Our Orders
WEAVE no more silks, ye Lyons looms,
To deck our girls for gay delights!
The crimson flower of battle blooms,
And solemn marches fill the night.
Weave but the flag whose bars to-day
Drooped heavy o’er our early dead,
And homely garments, coarse and gray,
For orphans that must earn their bread!
Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,
That poured delight from other lands!
Rouse there the dancer’s restless feet:
The trumpet leads our warrior bands.
And ye that wage the war of words
With mystic fame and subtle power,
Go, chatter to the idle birds,
Or teach the lesson of the hour!
Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot
Be all your offices combined!
Stand close, while Courage draws the lot,
The destiny of human kind.
And if that destiny could fail,
The sun should darken in the sky,
The eternal bloom of Nature pale,
And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!
poem by Julia Ward Howe
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Related quotes
Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life
WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life!
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come;
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight
weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant
weave! tire not!
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, the end--nor
really aught we know;
But know the work, the need goes on, and shall go on--the death-
envelop'd march of peace as well as war goes on;)
For great campaigns of peace the same, the wiry threads to weave;
We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Indian Weavers
WEAVERS, weaving at break of day,
Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . .
Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild,
We weave the robes of a new-born child.
Weavers, weaving at fall of night,
Why do you weave a garment so bright? . . .
Like the plumes of a peacock, purple and green,
We weave the marriage-veils of a queen.
Weavers, weaving solemn and still,
What do you weave in the moonlight chill? . . .
White as a feather and white as a cloud,
We weave a dead man's funeral shroud.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Evening.
The light is drawn out of the leaves and grass,
And the sweet flowers grow pale in the gray air,
As if their beauty's essence e'en did pass
With the departing light from all things fair,
As the sap in the trees when summer's fled
Draws back to the earth, leaving the leaves dead.
The sky becomes a cloud, the hills a shade,
As the mysterious darkness fills the sphere,
A monstrous elf whose tentacles are laid
In silence upon all things far and near;
Now the bats flit about the mothy damp
In which the spiders weave their airy camp.
I, too, could fill as 'twere a dreamy bed
Under the green leaves in the darkness now,
And watch the evening planet overhead
Like a dewdrop upon the airy bough
Of heaven tremble — till my soul too grew
Like liquid light in water, shining through.
And I can feel that which the dead inherit —
Peace, and the power to forego the pain
That like a vulture on the human spirit
Draws its fine essence from the fading brain,
Till every sense contracts, and the slow breath
Oozes away in the desire of death.
So from me slips the day's disquietude,
And I am made one with the night, as those
Who pass from thought into a faery mood
On Lethe's wharf, whenas old Charon goes
Into the dusk of that eternal eve
Where all must go when the earth-light they leave.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Freedom's Battle-Song
RED, white, blue, the flag that leads us on,
Stripes as red as blood well shed by many a hero gone.
Now 'tis ours to storm the towers of tyranny and wrong,
Freedom's sons who front the guns with Freedom's battle-song.
Fly the flag from dome and steeple,
Fly the flag from home and school,
Flag of Freedom's birth,
While we battle that the rule
Of the people
By the people
For the people
Shall prevail o'er all the earth.
Red, white, blue, the flag that leads us on,
White as peace for whose release our fighting gear we don;
Peace enchained, crushed, profaned, shall yet in beauty stand,
Yet shall bless with fruitfulness her desolated land.
Fly the flag from dome and steeple,
Fly the flag from home and school,
Flag of Freedom's birth
While we battle that the rule
Of the people
By the people
For the people
Shall prevail o'er all the earth.
Red, white, blue, the flag that leads us on,
Blue as skies whose starry eyes shall see our victory won.
Freedom's sons and champions, to her our hearts are true,
We who fight for Human Right, and the Red,
White, Blue.
Fly the flag from dome and steeple,
Fly, the flag from home and school,
Flag of Freedom's birth,
While we battle that the rule
Of the people
By the people
For the people
Shall prevail o'er all the earth.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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In A Vale
When I was young, we dwelt in a vale
By a misty fen that rang all night,
And thus it was the maidens pale
I knew so well, whose garments trail
Across the reeds to a window light.
The fen had every kind of bloom,
And for every kind there was a face,
And a voice that has sounded in my room
Across the sill from the outer gloom.
Each came singly unto her place,
But all came every night with the mist;
And often they brought so much to say
Of things of moment to which, they wist,
One so lonely was fain to list,
That the stars were almost faded away
Before the last went, heavy with dew,
Back to the place from which she came-
Where the bird was before it flew,
Where the flower was before it grew,
Where bird and flower were one and the same.
