To the Lady Margaret Ley
Daughter to that good Earl, one President
Of England’s Council and her Treasury,
Who lived in both unstained with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till the sad breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chæronea, fatal to liberty,
Killed with report that old man eloquent,
Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourished, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet:
So well your words his noble virtues praise
That all both judge you to relate them true
And to possess them, honoured Margaret.
poem by John Milton
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Related quotes
Sonnet X: Daughter to that good Earl
To the Lady Margaret Ley
Daughter to that good Earl, once President
Of England's Council, and her Treasury,
Who lived in both, unstained with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till sad the breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty,
Killed with report that old man eloquent.
Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourished, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet;
So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honoured Margaret.
poem by John Milton
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Sonnet 10
X
Daughter to that good Earl, once President
Of Englands Counsel, and her Treasury,
Who liv'd in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till the sad breaking of that Parlament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty
Kil'd with report that Old man eloquent,
Though later born, then to have known the dayes
Wherin your Father flourisht, yet by you
Madam, me thinks I see him living yet;
So well your words his noble vertues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, Honour'd Margaret.
Note: Camb. autograph supplies title, To the Lady Margaret
Ley.
poem by John Milton
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Tribute To Our Fathers
Black sheep son's father
What a grief to be!
Fool's teacher doth but
Potsherds glues apiece.
Father's heroism ring out
And blessing rain upon yourself;
At noble father cock a snook
And basket-full sorrows harvest.
The flo'er of youth maximize
But not 'gainst noble father.
Better "No" when 'live and strong
Than spite at his solemn sleep.
Cock your ear and be under his wings
For o'er you The Supreme honours him.
Father's blessing the son's hand strengthens
But father's curse a fatal road paves.
Yourself never praise
On your father's snub;
His disdain yours is,
His praise yours too is.
poem by Christian Tobechukwu Okafor
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For Vasant Kothari
Every funeral, cremation, and its rites
may have its grief; yet too,
its celebration of a life well lived;
and call out, too, self-dedication’s vow:
as the crowd of living witness
quietly leave and share their murmured words,
this vow ever calls to me: to celebrate the living:
celebrate them just as if it were
their – our - last day on earth:
celebrate and praise unstintingly;
encourage and enthuse and aid;
form their virtues in the mind and
speak them loud – as if
these whom we praise, were unaware
of their own virtues..
celebrate the living, and their life
shall celebrate the praisers in its life..
Vasant, your sweet, contained humility
hid from strangers, showed your friends,
what you were; and, who we are;
I hope your spirit (which, I’d like to think,
inspired me to the sounds beyond these words)
approves, accepts – in the eternal present tense –
these thoughts of you.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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Killing An Angel With Swollen Pride
Their is the good times and the bad
How could have things went so wrong
Nothing left for me
Killing an angel with my destiny
Watching in agony
Nothing I can do to relieve her misery
The bleeding I can't stop
I think I hit an artery
So fatal
So lethal
Death defying
Mind blowing
No looking back
Wishing against my own existence
Take my life
Take me
Oh please just take me
Theirs the good times and the bad
How could have it went so wrong
Nothing left for me
Killing an angel with my destiny
Its destroying everything as far as the eye can see
All for something I might just be
Not for my wants or needs
Basic survival
Destroy all your rivals
Still I don't feel liable
The important things stick like glue to you
Don't tell me you don't know who
Theirs the good times and the bad
How could have things went so wrong
Killing an angel with my destiny
Nothing left for me
Twenty years disappear
Nothing left to hold on to so dear
Look into a mirror
Only to have a ghost look back
Forgetting all the facts
Living in the past
This will eat your soul away
Till to the end of your days
Even if you pray
You still can't stay
Because your not okay
The heart gets torn apart
Ripped in two
Fed to the confused
Guess you lose
I have killed to many angels with my destiny
The devil got me
I have killed the angels
I killed them all
All because my pride came before my fall
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Who I Am! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
I am My Father's Daughter
I am Torn Between Being Your Perfect Daughter or Letting You Go Forever
I am Finally Seeing Why I made All My Countless Mistakes They Were All Because Of You
I Am Turning Into The Person Who I never wanted To Be But Its In My Blood& Can't Change Who We really are
I Am Touching My Cold Heartless Heart That You Finally Broke & Destroyed That Not Even I can Fix
I Am Hoping & Praying My Future Never Ever Turns Into My Past Again
I Am Trying To See The Good Bout You & Yet None Come To My Mind
I Am Seeing The Monster I've Become, Yet I Won't Cry nor Scream
I Am Understanding Why I Won't or Can't Get Rid Of all This Bad Horrible Blood
I Am A Daddy's Girl till The End OF Time Whether I Accept IT Or Not
I Am Always & Forever Gonna Be My Father's Daughter Like Father Like Daughter.......................
