En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Garden

O painter of the fruits and flowers,
We own wise design,
Where these human hands of ours
May share work of Thine!

Apart from Thee we plant in vain
The root and sow the seed;
Thy early and Thy later rain,
Thy sun and dew we need.

Our toil is sweet with thankfulness,
Our burden is our boon;
The curse of Earth's gray morning is
The blessing of its noon.

Why search the wide world everywhere
For Eden's unknown ground?
That garden of the primal pair
May nevermore be found.

But, blest by Thee, our patient toil
May right the ancient wrong,
And give to every clime and soil
The beauty lost so long.

Our homestead flowers and fruited trees
May Eden's orchard shame;
We taste the tempting sweets of these
Like Eve, without her blame.

And, North and South and East and West,
The pride of every zone,
The fairest, rarest, and the best
May all be made our own.

Its earliest shrines the young world sought
In hill-groves and in bowers,
The fittest offerings thither brought
Were Thy own fruits and flowers.

And still with reverent hands we cull
Thy gifts each year renewed;
The good is always beautiful,
The beautiful is good.

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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A Lay Of Old Time

One morning of the first sad Fall,
Poor Adam and his bride
Sat in the shade of Eden's wall--
But on the outer side.

She, blushing in her fig-leaf suit
For the chaste garb of old;
He, sighing o'er his bitter fruit
For Eden's drupes of gold.

Behind them, smiling in the morn,
Their forfeit garden lay,
Before them, wild with rock and thorn,
The desert stretched away.

They heard the air above them fanned,
A light step on the sward,
And lo! they saw before them stand
The angel of the Lord!

'Arise,' he said, 'why look behind,
When hope is all before,
And patient hand and willing mind,
Your loss may yet restore?

'I leave with you a spell whose power
Can make the desert glad,
And call around you fruit and flower
As fair as Eden had.

'I clothe your hands with power to lift
The curse from off your soil;
Your very doom shall seem a gift,
Your loss a gain through Toil.

'Go, cheerful as yon humming-bees,
To labor as to play.'
White glimmering over Eden's trees
The angel passed away.

The pilgrims of the world went forth
Obedient to the word,
And found where'er they tilled the earth
A garden of the Lord!

The thorn-tree cast its evil fruit
And blushed with plum and pear,
And seeded grass and trodden root
Grew sweet beneath their care.

We share our primal parents' fate,
And, in our turn and day,
Look back on Eden's sworded gate
As sad and lost as they.

But still for us his native skies
The pitying Angel leaves,
And leads through Toil to Paradise
New Adams and new Eves!

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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For An Autumn festival

The Persian's flowery gifts, the shrine
Of fruitful Ceres, charm no more;
The woven wreaths of oak and pine
Are dust along the Isthmian shore.

But beauty hath its homage still,
And nature holds us still in debt;
And woman's grace and household skill,
And manhood's toil, are honored yet.

And we, to-day, amidst our flowers
And fruits, have come to own again
The blessings of the summer hours,
The early and the latter rain;

To see our Father's hand once more
Reverse for us the plenteous horn
Of autumn, filled and running o'er
With fruit, and flower, and golden corn!

Once more the liberal year laughs out
O'er richer stores than gems or gold;
Once more with harvest-song and shout
Is Nature's bloodless triumph told.

Our common mother rests and sings,
Like Ruth, among her garnered sheaves;
Her lap is full of goodly things,
Her brow is bright with autumn leaves.

Oh, favors every year made new!
Oh, gifts with rain and sunshine sent
The bounty overruns our due,
The fulness shames our discontent.

We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on;
We murmur, but the corn-ears fill,
We choose the shadow, but the sun
That casts it shines behind us still.

God gives us with our rugged soil
The power to make it Eden-fair,
And richer fruits to crown our toil
Than summer-wedded islands bear.

Who murmurs at his lot to-day?
Who scorns his native fruit and bloom?
Or sighs for dainties far away,
Beside the bounteous board of home?

