The Great Mercy
Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was mercy sought and mercy found.
Yea, in the twinkling of an eye,
He cried; and Thou hast heard his cry.
Between the bullet and its mark
Thy face made morning in his dark.
And while the shell sang on its path
Thou hast run, Thou hast run, preventing death.
Thou hast run before and reached the goal,
Gathered to Thee the unhoused soul.
Thou art not bound by Time or Space:
So fast Death runs : Thou hast won the race.
Thou hast said to beaten Death: Go tell
Of victories thou once hadst. All's well!
Death, here none die but thee and Sin
Now the great days of Life begin.
And to the Soul: This day I rise
And thee with Me to Paradise.
Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was Mercy sought and Mercy found.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Related quotes
Hast Thou Forgotten Me?
HAST thou forgotten me? the days are dark—
Light ebbs from heaven, and songless soars the lark—
Vexed like my heart, loud moans the unquiet sea—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten me? O dead delight
Whose dreams and memories torture me to-night—
O love—my life! O sweet—so fair to see—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Lo, if one should say—
Noontide were night, or night were flaming day—
Grief blinds mine eyes, I know not which it be!
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Ah, if Death should come,
Close my sad eyes, and charm my song-bird dumb—
Tired of strange woes—my fate were hailed with glee—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten me? What joy have I?
A dim blown bird beneath an alien sky,—
O that on mighty pinions I could flee—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Yea, Love’s horoscope
Is blurred with tears and suffering beyond Hope—
Ah, like dead leaves forsaken of the tree,
Thou hast forgotten me.
poem by Philip Joseph Holdsworth
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Sweet empty sky of June without a stain,
O Lord, the hope of Israel, all they that forsake
Thee shall be ashamed ; and they that depart from
Thee, shall be written in the earth, because they have
forsaken the Lord, the fountain of living waters.
Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed ; save me,
and I shall be saved, for Thou art my health, and my
great deliverer.
I said in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to
the gates of the grave ; I have deprived myself of the
residue of my years.
I said, I shall not see the Lord, even the Lord in the
land of the living : I shall behold man no more with
the inhabitants of the world.
O Lord ! by Thee doth man live, and from Thee is
the life of my spirit : therefore wilt Thou recover me,
and make me to live.
Thou hast in love to my soul delivered it from the
pit of corruption ; for Thou hast cast all my sins
behind Thy back.
For Thy name's sake hast Thou put off thine anger ;
for Thy praise hast Thou refrained from me, that I
should not be cut off.
For the grave cannot praise Thee, death cannot
celebrate Thee : they that go down into the pit, cannot
hope for Thy truth.
The living, the living, he shall praise Thee, as I do
this day : the father to the children shall make known
Thy truth.
O Lord ! Thou hast been merciful, Thou hast
brought back my life from corruption : Thou hast
redeemed me from my sin.
They that follow after lying vanities, forsake their
own mercy.
Therefore shall Thy songs be with me, and my
prayer unto the God of my life.
I will go unto the altar of my God, unto God, the
joy of my youth ; and in Thy fear will I worship
towards Thy holy temple.
I will sacrifice unto Thee with the voice of thanks-
giving ; I will pay that which I have vowed ; sal-
vation is of the Lord.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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A Hymn to God the Father
Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which is my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When though hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
Wilt thou forgive that sin by which I have won
Others to sin? and made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
Swear by thy self, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now and heretofore;
And, having done that, thou hast done,
I fear no more.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Thy Better Self
I AM thy other self, what thou wilt be,
When thou art I, the one seest now;
In finding thy true self thou wilt find me,
The springing blade, where now thou dost but plough.
I am thy neighbor, a new house I've built,
Which thou as yet hast never entered in;
I come to call thee; come in when thou wilt,
The feast is always ready to begin.
Thou should'st love me, as thou dost love thyself,
For I am but another self beside;
To show thee him thou lov'st in better health,
What thou would'st be, when thou to him hast died;
Then visit me, I make thee many a call;
Nor live I near to thee alone, but all.
poem by Jones Very
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Old And New
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest.
Through birth and death, in this world or in others,
wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same,
the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.
When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut.
Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose
the bliss of the touch of the one
in the play of many.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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My Name Is Jacob
Nay, I cannot let Thee go,
Till a blessing thou bestow;
Do not turn away thy face,
Mine's an urgent pressing case.
