To The Right Honourable The Lady Kilmorey
Start not, nor tremble at the Sight of this;
It comes not written from the Realms of Bliss:
'Tis true, you see, your once--lov'd Roydon's Hand;
Thence may conclude from Heav'n some high Command;
Conscious perhaps of your celestial Frame,
You think you're call'd to Worlds from whence you came.
Not so--but ere her Soul began its Flight,
She thought of you, and staid a--while to write;
Kindly for me her dying Suit address'd:
Then view it, Madam, as her last Request.
poem by Mary Barber
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Related quotes
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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Hymn 170
God incomprehensible and sovereign.
[Can creatures to perfection find
Th' eternal, uncreated Mind?
Or can the largest stretch of thought
Measure and search his nature out?
'Tis high as heav'n, 'tis deep as hell
And what can mortals know or tell?
His glory spreads beyond the sky,
And all the shining worlds on high.
But man, vain man, would fain be wise;
Born like a wild young colt, he flies
Through all the follies of his mind,
And swells, and snuffs the empty wind.]
God is a King of power unknown,
Firm are the orders of his throne;
If he resolve, who dares oppose,
Or ask him why or what he does?
He wounds the heart, and he makes whole
He calms the tempest of the soul;
When he shuts up in long despair,
Who can remove the heavy bar?
He frowns, and darkness veils the moon;
The fainting sun grows dim at noon;
The pillars of heav'n's starry roof
Tremble and start at his reproof.
He gave the vaulted heav'n its form,
The crooked serpent, and the worm;
He breaks the billows with his breath,
And smites the sons of pride to death.
These are a portion of his ways;
But who shall dare describe his face?
Who can endure his light, or stand
To hear the thunders of his hand?
poem by Isaac Watts
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To S. M. A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works
TO show the lab'ring bosom's deep intent,
And thought in living characters to paint,
When first thy pencil did those beauties give,
And breathing figures learnt from thee to live,
How did those prospects give my soul delight,
A new creation rushing on my sight?
Still, wond'rous youth! each noble path pursue,
On deathless glories fix thine ardent view:
Still may the painter's and the poet's fire
To aid thy pencil, and thy verse conspire!
And may the charms of each seraphic theme
Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame!
High to the blissful wonders of the skies
Elate thy soul, and raise thy wishful eyes.
Thrice happy, when exalted to survey
That splendid city, crown'd with endless day,
Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring:
Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring.
Calm and serene thy moments glide along,
And may the muse inspire each future song!
Still, with the sweets of contemplation bless'd,
May peace with balmy wings your soul invest!
But when these shades of time are chas'd away,
And darkness ends in everlasting day,
On what seraphic pinions shall we move,
And view the landscapes in the realms above?
There shall thy tongue in heav'nly murmurs flow,
And there my muse with heav'nly transport glow:
No more to tell of Damon's tender sighs,
Or rising radiance of Aurora's eyes,
For nobler themes demand a nobler strain,
And purer language on th' ethereal plain.
Cease, gentle muse! the solemn gloom of night
Now seals the fair creation from my sight.
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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The Dying Christian to His Soul
Vital spark of heav’nly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.
Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister Spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav’n opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?
poem by Alexander Pope
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Psalm 102 part 3
v.23-28
L. M.
Man's mortality, and Christ's eternity.
It is the Lord our Savior's hand
Weakens our strength amidst the race;
Disease and death at his command
Arrest us, and cut short our days.
Spare us, O Lord, aloud we pray,
Nor let our sun go down at noon;
Thy years are one eternal day,
And must thy children die so soon?
Yet in the midst of death and grief
This thought our sorrow should assuage:
Our Father and our Savior live;
Christ is the same through every age.
'Twas he this earth's foundation laid;
Heav'n is the building of his hand;
This earth grows old, these heav'ns shall fade
And all be changed at his command.
The starry curtains of the sky,
Like garments, shall be laid aside;
But still thy throne stands firm on high,
Thy church for ever must abide.
