En.Citatepedia^®.ro

My Hands Thine Girdle

My hands thine girdle I clasp thee tight
And embrace you with my soul's might
Swaying in my hands, dallying in thy mist
In starry night with calm air admist
Dancing to our moving stillness
We move the earth, O my goodness!
My hands, thine girdle
I feel thine fertile
Soul spring in
My soul's skin
As the earth moves
To our own grooves
Our souls touch
Our hearts clutch.
With my hands, thine girdle

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Sonnet: We Can See God

The Sun looks like Thine heart afilled with joy;
0 God, the Rain is like Thine compassion;
The Moon appears like Thine face as when coy;
The Galaxies are like divine Mansion.

The quadrillion stars look like Heaven's eyes;
The thunder seems to be Thine angry voice;
The Lightning is Thine pow'r of sample size,
The songs of birds akin Thine happy noise.

The verdure spring looks like Thine beauteous face;
The winter cold is Thine heart's discontent;
The summer’s yield is sign of Thine own pace;
The autumn’s wind appears to be Thine vent.

The earth is footstool for Thine lovely feet;
Thine Replica is Mother Nature sweet.

poem by John Celes
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Wouldest Thou!

THY SERVANTS CLAIM THAT ALL POWERS IN HEAVEN AND EARTH BELONGS TO YOU!
THY SCRIPTURES HAS IT WRITTEN! AND I QUOTE!
GO YE TO MY SERVANT JOB! DESTROY ALL HE HAS, BUT TOUCH NOT HIS LIFE!
THY SERVANTS SAY THIS TO ME!
IN EVERYTHING, GIVE THANKS UNTO GOD!
WOULDEST THOU GIVE THANKS UNTO ME IF I WERE GOD AND YOU WERE ME?
WOULDEST THOU WORSHIP ME IF I HAD DONE ALL THAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME BY THE DOINGS OF THINE SERVANTS?
THY SCRIPTURES HAST PROVEN THAT THE DOINGS OF THE DEVIL BE BY THY BIDDENS!
HOW THEN CAN THOU AND THINE HOUSEHOLD BE CALLED THE GOOD?
HOW THEN CANST THOU AND THINE HOUSEHOLD BE INNOCENT?
FOR ALL EVIL BY ALL POWERS IN HEAVEN AND EARTH BE OF THEE!
FOR ALL POWERS IN HEAVEN AND EARTH BELONGS TO YOU! THEY CLAIM!
WOULDEST THOU RESPECT ME IF I DID UNTO YOU BY THE HANDS OF MINE SERVANTS ALL THAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME BY THE HANDS OF THINE SERVANTS?
WOULDEST THOU?

poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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Thine Eyes I Wear

Hidden beneath your immense stare
Is thine soul exquisite, refined and rare
Fluid and chilly as a streaming river
Your look, your soul, makes mine shiver
Under thine eyes, thy raiment I wear
The look of love, thine ardent glare
Attractive to thee like the embers of fire
What is that thou sincerely admire?
Is it thine own eyes I wear?
Is it thine eyes that attract thy own stare?
When thou look I change into you
For in thine look, thy love I accrue
Always look at me with that beautiful glare
And thine look, thine eyes, I will proudly wear.

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Give to Love

Love came knocking on thy door
With you in sight to love and adore
But thine did give
All that thou have and
need to live?
You gave thine lips for love to speak
You gave thine heart for love's heart's weak
You gave thine face, to love to trace
its tears across thee a sorrowful place
thou give to thy loss when it comes to love!
You gave thine soul to love's control
You gave love thy hand to hold
You gave thy feet for love to kiss
You gave thy happiness to love's bliss
You gave thy breast for love to touch
You gave thine body for love to clutch.
But what did love give thee?
Love took and took and left thee with nothing!
With nothing now you are at peace, thou art free!
This is what love did to me!

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Lonely

If thine soul feels loneliness,
Thou art not perfectly understood
As thou soul wishes
If thine soul does not feel
The human word
It feels loneliness's hollow cry
If thine soul wearies of human love
It always has loneliness to watch thy love die
If thine soul speaks to deaf ears
Then the loneliest, most remote ears in the world, hear with melancholy
If thine soul has no hand to hold
Then loneliness walks by thy side and holds thee
If thou fear to die alone, alone with loneliness you will die
If thou fear the dark when alone, loneliness hides in the dark
Afraid with thee.
As mine tears fell
Into God's empty well
And to his lonely cell
Loneliness heard and spoke though me…
Lonely

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Sonnet: Be Grateful to God

O Let my heart be loyal to Thee Lord,
My Creator and Maker of this world!
My Omnipotent, Omniscient God,
The mystery of mysteries unheard!