Thank Heaven, instead, that Freedom's arm
Can change a rocky soil to gold,--
That brave and generous lives can warm
A clime with northern ices cold.

And let these altars, wreathed with flowers
And piled with fruits, awake again
Thanksgivings for the golden hours,
The early and the latter rain!

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Maiden From Afar

Within a vale, each infant year,
When earliest larks first carol free,
To humble shepherds cloth appear
A wondrous maiden, fair to see.
Not born within that lowly place--
From whence she wandered, none could tell;
Her parting footsteps left no trace,
When once the maiden sighed farewell.

And blessed was her presence there--
Each heart, expanding, grew more gay;
Yet something loftier still than fair
Kept man's familiar looks away.
From fairy gardens, known to none,
She brought mysterious fruits and flowers--
The things of some serener sun--
Some Nature more benign than ours.

With each her gifts the maiden shared--
To some the fruits, the flowers to some;
Alike the young, the aged fared;
Each bore a blessing back to home.
Though every guest was welcome there,
Yet some the maiden held more dear,
And culled her rarest sweets whene'er
She saw two hearts that loved draw near.

poem by Friedrich Schiller
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A Place Called Eden

There was a paradise that ruled long ago.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
More beautiful than the human eye can ever perceive;
untainted by humans,
this Place called Eden.

This Garden was eternal, life-giving,
as perfect as the Heavens brought to Earth.
But along came Man,
swept in with a storm,
hiding the sun.
A pummeling rain flattened the flowers
and lightning licked at trees, destroying
this Place called Eden.

The clouds finally parted.
The sun peaked out fearfully, looking down
at Man, who stood alone.
Who felt himself powerful.
Betrayal drowned the Garden.
Mad smiled at his feat:
He had taken over with sin,
this Place called Eden.

Man cursed himself,
Perfection was lost, Misery
had taken over Man as Nature
healed itself for its revenge on the Destroyer.
Man learned self-loathing
and the true power of
this Place called Eden.

Death came to Earth. It punished Man fiercer
than Nature had: any man close
to finding the lost Land
was taken from Earth,
and Man was never to find it again,
this Place called Eden.

poem by Zoe Guillory
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Dedication - Songs of Labor

I WOULD the gift I offer here
Might graces from thy favor take,
And, seen through Friendship's atmosphere,
On softened lines and coloring, wear
The unaccustomed light of beauty, for thy sake.
Few leaves of Fancy's spring remain:
But what I have I give to thee,
The o'er-sunned bloom of summer's plain,
And paler flowers, the latter rain
Calls from the westering slope of life's autumnal lea.
Above the fallen groves of green,
Where youth's enchanted forest stood,
Dry root and mossëd trunk between,
A sober after-growth is seen,
As springs the pine where falls the gay-leafed maple wood!
Yet birds will sing, and breezes play
Their leaf-harps in the sombre tree;
And through the bleak and wintry day
It keeps its steady green alway, —
So, even my after-thoughts may have a charm for thee.
Art's perfect forms no moral need,
And beauty is its own excuse;
But for the dull and flowerless weed
Some healing virtue still must plead,
And the rough ore must find its honors in its use.
So haply these, my simple lays
Of homely toil, may serve to show
The orchard bloom and tasselled maize
That skirt and gladden duty's ways,
The unsung beauty hid life's common things below.
Haply from them the toiler, bent
Above his forge or plough, may gain,
A manlier spirit of content,
And feel that life is wisest spent
Where the strong working hand makes strong the working brain.
The doom which to the guilty pair
Without the walls of Eden came,
Transforming sinless ease to care
And rugged toil, no more shall bear
The burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame.
A blessing now, a curse no more;
Since He, whose name we breathe with awe,
The coarse mechanic vesture wore,
A poor man toiling with the poor,
In labor, as in prayer, fulfilling the same law.

