Life
IT is not life upon Thy gifts to live,
But, to grow fixed with deeper roots in Thee;
And when the sun and shower their bounties give,
To send out thick-leaved limbs; a fruitful tree,
Whose green head meets the eye for many a mile,
Whose moss-grown arms their rigid branches rear,
And full-faced fruits their blushing welcome smile
As to its goodly shade our feet draw near;
Who tastes its gifts shall never hunger more,
For 'tis the Father spreads the pure repast,
Who, while we eat, renews the ready store,
Which at his bounteous board must ever last;
For none the bridegroom's supper shall attend,
Who will not hear and make his word their friend.
poem by Jones Very
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Preparatory Meditations - First Series: 29
(John. 20:17. My Father, and your Father, to my God, and your God)
My shattered fancy stole away from me
(Wits run a-wooling over Eden's park)
And in God's garden saw a golden tree,
Whose heart was all divine, and gold its bark.
Whose glorious limbs and fruitful branches strong
With saints and angels bright are richly hung.
Thou! Thou! my dear dear Lord, art this rich tree,
The tree of life within God's Paradise.
I am a withered twig, dried fit to be
A chat cast in Thy fire, writh off by vice.
Yet if Thy milk-white gracious hand will take me
And graft me in this golden stock, Thou'lt make me.
Thou'lt make me then its fruit, and branch to spring,
And though a nipping east wind blow, and all
Hell's nymphs with spite their dog's sticks therat ding
To dash the graft off, and its fruits to fall,
Yet I shall stand Thy graft, and fruits that are
Fruits of the tree of life Thy graft shall bear.
I being graft in Thee, there up do stand
In us relations all that mutual are.
I am Thy patient, pupil, servant, and
Thy sister, mother, dove, spouse, son, and heir.
Thou art my priest, physician, prophet, king,
Lord, brother, bridegroom, father, everything.
I being graft in Thee I am grafted here
Into Thy family, and kindred claim
To all in heaven, God, saints, and angels there.
I Thy relations my relations name.
Thy father's mine, Thy God my God, and I
With saints and angels draw affinity.
My Lord, what is it that Thou dost bestow?
The praise on this account fills up, and throngs
Eternity brimful, doth overflow
The heavens vast with rich angelic songs.
How should I blush? How tremble at this thing,
Not having yet my gam-ut learned to sing.
But, Lord, as burnished sunbeams forth out fly,
Let angel-shine forth in my life outflame,
That I may grace Thy graceful family
And not to Thy relations be a shame.
Make me Thy graft, be Thou my golden stock.
Thy glory then I'll make my fruits and crop.
poem by Edward Taylor
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Natures gift
In our hands we have a world of green
So much unknown so much unseen
As thickly woven around as its mysterious ravines
All of this life in a small bean
As serene as dusk as bright as dawn
In its early life as small as a fawn
But as the time goes on and on
It develops thick branches and a trunk with great brawn
Sometimes green sometimes pale
Sometimes flies away in a gale
Sometimes in a storm it flails
And sometimes the delicate life can sail
The lyrical sound better than a lute
Even when the conditions don't suit
This life, the gold, the larger loot
It sticks strong to the ground with thick branching roots
Like a blessing that never ends
We get gifts every time there's a holiday
But no matter how much we spend
Nature gives gifts on every day in every way
poem by Logan Fulk
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A Girl
The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast -
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.
Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.
poem by Ezra Pound
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The Blasted Fig-Tree
One aweful word which Jesus spoke,
Against the tree which bore no fruit;
More piercing than the lightning's stroke,
Blasted and dried it to the root.
But could a tree the Lord offend,
To make him show his anger thus?
He surely had a farther end,
To be a warning word to us.
The fig-tree by its leaves was known,
But having not a fig to show;
It brought a heavy sentence down,
Let none hereafter on thee grow.
Too many, who the gospel hear,
Whom Satan blinds and sin deceives;
We to this fig-tree may compare,
They yield no fruit, but only leaves.
Knowledge, and zeal, and gifts, and talk,
Unless combined with faith and love,
And witnessed by a gospel walk,
Will not a true profession prove.
Without the fruit the Lord expects
Knowledge will make our state the worse;
The barren trees he still rejects,
And soon will blast them with his curse.
O Lord, unite our hearts in prayer!
On each of us thy Spirit send;
That we the fruits of grace may bear,
And find acceptance in the end.
poem by John Newton
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A Sheaf Of Snakes Used Heretofore To Be My Seal, The Crest Of Our Poor Family
ADOPTED in God's family and so
Our old coat lost, unto new arms I go.
