The Soldier
He was not armed like those of eastern clime,
Whose heavy axes felled their heathen foe;
Nor was he clad like those of later time,
Whose breast-worn cross betrayed no cross below;
Nor was he of the tribe of Levi born,
Whose pompous rites proclaim how vain their prayer;
Whose chilling words are heard at night and morn,
Who rend their robes but still their hearts would spare;
But he nor steel nor sacred robe had on,
Yet went he forth in God's almighty power;
He spoke the word whose will is ever done
From day's first dawn till earth's remotest hour;
And mountains melted from his presence down,
And hell affrighted fled before his frown.
poem by Jones Very
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Related quotes
Dear Mary
When that baby boy was born
in a manger between the farm animals
and the Son of God
gave His first cry,
what did you think
sweet virgin lady?
When He spoke the first words
that you taught Him
and took the first steps
on wobbly legs
what words did you in joy say?
When He spoke out of the holy word
and in sincerity worshipped God
and as a teenager taught
educated Priests in the temple,
what thoughts came to your mind?
When John baptised Him
and the dove appeared
and God said
“this is My Son, ”
were there tears
of love in your eyes?
When as a innocent man
He was tried,
crowned in thorns,
whipped, stripped
and nailed to a cross
was there hope
between the tears
in your eyes?
When the sun fled from the sky
and the earth protested by quaking
that man in inhumanity
had slain the creator
and had laid his hand on God
and even a heathen soldier knew
that the Son of God was dead,
what pain went through your heart?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Anthem For Christmas
Words: gloria gaither
Music: michael w. smith
In the space of the beginning
Was the living word of light
When this word was clearly spoken
All that came to be was right
All creation had a language
Words to say what must be said
All day long the heavens whispered
Signing words in scarlet red
Some failed to understand it
So God spoke his final word
On a silent night in judahs
Hills a babys cry was heard
Glory! sang the angel chorus
Glory! echoed back the night
Love has come to walk among us
Christ the lord is born this night
All creation sing his praises
Earth and heaven praise his name
All who live come join the chorus
Find the words his love proclaim
Find the words his love proclaim
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem: Song to the Holy Cross
The cross of love:
The cross I love:
The cross I'd loved all life;
The wooden cross:
The holy cross:
The cross that bore man's strife.
The oaken cross:
The heavy cross:
The cross Jesus carried;
The cross on which
Christ Lord was nailed:
And bore man's sins indeed.
The cross of death:
The blood-stained cross:
The Savior, man, redeemed;
The cross of life's
Victory o'er death:
That souls on earth must heed.
poem by John Celes
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Cancer
I cross the oceans
I corss the seas
I cross the mountains
Like a new disease
I cross the borders
I cross the line
Never to see the light
'Till the end of time
I've seen the canyons
I've seen the cities
I've seen the prisons
That take such pity
When it comes to you
When it comes to me
It's just money
That'll set you free
[Chorus:]
Hey my children what seems important
Won't last forever
Hey my children what seems important
Won't last forever
Take a look at the Earth
From a plane
You'll see the Earth
Cut up and in Pain
Take a look at L.A.
From the sky
What you see
Should make you cry
[Chorus]
I'm the scum of the Earth...
I am a cancer...
I am humanity...
[Chorus (2 times)]
song performed by by Filter from Title of Record
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not a word He said
Before the Sanhedrin You spoke no word
and from Your lips no sound was heard.
Silent like a mute not a word was said
as awayto the cross, Lord You were led.
Your lips were silent and there came no sound.
In Your defence nothing was to be found.
As a lamb before the shearer is dumb
so from Your lips not a word was to come.
Angels were waiting for your bidding, Lord.
Silently You stood and spoke not a word.
You could have summoned that great army Lord.
They were ready and waiting for one word.
Silent there before Your accusers, Lord.
To their amazement You said not a word.
Louder than thunder was Your silence Lord.
Much more powerful than the spoken word.
Those gathered there did not understand why
You kept Your silence and did not reply.
Then there on the cross Your silence You broke.
'Father forgive them' were the words You spoke
The Angel
I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne’er beguiled!
And I wept both night and day,
And he wiped my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart’s delight.
So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten thousand shields and spears.