How can I ever repay Thy love, God?
Unfathomable love that made my soul!
And everything goes by Thy grace and Thine word,
In Heaven and on earth, from pole to pole.

No matter how the devil’s tempt me Lord,
Despite the many times, their prey I fall,
My soul get’s healed by Thy grace and Thine word,
And listens thereafter to Thine one call.

So, let my soul forever thank Thee, Lord,
Thou art my Savior, Friend and only God.

poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: The Holy Cross

O, Let me carry Thine Cross in some way!
Though weary yet, O Let me help Thee, Lord;
O, Let me share the weight of sins, I pray;
And let me show the world, Love’s Cross and word.

Thine Cross is life to sinners world-over;
Thine Cross is Light to ones blinded sans faith;
I want to live God as Thine Cross-lover!
To follow Thee, my Lord, if Thou sayeth.

O how, I wish my soles could tread Thine path;
O how, I wish my shoulders bear Thine weight!
O Let my soul be cleansed by Thine blood-bath!
Usher me Lord, before it could grow late!

O Let me Lord, prevent Thee from one fall!
O answer me Lord, hasten to my call!

poem by John Celes
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Dear God

I’m yet to use my voice for Thine good sake;
I’m yet to use my sight wholly for You;
I’m yet to use my ears for divine cause;
Give me the chance to do so very soon!

I’m yet to use my hands for good purpose;
I’m yet to use my mind to search for truth;
I’m yet to use my heart to love Thee more;
Give me the chance to do so very soon!

I’m still to quench my thirst with Thine water;
I’m still to fill my soul with food of grace;
I’m still to touch the fringe of Your garment;
Give me the chance to do so very soon!

I’m still to use my talents for Thine sake;
I’m still to count the blessings God-given;
I’m still to reciprocate Your great love;
Give me the chance to do so very soon!
I’m still to confess all my sins to You;
I’m still to live as per the Word of God;
I’m still to walk with You in Heaven’s road;
Give me the chance to do so very soon!

poem by John Celes
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Bande Mataram

Mother, I bow to thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving, Mother of might,
Mother free.

Glory of moonlight dreams
Over thy branches and lordly streams,
Clad in thy blossoming trees,
Mother, giver of ease,
Laughing low and sweet!
Mother, I kiss thy feet,
Speaker sweet and low!
Mother, to thee I bow.

Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands,
When the swords flash out in twice seventy million hands
And seventy millions voices roar
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
To thee I call, Mother and Lord!
Thou who savest, arise and save!
To her I cry who ever her foemen drave
Back from plain and sea
And shook herself free.

Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou our heart, our soul, our breath,
Thou the love divine, the awe
In our hearts that conquers death.
Thine the strength that nerves the arm,
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thine.

Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,
With her hands that strike and her swords of sheen,
Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,
Pure and perfect without peer,
Mother, lend thine ear.
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleams,
Dark of hue, O candid-fair

In thy soul, with jewelled hair
And thy glorious smile divine,
Loveliest of all earthly lands,
Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
Mother, mother mine!
Mother sweet, I bow to thee,
Mother great and free.

poem by Sri Aurobindo
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Australian Anthem

Maker of earth and sea,
What shall we render Thee?
All things are Thine!
Ours but from day to day
Still with one heart to pray,
“God bless our land alway,”
This land of Thine.

Mighty in brotherhood,
Mighty for God and good,
Let us be Thine.
Here let the nations see
Toil from the curse set free,
Labour and Liberty
One cause—and Thine.

Here let glad Plenty reign;
Here let none seek in vain
Our help and Thine—
No heart for want of friend
Fail ere the timely end,
But love for ever blend
Man's cause and Thine

Here let Thy peace abide;
Never may strife divide
This land of Thine.
Let us united stand,
One great Australian band,
Heart to heart, hand in hand,
Heart and hand Thine

Strong to defend our right,
Proud in all nations' sight,
Lowly in Thine—
One in all noble fame,
Still be our path the same,
Onward in Freedom's name,
Upward in Thine

poem by James Brunton Stephens
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On Virtue

O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height t' explore, or fathom thy profound.
But, O my soul, sink not into despair,
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand
Would now embrace thee, hovers o'er thine head.
Fain would the heav'n-born soul with her converse,
Then seek, then court her for her promis'd bliss.
Auspicious queen, thine heav'nly pinions spread,
And lead celestial Chastity along;
Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,
Array'd in glory from the orbs above.
Attend me, Virtue, thro' my youthful years!
O leave me not to the false joys of time!
But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.
Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee,
To give me an higher appellation still,
Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,
O thou, enthron'd with Cherubs in the realms of day.

poem by Phillis Wheatley
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Absolution II

UNBIND thine eyes, with thine own soul confer,
Look on the sins that made thy life unclean,
Behold how poor thy vaunted virtues were,
How weak thy faith, thy deeds how small and mean,
How far from thy high dreams thy life hath been,
How poor thy use of all thou hast received,
How little of all God's glory thou hast seen,
How misconstrued that which thou hast perceived.

