Upon Young Mr. Rogers, of Gloucestershire
Of gentle blood, his parents' only treasure,
Their lasting sorrow, and their vanished pleasure,
Adorned with features, virtues, wit, and grace,
A large provision for so short a race:
More moderate gifts might have prolonged his date,
Too early fitted for a better state:
But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay,
He leaped o'er age, and took the shortest way.
poem by John Dryden
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To The Rt. Hon. Charlotte Lady Conway, On Her Resolving To Leave Bath.
O Charlotte, truly pious, early wise!
The Pleasures sought by others, you despise:
Nor Bath, nor Bath's Allurements thee detain;
Unmov'd, you quit them to the Gay and Vain.
But tho' nor Health, nor Pleasure will prevail;
The Happiness you give, should turn the Scale.
O stay, and teach the Virtues of thy Breast:
Thousands by thy Example may be blest:
A Mind so humble, and so truly great,
So fitted to oblige in ev'ry State;
A Manner, so engaging and discrete,
A Manner, so inimitably sweet!
These, and thy thousand Charms, who can express?
Seymour, how vast a Treasure you possess!
poem by Mary Barber
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Hymn 43 part 2
The Christian's treasure.
1 Cor. 3:21.
How vast the treasure we possess!
How rich thy bounty, King of grace!
This world is ours, and worlds to come;
Earth is our lodge, and heav'n our home.
All things are ours: the gifts of God;
The purchase of a Savior's blood;
While the good Spirit shows us how
To use, and to improve them too.
If peace and plenty crown my days,
They help me, Lord, to speak thy praise;
If bread of sorrows be my food,
Those sorrows work my lasting good.
I would not change my blest estate
For all the world calls good or great;
And while my faith can keep her hold,
I envy not the sinner's gold.
Father, I wait thy daily will;
Thou shalt divide my portion still;
Grant me on earth what seems thee best,
Till death and heav'n reveal the rest.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Sins and pleasure
Pleasure of sins lures me to sin.
Sins of pleasure follow me in.
I sow sins to harvest pleasure
And sow pleasure to harvest sins.
Virtues might promise me pleasure
But it is sins that assure of it.
Sins are the food meant for senses.
Virtues are the food made of ego.
I do sins to derive pleasure
And then repent to cleanse my soul.
Virtues I stay with; sins I flirt with.
29.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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On the Death of Amyntas. A Pastoral Elegy
'Twas on a joyless and a gloomy morn,
Wet was the grass, and hung with pearls the thorn,
When Damon, who designed to pass the day
With hounds and horns, and chase the flying prey,
Rose early from his bed; but soon he found
The welkin pitched with sullen clouds around,
An eastern wind, and dew upon the ground.
Thus while he stood, and sighing did survey
The fields, and curst the ill omens of the day,
He saw Menalcas come with heavy pace:
Wet were his eyes, and cheerless was his face:
He wrung his hands, distracted with his care,
And sent his voice before him from afar.
“Return,” he cried, “return, unhappy swain,
The spongy clouds are filled with gathering rain:
The promise of the day not only crossed,
But even the spring, the spring itself is lost.
Amyntas—oh!”—he could not speak the rest,
Nor needed, for presaging Damon guessed.
Equal with heaven young Damon loved the boy,
The boast of nature, both his parents' joy.
His graceful form revolving in his mind;
So great a genius, and a soul so kind,
Gave sad assurance that his fears were true;
Too well the envy of the gods he knew:
For when their gifts too lavishly are placed,
Soon they repent, and will not make them last.
For sure it was too bountiful a dole,
The mother's features, and the father's soul.
Then thus he cried:—“The morn bespoke the news;
The morning did her cheerful light diffuse;
But see how suddenly she changed her face,
And brought on clouds and rain, the day's disgrace;
Just such, Amyntas, was thy promised race.
What charms adorned thy youth, where nature smiled,
And more than man was given us in a child!
His infancy was ripe; a soul sublime
In years so tender that prevented time:
Heaven gave him all at once; then snatched away,
Ere mortals all his beauties could survey;
Just like the flower that buds and withers in a day.”
MENALCAS.
The mother, lovely, though with grief opprest,
Reclined his dying head upon her breast.
The mournful family stood all around;
One groan was heard, one universal sound:
All were in floods of tears and endless sorrow drowned.
So dire a sadness sat on every look,
Even Death repented he had given the stroke.
He grieved his fatal work had been ordained,
But promised length of life to those who yet remained.
The mother's and her eldest daughter's grace,
It seems, had bribed him to prolong their space.
The father bore it with undaunted soul,
Like one who durst his destiny control;
Yet with becoming grief he bore his part,
Resigned his son, but not resigned his heart.
Patient as Job; and may he live to see,
Like him, a new increasing family!