The Cross—my seal at baptism—spread below
Does, by that form, into an Anchor grow.
Crosses grow Anchors ; bear, as thou shouldest do
Thy Cross, and that Cross grows an Anchor too.
But He that makes our Crosses Anchors thus,
Is Christ, who there is crucified for us.
Yet may I, with this, my first serpents hold ;
God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old.
The serpent may, as wise, my pattern be ;
My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.
And, as he rounds the earth to murder sure,
My death he is, but on the Cross, my cure.
Crucify nature then, and then implore
All grace from Him, crucified there before ;
Then all is Cross, and that Cross Anchor grown ;
This seal's a catechism, not a seal alone.
Under that little seal great gifts I send,
Works, and prayers, pawns, and fruits of a friend.
And may that saint which rides in our great seal,
To you who bear his name,* great bounties deal !
poem by John Donne
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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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Raise Your Head Fearlessly Above Shade!
Look at the Nature around,
whether trees and plants know or not,
Their roots surly know,
water that quench their thirst,
where they can find minerals for growth,
Are in this soil and in the Nature!
Animals live in nature's garden,
birds and butterfly,
Know where they can be happy!
O man, know for sure
tender plants with tender roots,
Need shade and care,
no tree can grow under shade of another tree,
Come out of shades and shadows,
Once roots become firm,
once you absorb essence wanted,
Raise your head fearlessly above shades,
Breath the fresh air Rain and sunshine,
feel the heat and cold to become free,
The potential is there in you,
Open the packet of reasoning and wisdom,
Never bury it,
What Almighty had embedded in your heart!
The fountain of infinite bliss is within you,
Never thereafter you feel thirsty,
More you can share the fruits,
With that sweet knowledge,
Whoever thirsty can sip it till his own roots grow,
You are done,
you have done!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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When My Dreams Say, ' We Are No More There
When my dreams say, ' We are no more there'
I shall sail unto an island far off.
There I shall have the sapling of a dream tree planted
And it will grow.
When my dream tree begins to bloom
I will never pluck its flowers ever,
So will when its fruits begin to ripe
I remain hungry and thirsty there.
I shall lie in the shade of the tree
Without ever dreaming to have a dream for me.
Then I shall climb its branches and see for myself
The vast expanse of water green or blue.
I shall hoot from the top of it like an own
Blind often or blinded by the dreams of the past.
I shall shout unto the skies blue
About having dreams aplenty and not still having them.
When I once return to the home in the mainland,
I shall carry one hundred fruits from the dream tree,
I shall give them to men and women I like most
And nay, I will never give them to children ever.
I shall play hide and seek with children
And shall tell about the need for climbing the dream trees
Which will grow and touch the sky once
Even as they might still be dreaming a lot.
But I am afraid, friends,
Even as my dreams have begun to fade out
My island withers out further
And I am left with a rudderless boat
To sail unto that green paradise of my Utopia!
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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My Angel...
My angel has been sent afar to keep watch over you,
May he give you inspiration in everything you do.
May he show you peace and love is always the way,
May you feel the loving care that he brings to you this day.
May my angel keep you near and in his sight my friend,
May you hear my angels heart beating out the love I send.
May he lift you up on high with his golden angel wings,
May he keep you standing tall and teach your heart to sing.
May he whisper wisdom in your ear,
May he touch your soul and calm your fear.
May he fill your desperate wanting need,
May he keep you free from feelings of greed.
May he always walk with you by your side,
May he fill you with courage so you never hide.
May he give to you his pure sweet love,
May he shower you with these gifts from high above.
May he show you ecaxtly what you mean to me,
May he show you that true love can set us all free.
My angel brings these special gifts afar for you,
Because this Dreamer knows, you are a friend so true...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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God Speaks In Many Ways
God speaks to us in many ways, many times throughout our days.
In our trials The Lord may send, a comforting word through a friend,
During that special time of need, God may use them to plant a seed.
A tiny seed sown just for that trial, that will cause your heart to smile.
God may send a friend to impart, words of wisdom into your heart.
God can even speak in the night, even when there’s no one in sight.
God will use the events of life, to draw you closer unto Jesus Christ.
For God is still quite active friend, speaking to the hearts of all men.
Almost anyone The Lord can use, to impart to men His Good News.
And when you truly come to Him, He’s with you through thick and thin.
God begins with you New Life, and talks to you through Jesus Christ.
For Jesus Christ is the Living Word, on this earth until all have heard.
The blessed news of Jesus Christ, that He came to grant Eternal Life.
And He gives you His Holy Spirit, to grasp the Word when you hear it.
