I always beg
I always beg, yet never am relieved,
I grieve, because my griefs are not believed.
I cry aloud in vain, my voice outstretched,
And get but this, mine echo calls me wretched!
poem by John Wilbye
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Related quotes
Ain't Gonna Grieve
by Bob Dylan
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Come on brother, join the band,
Come on sisters, clap your hands,
Tell everybody that's in the land,
You ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Brown and blue and white and black,
All one color on the one-way track,
We got this far and ain't a-goin' back
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
I ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
We're gonna notify your next of kin,
You're gonna raise the roof until the house falls in.
If you get knocked down get up again,
We ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
I ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
We'll sing this song all night long,
Sing it to my baby from midnight on.
She'll sing it to you when I'm dead and gone,
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
I ain't a-gonna grieve no more
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And There is...an Echo
And there is an echo
A voice without voice
Floats and repeats
The real sound of voice
That is echo
Praised by the mute
Who shouts in the sea of mist
Without someone to know
That is echo
Swing by the name
But it ignores and says
Steals the sound of real voice
But let the echo
Takes the voice and echoes
Before the power is gone
And disappears word by word
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Widow Gordon's Petition
To the Right Hon. the Lady Carteret.
Weary'd with long Attendance on the Court,
You, Madam, are the Wretch's last Resort.
Eternal King! if here in vain I cry,
Where shall the Fatherless and Widow fly?
How blest are they, who sleep among the Dead,
Nor hear their Childrens piercing Cries for Bread!
When your lov'd Off--spring gives your Soul Delight,
Reflect how mine are irksome to my Sight:
O think, how must a wretched Mother grieve,
Who hears the Want she never can relieve!
An Evil preys upon my helpless Son,
(How many Ways the Wretched are undone!)
Cruel Distemper! to assault his Sight,
And rob him of his only Joy, the Light!
His Anguish makes my weary'd Eyes o'erflow,
And loads me with unutterable Woe.
No friendly Voice my lonely Mansion cheers;
All fly th' Infection of the Widow's Tears:
Ev'n those, whose Pity eas'd my Wants with Bread,
Are now, O sad Reverse! my greatest Dread.
My mournful Story will no more prevail,
And ev'ry Hour I dread a dismal Jail:
I start at each imaginary Sound,
And Horrors have encompass'd me around.
Tremble, ye Daughters, who at Ease recline,
Lest you should know a Misery like mine.
Ye now, unmov'd, can hear the Wretched moan;
And feel no Wants, yourselves oppress'd by none;
Fly from the Sight of Woes ye will not share,
And leave the helpless Orphan to despair.
But know, that dreadful Hour is drawing near,
When you'll be treated, as you've acted here:
To you no more the Wretched shall complain;
'Twill be your Turn to weep, and sue in vain.
Not so the Fair, with godlike Mercy blest,
Who feels another's Anguish in her Breast;
Who never hears the Wretched sigh in vain,
Herself distress'd till she relieves their Pain.
This Fame reports, fair Carteret, of you;
This blest Report encourag'd me to sue.
O Angel--Goodness, hear, and ease my Moan,
Nor let your Mercy fail in me alone!
So at the last Tribunal will I stand,
With my poor Orphans, plac'd on either Hand;
There, with my Cries, my Saviour I'll assail;
(For at His Bar the Widow's Tears prevail)
That she, who made the Fatherless her Care,
The Fulness of celestial Joys may share;
That she a Crown of Glory may receive,
Who snatch'd me from Destruction, and the Grave.
poem by Mary Barber
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Voice
Too soon a voice calls out to us
and we hear it sorrowfully.
The words we hear we have heard before.
They echo eternity.
The voice sings praises to our soul
and soothes our troubled mind.
And as we reckon with what's to come
we feel a voice so kind.
We cross the space from here to there
and leave mortality.
Even though our mind has been troubled
we'll miss the sky and sea.
For what we've experienced while on earth
no matter bad or good.
will leave with us as memories
that follow us as they should.
The voice we hear is so familiar
that we recognize at last
it's the voice from everyone we've been
that defines all of our past.
So when the voice calls out with love
cast aside all fear.
Remember your loves. Remember your life
and all that you held dear.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Echo
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Everywhere I go
There's something I really need
Everyone I know
Is someone I want to be
Even though
I don't really know me
I better pick it up
Before I let it slip away
I better stick it out
Before I take another day
Into mouth
Everything I say fades out
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Can I open up your eyes?
Only when the clouds break?