DAMON.
Such is my wish, and such my prophecy;
For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould remains;
Long may she exercise her fruitful pains!
But, ah! with better hap, and bring a race
More lasting, and endued with equal grace!
Equal she may, but farther none can go;
For he was all that was exact below.
MENALCAS.
Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud;
Hear'st thou not hymns and songs divinely loud?
There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs play
About their godlike mate, and sing him on his way.
He cleaves the liquid air; behold, he flies,
And every moment gains upon the skies.
The new-come guest admires the ethereal state,
The sapphire portal, and the golden gate;
And now admitted in the shining throng,
He shows the passport which he brought along.
His passport is his innocence and grace,
Well known to all the natives of the place.
Now sing, ye joyful angels, and admire
Your brother's voice that comes to mend your quire:
Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow;
For, like Amyntas, none is left below.
poem by John Dryden
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Mallee Wife
Home's best (she said), and the tale
Of the hungering soil and the flail
Of the sun and the shuddering threat
Of the heat, and more heat yet;
Of more than a woman can stand,
Almost, in that merciless land,
With its lifelong, lingering strife,
For the Mallee mother and wife.
Oh, I've seen all the spurious zest
Of the city, and yet, home's best;
The sweep of the plain's vast verge,
And the calling of Life and the urge
To struggle and hope in vain,
Then struggle and hope again
That, and the faith that clings
For the solving of human things.
Home's best (she said). I have seen
The glamor of cities, the sheen
Of the silken garments rare
And they spell for me despair;
Despair for the woman who cleaves
To luxury's yellowing leaves
Despair for the weakening race,
Who, faltering, fall from grace.
Life, as I know it is stern;
And the seed of my seed must learn
That nothing has life to give
Save a man must labor to live
Struggle and ache and toil
For the gifts that come of the soil,
Since every treasure of worth
Comes of the hard, kind earth.
Home's best (she said), and the dust
And the finger of God out-thrust,
Saying, 'You toil, or die
Under this pitiless sky.'
Even as long since said
To the Parents of Man long dead;
Even as 'twas decreed
In Man's first, passionate need.
Home's best. For what do they know,
Who cleave to glitter and show,
And strive in a strange excess
Of pleasure for happiness?
What do they know of worth
Of the secret lure of the earth,
And the peace, and the exquisite ache of the battle
For my man's sake?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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On My First Daughter
Here lies, to each her parents' ruth,
Mary, the daughter of their youth;
Yet all heaven's gifts being heaven's due,
It makes the father less to rue.
At six months' end she parted hence
With safety of her innocence;
Whose soul heaven's queen, whose name she bears,
In comfort of her mother's tears,
Hath placed amongst her virgin-train:
Where, while that severed doth remain,
This grave partakes the fleshly birth;
Which cover lightly, gentle earth!
poem by Ben Jonson
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As Lords Their Labourers' Hire Delay
As lords their labourers' hire delay,
Fate quits our toil with hopes to come,
Which, if far short of present pay,
Still, owns a debt and names a sum.
Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then,
Although a distant date be given;
Despair is treason towards man,
And blasphemy to Heaven.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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How Blessed Am I
How blessed am I for being born
Of parents good and God-fearing!
How blessed am I for siblings nine
Who made my childhood truly great!
How blessed am I for being made
Handsome and healthy, fair and hale!
How blessed am I for gaining ken
And virtues, wisdom, fortitude!
How blessed am I for being reared
So well by parents dutiful!
How blessed am I for achievements
Quite praiseworthy in life on earth!
How blessed am I for having fared
So well in life in every field!
How blessed am I for talents, gifts
That most men cannot dream to have!
How blessed am I for miracles
That gave my life a newer lease!
How blessed am I for finding time
To thank and praise the Almighty!
How blessed am I for grace of God
That goads me on in heaven’s road!
How blessed am I for everything
God gave me amply in His time!
How blessed am I for love of God
That chose me to be Christian!
How blessed am I for hope and faith
That help me follow Jesus’ steps!
How blessed am I for poesy
That made my life stress-free, worthwhile!
How blessed am I for God’s with me
And I’m with Him in earthly life!
poem by John Celes
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No Tobacco Day
Shun…
The leaf that makes most men to smoke;
The smoke that’s puffed, poisoning the air;
What stains the teeth and gums, hair, nails, hair;
Substance abused from ancient times;
Shun…
What kills the young and old addicts;
The frond that causes cancers galore;
What is ingested, snuffed and smoked;
The first cash-crop that steals coffers.
Shun…
The dark that clouds the light of lives;
The joy short-lived that shortens life;
The poison that aborts the child;
The evil that bewitches most.
Shun…
The habit that one rarely quits.
The smoke that steals the air from lungs;
The weed that cuts the thread of life;
The vice that drives away virtues.