And thus it is I know so well
Why the flower has odor, the bird has song.
You have only to ask me, and I can tell.
No, not vainly there did I dwell,
Nor vainly listen all the night long.
poem by Robert Frost
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Nature Is The Destiny Maker: Boo, Boo, Cried Bobby - A Barmy Head!
Nature is full of unraveled mysteries, cultures and histories;
Nature is full of flowing rills with growing thrills - oh human joker!
Nature nurtures dreams of utility by shaping your personality,
Yahoo! Nature is full of beautiful colors and heaven sent flowers
Nature is the destiny maker, boo, boo, cried Bobby – a barmy head!
Holy smoke, holy cow! Oh, little mackerel! Nature has ethereal power.
Papal tree and papaya fruit, coconut and grape fruit for you
Banyan tree and banana fruit, Almond tree apple fruit for you
Even if you are lost in thoughts futile – don’t worry – oh, lawbreaker!
Nature instills hope with an eternal source utile – be merry.
Nature is the destiny maker, boo, boo, cried Bobby – a barmy head!
Holy smoke, holy cow! Oh, little mackerel! Nature has ethereal power.
Blue Sky, white clouds, yellow stars are there for you,
Moon’s twilight and sun’s delight is for you and me,
Be a bird watcher and be with nature, oh, you and me!
Go and bow in front of rainbow, rain is for you and me.
Nature is the destiny maker, boo, boo, cried Bobby – a barmy head!
Holy smoke, holy cow! Oh, little mackerel! Nature has ethereal power.
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Natures Gift...
'Twas early morn' of destiny
on the run of delivery
moth'r nature gave me her kiss
an' filled my morn' with such bliss
The sky a dark color o' gray
ice crystals dance wilst at play
mornin's lite sparkle with speck
as I marvel at the prancin' flecks
Twas early morn' of destiny
the sun would shine upon the scene
An ' a kiss from moth'r catch me eye
with her kiss of love upon the sky
A January more held the mystic view
A rainbow to add shine on through.........
GJW 11 / 02 / 07
poem by Geoff Warden
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The Wage-Slaves
Oh, glorious are the guarded heights
Where guardian souls abide--
Self-exiled from our gross delights--
Above, beyond, outside:
An ampler arc their spirit swings--
Commands a juster view--
We have their word for all these things,
No doubt their words are true.
Yet we, the bond slaves of our day,
Whom dirt and danger press--
Co-heirs of insolence, delay,
And leagued unfaithfulness--
Such is our need must seek indeed
And, having found, engage
The men who merely do the work
For which they draw the wage.
From forge and farm and mine and bench,
Deck, altar, outpost lone--
Mill, school, battalion, counter, trench,
Rail, senate, sheepfold, throne--
Creation's cry goes up on high
From age to cheated age:
"Send us the men who do the work
"For which they draw the wage!"
Words cannot help nor wit achieve,
Nor e'en the all-gifted fool,
Too weak to enter, bide, or leave
The lists he cannot rule.
Beneath the sun we count on none
Our evil to assuage,
Except the men that do the work
For which they draw the wage.
When through the Gates of Stress and Strain
Comes forth the vast Event--
The simple, sheer, sufficing, sane
Result of labour spent--
They that have wrought the end unthought
Be neither saint nor sage,
But only men who did the work
For which they drew the wage.
Wherefore to these the Fates shall bend
(And all old idle things )
Werefore on these shall Power attend
Beyond the grip of kings:
Each in his place, by right, not grace,
Shall rule his heritage--
The men who simply do the work
For which they draw the wage.
Not such as scorn the loitering street,
Or waste, to earth its praise,
Their noontide's unreturning heat
About their morning ways;
But such as dower each mortgaged hour
Alike with clean courage--
Even the men who do the work
For which they draw the wage--
Men, like to Gods, that do the work
For which they draw the wage--
Begin-continue-close that work
For which they draw the wage!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Words... (Tiny Bodies)
words have tiny bodies,
some young, some aged beyond thought.
words carry swords and plant tears,
words form tiny lamps in darkness.
words express the unexpressable,
ride bicycles on children's journeys.
words taunt silence with definition....
and some of the best are never spoken.
words heal wounds, and fill bowls,
weave webs while we sleep.
words often turn and betray us,
and often die for our sins.
words create universes,
and shed their clothes on well lit stages.
words translate both the wolf and the whale,
and bear the flag of mountains.
words bear children, but leave no tracks.