Dost thou ask me, who I am?
Ah, my Lord, thou know'st my name!
Yet the question gives a plea,
To support my suit with thee.
Thou didst once a wretch behold,
In rebellion blindly bold;
Scorn thy grace, thy pow'r defy,
That poor rebel, Lord, was I.
Once a sinner near despair,
Sought thy mercy-seat by prayer;
Mercy heard and set him free,
Lord, that mercy came to me,
Many years have passed since then,
Many changes I have seen;
Yet have been upheld till now,
Who could hold me up but thou?
Thou hast helped in every need,
This emboldens me to plead;
After so much mercy past,
Canst thou let me sink at last?
No -- I must maintain my hold,
'Tis thy goodness makes me bold;
I can no denial take,
When I plead for Jesu's sake.
poem by John Newton
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Duke Vincento: Be absolute for death; either death or life
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life:
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skyey influences,
That dost this habitation, where thou keep‘st,
Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death‘s fool;
For him thou labour‘st by thy flight to shun
And yet runn‘st toward him still. Thou art not noble;
For all the accommodations that thou bear‘st
Are nursed by baseness. Thou‘rt by no means valiant;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear‘st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
For thou exist‘st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get,
And what thou hast, forget‘st. Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou‘rt poor;
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear‘s thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age,
But, as it were, an after-dinner‘s sleep,
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What‘s yet in this
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.
line from Measure for Measure by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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By the Conemaugh
Foreboding sudden of untoward change,
A tight'ning clasp on everything held dear,
A moan of waters wild and strange,
A whelming horror near;
And, midst the thund’rous din a voice of doom,—
"Make way for me, O Life, for Death make room!
"I come like the whirlwind rude,
'Gainst all thou hast cherished warring;
I come like the flaming flood
From a crater's mouth outpouring;
I come like the avalanche gliding free;
And the Power that sent thee forth, sends me!
"Where thou hast builded with strength secure
My hand shall spread disaster;
Where thou hast barr'd me, with forethought sure,
Shall ruin flow the faster;
I come to gather where thou hast sowed,—
But I claim of thee nothing thou hast not owed!
"On my mission of mercy forth I go
Where the Lord of Being sends me;
His will is the only will I know,
And my strength is the strength He lends me;
Thy loved ones I hide 'neath my waters dim,
But I cannot hide them away from Him!"
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To His Saviour, A Child;a Present, By A Child
Go, pretty child, and bear this flower
Unto thy little Saviour;
And tell him, by that bud now blown,
He is the Rose of Sharon known.
When thou hast said so, stick it there
Upon his bib or stomacher;
And tell him, for good handsel too,
That thou hast brought a whistle new,
Made of a clean straight oaten reed,
To charm his cries at time of need;
Tell him, for coral, thou hast none,
But if thou hadst, he should have one;
But poor thou art, and known to be
Even as moneyless as he.
Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss
From those melifluous lips of his;--
Then never take a second on,
To spoil the first impression.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Written at Florence
O WORLD, in very truth thou art too young;
When wilt thou learn to wear the garb of age?
World, with thy covering of yellow flowers,
Hast thou forgot what generations sprung
Out of thy loins and loved thee and are gone?
Hast thou no place in all their heritage
Where thou dost only weep, that I may come
Nor fear the mockery of thy yellow flowers?
O world, in very truth thou art too young.
The heroic wealth of passionate emprize
Built thee fair cities for thy naked plains:
How hast thou set thy summer growth among
The broken stones which were their palaces!
Hast thou forgot the darkness where he lies
Who made thee beautiful, or have thy bees
Found out his grave to build their honeycombs?
O world, in very truth thou art too young:
They gave thee love who measured out thy skies,
And, when they found for thee another star,
Who made a festival and straightway hung
The jewel on thy neck. O merry world,
Hast thou forgot the glory of those eyes
Which first look'd love in thine? Thou hast not furl'd
One banner of thy bridal car for them.
O world, in very truth thou art too young.
There was a voice which sang about thy spring,
Till winter froze the sweetness of his lips,
And lo, the worms had hardly left his tongue
Before thy nightingales were come again.
O world, what courage hast thou thus to sing?
Say, has thy merriment no secret pain,
No sudden weariness that thou art young?
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Wounded Eagle
Eagle! this is not thy sphere!
Warrior-bird, what seek'st thou here?