Soon my Angel came again;
I was armed, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Experience (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Slave And Emperor
'Our cavalry have rescued Nazareth from the enemy whose supermen
described Christianity as a creed for slaves.'
The Emperor mocked at Nazareth
In his almighty hour.
The Slave that bowed himself to death
And walked with slaves in Nazareth,
What were his words but wasted breath
Before that 'will to power'?
Yet, in the darkest hour of all,
When black defeat began,
The Emperor heard the mountains quake,
He felt the graves beneath him shake,
He watched his legions rally and break,
And he whimpered as they ran.
'I hear a shout that moves the earth,
A cry that wakes the dead!
Will no one tell me whence they come,
For all my messengers are dumb?
What power is this that comes to birth
And breaks my power?' he said.
Then, all around his foundering guns,
Though dawn was now not far,
The darkness filled with a living fear
That whispered at the Emperor's ear,
'_The armies of the dead draw near
Beneath an eastern star._'
_The trumpet blows in Nazareth.
The Slave is risen again.
Across the bitter wastes of death
The horsemen ride from Nazareth,
And the Power we mocked as wasted breath
Returns, in power, to reign;
Rides on, in white, through Nazareth,
To save His world again._
poem by Alfred Noyes
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St. Ignatius Loyola At The Chapel Of Our Lady Of Montserrat
’Tis midnight, and solemn darkness broods
In a lonely, sacred fane—
The church of Our Lady of Montserrat,
So famous throughout all Spain;
For countless were the pilgrim hosts
Who knelt at that sacred shrine
With aching hearts, that came to seek
Relief and grace divine.
Pure as the light of the evening star
Shines the lamp’s pale, solemn ray,
That burns through midnight’s hush and gloom,
As well as the glare of day,
Like the Christian soul, enwrapped in God,
Resigning each vain delight,
Each earthly lure, to burn and shine
With pure love in His sight.
Softly the gentle radiance falls
On a mail-clad warrior there,
Who humbly bows his stately head
In silent, earnest prayer;
It flashes back from his corslet bright,
From each shining steel clad hand,
And the brow which tells that he was born
To pomp and high command.
Say, who is he, that vigil keeps,
Like the warrior knights of old,
Through the long lone hours of the silent night,
Ere they donned their spurs of gold?
A soldier brave and proud is he,
And bears a noble name,
Since Pampeluna’s glorious day
Won Loyola his fame.
What doth he at this lowly shrine?
What mean those prayers and sighs,
The tearful mist that dims the light
Of his flashing, eagle eyes?
They tell of life’s vain pomps and pride
Esteemed as worthless dross,
For the dauntless soldier has become
The soldier of the Cross.
That sword, that once like lightning swept
Through ranks of foes hard pressed,
Now hangs beside Our Lady’s shrine,
Henceforth in peace to rest,—
And soon the penitent’s rough, dark robe,
His girdle and cowl of gloom,
Will replace the soldier’s armor bright,
And his lofty, waving plume.
Well done, well done, thou warrior brave!
A noble choice is thine!
What are the laurels of earth beside
The joys of bliss divine?
And thou hast won, though seeking not,
The saint’s undying fame—
Christ’s Holy Church will evermore
Revere and bless thy name!
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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As When From Dreams Awaking
AS when from dreams awaking
The dim forms float away
Whose visioned smiles were making
Our darkness bright as day;
We vainly strive, while weeping,
From their shining spirit track,
(Where they fled while we were sleeping,)
To call those dear ones back!
Like the stars, some power divides them
From a world of want and pain;
They are there, but daylight hides them,
And we look for them in vain.
For a while we dwell with sadness,
On the beauty of that dream,
Then turn, and hail with gladness
The light of morning's beam.
So, when memory's power is wringing
Our lonely hearts to tears,
Dim forms around us bringing
That brightened former years:
Fond looks and low words spoken,
Which those dreamy days could boast,
Rise; till the spell be broken,
We forget that they are lost!
But when the hour of darkness rolls
Like heavy night away;
And peace is stealing o'er our souls,
Like the dawn of summer day:
The dim sweet forms that used to bless,
Seem stealing from us too;
We loved them-but joy's sunniness
Hath hid them from our view!
Oh could day beam eternally,
And Memory's power cease,
This world, a world of light would be,
Our hearts were worlds of peace:
But dreams of joy return with night,
And dwell upon the past-
And every grief that clouds our light,
Reminds us of the last!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Christmas Hymn
Sing, Christmas bells!