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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In This Garden

In this garden
In this beautiful garden
The flowers and the grass
The stones and the water
The sculptures and all art
Sing a song
A song of beauty
A song of harmony
A song of hope

The wind whistles gently
Is it to the east?
Or is it to the west?
I don’t know and I don’t need to know
All is so beautiful

Hush…
Hush humanity
Hush…

I can feel the scent on y nostrils
The scent of the flowers
The sound of the water nearby welcoming
Peace
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With beautiful flowers
Where art lives

Hush
Play the music
Let the flowers live the music
Let the drums be heard
Let the music come to life
Play the music
Let it be heard here today
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With very beautiful flowers
Where art comes to life

poem by Jack Shaka
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L'envoi To "Life's Handicap"

My new-cut ashlar takes the light
Where crimson-blank the windows flare;
By my own work, before the night,
Great Overseer I make my prayer.

If there be good in that I wrought,
Thy hand compelled it, Master, Thine;
Where I have failed to meet Thy thought
I know, through Thee, the blame is mine.

One instant's toil to Thee denied
Stands all Eternity's offence,
Of that I did with Thee to guide
To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.

Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain,
Godlike to muse o'er his own trade
And Manlike stand with God again.

The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay!

One stone the more swings to her place
In that dread Temple of Thy Worth --
It is enough that through Thy grace
I saw naught common on Thy earth.

Take not that vision from my ken;
Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed,
Help me to need no aid from men
That I may help such men as need!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Bridal And The Burial

I saw thee young and beautiful,
I saw thee rich and gay,
In the first blush of womanhood,
Upon thy wedding-day;
The church-bells rang,
And the little children sang:
'Flowers, flowers, kis her feet;
Sweets to the sweet;
The winter's past, the rains are gone--
Bless'd is the bride whom the sun shines on.'

I saw thee poor and desolate,
I saw thee fade away,
In broken-hearted widowhood,
Before thy locks were grey;
The death-bell rang,
And the little children sang:
'Lilies, dress her winding-sheet;
Sweets to the sweet:
The summer's past, the sunshine gone;
Bless'd is the corpse which the rain rains on.'

poem by James Montgomery
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To His Forsaken Mistress

I DO confess thou'rt smooth and fair,
And I might have gone near to love thee,
Had I not found the slightest prayer
That lips could move, had power to move thee;
But I can let thee now alone
As worthy to be loved by none.

I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind
That kisseth everything it meets:
And since thou canst with more than one,
Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.

The morning rose that untouch'd stands
Arm'd with her briers, how sweet she smells!
But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands,
Her sweets no longer with her dwells:
But scent and beauty both are gone,
And leaves fall from her, one by one.

Such fate ere long will thee betide
When thou hast handled been awhile,
With sere flowers to be thrown aside;
And I shall sigh, while some will smile,
To see thy love to every one
Hath brought thee to be loved by none.

poem by Sir Robert Aytoun
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Farewell to Guernsey

Sarnia farewell! farewell thy rocky shore;
Far o'er the main I ne'er may see thee more;
Yet will I not regret thee—save thy flowers—
They well were worthy the immortal bowers
Which poets love to wreathe, and oft have sung.
Thine are the hues, which once o'er Eden flung
Their charm of fragrance—when our parents' gaze
First met in paradise—that holy maze
Of beauty and of love; thine island's pride
Is worthy of thee, thus with sea allied.
Thy roses bloom!—but where is the fair cheek?
The eye of eloquence in vain we seek
Mid Sarnia's daughters—and the graceful form
Dwells not with thee—thou isle begirt with storm!—
Save in thy gardens:—there the lily's grace,
Verbena's odour breathes—a hardy race—
The fuschia's bloom its pendant drops disclose,
While thousand plants with richest shading glow;
Camelias too their waxlike beauties spread,
Where orange-flowers their choicest pērfume shed;
And Nature, niggard to thy forest trees,
Fans e'en thy wild flowers with her softest breeze.
Farewell!—a long farewell!—no tear will start,
With thee I leave no fond, devoted heart;
And memory's tracery of bygone years,
And all that love still hopes, believes, and fears,
Is not with thee—child of old Ocean's foam!
The poet's heart is now—e'en now—at home.