Can I feel the light?
Even though the world shakes
Every night,
You're my quiet satellite
Can I hold you close?
Do her out of focus
And everything I know
I don't even know this
It all falls through
I'm here and I hear you
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Do you hear me?
Do you hear me?
Cause I need to, just to reach you
Do you hear me?
Coming clearly?
Am I hollow?
Just an echo
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
song performed by by Vertical Horizon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Olney Hymn 19: Contentment
Fierce passions discompose the mind,
As tempests vex the sea,
But calm, content and peace we find,
When, Lord, we turn to Thee.
In vain by reason and by rule
We try to bend the will;
For none but in the Saviour's school
Can learn the heavenly skill.
Since at His feet my soul has sate,
His gracious words to hear,
Contented with my present state,
I cast on Him my care.
'Art thou a sinner, soul?' He said,
'Then how canst thou complain?
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd
With everlasting pain!
'If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured,
Compare thy griefs with mine!
Think what my love for thee endured,
And thou wilt not repine.
''Tis I appoint thy daily lot,
And I do all things well;
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,
And rise with me to dwell.
'In life my grace shall strength supply,
Proportion'd to thy day;
At death thou still shalt find me nigh,
To wipe thy tears away.'
Thus I, who once my wretched days
In vain repinings spent,
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,
Have learnt to be content.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Contentment
(Phillipians, iv.11)
Fierce passions discompose the mind,
As tempests vex the sea,
But calm, content and peace we find,
When, Lord, we turn to Thee.
In vain by reason and by rule
We try to bend the will;
For none but in the Saviour's school
Can learn the heavenly skill.
Since at His feet my soul has sate,
His gracious words to hear,
Contented with my present state,
I cast on Him my care.
"Art thou a sinner, soul?" He said,
"Then how canst thou complain?
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd
With everlasting pain!
"If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured,
Compare thy griefs with mine!
Think what my love for thee endured,
And thou wilt not repine.
"'Tis I appoint thy daily lot,
And I do all things well;
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,
And rise with me to dwell.
"In life my grace shall strength supply,
Proportion'd to thy day;
At death thou still shalt find me nigh,
To wipe thy tears away."
Thus I, who once my wretched days
In vain repinings spent,
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,
Have learnt to be content.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leaving This Man Alone
I'm still working
Always working
For the next bill, no time for thrills.
Sir you must head in to those hills.
Mine till sun comes down.
Just to make it home in time to go to bed.
Far away is where I'm going again.
The benefits within.
The wounds are slowly healing.
Agony, I love it here and love it their.
Making a life out of despair.
Have to do what you have to do.
Surving just to make it through.
I got you, you, you, and you.
A million different conversations.
I smile with aggravation.
What a revelation
Look at me now.
Just keeping my head above the ground.
Anyway I know how.
With heaven, lord let me just make it to the skies.
Time just flies by.
With wings it soars.
Come on now.
I will march upon the fields like anyone else.
I am man and I don't give a damn.
Not cause I don't want to.
But sometimes you just have no choice.
Echo's, echo's, echo's my voice.
For life is precious, and sometimes their is no time to rejoice.
Let the heart beat, let the sweat pour.
It's the only way I like it anymore.
Another no reward.
A master of nothing falls on his own swords.
A little of this and that.
Always moderation.
Even on my own free time.
I trying to figure how to make the green.
Ugly as sin.
Where does it end.
A new job doing the same thing.
Sometimes it must be gained.
A man of the insane.
With no complaints.
Not a saint.
I know where I stand, and I know where,
Oh echo's echo's echo's my voice, 'you do'.
No argument here.
To each their own.
So just leave this man alone.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Hymn 70
Christ inviting, and the church answering the invitation.
SS 2:14-17.
[Hark! the Redeemer from on high
Sweetly invites his fav'rites nigh;
From caves of darkness and of doubt,
He gently speaks, and calls us out.
"My dove, who hidest in the rock,
Thine heart almost with sorrow broke,
Lift up thy face, forget thy fear,
And let thy voice delight mine ear.
"Thy voice to me sounds ever sweet;
My graces in thy count'nance meet;
Though the vain world thy face despise,
'Tis bright and comely in mine eyes."
Dear Lord, our thankful heart receives
The hope thine invitation gives;
To thee our joyful lips shall raise
The voice of prayer and of praise.]
[I am my Love's, and he is mine;
Our hearts, our hopes, our passions join;
Nor let a motion, nor a word,
Nor thought, arise to grieve my Lord.
