On Sending My Son, As A Present, To Dr. Swift, Dean Of St. Patrick's, On His Birth--Day.
A Curious Statue, we are told,
Is priz'd above its Weight in Gold;
If the fair Form the Hand confess
Of Phidias, or Praxiteles:
But if the Artist could inspire
The smallest Spark of heav'nly Fire,
Tho' but enough to make it walk,
Salute the Company, or talk;
This would advance the Price so high,
What Prince were rich enough to buy?
Such if Hibernia could obtain,
She sure would give it to the Dean:
So to her Patriot should she pay
Her Thanks upon his natal Day.
A richer Present I design,
A finish'd Form, of Work divine,
Surpassing all the Power of Art,
A thinking Head, and grateful Heart,
An Heart, that hopes, one Day, to show
How much we to the Drapier owe.
Kings could not send a nobler Gift;
A meaner were unworthy Swift.
poem by Mary Barber
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780. Work 060409
As far as I can not melt myself in Meditation,
I surrender to work at hand with attention!
As long as the ceaseless dance of ego goes on,
From His hand to my hand let works flow on!
The mistakes in work show lack of concentration,
Thus my refusal to surrender totally to occupation!
If I were asked to repeat, I learn I should not regret,
Rather with recovered passion give a good start!
Though it looks the work comes from boss,
I realize it is always from Divine Providence!
Though it looks too trivial like cleaning lavatory,
I realize it is no less to executing royal authority!
As a tree is measured by its produce,
I will be by my work’s completeness!
Expecting and demanding money for any work,
Is like giving a gift to Him with price label stuck!
When I complete it to my full contentment,
I just enjoy the beauty of accomplishment!
As an artist takes pleasure in his completed art,
I once, twice, thrice … many a time look at it!
Then I feel that it is ready to be offered to Him,
To same Providence where from it came to me!
Unwisely I ask God to show his Divine form,
When He kindly presents Himself in work form!
I searched Him away from work, foolishly running,
In Temples and in the intervals of my breathing!
But He has been with me in some work form
With physical eyes how can I see Him?
He demands me totally, in work, to lose
If I indeed need to perceive His presence! 060409
poem by Raman Savithiri
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Mother's Talk
My features form with a change in the weather
Weekend
We can work it out
My features form with a change in the weather
Weekend
We can work it out
When the wind blows
When the mothers talk
When the wind blows
When the wind blows
When the mothers talk
When the wind blows
We can work it out
It's not that you're not good enough
It's just that we can make you better
Given that you pay the price
We can keep you young and tender
Following in the footsteps of a funeral pyre
You were paid not listen now your house is on fire
Wake me up when things get started
When everything starts to happen
My features form with a change in the weather
Some of us horrified
Others never talk about it
But when the weather starts to burn
Then you'll know that you're in trouble
Following in the footsteps of a soldier girl
It is time to put your clothes on and to face the world
Don't you feel your luck is changing
When everything starts to happen
Put your head right next to my heart
The beat of the drum is the fear of the dark
My features form with a change in the weather
song performed by by Tears For Fears from Songs From The Big Chair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mothers Talk
My features form with a change in the weather
Weekend
We can work it out
My features form with a change in the weather
Weekend
We can work it out
When the wind blows
When the mothers talk
When the wind blows
When the wind blows
When the mothers talk
When the wind blows
We can work it out
Its not that youre not good enough
Its just that we can make you better
Given that you pay the price
We can keep you young and tender
Following in the footsteps of a funeral pyre
You were paid not listen now your house is on fire
Wake me up when things get started
When everything starts to happen
My features form with a change in the weather
Some of us horrified
Others never talk about it
But when the weather starts to burn
Then youll know that youre in trouble
Following in the footsteps of a soldier girl
It is time to put your clothes on and to face the world
Dont you feel your luck is changing
When everything starts to happen
Put your head right next to my heart
The beat of the drum is the fear of the dark
My features form with a change in the weather
song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Recantation: To The Same Lady
For give me, fair One, nor resent
The Lines to you I lately sent.