Before thy face thy church shall live,
And on thy throne thy children reign;
This dying world shall they survive,
And the dead saints be raised again.
poem by Isaac Watts
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To His Honour The Lieutenant-Governor, On The Death Of His Lady Marc 24, 1773
ALL-Conquering Death! by thy resistless pow'r,
Hope's tow'ring plumage falls to rise no more!
Of scenes terrestrial how the glories fly,
Forget their splendors, and submit to die!
Who ere escap'd thee, but the saint * of old
Beyond the flood in sacred annals told,
And the great sage, + whom fiery coursers drew
To heav'n's bright portals from Elisha's view;
Wond'ring he gaz'd at the refulgent car,
Then snatch'd the mantle floating on the air.
From Death these only could exemption boast,
And without dying gain'd th' immortal coast.
Not falling millions sate the tyrant's mind,
Nor can the victor's progress be confin'd.
But cease thy strife with Death, fond Nature, cease:
He leads the virtuous to the realms of peace;
* Enoch. + Elijah.
His to conduct to the immortal plains,
Where heav'n's Supreme in bliss and glory reigns.
There sits, illustrious Sir, thy beauteous spouse;
A gem-blaz'd circle beaming on her brows.
Hail'd with acclaim among the heav'nly choirs,
Her soul new-kindling with seraphic fires,
To notes divine she tunes the vocal strings,
While heav'n's high concave with the music rings.
Virtue's rewards can mortal pencil paint?
No--all descriptive arts, and eloquence are faint;
Nor canst thou, Oliver, assent refuse
To heav'nly tidings from the Afric muse.
As soon may change thy laws, eternal fate,
As the saint miss the glories I relate;
Or her Benevolence forgotten lie,
Which wip'd the trick'ling tear from Misry's eye.
Whene'er the adverse winds were known to blow,
When loss to loss * ensu'd, and woe to woe,
Calm and serene beneath her father's hand
She sat resign'd to the divine command.
No longer then, great Sir, her death deplore,
And let us hear the mournful sigh no more,
Restrain the sorrow streaming from thine eye,
Be all thy future moments crown'd with joy!
Nor let thy wishes be to earth confin'd,
But soaring high pursue th' unbodied mind.
Forgive the muse, forgive th' advent'rous lays,
That fain thy soul to heav'nly scenes would raise.
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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Amoretti III: The Sovereign Beauty
The sovereign beauty which I do admire,
Witness the world how worthy to be praised:
The light whereof hath kindled heavenly fire
In my frail spirit, by her from baseness raised;
That being now with her huge brightness dazed,
Base thing I can no more endure to view;
But looking still on her, I stand amazed
At wondrous sight of so celestial hue.
So when my tongue would speak her praises due,
It stopped is with thought's astonishment:
And when my pen would write her titles true,
It ravish'd is with fancy's wonderment:
Yet in my heart I then both speak and write
The wonder that my wit cannot endite.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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To A Gentleman And Lady On The Death Of The Lady's Brother And Sister, And A Child Of The Name Of Avis, Aged One Year
ON Death's domain intent I fix my eyes,
Where human nature in vast ruin lies:
With pensive mind I search the drear abode,
Where the great conqu'ror has his spoils bestow'd;
There there the offspring of six thousand years
In endless numbers to my view appears:
Whole kingdoms in his gloomy den are thrust,
And nations mix with their primeval dust:
Insatiate still he gluts the ample tomb;
His is the present, his the age to come.
See here a brother, here a sister spread,
And a sweet daughter mingled with the dead.
But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside,
And let the fountain of your tears be dry'd,
In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain,
Your sighs are wafted to the skies in vain,
Your pains they witness, but they can no more,
While Death reigns tyrant o'er this mortal shore.
The glowing stars and silver queen of light
At last must perish in the gloom of night:
Resign thy friends to that Almighty hand,
Which gave them life, and bow to his command;
Thine Avis give without a murm'ring heart,
Though half thy soul be fated to depart.