words hammer rusty nails.
words never ever wear shoes,
and dance with every other step.
words stroke the breast and touch the lips,
without apology or fear.
words give stars their destiny,
and name every grain of sand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cassandra
Down in the street theyre all singing and shouting
Staying alive though the city is dead
Hiding their shame behind hollow laughter
While you are crying alone on your bed
Pity cassandra that no one believed you
But then again you were lost from the start
Now we must suffer and sell our secrets
Bargain, playing smart, aching in our hearts
Sorry cassandra I misunderstood
Now the last day is dawning
Some of us wanted but none of us could
Listen to words of warning
But on the darkest of nights
Nobody knew how to fight
And we were caught in our sleep
Sorry cassandra I didnt believe
You really had the power
I only saw it as dreams you would weave
Until the final hour
So in the morning your ship will be sailing
Now that your father and sister are gone
There is no reason for you to linger
Youre grieving deeply but still moving on
You know the future is casting a shadow
No one else sees it but you know youre fate
Packing your bags, being slow and thorough
Knowing, though youre late, that ship is sure to wait
Sorry cassandra I misunderstood
Now the last day is dawning
Some of us wanted but none of us could
Listen to words of warning
But on the darkest of nights
Nobody knew how to fight
And we were caught in our sleep
Sorry cassandra I didnt believe
You really had the power
I only saw it as dreams you would weave
Until the final hour
I watched the ship leaving harbour at sunrise
Sails almost slack in the cool morning rain
She stood on deck, just a tiny figure
Rigid and restrained, blue eyes filled with pain
Sorry cassandra I misunderstood
Now the last day is dawning
Some of us wanted but none of us could
Listen to words of warning
But on the darkest of nights
Nobody knew how to fight
And we were caught in our sleep
Sorry cassandra I didnt believe
You really had the power
I only saw it as dreams you would weave
Until the final hour
Im sorry cassandra
Im sorry cassandra
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Delightful Dancer
Substance of essence, dancer delights
Igniting the night with tangible might
Incinerator of germ and historical foe
In ovens of grease our waists to increase
Force of nature, portable sun
Brother of air, and also of bear
Domesticated by man, solicited by time
To send meek and wild ever to run
In tales of the lost and also the found
Of ancient stakes and frozen lakes
Far flung places and many races
do many thrilling stories abound
in legend or culture or book
where men fear ghost and ultimate Host
humanity is still forged from destiny and iron
dancer delights, substance ignites.
poem by Martino Fortuin
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Destiny
destiny
has once again surprised me
oh destiny
must want you here beside me
quietly
like the sunrise with its splendor
unexpectedly
with a passion strong yet tender
you draw me in
like the moon draws the tide
swept away by this love
taken in by your eyes
if I had to walk away from you
I know that it would be no use
'cause you're so deep inside of me
can't deny
I never want to be set free
the more you give the more I need
you can't change what is meant to be
no you can't change destiny
destiny
destiny
speaks with many voices
so eventually
we're obliged to make
some choices
oh destiny
who I thought I owned completely
just to toy with me
made me fall in love so deeply
you fill my soul
like the stars fill the sky
brought to life
this new world
where I'm held captive inside
if I had to walk away from you
I know that it would be no use
'cause you're so deep inside of me
can't deny
I never want to be set free
the more you give the more I need
you can't change what is meant to be
no
song performed by by Gloria Estefan from Destiny
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Requiem
Neobule, being tired,
Far too tired to laugh or weep,
From the hours, rosy and gray,
Hid her golden face away.
Neobule, fain of sleep,
Slept at last as she desired!
Neobule! is it well,
That you haunt the hollow lands,
Where the poor, dead people stray,
Ghostly, pitiful and gray,
Plucking, with their spectral hands,
Scentless blooms of asphodel?
Neobule, tired to death
Of the flowers that I threw
On her flower-like, fair feet,
Sighed for blossoms not so sweet,
Lunar roses pale and blue,
Lilies of the world beneath.
Neobule! ah, too tired
Of the dreams and days above!
Where the poor, dead people stray,
Ghostly, pitiful and gray,
Out of life and out of love,
Sleeps the sleep which she desired.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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EverCrimson War
The bloody hearts that we consume,
EverCrimson they are,
The bloody streams, crimson with terror,
Are not very afar,
For eventually war will strike,
These haven heaven lands,
EverCrimson forming round,
Death hitting sands.
Causing terror, freedom felt,
In the depths of the sea,
Where drowning can lead to freedom,
A free death possibility.
