On The Earl Of Oxford And Mortimer's Giving His Daughter In Marriage In Oxford--Chapel.
See, in the Temple rais'd by Harley's Hand,
His beauteous Off--spring at the Altar stand:
There Mortimer resigns his darling Care;
To happy Portland gives the blooming Fair.
Where had the Parent's Pray'r like Favour found?
Where soar'd so high, as from that sacred Ground?
What Bosom, but Devotion's Ardor feels,
When, at the Shrine he hallow'd, Harley kneels?
At such a Sight superior Beings pleas'd,
To higher Notes their Hallelujahs rais'd.
poem by Mary Barber
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Related quotes
Harley's been influential, but I'm not a big Harley fan.
quote by Noah Hathaway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lines Written Extempore On Mr. Harley’s Being Stabbed, And Addressed To His Physician, 1710-11
On Britain Europe's safety lies,
Britain is lost if Harley dies:
Harley depends upon your skill:
Think what you save, or what you kill.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Sacred Shrine Vavroovahana Patra
Sacred Shrine of mother Bhandara Gharanee attracts devotees;
Solitude reigns on the shrine providing delight.
Sanctified devotees surrender on mother’s feet;
Serenity of the temple allures devotees with delight.
Simple women, men offer light on the altar;
Silent devotees offering fragrance of incense stick content desire.
Sanctity of the shrine entices chaste women delightfully;
Solitary poet chants mother’s hymns devotionally.
Spring plays on the shrine enthusiastically;
Sanctum of sanctorum smiles with the Deity.
Sandal’s fragrance provides devotion, gaiety;
Saints chant mother’s hymns with delight.
Sages meditate on the altar day and night;
Singers sing mother’s songs with delight.
Sisters and brothers enjoy the beauty with pleasure;
Showering blossoms of blessings on devotees fulfills desires.
Students pray mother for education;
Stream of her bliss flows from the creation.
Sky is transparent beautiful;
Smile of mother encourages devotees to be dutiful.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Sacred Ground
Iced over, close your eyes. whisper the flame, it takes us higher.
Seems our world is closing around. when Im inside you, you bring me to sacred ground.
When Im inside you, you bring me to sacred ground.
Now youre the one that I want, you know its true.
Let go of everything, open up to me.
Im right beside you, Ill be your watchful eye.
I send waves of devotion over you. you take it all in and give it back, give it back again.
You bring me to sacred ground, when Im inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.
Yes well love till theres nothing left to give...
Matching every movement, swimming in an ocean of sweat, and scent of you. it drives me to ...
You bring me to sacred ground, when Im inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.
I know I can change your mind. give it to me the same way.
Giving it all up for love, I know that you feel the same way.
Id give it all up for you, I swear I would.
Now Im falling, falling inside ...
You bring me to sacred ground, when Im inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.
Im inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground, when Im inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Haley's Got A Harley
Well she don't need nothin from that man no more
No she took it all with her when she walked out the door
I say 1-800-PARTY, that's the number to call
Now Haley's got a Harley and she's leaving it all
Now she's headed out to Sturgis got it all wrapped up in leather
Got her Softail shined up, don't worry about the weather
Yeah she used to be the quiet type, the shyest of all
But now Haley's got a Harley, feelin' ten feet tall
Look at her now, look at her go
Out from the shadows, into the show
Ridin it hard, ridin it low
Flyin her colors, she's ready to roll
Just like the tattoo of an eagle on her shoulder
Yeah, her spirit's wild and free and the party's never over
Well, she's ridin' on the wind just a' wavin at em all
Cause now Haley's got a Harley and she's having a ball
Free as a Bird, watch her in flight
Across South Dakota, into the night
Ridin to live, livin to ride
She calls it heaven, ridin' for life
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dew Vavroovahana Patra
In Dew haze covers the Earth;
Plants do not smile with mirth.
Creatures derive displeasure;
Sun shrine reveals the beauty of Nature.
Occasional rain falls in the morn;
In sun beam beauteous looks the dawn.
Sun ray brings pleasure;
Beauteous is the cosy lap of Nature.
Women pray god delightfully;
Sing His Glory gaily.
He is everywhere;
Plays in the lap of Nature.
Women pray god on Monday;
It’s a beauteous August day.
Offer fragrant blossoms, flowers;
God contents honest devotee’s desires.
Temples allure women, men in morn;
The shrine is spectacular in the dawn.
God blessth devotees on the altar;
Satisfies honest devotee’s desire.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Amoretti XXII: This Holy Season
This holy season, fit to fast and pray,
Men to devotion ought to be inclin'd:
Therefore I likewise on so holy day,
For my sweet saint some service fit will find.