My soul to pastures fair he leads,
Amongst the lilies where he feeds
Amongst the saints, whose robes are white,
Washed in his blood, is his delight.
Till the day break, and shadows flee,
Till the sweet dawning light I see,
Thine eyes to me-ward often turn,
Nor let my soul in darkness mourn.
Be like a hart on mountains green,
Leap o'er the hills of fear and sin;
Nor guilt nor unbelief divide
My Love, my Savior, from my side.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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So You Know
Just so you know, just so you know
Just so you know, just so you know
I got to find a way to grieve without my head sticking into my heart
I don't want to let her leave without my heads thinking this is the start
I was dreaming before that she believes that I'm the one who's on her side
Cannot let this go until I get my way
Stay
Just so you know
Just so you know
I never believed you
Just so you know
Just so you know
I want you to stay
Looking closely at a picture of myself from years ago
Looking closely at a stranger who could never let it show
Now I still feel empty as I lay here and absorb myself
Cannot let this go until I get my way
Stay
Just so you know
Just so you know
I never believed you
Just so you know
Just so you know
I want you to stay
Stay
Stay
Stay
Just so you know
Just so you know
I never believed you
Just so you know
Just so you know
I want you to stay
Stay
Just so you know
Just so you know
I never believed you
Just so you know
Just so you know
I want you to stay
Stay
Just so you know, just so you know
Just so you know, just so you know
song performed by by Inme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maybe Baby
I heard stories about you
Id like to think that they were true
I did not know youd be like that
With those surprises under hat
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
When you dance between the stars
In the night late sweet and dark
Turn them over one by one
You dont need to jump the gun
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
When the night is feeling flush
And when the night is all a hush
Electric look eclectic blue
Keep one dream that wont come true
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my ma-aybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my ma-aybe baby
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Be my, be my, be my, be my maybe baby
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Youre the one (? )
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Be my, be my, be my, be my maybe baby
(unintelligible) maybe baby
I heard stories about you
Id like to think that they were true
Be my maybe (? )
Be my, be my, be my, be my
(fade)
song performed by by Cars
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Despair
Beneath this gloomy shade,
By Nature only for my sorrows made,
I'll spend this voyce in crys,
In tears I'll waste these eyes
By Love so vainly fed;
So Lust of old the Deluge punished.
Ah wretched youth! said I,
'Ah, wretched youth!' twice did I sadly cry:
'Ah, wretched youth!' the fields and floods reply.
When thoughts of Love I entertain,
I meet no words but 'Never,' and 'In vain.'
'Never' alas that dreadful name
Which fuels the infernal flame:
'Never,' My time to come must waste;
'In vain,' torments the present and the past.
'In vain, in vain!' said I;
'In vain, in vain!' twice did I sadly cry;
'In vain, in vain!' the fields and floods reply.
No more shall fields or floods do so;
For I to shades more dark and silent go:
All this world's noise appears to me
A dull ill-acted comedy:
No comfort to my wounded sight,
In the suns busy and imperti'nent Light.
Then down I laid my head;
Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead,
And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled.
'Ah, sottish Soul' said I,
When back to its cage again I saw it fly;
'Fool to resume her broken chain!
And row her galley here again!'
'Fool, to that body to return
Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn!
Once dead, how can it be,
Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee,
That thou should'st come to live it o're again in me?'
poem by Abraham Cowley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One With The Ruined Sunset
One with the ruined sunset,
The strange forsaken sands,
What is it waits, and wanders,
And signs with desparate hands?
What is it calls in the twilight -
Calls as its chance were vain?
The cry of a gull sent seaward
Or the voice of an ancient pain?
The red ghost of the sunset,
It walks them as its own,
These dreary and desolate reaches . . .
But O, that it walked alone!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Paris
I knew when first I looked into her eyes,
And she in mine, that what has been must be,
And so let others say she told them lies:
She told no lie to me!
She spoke me fair, of lees as well as wine,
Then, with that subtlest charm of all her charms,
Half-dropped her languid lids, and at the sign
I ran into her arms!
Now it is she who flings my window wide
At dawn, and lets the perfumed morning in,
And she who walks so softly at my side,
Through noonday’s dust and din.
But, most of all, ’t is she, where blue night falls,
Whose firm, imperious fingers tap the pane,
And she whose velvet voice it is that calls,
Nor calls her own in vain!