poem by Hadyn Rodriguez
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A Flashback Reaction
When father and daughter had words
contracting muscles in my face
felt like worms crawling
under my skin
Daughter conceded, father was right,
muscles relaxed, back to normal,
a flashback reaction
to early youth
When I held my fingers in my ears
as mother and father conversed
in angry words, grating
on my nerves…
poem by Margaret Alice
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Jephthah Judge of Israel
Have you not heard these many years ago,
Jeptha was judge of Israel?
He had one only daughter and no mo,
The which he loved passing well.
And as by lott,
God wot,
It so came to pass,
As Gods will was,
That great wars there should be,
And none should be chosen chief but he.
And when he was appointed judge,
And chieftain of the company,
A solemn vow to God he made,
If he returned with victory,
At his return,
To burn
The first live thing,
****
That should meet with him then,
Off his house when he should return agen.
It came to pass, the wars was o'er,
And he returned with victory;
His dear and only daughter first of all
Came to meet her father foremostly:
And all the way
She did play
On tabret and pipe,
Full many a stripe,
With note so high,
For joy that her father is come so nigh.
But when he saw his daughter dear
Coming on most foremostly,
He wrung his hands, and tore his hair,
And cryed out most piteously:
'Oh! it's thou,' said he,
'That have brought me Low,
And troubled me so,
That I know not what to do.
'For I have made a vow,' he sed,
'The which must be replenished;'
****
'What thou hast spoke
Do not revoke,
What thou hast said;
Be not afraid;
Altho' it be I,
Keep promises to God on high.
'But, dear father, grant me one request,
That I may go to the wilderness,
Three months there with my friends to stay;
There to bewail my virginity;
And let there be,'
Said he,
'Some two or three
Young maids with me.'
So he sent her away,
For to mourn, for to mourn, till her dying day.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Father And Daughter
Father and daughter spend some quiet time together in the living room
Shining through the curtain is the sun
And outside is the glorious afternoon
Father reads to his daughter the poetry she loves
Father and daughter enjoy each other's company
Father takes his daughter by the hand
As they take a walk outside
Father cares for his daughter
And always wishes the very best to happen for her
poem by Justin Gildow
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Days Of 49
Im old tom moore from the bummers shore in that good old golden days
They call me a bummer and a ginsot too, but what cares I for praise ?
I wander around from town to town just like a roving sign
And all the people say, there goes tom moore, in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
My comrades they all loved me well, a jolly saucy crew
A few hard cases I will recall though they all were brave and true
Whatever the pitch they never would flinch, they never would fret or whine
Like good old bricks they stood the kicks in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
There was new york jake, the butcher boy, he was always getting tight
And every time that hed get full he was spoiling for a fight
But jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of old bob stein
And over jake they held a wake in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
There was poker bill, one of the boys who was always in a game
Whether he lost or whether he won, to him it was always the same
He would ante up and draw his cards and he would you go a hatful blind
In the game with death bill lost his breath, in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
There was ragshag bill from buffalo, I never will forget
He would roar all day and hed roar all night and I guess hes roaring yet
One day he fell in a prospect hole, in a roaring bad design
And in that hole he roared out his soul, in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
Of the comrades all that Ive had, theres none thats left to boast
And Im left alone in my misery like some poor wandering ghost
And I pass by from town to town, they call me a rambling sign
There goes tom moore, a bummer shore in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Golden Truths
Who knows who lives for longer span?