To shining guards consign thine infant care
To waft triumphant through the seas of air:
Her soul enlarg'd to heav'nly pleasure springs,
She feeds on truth and uncreated things.
Methinks I hear her in the realms above,
And leaning forward with a filial love,
Invite you there to share immortal bliss
Unknown, untasted in a state like this.
With tow'ring hopes, and growing grace arise,
And seek beatitude beyond the skies.
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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To The Honourable T. H. Esq; On the Death Of His Daughter
WHILE deep you mourn beneath the cypress-shade
The hand of Death, and your dear daughter
laid
In dust, whose absence gives your tears to flow,
And racks your bosom with incessant woe,
Let Recollection take a tender part,
Assuage the raging tortures of your heart,
Still the wild tempest of tumultuous grief,
And pour the heav'nly nectar of relief:
Suspend the sigh, dear Sir, and check the groan,
Divinely bright your daughter's Virtues shone:
How free from scornful pride her gentle mind,
Which ne'er its aid to indigence declin'd!
Expanding free, it sought the means to prove
Unfailing charity, unbounded love!
She unreluctant flies to see no more
Her dear-lov'd parents on earth's dusky shore:
Impatient heav'n's resplendent goal to gain,
She with swift progress cuts the azure plain,
Where grief subsides, where changes are no more,
And life's tumultuous billows cease to roar;
She leaves her earthly mansion for the skies,
Where new creations feast her wond'ring eyes.
To heav'n's high mandate cheerfully resign'd
She mounts, and leaves the rolling globe behind;
She, who late wish'd that Leonard might return,
Has ceas'd to languish, and forgot to mourn;
To the same high empyreal mansions come,
She joins her spouse, and smiles upon the tomb:
And thus I hear her from the realms above:
"Lo! this the kingdom of celestial love!
"Could ye, fond parents, see our present bliss,
"How soon would you each sigh, each fear dismiss?
"Amidst unutter'd pleasures whilst I play
"In the fair sunshine of celestial day,
"As far as grief affects an happy soul
"So far doth grief my better mind controul,
"To see on earth my aged parents mourn,
"And secret wish for T-----! to return:
"Let brighter scenes your ev'ning-hours employ:
"Converse with heav'n, and taste the promis'd joy"
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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Today... [Ca astăzi...]
Today, I'm hardly in command
Of my own soul, of my own heart,
And when I gently shake your hand
You get to know it from the start.
I'm like a toy, weak, immature,
In front of you when stand and wait,
My sight would let you know for sure
Into my eyes if you looked straight.
My only wish, my only bliss,
Is to obey, your slave to be,
And my whole being tells you this
When you approach and pass by me.
But you pass like a sunshine bright,
Which a poor vagrant sees above –
What does it care that gives him light...
What do you care that I'm in love.
poem by Veronica Micle, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Hymn 120
Faith of things unseen.
Heb. 11
Faith is the brightest evidence
Of things beyond our sight,
Breaks through the clouds of flesh and sense,
And dwells in heav'nly light.
It sets times past in present view,
Brings distant prospects home,
Of things a thousand years ago,
Or thousand years to come.
By faith we know the worlds were made
By God's almighty word;
Abram, to unknown countries led,
By faith obeyed the Lord.
He sought a city fair and high,
Built by th' eternal hands,
And faith assures us, though we die,
That heav'nly building stands.
poem by Isaac Watts
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An Hymn To Sleep.
Written when the Author was sick.
Somnus, pow'rful Deity,
Mortals owe their Bliss to thee.
How long shall I thy Absence mourn,
And when be bless'd in thy Return?
Relentless God! why will you flee,
And take Delight to torture me:
Or do you kindly flight my Pray'r,
To make me for my Change prepare?
'Tis well this Happiness remains;
When you resuse to ease our Pains,
Your Brother Death your Place supplies,
And kindly seals the Wretch's Eyes.
poem by Mary Barber
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Blind Leading The Blind
Blind leading the blind
I tried to explain colors to a person who could not see
But I found it was too hard for me.
Then a thought came into my mind
To put their feelings into color and rhyme.