It is as if the siren understood
How that she is so strong at this still hour,
That I could not repulse her if I would,
Nor would, had I the power:
As if she knew that, should I try to check
The strength of that enrapt, responsive thrill,
Let her but slide her arm about my neck,
And I obey her will!
So, when she speaks, I answer; when she woos,
Her voice, like wine, the slow pulse goads and spurs:
I go to meet her through the dropping dews,
And lean my lips to hers.
All the long hours run laughing into one—
The strange, sweet moment when the evening falls—
And, like a mother summoning her son,
Resistless Paris calls!
poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1901)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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You are the day, I am the night
You are the day
I am the night.
I am the voice
You are my echo.
We are two parts
You can't divide
And together
We are the picture.
You are the dawn
I am the sunrise,
You are there
And I am here
But... we feel each other
Cause...we are in love.
And here I'll change
And it's not so strange:
You are the day,
I am the night,
You are the voice
I am your echo.
Yes, I agree
That being together
We are the picture.
You can't divide
The day and night,
The dawn and the sunrise,
The voice and it's echo,
The stars and the sky.
So! Our human nature is
A wonderful adventure.
Live in a harmony with nature!
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Leaving Those Blues Behind
Going training...yes training
hopping freight cars
and leaving the
blues behind
Tired of trying...yes trying
I'm burning
all the bridges, leaving all
those blues bebind
Tomorrow will bring
a new day
far away...far away
from those big bad blues
So I'm leaving
clicka the clack, the rails
take me away
from the blues
Don't grieve for me
Don't feel relieved for me
Don't say you loved me
Don't try to heal me
Just take away my blues
poem by Midnights Voice
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That Voice Of Choice Is Their Own
When a game of catch up,
Believed can be played to be done...
Is initiated by some who think,
This battle against time can be won...
Is a matter of choice?
Their minds are stuck!
Listening to one voice.
And that voice of choice is their own.
And there is nothing in this world,
To convince people like this...
That their resistance in a stubbornness,
Has nothing to do with enemies or terrorists.
The ones witnessed being victimized,
Are they who perceive doing what they please...
Ultimately results to their benefit.
And there is a mindset of folks who think life is a joke!
With a listening done to one voice!
Not yours or mine,
By choice.
Just one voice and that is their own.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Riot, a Voice in the Fire
You voice calls out through fire
Is violence all you ever knew
What are you seeking to be heard
When the sky is lit with anger
You voices become lost in a scream
And looters steal from everyone
Without a care for the cost they inflict
This is no revolution in this town
Just a fight against your boredom
Lay down you arms and speak clear
Your voice calls out through fire
While the innocent look on afraid
Their message has been stolen
In the actions you have undertaken
I can see blood on your hands
You are free and freedom is glory
Until you abuse it for terror
What of the freedom of the innocent
What about their voice being heard
Your voice calls out through fire
I don’t even want to listen
Let it burn and pray you will burn with it
Your voice called out in fire
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jesus Calls Us
Jesus calls us; o'er the tumult
of our life's wild, restless sea,
day by day his clear voice soundeth,
saying, 'Christian, follow me;'
as, of old, Saint Andrew heart it
by the Galilean lake,
turned from home and toil and kindred,
leaving all for his dear sake.
Jesus calls us from the worship
of the vain world's golden store;
from each idol that would keep us,
saying, 'Christian, love me more.'
In our joys and in our sorrows,
days of toil and hours of ease,
still he calls, in cares and pleasures,
'Christian, love me more than these.'
Jesus calls us! By thy mercies,
Savior, may we hear thy call,
give our hearts to thine obedience,
serve and love thee best of all.
poem by Cecil Frances Alexander
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God Died Yesterday
Howl!
Vain mortal of helpless arm
Weep as though the tears will bring him back.
Aloud, wail! Cry aloud
The pillars of earth is shaken
Hay broken in twain.
Evil is done, good is gone,
What will you do now?
Oh mortals of all religious circles?
Hide in dust, clergies of vain narratives,
Shave your beards of religion,
Gainsaying priests.
Hell oh hell’s victory,
Bobbles of immortal writs
In grandest shame of ancient confusions.
Vain ecstasies of lying zealots
Spirit, Hell, Demon’s men
In combined war against truth.
Alas, falling standards of heaven’s path,
Cross in sin and Sin in cross.
Holy men in filths and shame
Dead hopes of waiting pilgrims
Heaven’s empty and hell of myriad
With titles of error unlike Him.
Howl! Cry aloud,
God is dead.
poem by Macaulay Akinbami
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