But still as this war comes,
We shall never prepare,
For this EverCrimson War,
We never daren’t stare.
For this battle will spread blood wide,
Not only blood but lost dreams,
For those that once lived,
Now dead as it seems.
Those dreams lost forever,
Never to come back,
Losing memories of childhood,
Now at severe lack.
The child at home playing,
Wanting war to end,
Never to know the death,
That EverCrimson War can lend.
For as well as dreams and death,
Souls will be lost again,
Reaching up to heaven,
But never these lonely men.
For we caused war, maybe end it,
But we started it at first,
So Mother Nature cannot be happy,
Only send us the worst.
Crimson war is bad enough,
Than having it Ever to stay,
I tell them, ‘it isn’t a game’
The dead in sorrow lay.
Listening to my words,
Understanding what I mean,
But nobody listens otherwise,
They will never wipe sins clean.
Only keep them forever,
Staining the blood EverCrimson red,
Never to be lost,
Reminding of the ones who are dead.
Those that were killed,
The ones they killed,
Hearts, lands, acres full of blood,
EverCrimson War only brings disaster…
To those who fail,
Will flash crimson, go stale,
Rotting bodies, rotting blood,
Mixed in with the dying mud.
EverCrimson War only brings disaster…
poem by Viraj Bhanshaly
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Destiny& Agony Fighting onwards but I cant fight away
Agony entangles me and around my soul
Fire storms down on a winter night
Moonlight shines its glorious light
Signs of the battle for what witch will be right
Open the gates and carry away there fright
Through the valley of the thunder
Deep in stormy winter ice
Its time now so roll the dice
Is this the old mans advice
Suffering this agony is this the price
To stand up for glorious freedom
Or fall down in shame
You cant fly away
You will have to stand up and face thus
Brothers of fallen swords
Rise tonight
Past agony, and despair
Fighting onwards but can not fight away
Destiny awaits thee
Open the gates
Forevermore we fight
Fighting for freedom
Till the sword frees thus
Open the gates
As we walk through with honor
For freedom we fight
Freedom of personal will
Our souls will carry out another day
It will shine and raise past the universe
Forevermore we stay free
Forevermore we will fight for freedom
Till sword have free thus
For the sword I live
And by the sword I will fight to I die
For eternity I'll fight onwards even if I cant fight away
Ill rise again for Valhalla will await me and I will be immortal
For destiny will come as my time to stand by Odin's will come forth
As I walk through the gates
I walk through with honor
Freedom I fight to the end
for now destiny lays greater then kings and hummed lands
Fighting onwards but can not fight away
For freedom I fight
For freedom I lost sight
But my soul carries on
For now I'm immortal
As I stand side by side
destiny I ride
So open up the gates
As I walk thought with honor
Oh I awaited thee
The day when the sword would free
So destiny could be
To open the gates,
and walk through with honor
As i stand side by side with Odin
I am now immortal
poem by Daniel fairfield
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The Destruction Of Magdeburg
OH, Magdeberg the town!
Fair maids thy beauty crown,
Thy charms fair maids and matrons crown;
Oh, Magdeburg the town!
Where all so blooming stands,
Advance fierce Tilly's bands;
O'er gardens and o'er well--till'd lands
Advance fierce Tilly's bands.
Now Tilly's at the gate.
Our homes who'll liberate?
Go, loved one, hasten to the gate,
And dare the combat straight!
There is no need as yet,
However fierce his threat;
Thy rosy cheeks I'll kiss, sweet pet!
There is no need as yet.
My longing makes me pale.
Oh, what can wealth avail?
E'en now thy father may be pale.
Thou mak'st my courage fail.
Oh, mother, give me bread!
Is then my father dead?
Oh, mother, one small crust of bread!
Oh, what misfortune dread!
Thy father, dead lies he,
The trembling townsmen flee,
Adown the street the blood runs free;
Oh, whither shall we flee?
The churches ruined lie,
The houses burn on high,
The roofs they smoke, the flames out fly,
Into the street then hie!
No safety there they meet!
The soldiers fill the Street,
With fire and sword the wreck complete:
No safety there they meet!
Down falls the houses' line,
Where now is thine or mine?
That bundle yonder is not thine,
Thou flying maiden mine!
The women sorrow sore.
The maidens far, far more.
The living are no virgins more;
Thus Tilly's troops make war!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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What The Heart Of The Poet Said To The 'Bulletin
Tell me not in future numbers
That our thought becomes inane,
That our metre halts and lumbers,
When the Wattle blooms again.