The father, son, grand-father, man;
Prudence must be our guide on earth;
And temperance practiced from birth.
The road we choose is left to us;
We walk or run or go by bus;
The time we take is left to us;
God gives the freedom ev’n to fuss!
This world if bad is due to men;
Good words or bad come from same ken;
Good deeds or bad, the same hand does;
Some day one must ‘let out the pus’!
Most swear that they won’t sin again;
All sins will take you down wrong lane;
’Tis tough to kick off bad habits;
Virtues are nurtured in small bits.
Think well and you will understand;
Sin takes you to a foreign land:
The joy of which is just a dream-
A short-lived specter: then you scream.
The hard way round is best to take;
It never can become a fake;
Success will come and will not feign;
The joy of hard-work will remain.
poem by John Celes
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Cromwell
They took dead Cromwell from his grave,
And stuck his head on high;
The Merry Monarch and his men,
They laughed as they passed by
The common people cheered and jeered,
To England’s deep disgrace—
The crowds who’d ne’er have dared to look
Live Cromwell in the face.
He came in England’s direst need
With law and fire and sword,
He thrashed her enemies at home
And crushed her foes abroad;
He kept his word by sea and land,
His parliament he schooled,
He made the nations understand
A Man in England ruled!
Van Tromp, with twice the English ships,
And flushed by victory—
A great broom to his masthead bound—
Set sail to sweep the sea.
But England’s ruler was a man
Who needed lots of room—
So Blake soon lowered the Dutchman’s tone,
And smashed the Dutchman’s broom.
He sent a bill to Tuscany
For sixty thousand pounds,
For wrong done to his subjects there,
And merchants in her bounds.
He sent by Debt Collector Blake,
And—you need but be told
That, by the Duke of Tuscany
That bill was paid in gold.
To pirate ports in Africa
He sent a message grim
To have each captured Englishman
Delivered up to him;
And every ship and cargo’s worth,
And every boat and gun—
And this—all this, as Dickens says—
“Was gloriously done.”
They’d tortured English prisoners
Who’d sailed the Spanish Main;
So Cromwell sent a little bill
By Admiral Blake to Spain.
To keep his hand in, by the way.
He whipped the Portuguese;
And he made it safe for English ships
To sail the Spanish seas.
The Protestants in Southern lands
Had long been sore oppressed;
They sent their earnest prayers to Noll
To have their wrongs redressed.
He sent a message to the Powers,
In which he told them flat,
All men must praise God as they chose,
Or he would see to that.
And, when he’d hanged the fools at home
And settled foreign rows,
He found the time to potter round
Amongst his pigs and cows.
Of private rows he never spoke,
That grand old Ironsides.
They said a father’s strong heart broke
When Cromwell’s daughter died.
(They dragged his body from its grave,
His head stuck on a pole,
They threw his wife’s and daughter’s bones
Into a rubbish hole
To rot with those of two who’d lived
And fought for England’s sake,
And each one in his own brave way—
Great Pym, and Admiral Blake.)
From Charles to Charles, throughout the world
Old England’s name was high,
And that’s a thing no Royalist
Could ever yet deny.
Long shameful years have passed since then,
In spite of England’s boast—
But Englishmen were Englishmen,
While Cromwell carved the roast.
And, in my country’s hour of need—
For it shall surely come,
While run by fools who’ll never heed
The beating of the drum.
While baffled by the fools at home,
And threatened from the sea—
Lord! send a man like Oliver—
And let me live to see.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Seven Curses
Old reilly stole a stallion
But they caught him and they brought him back
And they laid him down on the jailhouse ground
With an iron chain around his neck.
Old reillys daughter got a message
That her father was goin to hang.
She rode by night and came by morning
With gold and silver in her hand.
