My Trust
A picture memory brings to me
I look across the years and see
Myself beside my mother's knee.
I feel her gentle hand restrain
My selfish moods, and know again
A child's blind sense of wrong and pain.
But wiser now, a man gray grown,
My childhood's needs are better known,
My mother's chastening love I own.
Gray grown, but in our Father's sight
A child still groping for the light
To read His works and ways aright.
I wait, in His good time to see
That as my mother dealt with me
So with His children dealeth He.
I bow myself beneath His hand
That pain itself was wisely planned
I feel, and partly understand.
The joy that comes in sorrow's guise,
The sweet pains of self-sacrifice,
I would not have them otherwise.
And what were life and death if sin
Knew not the dread rebuke within,
The pang of merciful discipline?
Not with thy proud despair of old,
Crowned stoic of Rome's noblest mould!
Pleasure and pain alike I hold.
I suffer with no vain pretence
Of triumph over flesh and sense,
Yet trust the grievous providence,
How dark soe'er it seems, may tend,
By ways I cannot comprehend,
To some unguessed benignant end;
That every loss and lapse may gain
The clear-aired heights by steps of pain,
And never cross is borne in vain.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Related quotes
My Trust
A picture memory brings to me
I look across the years and see
Myself beside my mother's knee.
I feel her gentle hand restrain
My selfish moods, and know again
A child's blind sense of wrong and pain.
But wiser now, a man gray grown,
My childhood's needs are better known,
My mother's chastening love I own.
Gray grown, but in our Father's sight
A child still groping for the light
To read His works and ways aright.
I wait, in His good time to see
That as my mother dealt with me
So with His children dealeth He.
I bow myself beneath His hand
That pain itself was wisely planned
I feel, and partly understand.
The joy that comes in sorrow's guise,
The sweet pains of self-sacrifice,
I would not have them otherwise.
And what were life and death if sin
Knew not the dread rebuke within,
The pang of merciful discipline?
Not with thy proud despair of old,
Crowned stoic of Rome's noblest mould!
Pleasure and pain alike I hold.
I suffer with no vain pretence
Of triumph over flesh and sense,
Yet trust the grievous providence,
How dark soe'er it seems, may tend,
By ways I cannot comprehend,
To some unguessed benignant end;
That every loss and lapse may gain
The clear-aired heights by steps of pain,
And never cross is borne in vain.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Born To Be Ransomed
Born to be ransomed,
Born for a reason,
On one side Love,
On the other side Security,
Mabey,
Taken to be placed elsewhere,
Or,
Mabey,
Taken to be placed with them,
Born to be ransomed,
Held ransomed by those,
For security measures of the father and mother,
So,
They are called on by the beckoning,
Of,
Those holding child held by ransomed,
Is what people do when child means,
A lot to mother and father,
Love and security in family keepings,
Born to be ransomed,
With intent to use child,
By the takers of child,
To profit and gain,
For themselves in lifes times,
When child born is then used,
Till,
Mother and father is killed,
And,
Child is then raised in a racket,
For,
What mother and father were,
And,
Left for the child when child grown,
In giving is receiving,
All that has good intentions,
Gives for good reasons,
Yet,
Why one is born to be ransomed,
Is,
The what see's and pre-desires,
The placement and life,
Of,
What two in love have made,
The unborn child then becomes,
The ransom of what wants,
What,
The two have in love and wealth,
When this goes on and child is grown,
The eyes that see and yet do not understand,
Is,
The child raised seeing all,
From,
The good ways,
To the bad ways,
To the cruel ways,
To,
The crimes committed and seen,
Is,
The eyes of seeing,
From,
Been born in a world disrupted,
Is,
A child born and ransomed,
What is of matter,
Mattering to two,
Two in love,
That,
Choose to be one,
One as in a couple,
To matter and be,
For,
What matters to them,
Is,
What brings matter of two,
To,
Become a matter of one,
A,
Child born of two,
Yet,
Now matter's to none,
But,
What ransoms the child out,
Till,
The child grew to be,
And,
Left them all behind,
Knowing,
Mother and father are dead,
Living,
Life knowing too much,
Just,
From been the ransom,
The ransom,
Of,
All,
That,
Is,
Of,
Mother and father,
Till,
All,
Of,
Mother and father's,
Income and places,
Was,
Spent and giving to others,
Tis,
Then,
Ransomed child grown,
Can,
Leave,
With noting,
But themselve,
To have some kind,
Of life,
Somewhere else,
Faraway!
