Salutation
To you and you and you who have given
Two sons for England's sake,--what word?
Oh, there is weeping heard in Heaven
And Mary's heart has the Eighth Sword.
Henceforth as you go through the town
The folk who see you go and come
Will doff their hats to your renown,
With: Salvete flores Martyrum!
O chosen from all women and men
For that high lonely destiny!
Now that we look at you, 'tis plain
God set a mark to know you by.
Your cross was growing in the tree
Before the golden world was made;
Your martyr's palms began to be
Before 'Let there be Light' was said.
And still where'er you come and go
The world's the lighter for your load.
Who thinks on common things and low
When your high sorrow takes the road?
O predestined and pre-elect
'Tis you must bear the glorious scars.
Stand up, dear Saints, white and erect,
The wounded in the heavenly wars.
Beloved, afflicted, marked for grace.
God's folk who watch you go and come,
Call, leaning from their Paradise place,
Salvete flores Martyrum!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Related quotes
Pro Rege Nostro
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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What Have I Done For You
What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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England, My England
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:--
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There 's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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A Hero
He was so foolish, the poor lad,
He made superior people smile
Who knew not of the wings he had
Budding and growing all the while;
Nor that the laurel wreath was made
Already for his curly head.
Silly and childish in his ways;
They said: 'His future comes to naught.'
His future! In the dreadful days
When in a toil his feet were caught
He hacked his way to glory bright
Before his day went down in night.
He fretted wiser folk--small blame!
Such futile, feeble brains were his.
Now we doff hats to hear his name,
Ask pardon where his spirit is,
Because we never guessed him for
A hero in the disguise he wore.
It matters little how we live
So long as we may greatly die.
Fashioned for great things, O forgive
Our dullness in the days gone by!
Now glory wraps you like a cloak
From us, and all such common folk.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Tableau
Locked arm in arm they cross the way
The black boy and the white,
The golden splendor of the day
The sable pride of night.
From lowered blinds the dark folk stare
And here the fair folk talk,
Indignant that these two should dare
In unison to walk.
Oblivious to look and word
They pass, and see no wonder
That lightning brilliant as a sword
Should blaze the path of thunder.
poem by Countee Cullen
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Christmas in the year of the War
NEVERTHELESS this Year of Grief
The Tree of God's in leaf.
The stem, the branch quickeneth
With sap, this year of Death.
For in the time of the flowering thorn
The Babe, the Babe, is born!
Christ's folk, look up, be not dismayed,
The Lord's in the cattle shed.
He comes, a little trembling One,
To a world else lost, undone.
With His poor folk He wills to stay
In this their difficult day.
Poor war-worn world, you shall have ease!
He signs your lasting peace.
He hath given His people rest from wars,
By the cold light of stars.
The charter of their peace shall stand
Writ by His hour-old hand.
The Tree of Paradise quickeneth.
Be still,--there is no death!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Lines written in the Belief that the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead was called Ambarvalia
Swings the way still by hollow and hill,
And all the world's a song;
'She's far,' it sings me, 'but fair,' it rings me,
'Quiet,' it laughs, 'and strong!'
Oh! spite of the miles and years between us,
Spite of your chosen part,
I do remember; and I go
With laughter in my heart.
So above the little folk that know not,
Out of the white hill-town,
High up I clamber; and I remember;
And watch the day go down.
Gold is my heart, and the world's golden,
And one peak tipped with light;
And the air lies still about the hill
With the first fear of night;
Till mystery down the soundless valley
Thunders, and dark is here;
And the wind blows, and the light goes,
And the night is full of fear,
And I know, one night, on some far height,
In the tongue I never knew,
I yet shall hear the tidings clear
From them that were friends of you.
They'll call the news from hill to hill,
Dark and uncomforted,
Earth and sky and the winds; and I
Shall know that you are dead.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread;
For the kin of you will surely do
Their duty by the dead.
Their little dull greasy eyes will water;
They'll paw you, and gulp afresh.