Turn not thine eyes away from thine unworth,
The cup of shame drink to the bitter lees;
And when thou art lowered to the least on earth,
And in the dust makest common cause with these,
Then shall kind arms enfold thee, bringing peace,
The Earth, thy Mother, shall assuage thy pain,
Her woods and fields, Her quiet streams and seas
Shall touch thy soul, and make thee whole again.

But if thy heart holds fast one secret sin,
If one vile script thy soul shrinks to erase,
The mighty Mother cannot bring thee in
Unto the happy, holy, healing place;
But thou shalt weep in darkness, out of grace,
And miss the light of beauty undefiled;
For he who would behold Her, face to face,
Must be in spirit as a little child.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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To Coleridge

Oh! there are spirits of the air,
And genii of the evening breeze,
And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair
As star-beams among twilight trees:
Such lovely ministers to meet
Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.

With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And moonlight seas, that are the voice
Of these inexplicable things,
Thou dost hold commune, and rejoice
When they did answer thee, but they
Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.

And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine,
Another's wealth: tame sacrifice
To a fond faith ! still dost thou pine?
Still dost thou hope that greeting hands,
Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?

Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth's inconstancy?
Did thine own mind afford no scope
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee?
That natural scenes or human smiles
Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles?

Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled
Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted;
The glory of the moon is dead;
Night's ghosts and dreams have now departed;
Thine own soul still is true to thee,
But changed to a foul fiend through misery.

This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,
Dream not to chase: the mad endeavour
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.
Be as thou art. Thy settled fate,
Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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This is my body

This is my body that you see
It is beautiful carved by God’s hands
Smoothened by His breaths

You will love it and want to have it
To touch and caress
To be feasted upon by the hunger
Of your eyes and thirst of your lips
To be rubbed by the coldness of your body
Seeking the warmth of my flesh

This is my body that you will first see
But there is more in me than my body
This soul that seeks your soul
This beautiful soul that seeks the beauty of your soul
The hands of my spirit reaching out to your invisible hands
They have all for years been longing to clasp
My soul longing to be with your soul
So they can be together
To be fused with each other as one
To be happy and calm and perfect
To that final place where this body
Shies away because something more beautiful
Inside it shines and glows and becomes
So beautiful in all eternity

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Lord, You Build Your Own Shrine!

My Lord you art soul of all scriptures,
They sing thy glory,
Thy shine is in every heart,
Thou art my Self and Self of all,
Thine ways are wonderful,
O master, master craftsman,
You are Crafting my person,
Taking utmost care a craftsman can take,
Or cutting bad or weakness and grafting the best and strength!

Obstacles and obstructions,
What I think are the process you take me,
Heating, melting cutting and polishing,
Just to reshape to your purpose and requirement,
You take care to bring out
the best in me,
Thine ways are as good,
Knowing my quality and strength,
the stuff that I am madeof,
Thee know well than me!

You know well, how to shape me,
The one who won himself is
awfully obedient kid,
That I should be in thy hands!

Thine are ways to pass me through horror,
Make me more brave and intelligent,
You embedded wisdom and knowledge,
With wit,
gentleness studded in ideal way,
Everyone would love and like!
One who passes through thine processes,
He is hidden treasure,
treasure in heart where your light shine!

only some can find,
Thy hands Everywhere,
Thy glory sung in books,
Scriptures say more in more ways,
But the master you crafted
is master of self,

Not yet any words can describe
him,
Only able hearts can feel him,
Only loving hearts can love him,
Love of such Soul is love of you,
Where you built your own shrine,
Beyond words your glory shine!

Obstacles and obstructions,
prove either what one is,
How sharp one should be,
and how brave one is!

How hard diamond can be
shaped and polished, Thee know well,
materials may be,
granite, or
gold or may be iron are alloys
shaped and sized!

Lord,
I never pray to give me a clean path,
Lead me through tough terrain,
Give me the strength to face and
come out successfully though fire,
or the spinning wheel of time, being master of my own!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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To-- Oh! there are spirits of the air

Dakrysi Dioisw Potmon Apotmon

Oh! there are spirits of the air,
And genii of the evening breeze,
And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair
As star-beams among twilight trees:—
Such lovely ministers to meet
Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.