The first question I asked is:
WHAT DO YOU FEEL ABOUT “LOVE”?
“I feel like I’m flying high above the sky”
Then I will call that GREEN
For high above the earth, that color is seen.
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT
WHEN YOU’RE FEELING “DOWN”?
It’s when I have no one to talk to and no one around.
Then I will call that BROWN.
WHAT ABOUT “SADNESS”?
That is when I lost something that cannot be replaced.
Then I will call that “GREY” for that
Is something which in your heart will stay.
WHAT ABOUT “LAUGHTER”?
That is when my stomach shakes like Jell-O.
Then I will call that emotion “YELLOW”
Then the final question I must ask
WHAT ABOUT GOD?
That is when I am lifted high above
All that I think and feel.
Since GOD is pure, I will call it white
Because he puts your heart and soul into flight.
“ we have enough colors for different emotions
Just like the raindrops that fall into the ocean.
Now the colors no longer have a barrier, because now
It has an emotional carrier.
Emotions and colors go hand in hand, just like the joining
In a wedding band.
poem by Louis Rams
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Someone Who Believes In You
When there's a dark storm on your horizon
And you think you can't get through it
Just put your hand in my hand
And I'll show you how to do it
When the future looks uncertain
You can count on me to be there
And when your heart and soul are hurtin'
Just look and you'll see me there
Just follow where I lead
I'll give you what you need
A love that's always true
And someone who believes in you
So when you're searching for that rainbow
I will help you find it
And when a mountain stands before you
I will help you climb it
Just follow where I lead
I'll give you what you need
A love that's always true
And someone who believes in you
It's time to come alive
Your moment has arrived
I'll bring out the best in you
We can have it all
No, we will never fall
Looking down from our celestial view
Just follow where I lead
I'll give you what you need
And I'll tell you something else
You'll start believing in yourself
It's an easy thing to do
When you have someone who believes in you
Someone who believes
Someone who believes
I'm someone who believes
And you've got someone who believes in you
song performed by by Air Supply
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Picture Frame
An empty picture frame sits upon my desk
Where once upon a time a picture in it did rest
But now the frame stands lifeless and bare
Now it reminds me of a love that once was there.
As in the past the picture brought me happiness and joy
Gave me the reason to live and to write my story
To glance upon and dream of when no one was near
To speak the words of love when them she couldn't hear.
But when she left me I threw her picture away
But I kept that frame to remind me of that day
In remembrance of what she did in and out of my sight
As she was my candle but she blew out that light
So that picture frame I keep it in my plain view
So every time I see it I know what to say and what to do
As once upon a time her picture was in the frame
But now picture is gone but the memories still remain.
poem by Randy McClave
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Peter Walking Upon The Water
A Word from Jesus calms the sea,
The stormy wind controls;
And gives repose and liberty
To tempest-tossed souls.
To Peter on the waves he came,
And gave him instant peace;
Thus he to me revealed his name,
And bid my sorrows cease.
Then filled with wonder, joy and love,
Peter's request was mine;
Lord, call me down, I long to prove
That I am wholly thine.
Unmoved at all I have to meet
On life's tempestuous sea;
Hard, shall be easy; bitter, sweet,
So I may follow thee.
He heard and smiled, and bid me try,
I eagerly obeyed;
But when from him I turned my eye,
How was my soul dismayed!
The storm increased on every side,
I felt my spirit shrink;
And soon, with Peter, loud I cried,
Lord, save me, or I sink.
Kindly he caught me by the hand,
And said, Why dost thou fear?
Since thou art come at my command,
And I am always near.
Upon my promise rest thy hope,
And keep my love in view;
I stand engaged to hold thee up,
And guide thee safely through.
poem by John Newton
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Special Delivery
The postman got himself in to a bit of a mess:
And he delivered a letter to the wrong address.
The intended recipient would feel a lot better,
When, in her hand, she was holding the letter.
When she opened that letter, intended for her,
Emotions inside her would soon start to stir.