They'll sniffle and weep, and their thoughts will creep
Like flies on the cold flesh.
They will put pence on your grey eyes,
Bind up your fallen chin,
And lay you straight, the fools that loved you
Because they were your kin.
They will praise all the bad about you,
And hush the good away,
And wonder how they'll do without you,
And then they'll go away.
But quieter than one sleeping,
And stranger than of old,
You will not stir for weeping,
You will not mind the cold;
But through the night the lips will laugh not,
The hands will be in place,
And at length the hair be lying still
About the quiet face.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
And dim and decorous mirth,
With ham and sherry, they'll meet to bury
The lordliest lass of earth.
The little dead hearts will tramp ungrieving
Behind lone-riding you,
The heart so high, the heart so living,
Heart that they never knew.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread,
Nor with smug breath tell lies of death
To the unanswering dead.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
The folk who loved you not
Will bury you, and go wondering
Back home. And you will rot.
But laughing and half-way up to heaven,
With wind and hill and star,
I yet shall keep, before I sleep,
Your Ambarvalia.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Last Resort
She came from providence,
The one in rhode island
Where the old world shadows hang
Heavy in the air
She packed her hopes and dreams
Like a refugee
Just as her father came across the sea
She heard about a place people were smilin
They spoke about the red mans way,
And how they loved the land
And they came from everywhere
To the great divide
Seeking a place to stand
Or a place to hide
Down in the crowded bars,
Out for a good time,
Cant wait to tell you all,
What its like up there
And they called it paradise
I dont know why
Somebody laid the mountains low
While the town got high
Then the chilly winds blew down
Across the desert
Through the canyons of the coast, to
The malibu
Where the pretty people play,
Hungry for power
To light their neon way
And give them things to do
Some rich men came and raped the land,
Nobody caught em
Put up a bunch of ugly boxes, and jesus,
People bought em
And they called it paradise
The place to be
They watched the hazy sun, sinking in the sea
You can leave it all behind
And sail to lahaina
Just like the missionaries did, so many years ago
They even brought a neon sign: jesus is coming
Brought the white mans burden down
Brought the white mans reign
Who will provide the grand design?
What is yours and what is mine?
cause there is no more new frontier
We have got to make it here
We satisfy our endless needs and
Justify our bloody deeds,
In the name of destiny and the name
Of god
And you can see them there,
On sunday morning
They stand up and sing about
What its like up there
They call it paradise
I dont know why
You call someplace paradise,
Kiss it goodbye
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Starbreaker
Look out, heres starbreaker
Cruisin into town
Set his mind to stealin
Every little heart around
Step out on the sidewalks
If youre feeling game
He comes but once a lifetime
Never seen again
Starbreaker
Glides in from the sky
Starbreaker
Takes you up so high
Paradise is waiting
For the chosen few
Lets hope maybe this time
He picks me and you
Star voyage to a new world
Light-year miles away
Cross your fingers, here he is,
Take us now this day
Starbreaker
Glides in from the sky
Starbreaker
Takes you up so high
Starbreaker, take my hand
Starbreaker, understand
Starbreaker, youre the one
Starbreaker, lead us on, and on
Look out, heres starbreaker
Cruisin into town
Set his mind to stealin
Every little heart around
Step out on the sidewalks
If youre feeling game
He comes but once a lifetime
Never ever seen again
Starbreaker
Glides in from the sky
Starbreaker
Takes you up so high
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wish I Was A Heavenly Angel
I wish I was a heavenly angel
For I would watch and protect mankind
But I am no heavenly angel
Hence must play in my own kind
I wish I was a heavenly angel
For I would pray for those in sorrow
But I am no heavenly angel
Hence must suffer the torment of borrow
I wish I was a heavenly angel
For I would worship my god day and night
But I am no heavenly angel
Hence must fight for my own right
I wish I was a heavenly angel
For I would always cling to my sword
But I am no heavenly angel
Hence must fight the pain of my fault
I wish I was a heavenly angel
For I would never no tiredness
But I am no heavenly angel
Hence must till the land to grow in abundance
I wish I was a heavenly angel
For I would weep when man sin
But I am no heavenly angel
Hence must pray for my own sin so dire
I wish I was a heavenly angel
For I would shore endlessly in space
But I am no heavenly angel
Hence must check as I walk in pace
I wish I was a heavenly angel
For I would wonder around this world free
But I am no heavenly angel
Hence must stand still as a tree
I wish I was a heavenly angel
For my heart shall always be in joy
But I am no heavenly angel
Hence must behave just like a boy
poem by Samuel Donkor
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet IV
Behold the deed is done. Here endeth all
That bound my grief to its ancestral ways.