With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And moonlight seas, that are the voice
Of these inexplicable things,
Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
When they did answer thee; but they
Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.

And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine,
Another’s wealth:—tame sacrifice
To a fond faith! still dost thou pine?
Still dost thou hope that greeting hands,
Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?

Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth’s inconstancy?
Did thine own mind afford no scope
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee?
That natural scenes or human smiles
Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles?

Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled
Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted;
The glory of the moon is dead;
Night’s ghosts and dreams have now departed;
Thine own soul still is true to thee,
But changed to a foul fiend through misery.

This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,
Dream not to chase;—the mad endeavour
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.
Be as thou art. Thy settled fate,
Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Rosalind's Scroll

I LEFT thee last, a child at heart,
   A woman scarce in years:
I come to thee, a solemn corpse
   Which neither feels nor fears.
I have no breath to use in sighs;
They laid the dead-weights on mine eyes
   To seal them safe from tears.

Look on me with thine own calm look:
   I meet it calm as thou.
No look of thine can change this smile,
   Or break thy sinful vow:
I tell thee that my poor scorn'd heart
Is of thine earth--thine earth--a part:
   It cannot vex thee now.

I have pray'd for thee with bursting sob
   When passion's course was free;
I have pray'd for thee with silent lips
   In the anguish none could see;
They whisper'd oft, 'She sleepeth soft'--
   But I only pray'd for thee.

Go to! I pray for thee no more:
   The corpse's tongue is still;
Its folded fingers point to heaven,
   But point there stiff and chill:
No farther wrong, no farther woe
Hath licence from the sin below
   Its tranquil heart to thrill.

I charge thee, by the living's prayer,
   And the dead's silentness,
To wring from out thy soul a cry
   Which God shall hear and bless!
Lest Heaven's own palm droop in my hand,
And pale among the saints I stand,
   A saint companionless.

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Beatrice To Dante

REGARD me well: I am thy love, thy love;
Thy blessing, thy delight, thy hope, thy peace:
Thy joy above all joys that break and cease
When their full waves in widest circles move:
Thy bird of comfort, thine eternal dove,
Whom thou didst send out of thy mournful breast
To flutter back and point thee to thy rest:
Thine angel, who forgets her crown star-wove
To come to thee with folded woman-hands
Pleading,--'look on me, Beatrice, who stands
Before thee; by the Triune Light divine
Undazzled, still beholds thy human face,
And is more happy in this happy place
That thou alone art hers and she is thine.'

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Sonnet VI: thine fair love, thine pride

I indite this ramble to prove that thine intentions
Are of graver labour into lust of thine contentions
Since denounced thee of thy conjugal consent
Apart fallen thine world ever thence
I have strived under the scorching eye of the sky
And beneath the gorgeously low moon have I so tense
To linger earnestly thine hopes where high

You do no worst my dear, despite my wrong
I shall cast thy beautiful antique into thine mind
In thy fair love's beauty treads every glow
Is there more to it that I do not know?
That stars fall in thy eyes in throng
And men claim thee of poor earth's pride
In this league of adulation my dear, I do belong

poem by Folayemi Akande
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The Rebel's Surrender To Grace (Lord, What Wilt Thou Have Me to Do?)

Lord, thou hast won, at length I yield,
My heart, by mighty grace compelled,
Surrenders all to thee;
Against thy terrors long I strove,
But who can stand against thy love?
Love conquers even me.

All that a wretch could do, I tried,
Thy patience scorned, thy pow'r defied,
And trampled on thy laws;
Scarcely thy martyrs at the stake,
Could stand more steadfast for thy sake,
Than I in Satan's cause.

But since thou hast thy love revealed,
And shown my soul a pardon sealed,
I can resist no more:
Couldst thou for such a sinner bleed?
Canst thou for such a rebel plead?
I wonder and adore!

If thou hadst bid thy thunders roll,
And lightnings flash to blast my soul,
I still had stubborn been:
But mercy has my heart subdued,
A bleeding Saviour I have viewed,
And now, I hate my sin.

Now, Lord, I would be thine alone,
Come take possession of thine own,
For thou hast set me free
Released from Satan's hard commands
See all my powers waiting stand,
To be employed by thee.

My will conformed to thine would move,
On thee my hope, desire, and love,
In fixed attention join;
My hands, my eyes, my ears, my tongue,
Have Satan's servants been too long,
But now they shall be thine.

And can I be the very same,
Who lately durst blaspheme thy name;
And on thy gospel tread?
Surely each one, who hears my case,
Will praise thee, and confess thy grace
Invincible indeed!

poem by John Newton
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