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Botticelli's Madonna in the Louvre
WHAT strange presentiment, O Mother, lies
On thy waste brow and sadly-folded lips,
Forefeeling the Light's terrible eclipse
On Calvary, as if love made thee wise,
And thou couldst read in those dear infant eyes
The sorrow that beneath their smiling sleeps,
And guess what bitter tears a mother weeps
When the cross darkens her unclouded skies?
Sad Lady, if some mother, passing thee,
Should feel a throb of thy foreboding pain,
And think - 'My child at home clings so to me,
With the same smile . . . and yet in vain, in vain,
Since even this Jesus died on Calvary' -
Say to her then: 'He also rose again.'
poem by Edith Wharton
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My Firm Belief
This is the world of loss and gain
Where God let nothing to go in vain
Even a water dropp that we get in rain
Helps us in moments of suffering and pain
When troubles come it makes us gray
And everything feels wrong in the way
And we don't find next stone to lay
And think that God has pushed us away
But this is neither true nor it is right
Because for us God emits bliss light
And show us nice things that are bright
For his ways are always unique and quiet
So if we feel we are stuck in a test
Where we are not given any rest
Then thing that at time seems best
is to go to God and pray with zest
Because this is surely my firm belief
That God who is our creator and chief
Will cease our pain and will give us relief
And will remove from us our distress and grief
Because this is the world of loss and gain
Where God let nothing to go in vain
Even a water dropp that we get in rain
Helps us in moments of sufferings and pain
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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The Womb
Up from the evil day
Of wattle and of woad,
Along man's weary way
Dark Pain has been the goad.
Back from the age of stone,
Within his brutish brain,
What pleasure he has known
Is ease from Pain.
Behold in Pain the force
That haled Man from the Pit,
And set him such a course
No mind can measure it.
To angel from the ape
No human pang was vain
In that divine escape
To joy through Pain.
See Pain with stoic eyes
And patient fortitude,
A blessing in disguise,
An instrument of good.
Aye, though with hearts forlorn
We to despair be fain,
Believe that Joy is born
From Womb of Pain.
poem by Robert William Service
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A mother's story
'Can' you tell what is mother and her form?
Who reminds you doing thing's when you are wrong, , ,
Mother is the candle who burn herself;
to light our life
Mother hold you nine month's, with a pain and fights, , to bring you to the new life, , , , ,
Mother hids her pain from our life,
How the apple is cut by a knife
The apple cut and gives us tast, , , thats he feel her life is not wast,
Every one says that 'god' is best, , ,
But in my life my mother is best, , , , ,
I love you mother, , , , ,
poem by Ali Hussain
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A Daughter's Wish
I wish I had a mother,
That would love me the way she should.
I wish I had a mother,
To accept me for who I am.
I wish I had a mother,
Who wouldn’t belittle me the way she does.
I wish I had a mother,
Who would trust me some of the time.
I wish I had a mother,
That would listen to me when I’m in pain.
I wish I had a mother,
Who would trust me just abit.
I wish I had a mother,
Who would help me when I asked.
I wish I had a mother,
Who didn’t criticize me the way she does.
I wish I had a mother,
Who would understand the pain she’s caused
I wish I had a mother,
Who didn’t have to be right all the time.
I wish I had a mother,
Who would see the good that I’ve done.
I wish I had a mother,
Who wouldn’t make me beg for her love.
poem by A.M. Belsey
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Untitled 4
Mother! Darling mother, you are seeking me I know,
And I feel thy love will follow through the world where'er I go;
But I cannot come, dear mother; I am sadly altered now:
The once fair wreath of innocence that garlanded my brow
Has faded ne'er to bloom again; and from the things of yore-
The fair, the good, the beautiful - I'm severed ever-more.