poem by Edward Henry Bickersteth
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It Is All In The Mind

think my dear, it is all in your mind
think beautiful
and you will be beautiful
think all the good things you have
and you will be good

think that you are this success and
you will surely be one, my dear
so why bother
about what this world has to say to you

it is you that matters
it is your mind your soul in you that shapes the contours
of your flesh and body

use your mind that way you use
all the wisdom in you
think about beauty, the truth, the good

focus your mind, change this cup, this saucer, this spoon
change this world of ash into flowers and butterflies
learn this art
this subjectivity, this feeling, this poetry

it is all in the mind
and matter is now bereft of power to hurt you
it is
the mind, the soul, the idea, so think some more

it is the real you, this rational you, think some more
with your beautiful mind, change this world of ash into

this garden of Eden

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tending the Garden

Grandmother dug into the earth saying
'men, family, children
are like tending to the garden.

First, you have to have good seed
and good dark earth.'

I used to help her tend the garden
on my Sunday visits-a patch in the
back of her house.

'Get a good fertilizer, find the right spot,
location matters in all this,
bad location
the family, the children, the wife, the men
don't do so good.

Plant the good seeds of decency.

Tell the truth, work hard,
don't get mean
and cynical,
love peace,
help your neighbor.
Simple, really.

Then you find what each plant needs.
Some like a lot of light
some like shade,
then afternoon or morning light,

Each is different.

And have to take the time
to find out what works for each.

And you water your damp ground
til that first little leaf comes up,
pokes up its little head
looking at the first light of its life
of its first day.

That feels good.

And then you water it,
let it know it is welcome in this world,
that someone cares.

And you tend to it.

Keep the weeds away,
the ants and the snails,
and big feet trampling
and it grows,
til you have your first bud
that flowers,
and the branches get sturdy,
and supports more and more of the buds,
and then the early flowers,
and then the full blossomings.

Pretty soon you have your garden,
and you teach your kids,
and your grandkids how to keep
it flowering;

like that
generation after generation.

Of course you need the Son,
the Father too
and the Holy Ghost
.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Flowers

Do you not say
I’m omnipotent,
Omnipresent?

I created you,
Your family
And the nature
Around you.

Would I not be able to
Smell and see the flowers
That surround you?

Why pick them up in lots,
Pluck them off their
Lives, sew them with
Needles, and gift them
As garlands to an image
Of me: your temple deity.

What joy I get, tell me?
If I see my creations
Being ravaged by man’s
Ruthless hands. Like you,
They would love to live
A carefree life of freedom
And sunshine.

Why smother them
Prematurely, wither them
With your plucking fingers?
Don’t crush them to offer me
Pushpanjali.
Let them breathe in the
Breeze of the garden
Where they belong…
Let the bees savour their nectar.

Do not give me bouquets
Of dying flowers…
I’m just as happy
To see them
Blossom :)
In the branches of
The swinging trees.

Why make them bare and barren?
They look so naked without their
Adornments – the beautiful flowers
That drape them in beauty…
Listen to me, my dear devotee.
You happen to see me everywhere,
Don’t you?
You talk of my omnipresence,
So why don’t you see
That I don’t need
Flowers from thee
To please me.

They are there for nature to show us
How flowers look beautiful in their
Natural beauty…don’t pluck, please.

Won’t you heed me?

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Only Leaves!

Will there be fruits without flowers?
Will there be flowers without leaves?
But in my garden only leaves grow
Without flowers and fruits ever!

Selfish growth will mar healthy society!
It will be like westward rush for gold
Where everyone fights with gun to kill
One another along with joy and fun ever!

Competition sans cooperation kills joy!
Animal lust cannot sustain divine love
Making joy bloom as flowers in garden
To make joy rule life forever in bliss!