When the judge he saw reillys daughter
His old eyes deepened in his head,
Sayin, gold will never free your father,
The price, my dear, is you instead.
Oh Im as good as dead, cried reilly,
Its only you that he does crave
And my skin will surely crawl if he touches you at all.
Get on your horse and ride away.
Oh father you will surely die
If I dont take the chance to try
And pay the price and not take your advice.
For that reason I will have to stay.
The gallows shadows shook the evening,
In the night a hound dog bayed,
In the night the grounds were groanin,
In the night the price was paid.
The next mornin she had awoken
To know that the judge had never spoken.
She saw that hangin branch a-bendin,
She saw her fathers body broken.
These be seven curses on a judge so cruel:
That one doctor will not save him,
That two healers will not heal him,
That three eyes will not see him.
That four ears will not hear him,
That five walls will not hide him,
That six diggers will not bury him
And that seven deaths shall never kill him.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When you are borne and gone
You come with naked body
As natural as flower
With pink rose face and fists closed
You cried in full and all laughed at you
What did they expect you to become?
Professor, doctor.philosopher, or guide
No one knew what was in store for you
But all hopes hinged on you
What did you do in life?
Amassed enough wealth
Robbed and killed many innocents
Just for self and family members
For bright future and generations to come
Nothing stayed with you as days approached
Bade a farewell amidst curse, blessings or prayers
What did you gain?
Thousands of applause
Millions of hands rose for blessings
For lovely memory as saint, politician or donor
Good acamadecian, social worker or reformer
Golden words from noble man and preacher
Gentleman, son of the soil or martyr
Name worth millions of rupees
Precious than diamond and holy books
Was that worth or enough?
Leave it for future generations to judge?
Single faith and never to budge
Struck to words and principled life
Life like king size as honoured man
Did what ever you could or did
Simple goal, .simple mission with worth living
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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What Kind Of Father Are You?
Do a father leave his three daughter down and dry
Do a father come only three times out of a year
What kind of father are you?
Should a father leave his daughters just to take care of an other women son and daughter...
What kind of father are you?
Can a father broke a promise that he promise 10 years ago
Should a father be ashame of his three daughter looks or weight
If so what kind of father are you?
poem by Valentine White
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The tempest tempted the valiant man
The tempest tempted the valiant man
Whose madam fair, loved unfairly
His mind dreamt of murder as minds can
Murder of the thing he loved dearly.
Devilish he spied with his clandestine eye
Upon his madam's breast hidden behind lovely lace
There he found deception cloaked in its clever lie
For her heart beat at a dishonest deceptive pace.
He withdrew his dagger and stabbed his heart brave
She screamed in agony with treacherous pain
My love I am sorry I played a knave
And loved another, for lust and pleasure gain
The lady drowned in her pool of tears
For she killed herself, when her man killed his fears…..
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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My Father Dear
Rare can I find a father
Of great statue and character
Man of words and honor
Even possess good humor
Often a friend to many more.
Man of guts and practicality
A respected guy in the locality
Law abider
Often a good provider
Never he gets angry without reason
Especially if one has to learn a lesson
Surely he'll teach anyone just soon.
Being my father
I'm proud to be his daughter
Like a sheep that sheepherder feeds
Lavishing me with my own basic needs
On certain condition that he always point
Never will I do him wrong or disappoint
Exerting much efforts my father do not rest
Simply because he wants to give me the best.
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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Ask One Other Than Me
What's life all about ask one other than me
The madness I see in others in my own self I see
For success with each other we are made to compete
And victory for one to another defeat.
I envy those with the gift of empathy
Our selfishness in a true sense our spiritual poverty
How can you say that one is truly a great
If she or he to the suffering of others seem unable to relate.
In a success driven Human World what is success anyway
We are born into life only to die one day
The same for the president, the monarch, the pauper and billionaire
The reaper of lives any life does not spare.
Time ticks along fast and every day we grow old
And what matter if your life story is never told
Do be kind to others and respect to all pay
And do at least one good deed if you can every day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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