Related quotes: THE hands must touch and...

The New Man

THE hands must touch and handle many things,
The eyes long waste their glances all in vain;
The feet course still in idle, mazy rings,
E'er man himself, the lost, shall back regain;
The hand that ever moves, the eyes that see,
While day holds out his shining lamp on high,
And strait as flies the honey-seeking bee,
Direct the feet to unseen flowers they spy,
These, when they come, the man revealed from heaven,
Shall labor all the day in quiet rest,
And find at eve the covert duly given,
Where with the bird they find sweet sleep and rest;
That shall their wasted strength to health restore,
And bid them seek the morn the hills and fields once more.

poem by Jones Very
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The Wandering Jew

The stars are falling, and the sky
Is like a field of faded flowers;
The winds on weary wings go by;
The moon hides, and the tempest lowers;
And still through every clime and age
I wander on a pilgrimage
That all men know an idle quest,
For that the goal I seek is-- Rest!

I hear the voice of summer streams,
And following, I find the brink
Of cooling springs, with childish dreams
Returning as I bend to drink--
But suddenly, with startled eyes,
My face looks on its grim disguise
Of long gray beard; and so, distressed,
I hasten on, nor taste of rest.

I come upon a merry group
Of children in the dusky wood,
Who answer back the owlet's whoop,
That laughs as it had understood;
And I would pause a little space,
But that each happy blossom-face
Is like to one His hands have blessed
Who sent me forth in search of rest.

Sometimes I fain would stay my feet
In shady lanes, where huddled kine
Couch in the grasses cool and sweet,
And lift their patient eyes to mine;
But I, for thoughts that ever then
Go back to Bethlehem again,
Must needs fare on my weary quest,
And weep for very need of rest.

Is there no end? I plead in vain:
Lost worlds nor living answer me.
Since Pontius Pilate's awful reign
Have I not passed eternity?
Have I not drunk the fetid breath
Of every fevered phase of death,
And come unscathed through every pest
And scourge and plague that promised rest?

Have I not seen the stars go out
That shed their light o'er Galilee,
And mighty kingdoms tossed about
And crumbled clod-like in the sea?
Dead ashes of dead ages blow
And cover me like drifting snow,
And time laughs on as 'twere a jest
That I have any need of rest.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Ocean To Cynthia

But stay, my thoughts, make end, give fortune way ;
Harsh is the voice of woe and sorrow's sound ;
Complaints cure not, and tears do but allay
Griefs for a time, which after more abound.

To seek for moisture in the Arabian sand
Is but a loss of labor and of rest ;
The links which time did break of hearty bands

Words cannot knit, or wailings make anew.
Seek not the sun in clouds when it is set.
On highest mountains, where those cedars grew,
Against whose banks the troubled ocean beat,

And were the marks to find thy hopëd port,
Into a soil far off themselves remove ;
On Sestos' shore, Leander's late resort,
Hero hath left no lamp to guide her love.

Thou lookest for light in vain, and storms arise;
She sleeps thy death that erst thy danger sighed;
Strive then no more, bow down thy weary eyes,
Eyes which to all these woes thy heart have guided.

She is gone, she is lost, she is found, she is ever fair;
Sorrow draws weakly where love draws not too;
Woe's cries sound nothing, but only in love's ear.
Do then by dying what life cannot do.
Unfold thy flocks and leave them to the fields,
To feed on hills or dales, where likes them best,
Of what the summer or the springtime yields,
For love and time hath given thee leave to rest.

Thy heart which was their fold, now in decay
By often storms and winter's many blasts,
All torn and rent becomes misfortune's prey;
False hope, my shepherd's staff, now age hath brast.

My pipe, which love's own hand gave my desire
To sing her praises and my woe upon,
Despair hath often threatened to the fire,
As vain to keep now all the rest are gone.

Thus home I draw, as death's long night draws on;
Yet every foot, old thoughts turn back mine eyes;
Constraint me guides, as old age draws a stone
Against the hill, which over-weighty lies

For feeble arms or wasted strength to move:
My steps are backward, gazing on my loss,
My mind's affection and my soul's sole love,
Not mixed with fancy's chaff or fortune's dross.

