No Message
She heard the story of the end,
Each message, too, she heard;
And there was one for every friend;
For her alone, no word.
And shall she bear a heavier heart,
And deem his love was fled;
Because his soul from earth could part
Leaving her name unsaid?
No, No! Though neither sign nor sound
A parting thought expressed,
Not heedless passed the Homeward-Bound
Of her he loved the best.
Of voyage-perils, bravely borne,
He would not tell the tale;
Of shattered planks and canvas torn,
And war with wind and gale.
He waited, till the light-house star
Should rise against the sky;
And from the mainland, looming far,
The forest scents blow by.
He hoped to tell, assurance sweet!
That pain and grief were o'er,
What blessings haste the soul to meet,
Ere yet within the door.
Then one farewell he thought to speak
When all the rest were past,
As in the parting-hour we seek
The dearest hand the last.
And while for this delaying but
To see Heaven's opening Gate,
Lo, it received him and was shut,
Ere he could say “I wait.”
poem by Mary Hannay Foott
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Related quotes
No Message
She heard the story of the end,
Each message, too, she heard;
And there was one for every friend;
For her alone -- no word.
And shall she bear a heavier heart,
And deem his love was fled;
Because his soul from earth could part
Leaving her name unsaid?
No -- No! -- Though neither sign nor sound
A parting thought expressed --
Not heedless passed the Homeward-Bound
Of her he loved the best.
Of voyage-perils, bravely borne,
He would not tell the tale;
Of shattered planks and canvas torn,
And war with wind and gale.
He waited till the light-house star
Should rise against the sky;
And from the mainland, looming far,
The forest scents blow by.
He hoped to tell -- assurance sweet! --
That pain and grief were o'er --
What blessings haste the soul to meet,
Ere yet within the door.
Then one farewell he thought to speak
When all the rest were past --
As in the parting-hour we seek
The dearest hand the last.
And while for this delaying but
To see Heaven's opening Gate --
Lo, it received him -- and was shut --
Ere he could say "I wait."
poem by Mary Hannay Foott
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A New Year's Message To Joseph Mazzini
Send the stars light, but send not love to me.
Shelley.
I
Out of the dawning heavens that hear
Young wings and feet of the new year
Move through their twilight, and shed round
Soft showers of sound,
Soothing the season with sweet rain,
If greeting come to make me fain,
What is it I can send again?
2
I know not if the year shall send
Tidings to usward as a friend,
And salutation, and such things
Bear on his wings
As the soul turns and thirsts unto
With hungering eyes and lips that sue
For that sweet food which makes all new.
3
I know not if his light shall be
Darkness, or else light verily:
I know but that it will not part
Heart's faith from heart,
Truth from the trust in truth, nor hope
From sight of days unscaled that ope
Beyond one poor year's horoscope.
4
That faith in love which love's self gives,
O master of my spirit, lives,
Having in presence unremoved
Thine head beloved,
The shadow of thee, the semitone
Of thy voice heard at heart and known,
The light of thee not set nor flown.
5
Seas, lands, and hours, can these divide
Love from love's service, side from side,
Though no sound pass nor breath be heard
Of one good word?
To send back words of trust to thee
Were to send wings to love, when he
With his own strong wings covers me.
6
Who shall teach singing to the spheres,
Or motion to the flight of years?
Let soul with soul keep hand in hand
And understand,
As in one same abiding-place
We keep one watch for one same face
To rise in some short sacred space.
7
And all space midway is but nought
To keep true heart from faithful thought,
As under twilight stars we wait
By Time's shut gate
Till the slow soundless hinges turn,
And through the depth of years that yearn
The face of the Republic burn.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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A Child's Laughter
ALL the bells of heaven may ring,
All the birds of heaven may sing,
All the wells on earth may spring,
All the winds on earth may bring
All sweet sounds together---
Sweeter far than all things heard,
Hand of harper, tone of bird,
Sound of woods at sundawn stirred,
Welling water's winsome word,
Wind in warm wan weather,
One thing yet there is, that none
Hearing ere its chime be done
Knows not well the sweetest one
Heard of man beneath the sun,
Hoped in heaven hereafter;
Soft and strong and loud and light,
Very sound of very light
Heard from morning's rosiest height,
When the soul of all delight
Fills a child's clear laughter.
Golden bells of welcome rolled
Never forth such notes, nor told
Hours so blithe in tones so bold,
As the radiant mouth of gold
Here that rings forth heaven.