Her temple fair is built within my mind,
In which her glorious image placed is,
On which my thoughts do day and night attend,
Like sacred priests that never think amiss.
There I to her as th' author of my bliss,
Will build an altar to appease her ire:
And on the same my heart will sacrifice,
Burning in flames of pure and chaste desire:
The which vouchsafe, O goddess, to accept,
Amongst thy dearest relics to be kept.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Harleys & Indians
When I go to heaven / Harley Harley heaven / I want to meet a King /
Like the Panhead 48 / I want to meet the Fat One /
We can talk for hours / When my time has come, Babe /
I won't be running late.
Flying high / Riders in the sky / Na na na na.
When I go to heaven / Red-skin heaven / I want to meet the Chiefs /
Yea, I want to meet all Scouts /
I won't miss my friends cos I know where they'll be /
We're all part of the Indian Family.
Flying high / Riders in the sky / Na na na na.
It's alright, Baby / I'm OK, honey /
I'm only travellin' thru this state of mine /
Hey it's alright, Mama / I'm doin' fine now, Mama /
I'm only in a certain state of mind.
When I go to heaven / Hog Hog heaven /
I'll have a drink with Elvis while Marlon's on his way /
We're kickin' and we're revvin' / We're dressing up in style /
It's time to take a ride on that freeway in the sky.
Flying high / Riders in the sky / Na na na na / Come on, come on.
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Upon The Altar Of My Lord
I offer my words up freely,
upon the altar of my God.
I come to this sacred place freely,
of my own free will to serve to pray.
This ancient sacred place this land,
this holy sacred God given ground;
is where in my humble veneration,
in worship I lay my offering down.
I have nothing more; to humbly offer pray.
I have while materially poor nothing more,
than time of value worth to humbly offer pray;
this is all I have I here in true worship bore,
I offer before my most high my sacred Lord.
Near on thirty years ago, I made this sacred vow,
with my soul heart head, bowed in breath low;
though my flesh remains, be still struggle weak,
this vow before God in worship I honour keep.
I thank my wondrous Lord, who let me humbly come here pray.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Harleys Indians
When I go to heaven / harley harley heaven / I want to meet a king /
Like the panhead 48 / I want to meet the fat one /
We can talk for hours / when my time has come, babe /
I wont be running late.
Flying high / riders in the sky / na na na na.
When I go to heaven / red-skin heaven / I want to meet the chiefs /
Yea, I want to meet all scouts /
I wont miss my friends cos I know where theyll be /
Were all part of the indian family.
Flying high / riders in the sky / na na na na.
Its alright, baby / Im ok, honey /
Im only travellin thru this state of mine /
Hey its alright, mama / Im doin fine now, mama /
Im only in a certain state of mind.
When I go to heaven / hog hog heaven /
Ill have a drink with elvis while marlons on his way /
Were kickin and were revvin / were dressing up in style /
Its time to take a ride on that freeway in the sky.
Flying high / riders in the sky / na na na na / come on, come on.
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Her Grace The Dutchess Of Portland
'Tis theirs, who but to please aspire,
On Fiction to employ the Lyre;
Make Gods and Goddesses display
The Splendor of the Nuptial Day.
To paint thee at the hallow'd Shrine,
A solemn, glorious Scene! be Mine;
Now lightly touch'd--Some other Hour,
(If e'er the Cloud--dispelling Pow'r
Remove the Damps, that chill my Vein)
I'll trace the slight--drawn Lines again;
Warm Col'ring on the Piece bestow,
Till Life shall from the Pencil flow.
Lovely Bride! with Bliss be crown'd,
Diffusing Happiness around:
Beneficent, like Harley, shine;
Like Henrietta, grace your Line.
poem by Mary Barber
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Blooming
Spring already
Flowers blooming
Birds humming
Sing their sweet
Sweet song
The air
Full of blossoms
Blooming flowers..
Blooming plants…
Blooming love
Spring is clean..
Spring is fresh…
Spring is that new beginning
We pray for in the end
poem by Alexsis Daniels
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To Mr. Harley - Wounded by Guiscard
In one great
now
, superior to an age,
The full extremes of nature's force we find:
How heavenly virtue can exalt, or rage
Infernal how degrade the human mind.
While the fierce monk does at his trial stand,
He chews revenge, abjuring his offence:
Guile in his tongue, and murder in his hand,
He stabs his judge, to prove his innocence.
The guilty stroke and torture of the steel
Infix'd, our dauntless Briton scarce perceives:
The wounds his country from his death must feel,
The patriot views; for those alone he grieves.