To God I leave it, who first gave it me,
And I her gave, and she returned again,
As it was hers; so let His mercies be
Of my last comforts the essential mean.

But be it so or not, the effects are past;
Her love hath end; my woe must ever last.

poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Arise

Why sit ye idly dreaming all the day,
While the golden, precious hours flit away?
See you not the day is waning, waning fast?
That the morn's already vanished in the past?

When the glowing noon approaches, we will rest
Who have worked through all the morning; but at best,
If you work with zeal and ardor till the night,
You can only make the wasted moments right.

Think you life was made for dreaming, nothing more,
When God's work lies all unfinished at your door?
Souls to save and hearts to strengthen--ah! such work,
Such a richly freighted labor, who would shirk?

Then arise, O idle dreamer! Dreams are sweet,
But better flowers are growing at your feet.
If you crush, or pass unheeding, idle friend,
You shall answer for their ruin in the end.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Like A Butterfly

In my boyhood,
So sweet so lovely;
Like an eagle with its meteor eyes.
This pilot is guiding me,
This love is my hope;
Like a swarm of golden bees.
Of my unseen feet,
Of your unseen feet,
Of his unseen feet,
Of her unseen feet,
From Cape to Cape;
I am lured by the love of my growth.
Of a world so fair,
Eyes have not seen it;
It is like life beyond the tomb of love.
Ears have not heard its deep songs of joy,
This land is full of harvest;
But another race has filled it.
In silence and in fear like,
The banners up high in the sky;
Living in a better land as expected but,
A little weeping will ease my heart.
Another joy has come like,
The anthem of freed Slaves;
Where i do hear you speak like the long Amazon River.
Quiet as a stone,
A thing of beauty is of a joy;
Like a bed of straw in my boyhood,
Of the days gone by like a butterfly.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My Tenants

I never had a title-deed
To my estate. But little heed
Eyes give to me, when I walk by
My fields, to see who occupy.
Some clumsy men who lease and hire
And cut my trees to feed their fire,
Own all the land that I possess,
And tax my tenants to distress.
And if I say I had been first,
And, reaping, left for them the worst,
That they were beggars at the hands
Of dwellers on my royal lands,
With idle laugh of passing scorn
As unto words of madness born,
They would reply
I do not care;
They cannot crowd the charméd air;
They cannot touch the bonds I hold
On all that they have bought and sold.
They can waylay my faithful bees,
Who, lulled to sleep, with fatal ease,
Are robbe. Is one day's honey sweet
Thus snatched? All summer round my feet
In golden drifts from plumy wings,
In shining drops on fragrant things
Free gift, it came to me. My corn,
With burnished banners, morn by morn,
Comes out to meet and honor me;
The glittering ranks spread royally
Far as I walk. When hasty greed
Tramples it down for food and seed,
I, with a certain veiled delight,
Hear half the crop is lost by blight.

Letter of the law these may fulfil,
Plant where they like, slay what they will,
Count up their gains and make them great;
Nevertheless, the whole estate
Always belongs to me and mine.
We are the only royal line.
And though I have no title-deed
My tenants pay me royal heed
When our sweet fields I wander by
To see what strangers occupy.

poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Autumn Eve

The yellow poplar leaves have strown
Thy quiet mound, thou slumberest
Where winter's winds will be unknown;
So deep thy rest,
So deep thy rest.

Sleep on, my love, thy dreams are sweet,
If thou hast dreams: the flowers I brought
I lay aside for passing feet,
Thou needest nought,
Thou needest, needest nought.

The grapes are gather'd from the hills,
The wood is piled, the song bird gone,
The breath of early evening chills;
My love, my love, sleep on;
My love, my love, sleep on

poem by Arthur Maquarie
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Illa Creek

A strong sea-wind flies up and sings
Across the blown-wet border,
Whose stormy echo runs and rings
Like bells in wild disorder.