(31-05-2011)
poem by John Celes
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We weep over the graves of infants and the little ones taken from us by death; but an early grave may be the shortest way to heaven.
quote by Tryon Edwards
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shortest Straw
Suspicion is your name
Your honesty to blame
Put dignity to shame
Dishonor
Witchhunt, modern day
Determining decay
The blatant disarray
Disfigure
The public eyes' disgrace
Defying common place
Unending paper chase
Unending
Deafening
Painstaking
Reckoning
This vertigo it doth bring
Shortest straw
Challenge liberty
Downed by law
Live in infamy
Rub you raw
Witchhunt riding through
Shortest straw
This shortest straw has been pulled for you
Pulled for you
Shortest straw
Pulled for you
Shortest straw
Pulled for you
Shortest straw
Shortest straw has been pulled for you
The accusations fly
Discrimination, why?
Your inner self to die
Intruding
Doubt sunk itself in you
It's teeth and talons through
You're living catch-22
Deluding
A mass hysteria
A megalomania
Reveal dementia
Reveal
Secretly
Silently
Certainly
In vertigo you will be
Shortest straw
Challenge liberty
Downed by law
Live in infamy
Rub you raw
Witchhunt riding through
Shortest straw
This shortest straw has been pulled for you
Pulled for you
Shortest straw
Pulled for you
Shortest straw
Pulled for you
Shortest straw
Shortest straw has been pulled for you
Shortest straw
Pulled for you
Shortest straw
Pulled for you
Shortest straw
Pulled for you
Shortest straw
Shortest straw has been pulled for you
Behind you, hands are tied
Your being, ostracized
Your hell is multiplied
Upending
The fallout has begun
Oppressive damage done
Your many turned to none
To nothing
You're reaching your nadir
Your will has disappeared
The lie is crystal clear
Defending
Channels red
One word said
Blacklisted
With vertigo make you dead
Shortest straw
Challenge liberty
Downed by law
Live in infamy
Rub you raw
Witchhunt riding through
Shortest straw
This shortest straw has been pulled for you
song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Way to Heaven
Your friend or foe,
Just love him so;
Admit your sins
To God: Repent.
Jesus Christ
Has paid the price,
By His blood-shed
And death on cross.
Just keep the laws,
God gave Moses,
And see soul’s state
In God’s mirror.
Heaven is home
Of God, most high:
The holiest,
And most perfect.
The one sure way
To heaven is,
The easiest one,
Through Jesus Christ.
The grace of God
And His mercy,
Can save sinners
Who’re penitent.
Just ask yourself,
‘Are you now fit
for heaven if
you die today? ’
Now is the time
To make amends
And walk the lane
With Jesus Christ.
poem by John Celes
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A Song. High State And Honours To Others Impart
High state and honours to others impart,
But give me your heart:
That treasure, that treasure alone,
I beg for my own.
So gentle a love, so fervent a fire,
My soul does inspire;
That treasure, that treasure alone,
I beg for my own.
Your love let me crave;
Give me in possessing
So matchless a blessing;
That empire is all I would have.
Love's my petition,
All my ambition;
If e'er you discover
So faithful a lover,
So real a flame,
I'll die, I'll die,
So give up my game.
poem by John Dryden
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The Shortest Straw
Suspicion Is Your Name
Your Honesty to Blame
Put Dignity to Shame
Dishonor
Witchhunt Modern Day
Determining Decay
The Blattand Disarray
Disfigure
The Public Eyes' Disgrace
Defying Common Place
Unending Paper Chase
Unending
Deafening
Painstaking
Reckoning
This Vertigo it Doth Bring
Shortest Straw
Challenge Liberty
Downed by Law
Live in Infamy
Rub You Raw
Witchhunt Riding Through
Shortest Straw
This Shortest Straw Has Been Pulled for You
Pulled for You
Shortest Straw
Pulled for You
Shortest Straw
Pulled for You
Shortest Straw
Shortest Straw Has Been Pulled for You
The Accusations Fly
Discrimination
song performed by by Metallica from ...And Justice For All
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Who Laughed With Time To Waste
I never sought to be taken for a fool.
But there were those foolish enough,
Not to believe I was serious.
And perhaps that seriousness,
Had been misinterpreted.
And I have never elected,
To see them in that way.
Anyone making attempts,
To express their gifts and talents...
With intent,
Gained my respect.
Since I knew what that took.
I knew too well what that meant.
With those comments made by some and done,
And time that has come many have tried to shun...
I still have not been the one to evaluate.
A progress made.
However...
Few I knew have made great strides.
While those who laughed with time to waste...
Seem to have vanished to other places,
To grace their faces with fates they've faked.