They seem, as if your Form you priz'd,
And ev'ry other Gift despis'd:
When a discerning Eye may find,
Your greatest Beauty's in your Mind.
poem by Mary Barber
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A Sparrow's Thoughts.... (Number Six)
you can send the lie in the form
of the unemployment check, in the
form of food stamps, in the form
of Medicaid, in the form of new
policies, in the form of charity...
but the truth is you dont give a damn
until you are willing to share all
you have with fairness, until you're
willing to put your shoulders to the
load, until you're willing to get
involved in the work of equality!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Vaudois Teacher
'O Lady fair, these silks of mine
are beautiful and rare,-
The richest web of the Indian loom, which beauty's
queen might wear;
And my pearls are pure as thy own fair neck, with whose
radiant light they vie;
I have brought them with me a weary way,-will my
gentle lady buy?'
The lady smiled on the worn old man through the
dark and clustering curls
Which veiled her brow, as she bent to view his
silks and glittering pearls;
And she placed their price in the old man's hand
and lightly turned away,
But she paused at the wanderer's earnest call,-
'My gentle lady, stay!
'O lady fair, I have yet a gem which a purer
lustre flings,
Than the diamond flash of the jewelled crown on
the lofty brow of kings;
A wonderful pearl of exceeding price, whose virtue
shall not decay,
Whose light shall be as a spell to thee and a
blessing on thy way!'
The lady glanced at the mirroring steel where her
form of grace was seen,
Where her eye shone clear, and her dark locks
waved their clasping pearls between;
'Bring forth thy pearl of exceeding worth, thou
traveller gray and old,
And name the price of thy precious gem, and my
page shall count thy gold.'
The cloud went off from the pilgrim's brow, as a
small and meagre book,
Unchased with gold or gem of cost, from his
folding robe he took!
'Here, lady fair, is the pearl of price, may it prove
as such to thee
Nay, keep thy gold-I ask it not, for the word of
God is free!'
The hoary traveller went his way, but the gift he
left behind
Hath had its pure and perfect work on that high-
born maiden's mind,
And she hath turned from the pride of sin to the
lowliness of truth,
And given her human heart to God in its beautiful
hour of youth
And she hath left the gray old halls, where an evil
faith had power,
The courtly knights of her father's train, and the
maidens of her bower;
And she hath gone to the Vaudois vales by lordly
feet untrod,
Where the poor and needy of earth are rich in the
perfect love of God!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The form and the heart
The form and the heart
~
Were the form as fair as the heart
How beautiful would it be
Then how would others look upon
With eyes of joy no longer judging
They strayed away kept their part
From the form, did not see the heart
Did not see how beautiful it could be
The eyes did judge what they saw
Unable or unwilling to go past the face
Past the body of which presents
No the eyes which judged did not see
The heart as loving and more than fair
Had they seen that they did not see
Were the form as fair as the heart
How beautiful it would be
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Looking For Love
looking for love, looking at faces
looking for love in all the wrong places
thinking that i could find love in a bar
the worst place by far.
gathering all my thoughts on what i could do
that is when i saw you.
the walk you walked was a walk of pride
with a big smile, and your head held high.
you walked past me and i smelled your perfume
it was a smell which would not leave you to soon
i became attracted to you as a bee to a flower
i knew right then that you had the power
to make me give up the search of mine
to find in you a love devine
i ran in back of you and asked for your name
you looked at me as if i was insane.
you looked at me from head to toe
and then told me where i could go.
i apoligized to you for my boldness.
and that the sight of you caught my eye
and that i would continue to try
and if i had to climb the highest mountain
or swim the deepest sea
then thats the way it would have to be.
but i would not stop trying to get to know you
and if a fool i had to be, until the
day that you would look at me.
i would do anything that you want to get to
make you smile and hear the laughter
this is all that i am after.
with my crazyiness you started to laugh
and told me you did not want to relive the past.
of being hurt and shedding the tears
this was something that you feared.
you layed down the ground rules from the start, and i accepted it with all my heart.
soon after we got to know each other.
and your fears slowly deminished
you opened your heart and i saw what was in it.
a love so deep and so profound
that it knocked me to the ground.
in my heart you will be
keeping my heart company.
looking for love, i no longer seek
because of you- i am complete.l
poem by Louis Rams
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To His Grace The Duke Of Chandos.