The barbarous rage that durst attempt thy life,
Harley, great counsellor, extends thy fame;
And the sharp point of cruel Guiscard's knife,
In brass and marble carves thy deathless name.
Faithful assertor of thy country's cause,
Britain with tears shall bathe thy glorious wound;
She for thy safety shall enlarge her laws,
And in her statutes shall thy worth be found.
Yet 'midst her sighs she triumphs on the hand
Reflecting, that diffused the public wo;
A stranger to her altars, and her land;
No son of hers could meditate this bow,
Meantime thy pain is gracious Anna's are:
Our queen, our saint, with sacrificing breath,
Softens thy anguish: in her powerful prayer
She pleads thy service, and forbids thy death.
Great as thou art, thou canst demand no more,
O breast bewail'd by earth, preserved by Heaven?
No higher can aspiring virtue soar:
Enough to thee of grief and fame is given.
poem by Matthew Prior
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The Married Lover
Why, having won her, do I woo?
Because her spirit's vestal grace
Provokes me always to pursue,
But, spirit-like, eludes embrace;
Because her womanhood is such
That, as on court-days subjects kiss
The Queen's hand, yet so near a touch
Affirms no mean familiarness;
Nay, rather marks more fair the height
Which can with safety so neglect
To dread, as lower ladies might,
That grace could meet with disrespect;
Thus she with happy favour feeds
Allegiance from a love so high
That thence no false conceit proceeds
Of difference bridged, or state put by;
Because although in act and word
As lowly as a wife can be,
Her manners, when they call me lord,
Remind me 'tis by courtesy;
Not with her least consent of will,
Which would my proud affection hurt,
But by the noble style that still
Imputes an unattain'd desert;
Because her gay and lofty brows,
When all is won which hope can ask,
Reflect a light of hopeless snows
That bright in virgin ether bask;
Because, though free of the outer court
I am, this Temple keeps its shrine
Sacred to Heaven; because, in short,
She 's not and never can be mine.
poem by Coventry Patmore
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On The Lord's Prayer
I have taught your young lips the good words to say over,
Which form the petition we call the Lord's Prayer,
And now let me help my dear child to discover
The meaning of all the good words that are there.
'Our Father,'-the same appellation is given
To a parent on earth, and the Parent of all-
O gracious permission! the God that's in heaven
Allows his poor creatures him Father to call.
To 'hallow his name,' is to think with devotion
Of it, and with reverence mention the same;
Though you are so young, you should strive for some notion
Of the awe we should feel at the Holy One's name.
His 'will done on earth, as it is done in heaven,'
Is a wish and a hope we are suffered to breathe
That such grace and favour to us may be given,
Like good angels on high we may live here beneath.
'Our daily bread give us,' your young apprehension
May well understand is to pray for our food;
Although we ask bread, and no other thing mention,
God's bounty gives all things sufficient and good.
You pray that your 'trespasses may be forgiven,
As you forgive those that are done unto you.'
Before this you say to the God that's in heaven,
Consider the words which you speak. Are they true?
If any one has in the past time offended
Us angry creatures who soon take offence,
These words in the prayer are surely intended
To soften our minds, and expel wrath from thence.
We pray that 'temptations may never assail us,'
And 'deliverance beg from all evil' we find:
But we never can hope that our prayer will avail us,
If we strive not to banish ill thoughts from our mind.
'For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory,
For ever and ever:' these titles are meant
To express God's dominion and majesty o'er ye:
And 'Amen' to the sense of the whole gives assent.
poem by Charles Lamb
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The Three Tommies
That Barret, the painter of pictures, what feeling for color he had!
And Fanning, the maker of music, such melodies mirthful and mad!
And Harley, the writer of stories, so whimsical, tender and glad!
To hark to their talk in the trenches, high heart unfolding to heart,
Of the day when the war would be over, and each would be true to his part,
Upbuilding a Palace of Beauty to the wonder and glory of Art . . .
Yon's Barret, the painter of pictures, yon carcass that rots on the wire;
His hand with its sensitive cunning is crisped to a cinder with fire;
His eyes with their magical vision are bubbles of glutinous mire.
Poor Fanning! He sought to discover the symphonic note of a shell;
There are bits of him broken and bloody, to show you the place where he fell;
I've reason to fear on his exquisite ear the rats have been banqueting well.
And speaking of Harley, the writer, I fancy I looked on him last,
Sprawling and staring and writhing in the roar of the battle blast;
Then a mad gun-team crashed over, and scattered his brains as it passed.