Wherefore by the fountain's brink
Doth thy royal pinion sink?
Wherefore on the violet's bed
Lay'st thou thus thy drooping head?
Thou that hold'st the blast in scorn,
Thou that wear'st the wings of mourn.
Eagle! wilt thou not arise?
Look upon thine own bright skies!
Lift thy glance! the fiery sun
There his pride pf place has won,
And the mountain lark is there,
And sweet sound hath fill'd the air:
Hast thou left that realm on high?
-Oh, it can be but to die!
Eagle! Eagle! thou hast bowed
From thine empire o'er the cloud!
Thou that hadst ethereal birth,
Thou hast stoop'd too near the earth,
And the hunter's shaft hath found thee,
And the toils of death have bound thee,
Wherefore didst thou leave thy place,
Creature of a kingly race?
Wert thou weary of thy throne?
Was the sky's dominion lone?
Chill and lone it well might be,
Yet that mighty wing was free!
Now the chain is o'er thee cast:
From thy heart the blood flows fast,
Woe for gifted souls and high!
Is not such their destiny?
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Roman Girl's Song
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore
Thou satst a queen.
Thou hadst thy triumphs then
Purpling the street,
Leaders and sceptred men
Bow'd at thy feet.
They that thy mantle wore,
As gods were seen–
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
Rome! thine imperial brow
Never shall rise:
What hast thou left thee now?
Thou hast thy skies!
Blue, deeply blue, they are,
Gloriously bright!
Veiling thy wastes afar
With colour'd light.
Thou hast the sunset's glow,
Rome, for thy dower,
Flushing tall cypress-bough,
Temple and tower!
And all sweet sounds are thine,
Lovely to hear,
While night, o'er tomb and shrine,
Rests darkly clear.
Many a solemn hymn,
By starlight sung,
Sweeps thro' the arches dim,
Thy wrecks among.
Many a flute's low swell,
On thy soft air
Lingers, and loves to dwell
With summer there.
Thou hast the South's rich gift
Of sudden song,
A charmed fountain, swift,
Joyous, and strong.
Thou hast fair forms that move
With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dead.
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien:
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Sabrina
Isle of the ocean, say, whence comest thou?
The smoke thy dark throne, and the blaze round thy brow;
The voice of the earthquake proclaims thee abroad,
And the deep, at thy coming, rolls darkly and loud.
From the breast of the ocean, the bed of the wave,
Thou hast burst into being, hast sprung from the grave;
A stranger, wild, gloomy, yet terribly bright,
Thou art clothed with the darkness, yet crowned with the light.
Thou comest in flames, thou hast risen in fire;
The wave is thy pillow, the tempest thy choir;
They will lull thee to sleep on the ocean's broad breast,
A slumb'ring volcano, an earthquake at rest.
Thou hast looked on the isle — thou hast looked on the wave —
Then hie thee again to thy deep, watery grave;
Go, quench thee in ocean, thou dark, nameless thing,
Thou spark from the fallen one's wide flaming wing.
poem by Lucretia Maria Davidson
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: CIV
THE SAME CONTINUED
O world, in very truth thou art too young,
They gave thee love who measured out thy skies,
And, when they found for thee another star,
Who made a festival and straightway hung
The jewel on thy neck. O merry world,
Hast thou forgot the glory of those eyes
Which first looked love in thine? Thou hast not furled
One banner of thy bridal car for them.
O world, in very truth thou art too young.
There was a voice which sang about thy Spring,
Till Winter froze the sweetness of his lips,
And lo, the worms had hardly left his tongue
Before thy nightingales were come again.
O world, what courage hast thou thus to sing?
Say, has thy merriment no secret pain
No sudden weariness that thou art young?
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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In My Solitary Hours in My Dear Husband his Absence
O Lord, Thou hear'st my daily moan
And see'st my dropping tears.
My troubles all are Thee before,
My longings and my fears.
Thou hitherto hast been my God;
Thy help my soul hath found.
Though loss and sickness me assailed,
Through Thee I've kept my ground.
And Thy abode Thou'st made with me;
With Thee my soul can talk;
In secret places Thee I find
Where I do kneel or walk.
Though husband dear be from me gone,
Whom I do love so well,
I have a more beloved one
Whose comforts far excel.
O stay my heart on Thee. my God,
Uphold my fainting soul.
And when I know not what to do,
I'll on Thy mercies roll.
