthful fire.
But friendship then, celestial maid,
From heaven descended to my aid;
Less lively than the amorous flame,
Although her tenderness the same.
The charms of friendship I admired,
My soul was with new beauty fired;
I then made one in friendship's train,
But destitute of love, complain.
Childhood. (From The Danish)
There was a time when I was very small,
When my whole frame was but an ell in height;
Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do fall,
And therefore I recall it with delight.
I sported in my tender mother's arms,
And rode a-horseback on best father's knee;
Alike were sorrows, passions and alarms,
And gold, and Greek, and love, unknown to me,
Then seemed to me this world far less in size,
Likewise it seemed to me less wicked far;
Like points in heaven, I saw the stars arise,
And longed for wings that I might catch a star.
I saw the moon behind the island fade,
And thought, 'Oh, were I on that island there,
I could find out of what the moon is made,
Find out how large it is, how round, how fair!'
Wondering, I saw God's sun, through western skies,
Sink in the ocean's golden lap at night,
And yet upon the morrow early rise,
And paint the eastern heaven with crimson light;
And thought of God, the gracious Heavenly Father,
Who made me, and that lovely sun on high,
And all those pearls of heaven thick-strung together,
Dropped, clustering, from his hand o'er all the sky.
With childish reverence, my young lips did say
The prayer my pious mother taught to me:
'O gentle God! oh, let me strive alway
Still to be wise, and good, and follow Thee!'
So prayed I for my father and my mother,
And for my sister, and for all the town;
The king I knew not, and the beggar-brother,
Who, bent with age, went, sighing, up and down.
They perished, the blithe days of boyhood perished,
And all the gladness, all the peace I knew!
Now have I but their memory, fondly cherished;--
God! may I never lose that too!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Other Night
The other night I went to heaven
How I got there I will never know
But I realized that I was in heaven
When my feet touched the road of gold.
And as I passed through those pearly gates
A warmth and happiness entered my soul
A peace was in me, that set me free
Because at last, I knew I was home.
And when I was in heaven
Everyone, they knew my name,
I saw relatives and friends, long past gone
But in my eyes, none of them had changed.
And everyone there was happy to see me
Even the souls that I never knew before,
And some how I knew them all
We were equal, we all had the same Lord.
The other night while I was in heaven
I remember beauty and it was known everywhere
I heard angels singing I saw masterpieces painted
Everyone loved, and everyone shared.
Happy and contentment it entered my heart
As freely I roamed about my new home,
All pain was gone, everyones gift shined on
Now I knew, I would neve be, or feel alone.
And while I was in heaven
I remember sitting to write beside a beautiful tree
Inspiration was there at my finger tips,
Beauty, love and friendship was inside of me.
And I remember as I began to write
A beautiful warm light around me then beamed
I never had a chance to stay or say goodbye
I was then in my bed, though awakening from a dream.
The other night while I was in Heaven
The thought and memory still enters my brain,
Was I really there, as an answer to my prayer
To ease all my current suffering and my pain.
So as I wandered about my house
Like a soul lost awaiting to be found,
Every night I do pray, along with everyday
Knowing Heaven someday, I am bound.
The other night while I was in Heaven
Those thoughts and memories I cant forsake
Was GOD telling me something, as I think
Not to sin, but to love and not to hate.
So every night that I go to bed
Unto God through Jesus I say a prayer
As I hope my dream to others they will have
So up in Heaven with me they will be there.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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To Stella Visiting Me in My Sickness
Pallas, observing Stella's wit
Was more than for her sex was fit,
And that her beauty, soon or late,
Might breed confusion in the state,
In high concern for human kind,
Fix'd honour in her infant mind.
But (not in wrangling to engage
With such a stupid, vicious age)
If honour I would here define,
It answers faith in things divine.
As natural life the body warms,
And, scholars teach, the soul informs,
So honour animates the whole,
And is the spirit of the soul.
Those numerous virtues which the tribe
Of tedious moralists describe,
And by such various titles call,
True honour comprehends them all.
Let melancholy rule supreme,
Choler preside, or blood, or phlegm,
It makes no difference in the case,
Nor is complexion honour's place.
But, lest we should for honour take
The drunken quarrels of a rake:
Or think it seated in a scar,
Or on a proud triumphal car;
Or in the payment of a debt
We lose with sharpers at piquet;
Or when a whore, in her vocation,
Keeps punctual to an assignation;
Or that on which his lordship swears,
When vulgar knaves would lose their ears;
Let Stella's fair example preach
A lesson she alone can teach.
In points of honour to be tried,
All passions must be laid aside:
Ask no advice, but think alone;
Suppose the question not your own.