Lies of great men all remind us
We can challenge and restrain
Such attempts to bluff and blind us,
When the Wattle blooms again.
Therefore take our gage of battle!
Freedom reasserts her reign:
We are not dumb, driven, cattle
When the Wattle blooms again.
Doubtless ANSWERS, weekly, daily,
Adding to his heap of slain,
Feels a jar, when Nature gaily
Bids the Wattle bloom again.
Nocent censor! time thou learnest
All this contract may contain —
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
But the Wattle blooms again.
Time may change this loyal journal
From religious to profane,
But a rhythmic law eternal
Makes the Wattle bloom again.
Trust no Flossie, howe'er pleasant,
Sweeps are treacherous, totes are vain;
Banks and scrip are evanescent,
But the Wattle blooms again.
Cultivate no fair ideal;
Own no country-seat in Spain;
All these things must go to Sheol,
Whil'st the Wattle blooms again.
Czar, and Pope, and Dei Gratia
Pass like phantoms of the brain
Never so our bright acacia,
For the Wattle blooms again.
Thus you see, austere and lonely,
Sailing o'er Life's solemn main,
One great fact is certain only —
That the Wattle blooms again.
poem by Joseph Furphy
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Young Poets
You speak for the lakes, the trees and the birds
You say what they'd say if they had the words.
Make PEACE and be proud, choose well every choice
Speak HOPE and speak loud, you are Nature's voice.
Speak with respect now, for jungles and streams,
Speak for all wildlife and dream giant dreams.
Speak with great courage, speak up and speak out,
Write with a whisper or write with a SHOUT!
Stand up young poets for clean air and rivers,
Free verse or lyric; your message delivers...
Truth to the future citizens of earth,
Speak of your freedom your friends and self worth.
Speak for tomorrow and though you're still young,
Speak for the Forest, your pen is her tongue.
The world waits to hear your songs still unsung
Words posses power, you can write the wrongs
Teach us and lead us with Poems and with songs.
Speak now for nature, for trees and for birds,
Defenders of Earth choose carefullly your words!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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To John Ruskin
(After reading his 'Modern Painters')
YES, you do well to mock us, you
Who knew our bitter woe —
To jeer the false, deny the true
In us blind-struggling low,
While, on your pleasant place aloft
With flowers and clouds and streams,
At our black sweat and toil you scoffed
That marred your idle dreams.
'Oh, freedom, what was that to us,'
(You'd shout down to us there),
'Except the freedom foul, vicious,
From all of good and fair?
'Obedience, faith, truth, chivalry,
To us were empty names.' —
The like to you (might we reply)
Whose noisy life proclaims
Presumption, want of human love,
Impatience, filthy breath,
The snob in soul who looks above,
Trampling on what's beneath.
When did you strive, in nobler part,
With love and gentleness,
To help one soul, to win one heart
To joy and hope and peace?
Go to, vain Prophet, without faith
In God who maketh new,
With hankerings for this putrid death,
This flesh-feast of the few,
This social structure of red mud,
This edifice of slime,
Whose bricks are bones, whose mortar's blood,
Whose pinnacle is Crime! —
Go to, for we who strain our power
For light and warmth and scope,
For wives', for children's happier hour,
Can teach you faith and hope.
Hark to the shout of those who cleared
The Missionary Ridge!
Look on those dead who never feared
The battle's bloody bridge!
Watch the stern swarm at that last breach
March up that came not thence —
And learn Democracy can teach
Divine obedience.
Pass through that South at last brought low
Where loyal freemen live,
And learn Democracy knows how
To utterly forgive.
Come then, and take this free-given bread
Of us who've scarce enough;
Hush your proud lips, bow down your head
And worship Human Love!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Our Destiny Is In Our Own Hands
Our destiny is in our own hands some have been known to say
But circumstance in all of that must have some part to play
If you are born on no hope street and homeless in your youth
To you our destiny is in our own hands does not have a ring of truth.
Our destiny is in our own hands to some may well apply
It may apply to you and he and her as well as I
But not of course to everyone each day thousands of hunger die
Our destiny is in our own hands to the millions is a lie.
The innocents who die in war and acts of terrorism did not create their destiny
They would not wish it on themselves for to die so tragically
Their destiny was in others hands which often is the case
They just happened at the wrong time for to be in the wrong place.
That our destiny is in our own hands apply to some maybe
But ninety nine per cent of street kids will die in poverty
Due to their circumstances of birth they are condemned to fail
And some of them die of drug overdoses and some of them die in jail.
poem by Francis Duggan
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