Oh, Harley and Fanning and Barret, they were bloody good mates o' mine;
Their bodies are empty bottles; Death has guzzled the wine;
What's left of them's filth and corruption. . . . Where is the Fire Divine?
I'll tell you. . . . At night in the trenches, as I watch and I do my part,
Three radiant spirits I'm seeing, high heart revealing to heart,
And they're building a peerless palace to the splendor and triumph of Art.
Yet, alas! for the fame of Barret, the glory he might have trailed!
And alas! for the name of Fanning, a star that beaconed and paled,
Poor Harley, obscure and forgotten. . . . Well, who shall say that they failed!
No, each did a Something Grander than ever he dreamed to do;
And as for the work unfinished, all will be paid their due;
The broken ends will be fitted, the balance struck will be true.
So painters, and players, and penmen, I tell you: Do as you please;
Let your fame outleap on the trumpets, you'll never rise up to these --
To three grim and gory Tommies, down, down on your bended knees!
poem by Robert William Service
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What Purpose Does A Rabbit Have
The same nightmare woke my father
every night for years.
He had no idea what it meant
and so he wrote the story down
and saved the note and hoped
some day he'd understand it.
But a note like that
can be misplaced.
Decades later Father
found the note
in a drawer of socks
he hadn't worn in years.
He found it underneath
his old glass eye the night
Mother came back on the Harley
to 'make their marriage work.'
He reminded Mother they had
been divorced for years
and then, despite her tears,
he told her, 'After all this time,
we both know now that you
were gone before you left.
But now you're back so
let me tell you all about
the nightmare I've had every night
since you took the bike and left.
I wrote the story down to tell the kids
when they grew up but they ran off
before I had a chance to ask them
if they knew what my dream might mean.
You'd like the kids. They're pretty smart.
Anyway my note says this:
'What purpose does a rabbit have
other than as prey?
What difference does a rainbow make
in a rabbit's day? '
You tell me now you love me,
always have and always will.
But the kids are gone forever
so take the Harley now and go.'
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Just For You, Dearest, KAAVYA
Lord Brahma's great day rang,
With music in his heart, he sang;
His bubbling spirits soaring high,
With Saraswathi to him nigh.
All set for His work-with elation,
He sat for His vocation-creation—
He wanted His best revelation
To the world of this generation.
Brahma was in a very jubilant mood
And wanted to mould one—very good
He took the utmost care,
To chisel a form, very fair.
There emerged a beauteous mien,
With all the glory that had e'er been;
A ravishing beauty, very rare,
With a hallow of soft curly hair.
Saraswathi from her side
Bestowed intelligence in her to abide.
It was KAAVYA my grand-daughter, darling,
With beauty and brains e'er merging.
To-day is her birth-day,
Her very special lovely day;
May the Almighty on her ever shower
Blessings for all her dreams to flower!
Many many, Many many………
Happy returns of the day, my dearest!
from
Your ever affectionate grandma,
Chandra Thiagarajan
Dt/ 21-3-12
day
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Shavara Shreekhetra Vavroovahana Patra
Shavara shreekhetra smiles at Koraput;
Serenity pervades with delight.
Sanctity attracts the devotee;
Solitude enhances gaiety.
Silence reigns in the temple shrine;
Shrine is a nectar to devotees as drunkards to wine.
Steps by steps devotees proceed delightfully;
Spectacle of the temple attracts devotees gaily.
Stream of love flows on the shrine;
Silently devotees drink the nectar as drunkard’s wine.
Sanctified shrine’s women after Deepa’s light on the altar;
Sandal’s fragrance enchants all creatures.
Sun beam Kisses the shrine delightfully;
Soul derives Eternal Peace gaily.
Spring plays in the Shrine enthusiastically;
Saintly devotees chant Jagannath’s hymns gaily.
Sky is transparent, blue, beautiful;
Sanctum sanctorium endowed with flowers is mirthful.
Smile of devotees is a Brook of Purity;
Sisters and Brothers chant God’s hymns with gaiety.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Divine Shrine Vavroovahana Patra
On the shrine ye stand with a flute in the afternoon;
With an innocent heart, with a garland of blossoms I pray for the boon.
Oh, loving dear, I be mentally clear, serene and pure to get your bliss;
In the mom and eve, in dawn and dusk I come and go cherish a little peace.
The shrine is pure with the aroma of flower;
The abode illuminates with the fire, vibrates in eve's prayer.
Perfumed with sandal's glamorous odour;
The devotees reach with light to adore.
I come to thee with fragrant flower;
How pleasantly you are desirous and fair.
To-day, returning back with empty hand from your bosom;
Tomorrow, I would not be back, receiving the garland of bliss that blossom.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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