I have passed out, as from a funeral,
From my dead home, and in the great world's gaze
Henceforth I stand, a pilgrim of new days,
On the high road of life. Where I was thrall,
See, I am master, being passionless;
And, having nothing now, am lord of all.
How glorious is the world! Its infinite grace
Surprises me--and not as erst with fear,
But as one meets a woman face to face,
Loved once and unforgotten and still dear
In certain moods and seasons. So to me
The fair world smiles to--day, yet leaves me free.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Women Weep
Behind a banner men unite
arrayed in armour shining bright.
Each warrior prepared to die,
ready to fight but knows not why.
It has been so since time began,
each yearns to prove he is a man.
The widows weep and wail and mourn.
Was it for this our sons were born?
To die upon some battlefield
be carried home upon his shield.
Because his chieftain would not yield.
That’s how it was in days of yore
when tribal chieftains went to war
Still human nature does not change
and foolish men see nothing strange.
Enlisting in some obscure cause
to fight and die in useless wars
Their women folk are left to cry
the price they pay is far too high.
The burning question must be why.
We do not learn from history.
There really is no mystery,
young men are still fooled easily
by politicians who they see
As learned men who are just and wise
and foolishly believe their lies
The women folk are not so blind
but head strong men pay little mind
to well found fears of womenkind
Though womenfolk have always known
that once men hear the trumpets blown
The men folk lose their common sense
and rush to fight in the defence
of what they’re told is liberty
by those placed in authority.
So children are left fatherless
and womenfolk in deep distress.
Men's foolishness is limitless.
19-Jun-07
Cyhydd naw ban
Welsh bardic form
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Drunk
Too far away, oh love, I know,
To save me from this haunted road,
Whose lofty roses break and blow
On a night-sky bent with a load
Of lights: each solitary rose,
Each arc-lamp golden does expose
Ghost beyond ghost of a blossom, shows
Night blenched with a thousand snows.
Of hawthorn and of lilac trees,
White lilac; shows discoloured night
Dripping with all the golden lees
Laburnum gives back to light.
And shows the red of hawthorn set
On high to the purple heaven of night,
Like flags in blenched blood newly wet,
Blood shed in the noiseless fight.
Of life for love and love for life,
Of hunger for a little food,
Of kissing, lost for want of a wife
Long ago, long ago wooed.
. . . . . .
Too far away you are, my love,
To steady my brain in this phantom show
That passes the nightly road above
And returns again below.
The enormous cliff of horse-chestnut trees
Has poised on each of its ledges
An erect small girl looking down at me;
White-night-gowned little chits I see,
And they peep at me over the edges
Of the leaves as though they would leap, should I call
Them down to my arms;
“But, child, you’re too small for me, too small
Your little charms.”
White little sheaves of night-gowned maids,
Some other will thresh you out!
And I see leaning from the shades
A lilac like a lady there, who braids
Her white mantilla about
Her face, and forward leans to catch the sight
Of a man’s face,
Gracefully sighing through the white
Flowery mantilla of lace.
And another lilac in purple veiled
Discreetly, all recklessly calls
In a low, shocking perfume, to know who has hailed
Her forth from the night: my strength has failed
In her voice, my weak heart falls:
Oh, and see the laburnum shimmering
Her draperies down,
As if she would slip the gold, and glimmering
White, stand naked of gown.