Were Princes grac'd with Souls like thine,
Princes had still been deem'd divine.
Such Merit as we find in thee,
First introduc'd Idolatry;
When an excelling Form and Mind,
Delighting, had misled Mankind;
Inspiring with an awful Sense
Of infinite Beneficence.
Were Kings elective, Realms would sue,
Contending to be sway'd by you.
Yet, tho' no regal Throne is thine,
Thou hast no Reason to repine;
Since Heav'n, that gave the Monarch's Heart,
Bestow'd thee far the nobler Part.
poem by Mary Barber
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An Hymn to Humanity
I.
Lo! for this dark terrestrial ball
Forsakes his azure-paved hall
A prince of heav'nly birth!
Divine Humanity behold,
What wonders rise, what charms unfold
At his descent to earth!
II.
The bosoms of the great and good
With wonder and delight he view'd,
And fix'd his empire there:
Him, close compressing to his breast,
The sire of gods and men address'd,
"My son, my heav'nly fair!
III.
"Descend to earth, there place thy throne;
"To succour man's afflicted son
"Each human heart inspire:
"To act in bounties unconfin'd
"Enlarge the close contracted mind,
"And fill it with thy fire."
IV.
Quick as the word, with swift career
He wings his course from star to star,
And leaves the bright abode.
The Virtue did his charms impart;
Their G-----! then thy raptur'd heart
Perceiv'd the rushing God:
V.
For when thy pitying eye did see
The languid muse in low degree,
Then, then at thy desire
Descended the celestial nine;
O'er me methought they deign'd to shine,
And deign'd to string my lyre.
VI.
Can Afric's muse forgetful prove?
Or can such friendship fail to move
A tender human heart?
Immortal Friendship laurel-crown'd
The smiling Graces all surround
With ev'ry heav'nly Art.
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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Prince Charming
Prince charming, who you told me you were.
You are Aladdin, you are Phillip,
You are the Beast's true form, you are Eric,
You are Cinderella's, you are Snow White's.
But really and always, your mine.
My Prince, my heart, and you belong to me.
Protect me when I am afraid,
In your arms keep me safe.
Show me the wonders of the world,
On your horse (or flash car) .
Blow me a kiss when the moon is high,
Caress and hold me when I sleep,
And dream of you, my Prince Charming
You're Arabian, you're from the Middle Ages,
You're English, you're French,
You're Itallian, you're sweetness dressed as fury,
But always, you are here, handsome Londoner,
Jack-the-lad, Top Dog,
My Prince, my Dad.
poem by Becky Ginn
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A Birthday Trifle
Here in this gold-green evening end,
While air is soft and sky is clear,
What tender message shall I send
To her I hold so dear?
What rose of song with breath like myrrh,
And leaf of dew and fair pure beams
Shall I select and give to her—
The lady of my dreams?
Alas! the blossom I would take,
The song as sweet as Persian speech,
And carry for my lady’s sake,
Is not within my reach.
I have no perfect gift of words,
Or I would hasten now to send
A ballad full of tunes of birds
To please my lovely friend.
But this pure pleasure is my own,
That I have power to waft away
A hope as bright as heaven’s zone
On this her natal day.