My onward way must be a path of darkness and of pain,
But I must tread it all alone - I cannot come again.
Of all the changes that have come, I know that this will be,
Where all the changes have been sad, the saddest change to thee.
I know how much thou'lt weep, mother, for thy dear boy so lost,
And 'tis the sorrow thou must feel that makes me sorrow most.
I strove against this darker fate, I struggled, mother, long.
I starved and suffered months, mother, ere I was linked to wrong:
And even now good angels plead to win me - but in vain!
Once fallen is forever lost - I cannot come again.
I'm severed from thee by my sin, but cannot say 'forget,'
Thy love is such a hollowed thing, I ask it even yet;
But let it be a memory that images all fair
The child that with uplifted hands in faith knelt by thy chair.
Think of me, mother, as I was, when joy lit up my brow
And my young heart was innocent, but not as I am now.
Pray for me. This I know thou'lt do; but seek me not, 'tis vain!
I'd throw a shadow on thy home - I cannot come again.
They say that in desert drear some greenness may be found,
Some oasis in contrast strange to all the waste around,
And even thus, within my heart, guilt darkened though it be,
There is a love all-beautiful, that lives and clings to thee.
I'm weeping very bitterly, I cannot help these tears,
They are the tribute memory pays to joys of fleeted years,
Goodbye! God bless thee, mother dear! I sorrow for thy pain.
Oh! If I were but innocent, I'd gladly come again.
poem by Owen Suffolk
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An Old Soul
I’m not like other children my age.
The children my age are precarious fools,
Whose actions are unjustified.
I don’t understand why they do as they do,
But oh, children will be children, will they not?
I’ve now gained the nickname of ‘mother’
Because I see them hurt each other for no reason,
And I’ll always step in to tell them to stop.
I hear them spread rumours,
And I don’t believe a word they say.
I’m implicated about their futures,
As if they care about their futures.
All of the foolish teens are in agony,
So despite their absurdity I try to help.
They only stab me in the back in the end.
I don’t understand the children my age,
They are cruel, unsophisticated and hostile.
They hold such pain, yet they cause that pain in others. Why?
I hold pain and it only makes me want to erase any pain in others.
Why would having pain make you want to upset others?
I’m only fourteen yet somehow I’m older than those who are sixteen,
They’re little children who know so little about the world, compared to me.
I don’t understand them enough to befriend them, so I’m lonely
And the adults don’t enjoy being friends with a child like me.
Looks are deceiving; I feel like a cognizant ancient.
I try my best but I’ll never understand any of them,
It won’t happen; I’m not as old as I feel, I am stuck being an old soul.
poem by Lenore Lee
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The Pain I Can Control
The pain I can control
The pain that makes me whole
The pain that stops and brings some tears
The pain that erases all my fears
The pain that I inflict with this knife
The pain that might be last in my life
The pain that brought me to my knees
The pain that woahed me full of pleas
The pain that made me see the light
The pain that is bringing me home tonight
The pain that is wrong and bitter
The pain that makes me feel fitter
The pain that my friends say is wrong
The pain that makes me feel so strong
The pain that makes my friend sad, and cry
The pain that makes her want to die
The pain thats not just pain to me
The pain that makes everyone see
The pain that thats tearing me apart
The pain thats ripping apart my heart
The pain that I'm addicted to
The pain I can't give up. Not even for you..
Child
Child,
God knows
how much I love you.
Child,
I may not be
the kind of mother
that you want,
I may not have given you
the kind of life
that you want,
but I'm your mother
and no one can change that.
Child,
you are so dear to me,
and all through my life
I wish nothing
but your happiness.
Child,
forgive this mother
for not having the strength
to protect you from sadness
of being apart
from your loved one.
But child,
I am more sad
when you cry for a man
whom I think
not worthy of you.
So child,
please bear the pain
because I believe
that somewhere
there is someone
worthy of your love.
Child,
trust me
you will find that man,
if you just set yourself free
from your wrong love.
Child,
I'm your mother...