Through The Word He will guide, Christians to walk close by His side.
For through The Word He speaks to you, as your life becomes anew.
Through the changes in your life, you shall hear the voice of Christ.
And as a shepherd always near, His voice you’ll hear loud and clear.
So when Christ calls, follow Him, and He will lead you from your sin.
And He will speak to you my friend, and Eternal Life will be your end.
Aftermath
'The Tree Still Stands! '
Exclaimed the boy clasping his hands
To his Father who was walking the rear,
And to his Grandfather who was nowhere near.
For happy was He.
For standing there so straight and tall
Was the tree whose limbs He crawled
And the branches from which He played,
And the root where His head once laid.
And the many leaves.
Now the Father whom hearing His Son
Came to his side in a moment run
Then He stopped; for the tree He saw
Then the Father just stood in awe,
And uttered; 'my old friend'.
For standing there was His friend
From which before His youth was spent
By climbing and playing games,
And hiding under, from the cold and rain.
And the wind.
Then the Grandfather came strolling up
And He paused, in a moment hush
To reflect to a different year
When He was a Child, and He cried a tear.
And He clasped His hands.
For he was then again a Child
And then again He cried and smiled,
For He remembered His Father and He,
And how together they planted a tree.
And it still stands.
'Thank GOD the tree still stands! '
Cried the Grandfather clasping His hands.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Fruited Roots
Naturally my gifts come blessed.
To pick from an assortment,
Of interests I possess.
It seems I can sit and choose,
Which direction to take.
And from new adventures I taste,
Yet another fresh experience.
Fruited roots has this tree,
That has branches of such diversity.
And empowered by birth,
To quench my thirst...
As if deserving.
Fruited roots has this tree,
That has branches of such diversity.
And each leaf is related.
As a family that breathes...
To see a reaching for the stars!
And I am just one seeking to shine.
I am one of many determined to climb.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Gifts of Life and Pollution
Nature's gifts are sunny beaches,
Nature's gifts are rocky mountains,
Nature's gifts are vast oceans,
Nature's gifts are the tranquil colors in the rainbow,
Nature's gifts are rain forests,
Nature's gift is life.
Our gifts are oceans filled with toxins,
Our gifts are global warming,
Our gifts are deserted forests,
Our gifts are killed animals,
Our gifts are serious diseases,
Our gift is pollution.
poem by Melanie Jackson
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Marriage Supper
To the man and his wives,
To the woman and her husband,
A white horse of words to lead the way;
But faithful and truth to the world so sweet.
Of the bridegroom and the bride,
Of the flame of fire to lead the way;
But the marriage supper is of the Lamb of love.
Life is like a man sold for his theft,
And do not practice astrology on this issue;
For the marriage supper is ready for you and i.
Of the first and the last,
And a shickle to the home of love;
But try to set set the mother bird free after catching the young.
The marriage supper,
Do not be ruled by your wives!
And do not set a stranger as your King;
For the taste of your many wives may lead you to many problems.
Of a black horse,
But its rider is dishonest and a lair;
And in the great River Euphrates,
I will be ready for your love at this supper.
Clouds of white doves,
Wings of pure love,
Like the doors of heaven!
For i have now seen the glory of the Creator.
At the marriage supper,
The harpers harping with their harps;
With others arrayed in white robes.
Of hands lifted towards heaven at this feast,
Give the little Book to read a line to all;
And at the table of the farmers like,
The farmers farming on their farms.
Of a reed like a measuring rod and,
According to their works on this day;
But honest weights nad measures are needed at the feast.
Of the spirit of life and the sweet of honey,
Like the money paid for this marriage;
But be part of the first resurrection to gain wisdom,
For the marriage supper is for you and i to attend.
Chosen virgins free of bonds,
Wrapped in the tallit of a man to guide you all;
And of the malak standing in the sun to watch us from above,
This marriage supper is for us all to attend.
Rain, grain, train, brain, drain;
Small and great to attend this mariage supper,
But my mind will always write to teach many.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Muse Who Came to Stay
You are the first muse who came to stay.
The others began & ended with a wish,
or a glance or a kiss between stanzas;
the others strode away in the pointed boots of their fear
or were kicked out by the stiletto heels of mine,
or merely padded away in bare feet
when the ground was too hard or cold
or as hot as white sand baked under the noonday sun.
But you flew in on the wings of your smile,
powered by the engine of your cock,
driven by your lonely pumping heart,
rooted by your arteries to mine.
We became a tree with a double apical point,
reaching equally toward what some call heaven,
singing in the wind with our branches,
sharing the sap & syrup
which makes the trunk grow thick.