. . . . . .
The pageant of flowery trees above
The street pale-passionate goes,
And back again down the pavement, Love
In a lesser pageant flows.
Two and two are the folk that walk,
They pass in a half embrace
Of linkèd bodies, and they talk
With dark face leaning to face.
Come then, my love, come as you will
Along this haunted road,
Be whom you will, my darling, I shall
Keep with you the troth I trowed.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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‘Happy Birthday’, Mother Mary!
8th September – your birthday,
O Queen of heaven, all say;
The grace that filled your heart, aye,
Gave us and world, a mighty day.
O Maria Bambina!
Daughter of Joachim and Anne;
You acceded to God’s request
Through angel Gabriel.
You grew up in great piety;
God chose you from amongst women –
A virgin to mother a child,
A baby boy, Immanuel!
By pow’r of Spirit Holy,
You bore the sacred baby,
In your womb of sanctity,
O Mother Virgin Mary.
Hail Mary, Mother of Jesus;
Heavenly mother of mankind;
Look down with mercy upon us,
Ask God to cleanse our sin-stained souls!
O New Eve of the world of men!
The Word became flesh in your womb,
And born was the Lord, ‘King of Kings’:
You trounced Satan forever then.
Conceived without Original Sin,
Becoming Mother of God;
You set aside all Natural laws,
And gave birth to the Lord.
You brought Salvation to mankind
Through Jesus Christ your son,
Who came as Savior, Messiah,
And suffered a death on cross!
O Lady of great chastity!
You obeyed Almighty’s one wish;
Exalted more than angels, saints,
Heaven is now your true abode.
O perfect vessel made by God!
Afilled by grace up to the brim;
The most blessed among women,
Our Intercessor, Pure of heart.
O Mary most immaculate,
Assumed into heaven by God;
Do pray for us sinners on earth
And protect souls from fire of hell.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 09-08-08
poem by John Celes
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Lyrics Of Love And Sorrow
I
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Heigho, but the world is gloomy;
The light has failed and the lamp down hurled,
Leaves only darkness to me.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Ah me, but the world is dreary;
The night is down, and my curtain furled
But I cannot sleep, though weary.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Alas for a hopeless hoping,
When the flame went out in the breeze that swirled,
And a soul went blindly groping.
II
The light was on the golden sands,
A glimmer on the sea;
My soul spoke clearly to thy soul,
Thy spirit answered me.
Since then the light that gilds the sands,
And glimmers on the sea,
But vainly struggles to reflect
The radiant soul of thee.
III
The sea speaks to me of you
All the day long;
Still as I sit by its side
You are its song.
The sea sings to me of you
Loud on the reef;
Always it moans as it sings,
Voicing my grief.
IV
My dear love died last night;
Shall I clothe her in white?
My passionate love is dead,
Shall I robe her in red?
But nay, she was all untrue,
She shall not go drest in blue;
Still my desolate love was brave,
Unrobed let her go to her grave.
V
There are brilliant heights of sorrow
That only the few may know;
And the lesser woes of the world, like waves,
Break noiselessly, far below.
I hold for my own possessing,
A mount that is lone and still--
The great high place of a hopeless grief,
And I call it my 'Heart-break Hill.'
And once on a winter's midnight
I found its highest crown,
And there in the gloom, my soul and I,
Weeping, we sat us down.
But now when I seek that summit
We are two ghosts that go;
Only two shades of a thing that died,
Once in the long ago.
So I sit me down in the silence,
And say to my soul, 'Be still,'
So the world may not know we died that night,
From weeping on 'Heart-break Hill.'
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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My Heavenly Dream
How could I
So Much without love
Come to speak secret things
From Heaven above?