May all her life be like the light
That softens down in spheres divine,
“As lovely as a Lapland night,”
All grace and chastened shine!
poem by Henry Kendall
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Charity : A Paraphrase On 1 Cor. Chap. 13
Did sweeter Sounds adorn my flowing Tongue,
Than ever Man pronounc'd, or Angel sung:
Had I all Knowledge, Human and Divine,
That Thought can reach, or Science can define;
And had I Pow'r to give that Knowledge Birth,
In all the Speeches of the babbling Earth:
Did Shadrach's Zeal my glowing Breast inspire,
To weary Tortures, and rejoice in Fire:
Or had I Faith like That which Israel saw,
When Moses gave them Miracles, and Law:
Yet, gracious Charity, indulgent Guest,
Were not Thy Pow'r exerted in my Breast;
Those Speeches would send up unheeded Pray'r:
That Scorn of Life would be but wild Despair:
A Tymbal's Sound were better than my Voice:
My Faith were Form: my Eloquence were Noise.
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject Mind;
Knows with just Reins, and gentle Hand to guide,
Betwixt vile Shame, and arbitrary Pride.
Not soon provok'd, She easily forgives;
And much She suffers, as She much believes.
Soft Peace She brings where-ever She arrives:
She builds our Quiet, as She forms our Lives;
Lays the rough Paths of peevish Nature ev'n;
And opens in each Heart a little Heav'n.
Each other Gift, which GOD on Man bestows,
It's proper Bounds, and due Restriction knows;
To one fixt Purpose dedicates it's Pow'r;
And finishing it's Act, exists no more.
Thus, in Obedience to what Heav'n decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and Prophecy shall cease:
But lasting Charity's more ample Sway,
Nor bound by Time, nor subject to Decay,
In happy Triumph shall for ever live,
And endless Good diffuse, and endless Praise receive.
As thro' the Artist's intervening Glass,
Our Eye observes the distant Planets pass;
A little we discover; but allow,
That more remains unseen, than Art can show:
So whilst our Mind it's Knowledge wou'd improve;
(It's feeble Eye intent on Things above)
High as We may, We lift our Reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirm'd by Hope:
Yet are We able only to survey
Dawnings of Beams, and Promises of Day.
Heav'n's fuller Effluence mocks our dazl'd Sight;
Too great it's Swiftness, and too strong it's Light.
But soon the mediate Clouds shall be dispell'd;
The Sun shall soon be Face to Face beheld,
In all His Robes, with all His Glory on,
Seated sublime on His Meridian Throne.
Then constant Faith, and holy Hope shall dye,
One lost in Certainty, and One in Joy:
Whilst Thou, more happy Pow'r, fair Charity,
Triumphant Sister, greatest of the Three,
Thy Office, and Thy Nature still the same,
Lasting thy Lamp, and unconsum'd thy Flame,
Shalt still survive -
Shalt stand before the Host of Heav'n confest,
For ever blessing, and for ever bless'd.
poem by Matthew Prior
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The Burns Statue
This Statue, I must confess, is magnificent to see,
And I hope will long be appreciated by the people of Dundee;
It has been beautifully made by Sir John Steell,
And I hope the pangs of hunger he will never feel.
This statue is most elegant in its design,
And I hope will defy all weathers for a very long time;
And I hope strangers from afar with admiration will stare
On this beautiful statue of thee, Immortal Bard of Ayr.
Fellow-citizens, this Statue seems most beautiful to the eye,
Which would cause Kings and Queens for such a one to sigh,
And make them feel envious while passing by
In fear of not getting such a beautiful Statue after they die.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Sonnet. On seeing the ivory statue of Christ
The enthusiast brooding in his cell apart
O'er the sad image of the Crucified,---
The drooping head, closed lips and piercéd side,---
A holy vision fills his raptured heart;
With heavenly power inspired, his unskilled arm
Shapes the rude block to this transcendent form.
Oh Son of God! thus, ever thus, would I
Dwell on the loveliness enshrined in Thee;
The lofty faith, the sweet humility;
The boundless love, the love that could not die.
And as the sculptor, with thy glory warm,
Gave to this chiselled ivory thy fair form,
So would my spirit, in thy thought divine,
Grow to a semblance, fair as this, of Thine.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Desirable Fire?