Fierce breath hath vexed the foreland's face,
It glistens, glooms, and glistens;
But deep within this quiet place
Sweet Illa lies and listens.

Sweet Illa of the shining sands,
She sleeps in shady hollows,
Where August flits with flowerful hands,
And silver Summer follows.

Far up the naked hills is heard
A noise of many waters,
But green-haired Illa lies unstirred
Amongst her star-like daughters.

The tempest, pent in moaning ways,
Awakes the shepherd yonder,
But Illa dreams unknown to days
Whose wings are wind and thunder.

Here fairy hands and floral feet
Are brought by bright October;
Here, stained with grapes and smit with heat,
Comes Autumn, sweet and sober.

Here lovers rest, what time the red
And yellow colours mingle,
And daylight droops with dying head
Beyond the western dingle.

And here, from month to month, the time
Is kissed by peace and pleasure,
While Nature sings her woodland rhyme
And hoards her woodland treasure.

Ah, Illa Creek! ere evening spreads
Her wings o'er towns unshaded,
How oft we seek thy mossy beds
To lave our foreheads faded!

For, let me whisper, then we find
The strength that lives, nor falters,
In wood and water, waste and wind,
And hidden mountain altars.

poem by Henry Kendall
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Youll Find Out

(lyrics: thomas flowers)
Even if you turn away
Sweep it all aside
Under the rug
Nothing ventured nothing gained
But your problems still remain
If youre living in denial
Afraid to face yourself
Wasted all the time
When I look into your eyes
I see something inside of you that was once inside of me
And Ive been there before
I nearly lost my wife my friends and more
Youll find out sooner or later
You find out sooner or later
You find out sooner or later
You find out sooner or later
If your lifes become a mess
And put you to the test
Just like all the rest
When I look into your eyes
I see something inside of you
Youll find out sooner or later
You find out sooner or later
You find out sooner or later
You find out sooner or later

song performed by by Oleander
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Skylark's Message

SWEET little upturned faces,
Poor little hands and feet,
Little eyes that are careworn and anxious
From hunger and want in the street,
Hear ye that skylark singing
5
Like an angel far away?
'Tis bringing to you a message
From the Golden Gates of day.
Ah, little know ye of the meadows,
Poor little blistered feet,
10
Down in the smoke of the city,
Down in the noise of the street!
But it sings of a better country,
Where tired little hearts can rest;
Of a sun that shines for ever,
15
And the love of a Father's breast.
O poor little weary spirits,
I would that ye knew its song,
For the world is very heartless,
And your journey may be long;
20
And ye need such heavenly music
To cheer you in the night,
Little hearts that are now so noble,
Little souls that are now so white.
I would that ye heard it always,
25
That sweet bird's voice within,
When the heart is sad and lonely
In the long, long struggle with sin;
Till a rest comes out of the sunset
For the labouring hands and feet,
30
And a silence has fallen for ever
On the noise and the dust of the street.

poem by Frederick George Scott
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My Hands Are Folded

my hands are folded in supplication
I need your help, i need to relax
i need calm, rest, light, peace
courage, forgiveness

my hands are folded
i bow down to my only Saviour
my anchor of safety
my harbor of protection
my heaven of peace

my eyes look up to you
with confidence, with hope
i come as one sick
to his physician
as one poor and needy
to the Lord of heaven and earth

grant that i may see you
in all things
in good and ill health
in joy as in sorrow

grant me oh Lord
the grace to accept with patience
the monotony of daily tasks
to embrace with resignation
the fatigue and exhaustion
of days too long and too full
for my physical strength

grant me the ability to be relaxed
and be calm in the thought of your love
to find rest in the assurance
that you are with me
always and forever...Amen

poem by Meggie Gultiano
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Hymn 15

Our own weakness, and Christ our strength.

2 Cor. 12:7,9,10.

Let me but hear my Savior say,
"Strength shall be equal to thy day,"
Then I rejoice in deep distress,
Leaning on all-sufficient grace.