Born of my need
Only love I desired
I flew angel speed
To Heaven up higher
I saw things so dear
My eyes were made new
A splendor so clear
Like the first morning dew
What there I did hear
Made my heart all anew
It was given to me
So to share it with you
The Love in that place
Is beyond all desire
They call it God's Grace
In heaven up higher
It was given to me
But not mine to keep
It's yours too you see
So to stars we can leap!
This Glorious Love
I knew in my sleep
From High up above
In my heart now so deep
Just dream of Love Pure
All the Love you desire
It's yours to be sure
From Heaven up higher
This Love in my dream
So unknown just before
To stars must I stream
To sense it once more?
This Love I know true
In my heart tho' broken
Is all here for you
In these tender words spoken:
'I Love you! We Love you! '
Three words o' so dear
From His heaven up Higher
To your hearts down here
poem by Lawrence Kelley III
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Some Said It Thundered
'Was that thunder that we heard then? ' They said,
looking at each other in fear and dread.
'Or God speaking in a thunderous tone
to His Belovèd Son from heavens' throne? '
For the voice they heard and thought was thunder
caused them to stand in awe and to wonder.
Though it was not heard by everyone
it was the Father speaking to His Son.
For my benefit God's great voice was heard
and I should listen to every word.
The time for judgement is upon the world
time for the wrath of God to be unfurled.
The Lord Jesus Christ will be lifted high
upon Calvary's cross where He will die
and all people shall be drawn to Him there
to His outstretched arms and His loving care.
The prince of this world will be driven out
and 'It is finished, ' the victorious shout.
There the battle for mankind will be won
by the sacrifice of God's Only Son.
In heaven there'll be thunderous applause
at the coming of peace and end of wars.
Then the Father's name will be glorified
through the life and death of the Son Who died.
Who am I?
I'm a sinner who has been saved by grace
and privileged to see my Saviours face.
There is nothing more that I claim to be
But praise God, nothing less am I in He.
The price is paid and Christ has purchased me.
He suffered in my stead and set me free.
No longer confined to this world am I
but seated in heaven with Him on high.
Chosen before creation had begun,
predestined and adopted as His son.
Redeemed by the blood of Jesus my Lord
included in Him by the truth of His word.
A guaranteed inheritance to be revealed.
And by the Holy Spirit it has been sealed
Part of the new body of Christ am I
and will be with Him in heaven when I die.
My name is written in His heavenly book
for the whole of creation to have a look.
Written by my Lord Who so loved me.
In Christ I am and I will always be.
Silver Veil
A bed made under silver stars,
Pressed next to golden curves, I lay here in your womb
Seeking clarity of years
In my heart a golden promise shattered,
The familiar glow pursued
Strange you never knew
Under silver veil upon cold stone, I gaze eyes closed
All things we are (were) , I am not saying
Of grace I am thirsty
To be all things for you, I bleed
my last day
my last breath
poem by Thomas L. Flores
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Mother Mary, Pray For Us!
The child of Joachim and Anne
Was born holy, immaculate;
A part of God's redemptive plan,
That none could ever calculate!
But what stuns is her obeisance
To God's bidding, despite her fears!
‘Abide with God, ' was her strong stance,
That came spontaneously sans tears.
‘She played her role so very well;
Her growing sorrow, she couldn't tell;
Her boy divine belled the devil,
Defeating death by sin, and hell! '
Her baby boy was Himself Lord:
Creator of the universe;
All things happened by His mouth's word;
He came to remove mankind's curse.
September eighth is her birthday;
Glory to God in the highest;
She is Queen of Heaven today,
Wearing twelve stars for crown, sun-dressed!
Assumed into heaven by Christ,
She prays on our behalf to Him;
Amongst the saints, she is the first,
And promises light to souls dim!
The Lady wants us all to pray
To make the earth, a paradise;
Her example shows us the way
To love God dearly, curb all vice.
May Mother Mary intercede,
And rescue souls meant for the Pit;
Pray, turning rosary's each bead,
And make your soul heavenly-fit!
poem by John Celes
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