We are seeding the ground with poems & children.
We are the stuff of books & new-grown forests.
We are renewing the earth with our roots,
the air with our pure oxygen songs,
the nearby seas with leaves we lose
only to grow the greener ones again.
I used to leap from tree to tree,
speaking glibly of Druids,
thinking myself a latter-day dryad,
or a wood nymph from the stony city,
or some other chimerical creature,
conjured in my cheating poet's heart.
But now I stay, knowing the muse is mine,
knowing no books will banish him
& no off-key songs will drive him away.
I being & begin; I whistle in & out of tune.
If the ending is near, I do not think of it.
If the drought comes, we will make our own rain.
If the muse is grounded, I will make him fly,
& if he falls, I will catch him in my arms
until he flies with me again.
poem by Erica Jong
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Hill slope
Down on the hill slope a tree was there with flowers on it,
Season came and season goes,
it remain there with shade and fruits to give,
Small wood pecker or big owl,
all were there as it was there home to live,
One day a wood cutter found it useful to him,
he thought it to cut and takes its wood to sell in city,
birds and squirrel on tree helplessly saw the tree,
they tried to make noise,
but it didn't affected the woodcutter in the need
he cut down the tree to take the wood,
the tree on hiill slope became log of wood,
weak protest of bird and animals,
on it was not enough,
to save the tree.
tree full of life became silent as saying what was my fault,
is it only there right to live,
but yes its true only humans here,
are powerfull and can do anything to live and win,
hill slope became barren and dry like desert
poor tree however it was home for many
didn't found the place on to live on earth.
the reason it don't understand
why it is weak and meek.not able to
survive and get its right to stay alive to give shade and life to others.
poem by Hemu Gupta
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Sonnet – Don’t Be
Don't be the fallen leaves, so young and green;
Don't be the buds that never can flower;
Don't be the twigs that always remain lean;
Don't be the flow'rs that dropp with each shower.
Don't be the branches growing very long;
Don't be the tree that never blooms at all;
Don’t be the nests that disallow Bird-song;
Don't be the fruits that hit the Earth by Fall.
Don't be the trunk hollowed by Birds, white-Ants;
Don't be the crown that can't get Sun or Rain;
Don't be the tree that grows not straight but slants;
Don't be the roots that prop the tree in vain.
Don't be the tree that grows on marshy-land;
Just be a tree secure in Maker's Hand.
poem by John Celes
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The Tree In The Field
Perhaps it was a dream,
that ripped Reality's seam,
on that day I saw the tree,
alone in a green sea.
Years washed over it,
the world its roots bit,
yet still that tree lives,
till to it my life I give.
We would watch my old friend,
under a black sky with no end,
where the stars would smile bright,
and life didn't seem so trite.
But everyone dies I guess,
and I am something less
than the sylvan Keeper
of memories of a world gone deeper.
As the glory of the stars arises,
no longer will there be surprises,
for my tomb has been set,
under the Tree With No Regret.
Where the waves once foamed,
and the horses once roamed,
there is only ashes,
unmarred by Sadness' slashes.
Perhaps its only a dream,
to be buried by the stream
of roots filled with knowledge
of when Death falls off the edge.
poem by Soren Valentine
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Today... 'The Father Of Lights
'Let there be light, ' the Triune God said
and upon its way the firstborn light sped.
Steadfast and immovable is the Lord
and does not vary at all from His word.
In Him is no shadow of turning found
From the Father of Lights all gifts come down.
Good and perfect gifts descend from above
and shower upon us in His perfect love.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
The Spice-Tree
This is the song
The spice-tree sings:
"Hunger and fire,
Hunger and fire,
Sky-born Beauty—
Spice of desire,"
Under the spice-tree
Watch and wait,
Burning maidens
And lads that mate.
The spice-tree spreads
And its boughs come down
Shadowing village and farm and town.
And none can see
But the pure of heart
The great green leaves
And the boughs descending,
And hear the song that is never ending.
The deep roots whisper,
The branches say:—
"Love to-morrow,
And love to-day,
And till Heaven's day,
And till Heaven's day."
The moon is a bird's nest in its branches,
The moon is hung in its topmost spaces.
And there, to-night, two doves play house
While lovers watch with uplifted faces.
Two doves go home
To their nest, the moon.
It is woven of twigs of broken light,
With threads of scarlet and threads of gray
And a lining of down for silk delight.
To their Eden, the moon, fly home our doves,
Up through the boughs of the great spice-tree;—
And one is the kiss I took from you,
And one is the kiss you gave to me.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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