Say to the earth this is the morn
Whereon our Saviour-King is born;
Sing to all men,-the bond, the free,
The rich, the poor, the high, the low,
The little child that sports in glee,
The aged folk that tottering go,-
Proclaim the morn
That Christ is born,
That saveth them and saveth me!
Sing, angel host!
Sing of the star that God has placed
Above the manger in the east;
Sing of the glories of the night,
The virgin's sweet humility,
The Babe with kingly robes bedight,
Sing to all men where'er they be
This Christmas morn;
For Christ is born,
That saveth them and saveth me!
Sing, sons of earth!
O ransomed seed of Adam, sing!
God liveth, and we have a king!
The curse is gone, the bond are free,-
By Bethlehem's star that brightly beamed,
By all the heavenly signs that be,
We know that Israel is redeemed;
That on this morn
The Christ is born
That saveth you and saveth me!
Sing, O my heart!
Sing thou in rapture this dear morn
Whereon the blessed Prince is born!
And as thy songs shall be of love,
So let my deeds be charity,-
By the dear Lord that reigns above,
By Him that died upon the tree,
By this fair morn
Whereon is born
The Christ that saveth all and me!
poem by Eugene Field
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The Gift
He was born in Bethlehem they say, there was a star to light the path to where
He lay. Rich or poor they came from far and near, cause they'd all heard the
reason He was here.
CHORUS:
He was the Son God sent to one and all. Put on this earth to hang there on that
cross. Born to die so we could live. He had the birthday, we got the gift.
They wrapped him up with gentle hands. God hoped the world would understand.
Eternal life we shall receive. And all that He asks in return is that we just
believe.
CHORUS:
He was the Son God sent to one and all. Put on this earth to hang there on that
cross. Born to die so we could live. He had the birthday, we got the gift.
There's no way in this world we could repay the miracle He gave us on that day.
CHORUS:
He was the Son God sent to one and all, put on this earth to hang there on that
cross, born to die so we could live. He had the birthday, we got the gift.
On our Savior's birthday, we got the gift.
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With Mercy for the Greedy
for my friend Ruth, who urges me to make an appointment for the Sacrament of Confesson
Concerning your letter in which you ask
me to call a priest and in which you ask
me to wear The Cross that you enclose;
your own cross,
your dog-bitten cross,
no larger than a thumb,
small and wooden, no thorns, this rose -
I pray to its shadow,
that gray place
where it lies on your letter… deep, deep.
I detest my sins and I try to believe
in The Cross. I touch its tender hips, its dark jawed face,
its solid neck, its brown sleep.
True. There is
a beautiful Jesus.
He is frozen to his bones like a chunk of beef.
How desperately he wanted to pull his arms in!
How desperately I touch his vertical and horizontal axes!
But I can't. Need is not quite belief.
All morning long
I have worn
your cross, hung with package string around my throat.
It tapped me lightly as a child's heart might,
tapping secondhand, softly waiting to be born.
Ruth, I cherish the letter you wrote.
My friend, my friend, I was born
doing reference work in sin, and born
confessing it. This is what poems are:
with mercy
for the greedy,
they are the tongue's wrangle,
the world's pottage, the rat's star.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Christmas Carol
Welcome, sweet Christmas, blest be the morn
That Christ our Saviour was born!
Earth's Redeemer, to save us from all danger,
And, as the Holy Record tells, born in a manger.
Chorus --
Then ring, ring, Christmas bells,
Till your sweet music o'er the kingdom swells,
To warn the people to respect the morn
That Christ their Saviour was born.
The snow was on the ground when Christ was born,
And the Virgin Mary His mother felt very forlorn
As she lay in a horse's stall at a roadside inn,
Till Christ our Saviour was born to free us from sin.
Oh! think of the Virgin Mary as she lay
In a lowly stable on a bed of hay,
And angels watching O'er her till Christ was born,
Therefore all the people should respect Christmas morn.
The way to respect Christmas time
Is not by drinking whisky or wine,
But to sing praises to God on Christmas morn,
The time that Jesus Christ His Son was born;
Whom He sent into the world to save sinners from hell
And by believing in Him in heaven we'll dwell;
Then blest be the morn that Christ was born,
Who can save us from hell, death, and scorn.