Life sans good company as desert sans oasis is
Stock piling of wealth sans none to share joy!

poem by Ramesh T A
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A World For Love

Oh, the world is all too rude for thee, with much ado and care;
Oh, this world is but a rude world, and hurts a thing so fair;
Was there a nook in which the world had never been to sear,
That place would prove a paradise when thou and Love were near.

And there to pluck the blackberry, and there to reach the sloe,
How joyously and happily would Love thy partner go;
Then rest when weary on a bank, where not a grassy blade
Had eer been bent by Trouble's feet, and Love thy pillow made.

For Summer would be ever green, though sloes were in their prime,
And Winter smile his frowns to Spring, in beauty's happy clime;
And months would come, and months would go, and all in sunny mood,
And everything inspired by thee grow beautifully good.

And there to make a cot unknown to any care and pain,
And there to shut the door alone on singing wind and rain--
Far, far away from all the world, more rude than rain or wind,
Oh, who could wish a sweeter home, or better place to find?

Than thus to love and live with thee, thou beautiful delight!
Than thus to live and love with thee the summer day and night!
The Earth itself, where thou hadst rest, would surely smile to see
Herself grow Eden once again, possest of Love and thee

poem by John Clare
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Summer

And sleeps thy heart when flower and tree
Adorn the summer stillness?
And did young Spring pass over thee
In chillness?

Their scent delights and pleases,
On petalled breezes blown,
But in their beauty freezes
Thine own.

The flower awakes, the tree is leafed,
Yet love in thee is dumb,—
Flowers fall, fruits ripen, corn is sheafed,
Ho! Winter’s cold will come.

When wakens some November morn
Dew-soft, around thee brightly,
And blossoms on the grey hawthorn
Lie whitely,

Come thou, thy bosom beating,
And learn, through new-found bliss,
No time so joyous, fleeting,
As this.

Come thou, with shadows in thine eyes,
And singing in thy heart,
And learn, ’mid trees, with flowers and skies,
How young and dear thou art.

poem by Johannes Carl Andersen
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Tree

O, Tree
Give me
Some of
Your beauty.

I'm not as
Beautiful
As thee.

O, Tree
Give me
Some of
Your
Endurance.

I'm not as
Resilient
As thee.

O, Tree
Give me
Some of
Your
Silence.

There's
Not much
Calmness
In me.

O, Tree
Give me
Some of your
Divinity.

I'm not as
Godly as thee.

O, Tree
You are a
Treasure trove
Of wealth
With your
Flowers,
Fruits,
Leaves,
And holy
Spirits.

I'm a beggar
Before you.

Won't you
Give alms
To me?

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The sky and stars

The sky is studded with bright stars
Though with little shine but very far
Beyond my imagination and reach
I still go for it and try as such

I find teenagers on line
All beautifully dressed and looking fine
Red cheeks and face with beautiful shine
May not refuse if you politely invite to dine

They may have compelling reasons
It is possible the change might have been caused by seasons
There is boom in garden and flowers smile
All in different colors and zoom in air for while

One such flower appealed me a lot
She was not favorite or but preferred somewhat
It was different from others with lots of appeal
I went very close and urge to pick could not repeal

It presented a very wide smile
I had dread of such a flower for a while
Even though I was aging very fast
An urge from within could not die or last

“How nice, a beautiful presentation but can’t be mine”
I was slipping in sweet memory but got afraid of famine
Will this beauty may die soon or taken away?
Is there no other option open in my way?

There were whispering notes from near by
Flowers of different colors were showing their hands with bye
I was struck there with lots of confusion
I was overpowered with zeal and infusion

I must have at least one to accompany in life
I shall give the beautiful name as wife
Not all flowers are to be seen later on
As nice one has been picked to follow on

The whole garden seemed to me like universe
Heard all applauses for good work and no curse
I had some apprehensions in mind for selfish approach
I found nothing in particular as such

As I said all members are in their teens
Some may be hardly fifteens or sixteen
All out to find their match and very keen
To see the out side world on colorful screen

I offered my love to such beautiful queen
I presumed she was for quite long or even longer may have been
I do not know what had happened to her in between?
But she was desperate even though remained unseen

I thought for a while and decided not to fall
Such relation may be untimely and invite great fall
It would be advisable to go for matured relation
It may be healthy and more over good indication

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Psalm 63

Longing after God; or, The love of God better than life.