I have raised you,
and I know
what is best for you.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Pain Has Never Left
For an Eternity I’ve felt anger
For a lifetime I’ve felt Pain
I feel pain for the little girl in me that had to grow up before her time
I feel pain for the teenager that never got the chance to have friends to lime
I feel pain for the young woman who everyone used trickery and deceit on
I feel pain for the adult who gave her hold life and soul to carry her baby
I feel pain for the adult who had her baby too early and prayed for him to survive
I feel pain for the woman who watched her son fight to stay with her
I feel pain for the woman who never got to hold him and tell him everything was going to be ok
I feel pain for the soul who watched her son died without doing anything to help him
Today I still feel a stifling pain
Towards the people who should have protected me and did not
I feel pain for the lashes life dealt me
I feel pain for the friends that used me, hurt me both body and soul
I feel pain for the child, girl, woman who could not bring herself to hate anyone
I feel pain, and even after every painful event in my life I could still pray and forgive
I feel pain all over, a pain that may never leave my life
poem by Lisa Roberts
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The Blind Slave Boy
Come back to me, mother! why linger away
From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day!
I mark every footstep, I list to each tone,
And wonder my mother should leave me alone!
But there’s no one to joy or to sorrow with me;
For each hath of pleasure and trouble his share,
And none for the poor little blind boy will care.
My mother, come back to me! close to thy breast
Once more let thy poor little blind one be pressed;
Once more let me feel they warm breath on my cheek,
And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak!
O mother! I’ve no one to love me – no heart
Can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part;
No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind,
O! none like a mother can cherish the blind!
Poor blind one! No mother thy wailing can hear,
No mother can hasten to banish thy fear;
And for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child!
Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal
The anguish that none but a mother can feel,
When man is his vile lust of mammon hath trod
On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God!
Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone,
She hears in her anguish his piteous moan,
As he eagerly listens—but listens in vain,
To catch the loved tones of his mother again!
The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall
On the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall,
And his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy,
Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy!
poem by Anonymous Americas
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A Mother
A mother shows the child the world
A mother is its world when small
A mother shows the child what's love
A mother loves her child like a doll!
A mother makes the home and bed
A mother cares for all at home
A mother trains the child to walk
And stand on own, perfectly talk.
A mother is the teacher prime
A mother moulds the character
A mother shows the child to pray
And trust the unseen God all life.
A mother is the child's best friend
A mother knows its needs and wants
A mother cares for child when sick
And feels so proud, when child achieves.
Children, thank God for a good mother
On ‘Mother's day! '
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-05-12
poem by John Celes
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The Reunion
The gulf of seven and fifty years
We stretch our welcoming hands across;
The distance but a pebble's toss
Between us and our youth appears.
For in life's school we linger on
The remnant of a once full list;
Conning our lessons, undismissed,
With faces to the setting sun.
And some have gone the unknown way,
And some await the call to rest;
Who knoweth whether it is best
For those who went or those who stay?
And yet despite of loss and ill,
If faith and love and hope remain,
Our length of days is not in vain,
And life is well worth living still.
Still to a gracious Providence
The thanks of grateful hearts are due,
For blessings when our lives were new,
For all the good vouchsafed us since.
The pain that spared us sorer hurt,
The wish denied, the purpose crossed,
And pleasure's fond occasions lost,
Were mercies to our small desert.
'T is something that we wander back,
Gray pilgrims, to our ancient ways,
And tender memories of old days
Walk with us by the Merrimac;
That even in life's afternoon
A sense of youth comes back again,
As through this cool September rain
The still green woodlands dream of June.
The eyes grown dim to present things
Have keener sight for bygone years,
And sweet and clear, in deafening ears,
The bird that sang at morning sings.
Dear comrades, scattered wide and far,
Send from their homes their kindly word,
And dearer ones, unseen, unheard,
Smile on us from some heavenly star.
For life and death with God are one,
Unchanged by seeming change His care
And love are round us here and there;
He breaks no thread His hand has spun.
Soul touches soul, the muster roll
Of life eternal has no gaps;
And after half a century's lapse
Our school-day ranks are closed and whole.