How shall I act, is not the case;
But how would Brutus in my place?
In such a case would Cato bleed?
And how would Socrates proceed?
Drive all objections from your mind,
Else you relapse to human kind:
Ambition, avarice, and lust,
A factious rage, and breach of trust,
And flattery tipt with nauseous fleer,
And guilty shame, and servile fear,
Envy, and cruelty, and pride,
Will in your tainted heart preside.
Heroes and heroines of old,
By honour only were enroll'd
Among their brethren in the skies,
To which (though late) shall Stella rise.
Ten thousand oaths upon record
Are not so sacred as her word:
The world shall in its atoms end,
Ere Stella can deceive a friend.
By honour seated in her breast
She still determines what is best:
What indignation in her mind
Against enslavers of mankind!
Base kings, and ministers of state,
Eternal objects of her hate!
She thinks that nature ne'er design'd
Courage to man alone confined.
Can cowardice her sex adorn,
Which most exposes ours to scorn?
She wonders where the charm appears
In Florimel's affected fears;
For Stella never learn'd the art
At proper times to scream and start;
Nor calls up all the house at night,
And swears she saw a thing in white.
Doll never flies to cut her lace,
Or throw cold water in her face,
Because she heard a sudden drum,
Or found an earwig in a plum.
Her hearers are amazed from whence
Proceeds that fund of wit and sense;
Which, though her modesty would shroud,
Breaks like the sun behind a cloud;
While gracefulness its art conceals,
And yet through every motion steals.
Say, Stella, was Prometheus blind,
And, forming you, mistook your kind?
No; 'twas for you alone he stole
The fire that forms a manly soul;
Then, to complete it every way,
He moulded it with female clay:
To that you owe the nobler flame,
To this the beauty of your frame.
How would Ingratitude delight,
And how would Censure glut her spite,
If I should Stella's kindness hide
In silence, or forget with pride!
When on my sickly couch I lay,
Impatient both of night and day,
Lamenting in unmanly strains,
Call'd every power to ease my pains;
Then Stella ran to my relief,
With cheerful face and inward grief;
And, though by Heaven's severe decree
She suffers hourly more than me,
No cruel master could require,
From slaves employ'd for daily hire,
What Stella, by her friendship warm'd
With vigour and delight perform'd:
My sinking spirits now supplies
With cordials in her hands and eyes:
Now with a soft and silent tread
Unheard she moves about my bed.
I see her taste each nauseous draught,
And so obligingly am caught;
I bless the hand from whence they came,
Nor dare distort my face for shame.
Best pattern of true friends! beware;
You pay too dearly for your care,
If, while your tenderness secures
My life, it must endanger yours;
For such a fool was never found,
Who pull'd a palace to the ground,
Only to have the ruins made
Materials for a house decay'd.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Death Of Love
When my arm is cold and numbed
And then laid to its final rest
I wander what thought that it could have
If only to God and man it could confess.
When my eyes close for their very last time
What would be the last sight for them to see,
Would it be a sight, that gave a delight
To be cherished by my soul through me.
When my fingers loose their sense of touch
What touch would be missed most of all
Would it be the roses in the summertime
Or the many leaves, that I touched in the fall.
When my lips quiver their last time to close
What would be the last thought of it to miss
Would it be to say a prayer or maybe speak a thought
Or would it be, to give my one last kiss.
When it is my time to to leave this world
I know from this world I must leave alone
But I need to feel love, as I say goodbye to life
As never again will my soul or thoughts roam.
Before my arm goes it needs one last hug
Then it will go with a pain and a delight
And before my eyes close shut as surely as they will
They must see heaven in sight, that night.
Before my fingers loose their since of touch
A woman's hair or a rose I need to brush
They must feel the softness that they once had known
Then happily they will leave with just a hush.
My heart would beat one last time for you
And for my lips, what would be their final wish
Would it to say a prayer or a poem to recite,
Or it would be a last goodbye kiss.
When my body is gone and it is buried deep
And my soul is heading to heaven above
No one might worry about me leaving this world
But when I gone, there will be the death of love..
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Christmas Day
What sudden blaze of song
Spreads o'er th' expanse of Heaven?
In waves of light it thrills along,
Th' angelic signal given -
"Glory to God!" from yonder central fire
Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry choir;
Like circles widening round
Upon a clear blue river,
Orb after orb, the wondrous sound
Is echoed on for ever:
"Glory to God on high, on earth be peace,
And love towards men of love--salvation and release."
Yet stay, before thou dare
To join that festal throng;
Listen and mark what gentle air
First stirred the tide of song;
'Tis not, "the Saviour born in David's home,
To Whom for power and health obedient worlds should come:" -
'Tis not, "the Christ the Lord:"
With fixed adoring look
The choir of Angels caught the word,
Nor yet their silence broke:
But when they heard the sign where Christ should be,
In sudden light they shone and heavenly harmony.