Then he warned, and respect the Saviour dear,
And treat with less respect the New Year,
And respect always the blessed morn
That Christ our Saviour was born.
For each new morn to the Christian is dear,
As well as the morn of the New Year,
And he thanks God for the light of each new morn.
Especially the morn that Christ was born.
Therefore, good people, be warned in time,
And on Christmas morn don't get drunk with wine
But praise God above on Christmas morn,
Who sent His Son to save us from hell and scorn.
There the heavenly babe He lay
In a stall among a lot of hay,
While the Angel Host by Bethlehem
Sang a beautiful and heavenly anthem.
Christmas time ought to be held most dear,
Much more so than the New Year,
Because that's the time that Christ was born,
Therefore respect Christmas morn.
And let the rich be kind to the poor,
And think of the hardships they do endure,
Who are neither clothed nor fed,
And Many without a blanket to their bed.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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On The Banks of The Shore
have i wandered too far this time
to feel the presence of Your hand
i cant say that i've been blind
building castles in the sand
seems kinda funny for me to say
words i've said before
feeling's too heavy for me to pray
on the banks of the shore
on the banks of the shore
at the foot of the cross
my heart's aching and sore
and my soul's feeling lost...
could You spare an angel or two
put a rainbow in the sky
just to let me know that You
care if i live or die
maybe i'll get it right this time
find the key to the door
just need some peace of mind
on the banks of the shore
on the banks of the shore
at the foot of the cross
my heart's aching and sore
and my soul's feeling lost
on the banks of the shore
at the foot of the cross
my heart's aching and sore
and my soul's feeling lost....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wounded, Old And Treacherous
A walk on the quiet side, late in the day --
Don't mean to get in anybody's way.
The gods seem willing: sun's in the sky.
Old crows cawing as the straight crows fly.
There was a time when love was the law.
There was a time for the tooth and the claw.
Last rites given, no holds barred.
Heaven express on my credit card.
Now let me draw the jungle line --
I won't cross yours if you don't cross mine.
Won't make trouble, i don't need no fuss.
But i'm wounded, old and i'm treacherous.
Allow me to draw the jungle line --
You cross it once, you cross some friends of mine.
They won't make trouble, they don't need no fuss
But they're wounded, old and they're treacherous.
In the crisp of evening, on sacred ground --
Ghosts of fathers pushing moonbeams round.
Big cats prowling inside your head --
They left for china; better left for dead.
Let me draw the jungle line --
I won't cross yours if you don't cross mine.
Won't make trouble, i don't need no fuss.
But i'm wounded, old and i'm treacherous.
A walk on the quiet side, late in the day --
Don't mean to get in anybody's way.
The gods seem willing: sun's in the sky.
Old crows cawing as the straight crows fly.
There was a time when love was the law.
There was a time for the tooth and the claw.
Last rites given, no holds barred.
Heaven express on my credit card.
Living mountains going to shake that town --
Big mother calling you from underground.
She don't want trouble, she don't need no fuss.
But she's wounded, old and treacherous.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sign On The Cross
by Bob Dylan
Now, I try, oh for so awf'ly long
And I just try to be.
And now, oh it's a gold mine
But it's so fine.
Yes, but I know in my head
That we're all so misled,
And it's that ol' sign on the cross
That worries me.
Now, when I was just a bawlin' child,
I saw what I wanted to be,
And it's all for the sake
Of that picture I should see.
But I was lost on the moon
As I heard that front door slam,
And that old sign on the cross
Still worries me.
Well, it's that old sign on the cross,
Well, it's that old key to the kingdom,
Well, it's that old sign on the cross
Like you used to be.
But, when I hold my head so high
As I see my ol' friends go by,
And it's still that sign on the cross
That worries me.
Well, it seems to be the sign on the cross. Ev'ry day,
ev'ry night, see the sign on the cross just layin' up
on top of the hill. Yes, we thought it might have
disappeared long ago, but I'm here to tell you, friends,
that I'm afraid it's lyin' there still. Yes, just a
little time is all you need, you might say, but I don't
know 'bout that any more, because the bird is here and
you might want to enter it, but, of course, the door might
be closed. But I just would like to tell you one time,
if I don't see you again, that the thing is, that the sign
on the cross is the thing you might need the most.