I glory in infirmity,
That Christ's own power may rest on me:
When I am weak, then am I strong,
Grace is my shield, and Christ my song.

I can do all things, or can bear
All suff'rings, if my Lord be there;
Sweet pleasures mingle with the pains,
While his left hand my head sustains.

But if the Lord be once withdrawn,
And we attempt the work alone,
When new temptations spring and rise,
We find how great our weakness is.

[So Samson, when his hair was lost,
Met the Philistines to his cost;
Shook his vain limbs with sad surprise,
Made feeble fight, and lost his eyes.]

poem by Isaac Watts
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Now And Afterwards

TWO hands upon the breast,
And labor's done;
Two pale feet crossed in rest--
The race is won;
Two eyes with coin-weights shut,
And all tears cease;
Two lips where grief is mute,
Anger at peace':--
So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot
God in his kindness answereth not.

'Two hands to work addrest
Aye for His praise;
Two feet that never rest
Walking His ways;
Two eyes that look above
Through all their tears;
Two lips still breathing love,
Not wrath, nor fear';
So pray we afterwards, low on our knees;
Pardon those erring prayers! Father, hear these!

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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To

AH, often do I wait and watch,
And look up, straining through the Real
With longing eyes, my friend, to catch
Faint glimpses of your white Ideal.

I know she loved to rest her feet
By slumbrous seas and hidden strand;
But mostly hints of her I meet
On moony spots of mountain land.

I’ve never reached her shining place,
And only cross at times a gleam;
As one might pass a fleeting face
Just on the outside of a Dream.

But you may climb, her happy Choice!
She knows your step, the maiden true,
And ever when she hears your voice,
She turns and sits and waits for you.

How sweet to rest on breezy crest
With such a Love, what time the Morn
Looks from his halls of rosy rest,
Across green miles of gleaming corn!

How sweet to find a leafy nook,
When bees are out, and Day burns mute,
Where you may hear a passion’d brook
Play past you, like a mellow flute!

Or, turning from the sunken sun,
On fields of dim delight to lie—
To close your eyes and muse upon
The twilight’s strange divinity!

Or through the Night’s mysterious noon,
While Sound lies hushed among the trees,
To sit and watch a mirror’d moon
Float over silver-sleeping seas!

Oh, vain regret! why should I stay
To think and dream of joys unknown?
You walk with her from day to day,
I faint afar off—and alone.

poem by Henry Kendall
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The Unseen City

Not far away does that bright city stand,
'Tis but the mist o'er its dividing stream,
That wraps the glory of its glitt'ring strand,
Its radiant skies, and mountains silvery gleam;
Oh, often in the blindness of our fate
We wander very near the city's gate.

We love that unseen city, and we yearn
Ever within our earthly homes to see
Its golden towers, that in the sunset burn,
Its white walls rising from the quiet sea;
Its mansions gleaming with immortal glow,
Filled with the treasure lost to us below.

Yes, dear ones that we loved and lost are there;
Bright in that fair clime beam those sweet eyes now;
Fanned by its soft breeze floats the shining hair,
Hair we have smoothed back from the gentlest brow;
Softest white hands we kissed and clasped in ours
Slipped from our grasp, lured by its glowing flowers.

Fairer it seems, its velvet walks were sweet,
Dearer its quiet streets, with gold paved o'er,
Since o'er them lightly fall the little feet--
The light feet bounding through our homes no more;
Oh, heart's dear music, tearfully missed,
That city's filled with melody like this.

It is not far away; down from its arches roll
Anthems too sacred for the outward ear,
Pouring their haunting sweetness on the soul;
Oh, how our waiting spirits thrill to hear,
In listening to the low bewildering strain,
Voices they said we should not hear again.

Oh, dear to us that city. He is there,
He whom unseen we love; no need of light;
His tender eyes illume the crystal air
Where His beloved walk in vesture white,
What though on earth they wandered, poor, distressed,
And saw through tears His glory, now they rest.