The letter had travelled across many a mile;
To her face, it would bring a great big smile.
The letter was from a soldier in Afghanistan:
Maybe it bore news from her beloved man?
I am sure that she cried when he was deployed.
Receiving the letter, she would be so overjoyed.
The light blue letter had travelled all that way;
I was sure it would make the young lady's day.
From her boyfriend she would be dying to hear;
Receiving his letter would bring her much cheer.
I imagined the message written from his heart,
Helping to bridge the gap, during their time apart.
I pictured him writing, while rockets flew overhead.
She would re-read many times, all that he had said.
Holding that letter, made me stop and think:
With that soldier, I felt a strange kind of link.
Looking at the envelope, I held in my hands,
Her emotions, I suddenly began to understand.
I thought about the couple's mix of emotions,
During their time, parted by the mighty oceans.
I thought about how he would wish he was here,
And how they had both shed some secret tears.
Hearing from him, she would cry tears of relief.
I bet he signed his name with kisses underneath.
To her, the letter would be a wonderful sight,
And she would sleep well in her bed that night.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Never Written
to write
hungry to write
and over
a lifetime
to have written
so little
less than
two years
writing
if compressed
into full time
writing
to have said
to have written
so little
when thought
so much
deep thoughts
never written
never recorded
never achieved
never expressed
never articulated
never illuminating
what a waste
modern sibyl
only whispered
briefly
self paid time
a fireflies flight
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Book Of Paradise - The Privileged Men
AFTER THE BATTLE OF BADE, BENEATH THE CANOPY OF HEAVEN.
MAHOMET (Speaks).
LET the foeman sorrow o'er his dead,
Ne'er will they return again to light;
O'er our brethren let no tear be shed,
For they dwell above yon spheres so bright.
All the seven planets open throw
All their metal doors with mighty shock,
And the forms of those we loved below
At the gates of Eden boldly knock.
There they find, with bliss ne'er dream'd before,
Glories that my flight first show'd to eye,
When the wondrous steed my person bore
In one second through the realms on high.
Wisdom's trees, in cypress-order growing,
High uphold the golden apples sweet;
Trees of life, their spreading shadows throwing,
Shade each blossoming plant, each flow'ry seat.
Now a balmy zephyr from the East
Brings the heavenly maidens to thy view;
With the eye thou now dost taste the feast,
Soon the sight pervades thee through and through.
There they stand, to ask thee thy career:
Mighty plans? or dangerous bloody rout?
Thou'rt a hero, know they,--for Thourt here,
What a hero?--This they'll fathom out.
By thy wounds soon clearly this is shown,
Wounds that write thy fame's undying story;
Wounds the true believer mark alone,
When have perish'd joy and earthly glory.
To chiosks and arbors thou art brought,
Fill'd with checkered marble columns bright;
To the noble grape-juice, solace-fraught,
They the guest with kindly sips invite.
Youth! Thou'rt welcome more than e'er was youth
All alike are radiant and serene;
When thou tak'st one to thine heart with truth,
Of thy band she'll be the friend and queen.
So prepare thee for this place of rest,
Never can it now be changed again;
Maids like these will ever make thee blest,
Wines like these will never harm thy brain.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Hymn 44 part 2
The true improvement of life.
Ps. 90:12.
Ane is this life prolonged to me?
Are days and seasons giv'n?
O let me, then, prepare to be
A fitter heir of heav'n.
In vain these moments shall not pass,
These golden hours be gone:
Lord, I accept thine offered grace,
I bow before thy throne.
Now cleanse my soul from every sin
By my Redeemer's blood;
Now let my flesh and soul begin
The honors of my God.
Let me no more my soul beguile
With sin's deceitful toys;
Let cheerful hope, increasing still,
Approach to heav'nly joys.
My thankful lips shall loud proclaim
The wonders of thy praise,
And spread the savor of thy name
Where'er I spend my days.
On earth let my example shine,
And when I leave this state,
May heav'n receive this soul of mine
To bliss supremely great.
poem by Isaac Watts
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