Life is said to be filled with fire
It is the one that fuels every desire
To be on top of a high rise
To win at every price
As if breaking the rules becomes a behavior
A spark ignites a fire and breaks the barrier
We grow, we triumph and we inspire
It is fire in us that makes other perspire
Right from the genesis
Fire has been the basis
The fire from the sky
The fire the earth spurts by
Each and every time it's the fire that revives n destroys
Which makes the cardinal rule, only d toughest survive
Fire makes the dew, fire makes the ice
Fire makes everyone pay their due price
Fire is the end, it is the life
It beings and ends everybody's strive
poem by Blossom Mist
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Alameda
You walk down alameda shuffling your deck of trick cards over everyone
Like some precious only son
Face down, bow to the champion
You walk down alameda looking at the cracks in the sidewalk
Thinking about your friends
How you maintain all them in a constant state of suspense
For your own protection over their affection
Nobody broke your heart
You broke your own because you cant finish what you start
Walk down alameda brushing off the nightmare you wish
Could plague me when Im awake
And now you see your first mistake was thinking that you could relate
For one or two minutes she liked you
But the fix is in
Youre all pretension
I never pay attention
Nobody broke your heart
You broke your own because you cant finish what you start
Nobody broke your heart
You broke your own because you cant finish what you start
Nobody broke your heart
You broke your own because you cant finish what you start
Nobody broke your heart
If youre alone it must be you that wants to be apart
song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 113
Proper tune.
The majesty and condescension of God.
Ye that delight to serve the Lord,
The honors of his name record,
His sacred name for ever bless;
Where'er the circling sun displays
His rising beams, or setting rays,
Let lands and seas his power confess.
Not time, nor nature's narrow rounds,
Can give his vast dominion bounds,
The heav'ns are far below his height:
Let no created greatness dare
With our eternal God compare,
Armed with his uncreated might.
He bows his glorious head to view
What the bright hosts of angels do,
And bends his care to mortal things;
His sovereign hand exalts the poor,
He takes the needy from the door,
And makes them company for kings.
When childless families despair,
He sends the blessing of an heir,
To rescue their expiring name;
The mother, with a thankful voice,
Proclaims his praises and her joys:
Let every age advance his fame.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Long Walk
I need a long walk, with someone who knows what to do
I need a long talk, I need a helping hand to pull me through
I need a tall drink, with somebody who cares, I need someone here for company
Its time to rethink and somehow find a way to put an end to this mystery
See I dont know, the pain wont go
And the hurt inside is getting so damn hard to hide
So now I pay the price, I wonder how much its gonna take
Ive gotta roll the dice, and try to take all this heartache
But I still dont know, the pain wont go
And the hurt inside is getting so damn hard to hide
I gotta work it out, cause my heart is still racing, racing away
Work it out, cause my heart is still breaking, hey
So now Ill take this long walk, I dont want anybody listenin
cause I really wanna pour it out, and all went out without ever giving in
But I still dont know, the pain wont go
Im still hurting inside and its so damn hard to hide
You gotta help me work it out, cause my heart is still racing, racing away
Work it out, cause my heart, my heart is breaking away
Ive gotta work this out, cause my heart is still racing away
Yeah, work it out, cause my heart, its so much a part of me
Work it out - gotta work it out
My heart is still racing - and Im wasting away
Work it out - Ive gotta work it out...
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire. (Sonnet II.)
Not without fire can any workman mould
The iron to his preconceived design,
Nor can the artist without fire refine
And purify from all its dross the gold;
Nor can revive the phoenix, we are told,
Except by fire. Hence if such death be mine
I hope to rise again with the divine,
Whom death augments, and time cannot make old.
O sweet, sweet death! O fortunate fire that burns
Within me still to renovate my days,
Though I am almost numbered with the dead!
If by its nature unto heaven returns
This element, me, kindled in its blaze,
Will it bear upward when my life is fled.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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