Oh, that fair city, shining o'er the tide,
Thither we journey through the storm and night;
But soon shall we adown its still bay glide,
Soon will the city's gate gleam on our sight,
There with our own forever shall we be,
In that fair city rising from the sea.

poem by Marietta Holley
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You and the Jew

Listen as the snow falls
To the song the Jew composes
He who looks to the hills
Tends the fields and the young lambs
And suffers out of turn to be suffering

See how the Jew
Who knew nothing of the art of the sea
Yet lays no hand of claim upon the land
Walks distant among the hills and stony paths
That lead him on to a barren tree

You must burn if you seek him now
Under high suns which crack the skin
Until you find his small barren tree
His eyes failing as the fine print dances
Like fireflies in the light of evening

You may finally locate his name
In computer files of grubby visa sections
Accented by tongues that never come to rest
In conference rooms and airline terminals
In trains that run on single tracks

But if you find him, don’t expect
To live with more than light on the horizon
For the hands that long to overturn the candle
And their mouths that hunger to swallow the flame
Will occupy your trails ever again.

poem by Frank Bana
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Ill Be Back Upon My Feet

By sandy linzer and denny randell
Girl, I know the grass is greener, just around the bend.
Gotta say, goodbye! but dont you fear.
Though the road is dark and I might fail to find the end
I wont disappear.
Ill be back upon my feet. Ill be back upon my feet.
Chase the morning sun to find my one and only you.
Ill be back upon my feet. Ill be back upon my feet.
Lookin high, Im lookin low.
When I find my boots I know I gotta go.
Maybe I will be a star, or maybe just a clown.
Girl, Ill never know until I try.
Maybe I will meet a girl wholl try to keep me down.
But you dont have to cry.
Ill be back upon my feet. Ill be back upon my feet.
Chase the morning sun to find my one and only you.
Ill be back upon my feet. Ill be back upon my feet.
Lookin high, Im lookin low.
When I find my boots I know Ive gotta go.
[instrumental]
Maybe I will meet a girl wholl try to keep me down.
But you dont have to cry.
Ill be back upon my feet. Ill be back upon my feet.
Chase the morning sun to find my one and only you.
Ill be back upon my feet. Ill be back upon my feet.
Lookin high, Im lookin low.
When I find my boots I know Ive gotta go.

song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come And Let Me Look In Your Eyes

(DenverHenry)
I guess growing isn't hard to do, just stand against the wall.
Once I was just two feet high, today I'm six feet tall.
But knowing who to listen to is something else again.
Words just whistle 'round my head like seasons in the wind.
All across the water, the clouds are sailing, they won't let me look at the sky.
All I want to do is try and find myself, come and let me look in your eyes.
In searching for the way to go, I've followed all the rules.
The way they say to choose between the wise men and the fools.
I listen to the words they say, I read what I should read.
I do whatever's right to do, try to be what I should be.
Someone let me in, I think the sky is falling, seems I've gotten lost on my way.
All I want to do is try and find myself, come and let me look in your eyes.
Oh, but wisdom isn't underground nor on a mountainside.
Where am I to take myself? There's no place here to hide, where can I hide?
All across the universe, the stars are fading. Seems we've gotten lost on our way.
All I want to do is try and find myself, come and let me look in your eyes.
Come and let me look in your eyes, come and let me look in your eyes.

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elegy

Since I lost you, my darling, the sky has come near,
And I am of it, the small sharp stars are quite near,
The white moon going among them like a white bird among snow-berries,
And the sound of her gently rustling in heaven like a bird I hear.

And I am willing to come to you now, my dear,
As a pigeon lets itself off from a cathedral dome
To be lost in the haze of the sky, I would like to come,
And be lost out of sight with you, and be gone like foam.

For I am tired, my dear, and if I could lift my feet,
My tenacious feet from off the dome of the earth
To fall like a breath within the breathing wind
Where you are lost, what rest, my love, what rest!

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Dream Land

Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.

She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.

Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.

Rest, rest, for evermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake;
Night that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti (1893)
Submitted by anonym
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Dream-Land

Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.