Or wish to make attempts to do it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sonnet III
I have a hoard of treasure in my breast;
The grange of memory steams against the door,
Full of my bygone lifetime's garnered store -
Old pleasures crowned with sorrow for a zest,
Old sorrow grown a joy, old penance blest,
Chastened remembrance of the sins of yore
That, like a new evangel, more and more
Supports our halting will toward the best.
Ah! what to us the barren after years
May bring of joy or sorrow, who can tell?
O, knowing not, who cares? It may be well
That we shall find old pleasures and old fears,
And our remembered childhood seen thro' tears,
The best of Heaven and the worst of Hell.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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A Fathers Words To His Child.
Children are the gentle breezes for which parents plea.
They come they play around us then they flee.
We would hold them to our breast,
Protecting against all of life's dreadful tests.
You teach and doggedly hold.
But the day must come when they break from the mold.
With resounding break of a parental heart.
They step away, a life of their own to start.
I watched a beautiful young woman as she stepped the isle.
With maids surrounding she flashes her parents a comforting smile.
Where is the tomboy, who bowled the boys out?
And where is our back yards loudest shout.
God gives such gifts to unworthy types like me,
Here is my wealth, this is my treasury.
Even though she resides within another man's walls,
There's a part of me that remembers the mischievous calls.
My baby has grown into a woman of great strength, for sure.
And has a man that adores her, what's more.
She faces life's challenges with a tigress's might.
Amazing to watch this fearsome sight.
From porcelain doll with features so fine
To beautiful warrior princess in such a short space of time.
But remember should God give me the wisdom to listen,
I have a broad shoulder when a tear upon cheek should glisten.
So my blessing, my love, and many hours of prayer, are given to you.
Pass your battles to Jesus and He will see you through.
May days a soft breezes, gentle sunlight, and summer flowers,
Along with sweet family laughter, encompass your waking hours.
Prayers of parents make a peaceful heaven to a home
Prayers of parents make a peaceful heaven to a home
The children who neglect their parents will be cursed,
The Nature makes such children’s house a hellish dome,
They are lucky children who are blessed by their parents,
It is said that there is a heaven under the legs of mother,
The children love or not to their mother but she loves all,
She embraces good or bad children but she can’t smother,
Mother is habituated to pray to God for all their happiness,
A few children won’t love their parents but love their wives,
In old age parents are in need of only their children’s love,
Who devote God, adore parents will be happy in their lives,
Love of parents always comes to children from the sky above,
God bless those children who are blessed by their parents,
And God curse those children who are cursed by their parents.
poem by INDIA Mazid S Kazi
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Heaven Is
Heaven is a woman
Dressed in blue
And heaven is knowing
Someone who is in love with you
Heaven is a television
Left on all day
And heaven is making love
And then running away
Heaven is
Heaven is
Heaven is believing
What your eyes dont see
And heaven is christy canyon
Falling in love with me
Heaven in waking up
To be a millionaire
And heaven is spending the whole next day
Just walking on air
Heaven is
Heaven is
Heaven is
Heaven is
All these things you say and do
It doesnt mean that much to you
But all these things you said to me
The memories wont set me free
Heaven is a dream
When it wont come true
And heaven is the sky
When its always blue
Heaven is the girl
With short black hair
And heaven is a woman
With enough to spare
Heaven is
Heaven is
Heaven is
Heaven is
Heaven is
And heaven is taking a holiday
And heaven is having you here to stay
And heaven is never ever saying sorry
And heaven is as easy as abc
And heaven is your eyes when theyre always blue
And heaven is just right here with you
Heaven is
Heaven is
Heaven is
song performed by by Omd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tears & Sorrow = Denver 2012
TEARS
Tears are the raindrops of the soul
And there's one for all who die.
They are the silent words of grief
As they fall free from the eye.
The shortest verse in the Bible
Is the one where Jesus wept
So, if you hold back tears, shed them
When your pain is too harsh to accept.
Tears are lovelier than a smile
When they come from those you love
As they seek relief from sadness
When you're summoned from above.
Tears are a love-mates humble gift
When it's time to say goodbye
Though the eyes are wet and swollen
With time and patience they dry.
SORROW
Sorrow is better than laughter
For by grieving, we're improved.
Blessed be all who morn
Till from sadness they're removed.
After death our souls shall fly
Perhaps from star to star
Reaching our destination
To find Heaven's gate ajar.
God made us able to cry
Sorrow teaches us to fear
Those days we're selfish and cruel
When life is so short and dear.
Time wipes tears from all faces
Whose hearts are tuned to sorrow.
Those that cry a thousand tears
Shall be blessed by tomorrow.
Every night before sleep I say thank you to Heaven
For the past day I was allowed to love you and serve.
And if I awake I say thank you once more
For God has blessed me far beyond what I deserve.