My weakness. Thou dost know full well
Of body and of mind;
I in this world no comfort have,
But what from Thee I find.
Though children Thou has given me,
And friends I have also,
Yet if I see Thee not through them
They are no joy, but woe.
O shine upon me, blessed Lord,
Ev'n for my Saviour's sake;
In Thee alone is more than all,
And there content I'll take.
O hear me, Lord, in this request
As Thou before hast done,
Bring back my husband, I beseech,
As Thou didst once my son.
So shall I celebrate Thy praise
Ev'n while my days shall last
And talk to my beloved one
Of all Thy goodness past.
So both of us Thy kindness, Lord,
With praises shall recount
And serve Thee better than before
Whose blessings thus surmount.
But give me, Lord, a better heart,
Then better shall I be,
To pay the vows which I do owe
Forever unto Thee.
Unless Thou help, what can I do
But still my frailty show?
If Thou assist me, Lord,
I shall Return Thee what I owe.
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Psalm 86
Thy gracious ear, O Lord, encline,
O hear me I thee pray,
For I am poor, and almost pine
With need, and sad decay.
Preserve my soul, for *I have trod Heb. I am good, loving,
Thy waies, and love the just, a doer of good and
Save thou thy servant O my God holy things
Who still in thee doth trust.
Pity me Lord for daily thee
I call; 4 O make rejoyce
Thy Servants Soul; for Lord to thee
I lift my soul and voice,
For thou art good, thou Lord art prone
To pardon, thou to all
Art full of mercy, thou alone
To them that on thee call.
Unto my supplication Lord
Give ear, and to the crie
Of my incessant praiers afford
Thy hearing graciously.
I in the day of my distress
Will call on thee for aid;
For thou wilt grant me free access
And answer, what I pray'd.
Like thee among the gods is none
O Lord, nor any works
Of all that other Gods have done
Like to thy glorious works.
The Nations all whom thou hast made
Shall come, and all shall frame
To bow them low before thee Lord,
And glorifie thy name.
For great thou art, and wonders great
By thy strong hand are done,
Thou in thy everlasting Seat
Remainest God alone.
Teach me O Lord thy way most right,
I in thy truth will hide,
To fear thy name my heart unite
So shall it never slide.
Thee will I praise O Lord my God
Thee honour, and adore
With my whole heart, and blaze abroad
Thy name for ever more.
For great thy mercy is toward me,
And thou hast free'd my Soul
Eev'n from the lowest Hell set free
From deepest darkness foul.
O God the proud against me rise
And violent men are met
To seek my life, and in their eyes
No fear of thee have set.
But thou Lord art the God most mild
Readiest thy grace to shew,
Slow to be angry, and art stil'd
Most mercifull, most true.
O turn to me thy face at length,
And me have mercy on,
Unto thy servant give thy strength,
And save thy hand-maids Son.
Some sign of good to me afford,
And let my foes then see
And be asham'd, because thou Lord
Do'st help and comfort me.
poem by John Milton
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Two Fossil Flow'rs
Hast thou been enamored before Zeus?
were thee an aunt of grandma Medusa?
Was thy amor' beyond the ocean, thus?
A strong worker with his hydraulic press,
thy ancient chastity became his musa,
Hast thou been enamored before Zeus?
Were thee submitted to his solid bless?
before time thou appeared as Arethusa;
Was thy amor' beyond the ocean, thus?
Neanderthals were apt to just depress;
when thy wish was to abide in Syracusa;
Hast thou been enamored before Zeus?
Thy flock of boars value was to assess;
were thee in love with a robust bab'rusa
Was thy amor' beyond the ocean, thus?
Two fossil flow'rs decided to coalesce;
and thee reigned on glorious Lamp'dusa
Hast thou been enamored before Zeus?
Was thy amor' beyond the ocean, thus?
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Xxxix
Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blanchingly
With their rains), and behold my soul's true face,
The dim and weary witness of life's race,--
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul's distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,--because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,--
Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good !
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet XXXIX
Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blanchingly
With their rains), and behold my soul's true face,
The dim and weary witness of life's race,--
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul's distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,--because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,--
Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good !
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet XXXIX: Because Thou Hast the Power
Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blanchingly
With their rains), and behold my soul's true face,
The dim and weary witness of life's race,
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul's distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,--because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighbourhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all of which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,--
Nothing repels thee,...Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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