Hail and farewell! We go our way;
Where shadows end, we trust in light;
The star that ushers in the night
Is herald also of the day!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Harvests of Salvation
a motherless child would rather stand in a thousand lashes
then to stand alone
a motherless child not deserving of another orphan’s sympathy
because you motherless child, has a mother still with thee
walking a path of a mother’s neglect could possibly be...
Worse than her not being among thee?
We’ll wait to see
in this child’s salvation is a harvest of okay temptations
to except a slightly opened heart
only because she is use to this emotion
what could she do with love anyhow?
Granted she never knew it to be so
so how could she seek it
and if she ever found it
how could she believe it
similar to a man with a mission but no memory
people cannot be familiar with something they have never known
motherless child cursed by the love she was never shown
motherless child wether you like it or not
you stand alone
a clear example of a daughter on her own
and what damage is done, when a child is not nurtured
through the years she has grown
others get lost in destructive ways
some vent artistically
but the most comforting thought is in this life you are on your own
but don’t always have to stand alone
poem by Kylee Wells
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A.Boikov, As often was in childhood... - transl.(rus.)
by Andrei Boikov
As often was in childhood,
That, when I fell to earth,
My mother said: 'You shoudn't, true,
Take care! Only blow! '
And she blew on my wounded knee,
This seemed as a perfect magic,
The pain went out slowly,
And further went we gayly.
The years passed. A lot of grief
They brought, my mother passed...
And life - was kicking, beating me,
No one wished blowing up.
But through the pain I scrawled wayward -
Through frenzy circling days.
And here my son is crying a lot:
'Mother! ' - on his knee's pain.
I take his wounded pawn and blow,
Trying to take off grief!
My son says: 'Thank you, Papa, now! '
And pain goes out of me...
poem by Lyudmila Purgina
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Pain Is My Friend
pain is my only gain,
pain is my friend,
pain so deep and cold,
i feel at home with the dark pain,
i love pain pain is my friend,
pain will bring back my love,
pain will give me life once again,
pain so deep and cold,
is the only way i can have,
my love and my friend,
pain is the worlds friend,
pain shows us if we do wrong,
pain shows us who we are,
pain is not only in the dark,
but in the light as well,
pain is so deep and cunning,
pain can show me who i am,
pain shows the world who we are,
pain is my only friend,
with out love theres pain,
with out anyone theres pain,
with out the sun with out the moon,
theres pain so as you can see,
pain is with us and always will be,
pain will never leave its a marriage,
its a soul and a part of you,
that will never leave,
pain is my friend and it is your too....
poem by Richard Belis
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The death of losing your mother the pain is so bad it never goes away
The death of your mother the pain is so bad it never will go away. It's like the pain hunts you. There are no words that can describe the pain of losing your mother. written and Posted 10/21/09 In the memory of my mother Esther Feber Klaton Today is my mother's birthday.
poem by Susie Sunshine
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Pain Is So Close To Pleasure
Words and music by freddie mercury and john deacon
Ooh ooh pain is so close to pleasure oh yeah
Sunshine and rainy weather go hand in hand together all
Your life
Ooh ooh pain is so close to pleasure everybody knows
One day we love each other then were fighting one another
All the time
When I was young and just getting started
And people talked to me they sounded broken hearted
Then I grew up and got my imagination
And all I wanted was to start a new relation
So in love but love had a bad reaction
I was looking for some good old satisfaction
But pain is all I got when all I needed was some love and
Affection
Ooh ooh pain is so close to pleasure yeah yeah
Sunshine and rainy weather go hand in hand together all
Your life
Pain and pleasure
Ooh ooh pain and pleasure
When your plans go wrong and you turn out the light
But inside of your mind you have to put up a fight
Where are the answers that were all searching for
Theres nothing in this world to be sure of anymore
Some days youre feeling good some days youre feeling bad
But if youre feeling happy someone else is always sad
Let the sweetness of love wipe the tears from your face
For better for worse so lets make the best of the rest of our
Years
Ooh ooh pain is so close to pleasure I told you so
Sunshine and rainy weather go hand in hand together all
Your life
Pain and pleasure
Ooh ooh pain is so close to pleasure yeah yeah
Sunshine and rainy weather go hand in hand together all
Your life
All your life
Pain - pleasure ....
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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