Wrapped in His swaddling bands,
And in His manger laid,
The Hope and Glory of all lands
Is come to the world's aid:
No peaceful home upon his cradle smiled,
Guests rudely went and came, where slept the royal Child.
But where Thou dwellest, Lord,
No other thought should be,
Once duly welcomed and adored,
How should I part with Thee?
Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt grace
The single heart to be Thy sure abiding-place.
Thee, on the bosom laid
Of a pure virgin mind,
In quiet ever, and in shade,
Shepherd and sage may find;
They, who have bowed untaught to Nature's sway,
And they, who follow Truth along her star-paved way.
The pastoral spirits first
Approach Thee, Babe divine,
For they in lowly thoughts are nursed,
Meet for Thy lowly shrine:
Sooner than they should miss where Thou dost dwell,
Angela from Heaven will stoop to guide them to Thy cell.
Still, as the day comes round
For Thee to be revealed,
By wakeful shepherds Thou art found,
Abiding in the field.
All through the wintry heaven and chill night air,
In music and in light Thou dawnest on their prayer.
O faint not ye for fear -
What though your wandering sheep,
Reckless of what they see and hear,
Lie lost in wilful sleep?
High Heaven in mercy to your sad annoy
Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal joy.
Think on th' eternal home,
The Saviour left for you;
Think on the Lord most holy, come
To dwell with hearts untrue:
So shall ye tread untired His pastoral ways,
And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise.
poem by John Keble
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only dead dreams can bring her back
Buried, beneath the ground so deep
no soul on earth can find,
I buried the only woman I loved
in her grave and in my mind.
But she's on her way to heaven now,
to be with him tonight.
She's on her way to heaven
after he took her from my life!
To be his loving angel!
forever in his arms.
In all her satin shrouds,
she yearns to be with God!
But on her way to heaven,
she pauses just a while.
On her way to heaven
she remembers one last time!
that in my mind she lives forever!
in every memory she never died! ,
..........on her way to heaven
my wife will come back in my dreams tonight.
Soul and body
Oh, dear poems
I always addressed you to him
As I thought of you as medium
You were away near but kept mum
You made me to speak
Kept reminding me about peak
Even thought I was weak
You forced on me to stick
I take it as blessings
There can't be anything like missing
You are always there when I wish to assert
Come out in verses and visibly seen in concert
I know time is precious
Yet thought process is continuous
I know for sure you always remain in my mind
I spare now sometime for you to find
Cuckoo has no business to air melody
That can be assigned to anybody
But some one has to play that role
Nature has made it strictly as per rules
We have to play all kind of roles but differently
To express thoughts and present it vehemently
In such condition you invade mind decisively
I too accept it gladly and project positively
You have distinct place and position
Not all can make effective composition
I consider it as heavenly gift and art
Like Human soul and body as inseparable part
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Saviour’s Boyhood
With what a flood of wondrous thoughts
Each Christian breast must swell
When, wandering back through ages past,
With simple faith they dwell
On quiet Nazareth’s sacred sod,
Where the Child Saviour’s footsteps trod.
Awe-struck we picture to ourselves
That brow serene and fair,
That gentle face, the long rich curls
Of wavy golden hair,
And those deep wondrous, star-like eyes,
Holy and calm as midnight skies.
We see Him in the work-shop shed
With Joseph, wise and good,
Obedient to His guardian’s word,
Docile and meek of mood;
The Mighty Lord of Heaven and Earth
Toiling like one of lowly birth.
Or else, with His young Mother fair—
That sinless, spotless one,
Who watched with fond and reverent care,
Her high and glorious Son,
Knowing a matron’s joy and pride,
And yet a Virgin pure beside.
All marvelled at the strange, shy grace
Of Mary’s gentle Son;
Young mothers envied her the Boy
Who love from all hearts won;
And, gazing on that face so mild,
Prayed low to Heaven for such a child.
Though with the boys of Nazareth
He never joined in mirth,
Yet young and old felt strangely drawn
Towards His modest worth;
E’en though that quiet, wondrous Child,
Had never laughed nor even smiled.
For even then prophetic rose
Before His spirit’s gaze
The cruel Cross, the griefs reserved
For manhood’s coming days,
And, worse than all, the countless host
That, spite His pangs, might yet be lost.
Silent and calm, He held His way
From morn till evening still;
His thoughts intent on working out
His Mighty Father’s will;
While Heaven bent in ecstasy,
O’er the Boy-God of Galilee.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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