Yes, the sign on the cross
Is just a sign on the cross.
Well, there is some on every chisel
And there is some in the championship, too.
Oh, when your, when your days are numbered
And your nights are long,
You might think you're weak
But I mean to say you're strong.
Yes you are, if that sign on the cross,
If it begins to worry you.
Well, that's all right because sing a song
And all your troubles will pass right on through.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Easy Wind
I been balling a shiny black steel jack-hammer,
Been chippin up rocks for the great highway,
Live five years if I take my time,
Ballin that jack and a drinkin my wine.
I been chippin them rocks from dawn till doom,
While my rider hide my bottle in the other room.
Doctor say better stop ballin that jack,
If I live five years I gonna bust my back, yes I will.
Easy wind cross the bayou today
Cause theres a whole lotta women, mama,
Out in red on the streets today.
And the rivers keep a talkin,
But you never heard a word it said.
Gotta find a woman be good to me,
Wont hide my liquor try to serve me tea,
Cause Im a stone jack baller and my heart is true
And Ill give everything that I got to you, yes I will.
Easy wind going cross the bayou today
Theres a whole lotta women
Out in red on the streets today.
And the rivers keep a talkin,
But you never heard a word it said.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas is Nigh?
I’ve heard of Santa,
But does he come
On reindeer sleighs
On snow-clad roads?
I’ve heard of Christmas,
When born was Christ,
To give joy, peace
To men on earth!
I’ve heard of Jesus,
The Son of God,
Who died on cross
For mankind’s sins!
But do we know
What Christmas means?
We must share our love
With all around.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-30-2007
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jerusalem, Jerusalem How Glad
Jerusalem, Jerusalem how glad
am I in prayer to have stood;
in thee blessed city at remains
of thy second temple’s walls.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem Oh how glad
am I sacred Via Dolorosa walked;
in remembrance atonement passed
stations of The Cross to have passed.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem Oh how glad
am I who before entering sacred;
Garden of Gethsemane to view aged
olive trees was cast down humbled.
For Jesus in agony fear here sweated
blood in prayer to heaven to father God;
when last among these olives he stood
thus rejoice all bowed before our Lord.
In pilgrimage to Calvary where our Lord
for my sins humanities Christ was Crucified;
where a group of witnesses Marys stood
bewailing in heart soul worship as we should.
This most Holy City Jerusalem City of our God
site of our Saviour’s Cross where our Saviour trod;
Almighty God this is thy most sacred Holy City still
at Messiah’s return here raise holy men at thy will.
The Via Dolorosa (Latin for Way of Grief or Way of Suffering) is the sacred two part street, within the Old City of Jerusalem; where Jesus walked carrying the cross, on the way to his crucifixion.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Spring Dirge
A child came singing through the dusty town
A song so sweet that all men stayed to hear,
Forgetting for a space their ancient fear
Of evil days and death and fortune’s frown.
She sang of Winter dead and Spring new-born
In the green fields beyond the far hills’ bound;
And how this fair Spring, coming blossom-crowned,
Would cross the city’s threshold on the morn.
And each caged bird in every house anigh,
Even as she sang, caught up the glad refrain
Of Love and Hope and fair days come again,
Till all who heard forgot they had to die.
And all the ghosts of buried woes were laid
That heard the song of this sweet sorceress;
The Past grew to a dream of old distress,
And merry were the hearts of man and maid.
So, at the first faint blush of tender dawn,
Spring stole with noiseless steps through the gray gloom,
And men knew only by a strange perfume
That she had softly entered and withdrawn.
But ah! the lustre of her violet eyes
Was dimmed with tears for her sweet singing maid,
Whose voice would sound no more in shine or shade
To charm men’s souls at set of sun or rise.
For there, with dews of dawn upon her hair,
Like a fair flower plucked and flung away,
Dead in the street the little maiden lay
Who gave new life to hearts nigh dead of care.
Alas! must this be still the bitter doom
Awaiting those, the finer-souled of earth,
Who make for men a morning song of mirth
While yet the birds are dumb amid the gloom?
They walk on thorny ways with feet unshod,
Sing one last song, and die as that song dies.
There is no human hand to close their eyes,
And very heavy is the hand of God.
poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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