Great God, indulge my humble claim,
Thou art my hope, my joy, my rest;
The glories that compose thy name
Stand all engaged to make me blest.

Thou great and good, thou just and wise,
Thou art my Father and my God;
And I am thine by sacred ties;
Thy son, thy servant, bought with blood

With heart, and eyes, and lifted hands,
For thee I long, to thee I look,
As travellers in thirsty lands
Pant for the cooling water-brook.

With early feet I love t' appear
Among thy saints, and seek thy face;
Oft have I seen thy glory there,
And felt the power of sovereign grace.

Not fruits nor wines that tempt our taste,
Nor all the joys our senses know,
Could make me so divinely blest,
Or raise my cheerful passions so.

My life itself without thy love
No taste of pleasure could afford;
'Twould but a tiresome burden prove,
If I were banish'd from the Lord.

Amidst the wakeful hours of night,
When busy cares afflict my head,
One thought of thee gives new delight,
And adds refreshment to my bed.

I'll lift my hands, I'll raise my voice,
While I have breath to pray or praise;
This work shall make my heart rejoice,
And spend the remnant of my days.

poem by Isaac Watts
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The Original Sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden

The devil knew that Eve was weak;
So chose to tempt the lady first;
A Liar by nature, Satan,
It asked Eve tell what God had bid.

Poor Eve knew not the wily snake,
And the Tempter's evil design;
She blurted out the truth God said;
‘They could eat fruits of every tree.

But not the one, God had forbade,
For, death befell the one who ate.'
But Satan told innocent Eve,
It wasn't the truth what God had said.

By eating fruit of ‘knowledge' tree,
One came to know the good from bad!
Your eyes open, you'll be like Gods,
And never die as God had said.

Poor Eve believed the charming words
Uttered by mouth of wily snake!
The tree looked good, so would its fruit;
She thought the snake had told the truth!

The apple looked so enticing
That Eve decided to taste it.
She longed for the wisdom it brought,
And so decided to eat it.

She ate some fruits and took one to
The sleeping Adam; made him eat!
Adam also ate the fruit brought;
They realized they were naked!

Eve was the first to fall in sin
And succumbed to the temptation;
She did not stop with her folly
But made her husband do the same!

The moment, they had eaten then,
Their nakedness, they realized;
They made loin-cloths out of fig leaves
to hide their nudity from God.

They hid amidst the garden trees,
But God called them in a loud voice;
Adam threw the blame upon Eve,
And ate the fruit because she gave!

When God asked Eve, she threw the blame
Upon the snake who tempted her;
Thus was the original sin
Committed by our first parents!

The Tempter knew how to deceive
The lady first, through her the man;
To make the man first eat the fruit
Was perhaps not an easier thing!

And so, the crafty devil lied;
The woman Eve in him believed;
They committed the first big sin,
For now, the Liar seemed to win!

‘The snake became accursed of all
Bellying its way all through its life;
And eat dust as long as it lived.' -
The punishment pronounced by God!

When God had asked both Adam, Eve,
If they disobeyed His command,
They tried to blame the next for it,
Persisting in their lie to God.

Eve would bear children with great pain;
And yearn for her husband all life;
Adam would have to till the soil,
And get food-crops by sweat and toil!

As Adam put the blame on Eve;
As though he knew not God's command;
They weren't aware of God's wisdom,
And hence were banished from Eden!

Had they accepted their fault then,
Perhaps God could have forgiven;
And mankind could have still been saved,
From exile from Eden Garden!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-7-12

poem by John Celes
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