If the golden-crested wren
Were a nightingale---why, then,
Something seen and heard of men
Might be half as sweet as when
Laughs a child of seven.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Desolate City
DARK to me is the earth. Dark to me are the heavens.
Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars?
Desolate are the streets. Desolate is the city.
A city taken by storm, where none are left but the slain.
Sadly I rose at dawn, undid the latch of my shutters,
Thinking to let in light, but I only let in love.
Birds in the boughs were awake; I listen'd to their chaunting;
Each one sang to his love; only I was alone.
This, I said in my heart, is the hour of life and of pleasure.
Now each creature on earth has his joy, and lives in the sun,
Each in another's eyes finds light, the light of compassion,
This is the moment of pity, this is the moment of love.
Speak, O desolate city! Speak, O silence in sadness!
Where is she that I loved in my strength, that spoke to my soul?
Where are those passionate eyes that appeal'd to my eyes in passion?
Where is the mouth that kiss'd me, the breast I laid to my own?
Speak, thou soul of my soul, for rage in my heart is kindled.
Tell me, where didst thou flee in the day of destruction and fear?
See, my arms still enfold thee, enfolding thus all heaven,
See, my desire is fulfill'd in thee, for it fills the earth.
Thus in my grief I lamented. Then turn'd I from the window,
Turn'd to the stair, and the open door, and the empty street,
Crying aloud in my grief, for there was none to chide me,
None to mock my weakness, none to behold my tears.
Groping I went, as blind. I sought her house, my beloved's.
There I stopp'd at the silent door, and listen'd and tried the
latch.
Love, I cried, dost thou slumber? This is no hour for slumber,
This is the hour of love, and love I bring in my hand.
I knew the house, with its windows barr'd, and its leafless fig-tree,
Climbing round by the doorstep, the only one in the street;
I knew where my hope had climb'd to its goal and there encircled
All that those desolate walls once held, my beloved's heart.
There in my grief she consoled me. She loved me when I loved not.
She put her hand in my hand, and set her lips to my lips.
She told me all her pain and show'd me all her trouble.
I, like a fool, scarce heard, hardly return'd her kiss.
Love, thy eyes were like torches. They changed as I beheld them.
Love, thy lips were like gems, the seal thou settest on my life.
Love, if I loved not then, behold this hour thy vengeance;
This is the fruit of thy love and thee, the unwise grown wise.
Weeping strangled my voice. I call'd out, but none answer'd;
Blindly the windows gazed back at me, dumbly the door;
See whom I love, who loved me, look'd not on my yearning,
Gave me no more her hands to kiss, show'd me no more her soul.
Therefore the earth is dark to me, the sunlight blackness,
Therefore I go in tears and alone, by night and day;
Therefore I find no love in heaven, no light, no beauty,
A heaven taken by storm, where none are left but the slain!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Three Souls
Three Souls there were that reached the Heavenly Gate,
And gained permission of the Guard to wait.
Barred from the bliss of Paradise by sin,
They did not ask or hope to enter in.
'We loved one woman (thus their story ran);
We lost her, for she chose another man.
So great our love, it brought us to this door;
We only ask to see her face once more.
Then will we go to realms where we belong,
And pay our penalty for doing wrong.'
'And wert thou friends on earth?' (The Guard spake thus.)
'Nay, we were foes; but Death made friends of us.
The dominating thought within each Soul
Brought us together, comrades, to this goal,
To see her face, and in its radiance bask
For one great moment-that is all we ask.
And, having seen her, we must journey back
The path we came-a hard and dangerous track.'
'Wait, then,' the Angel said, 'beside me here,
But do not strive within God's Gate to peer
Nor converse hold with Spirits clothed in light
Who pass this way; thou hast not earned the right.'
They waited year on year. Then, like a flame,
News of the woman's death from earth-land came.
The eager lovers scanned with hungry eyes
Each Soul that passed the Gates of Paradise.
The well-beloved face in vain they sought,
Until one day the Guardian Angel brought
A message to them. 'She has gone,' he said,
'Down to the lower regions of the dead;
Her chosen mate went first; so great her love
She has resigned the joys that wait above
To dwell with him, until perchance some day,
Absolved from sin, he seeks the Better Way.'
Silent, the lovers turned. The pitying Guard
Said: 'Stay (the while his hand the door unbarred),
There waits for thee no darker grief or woe;
Enter the Gates, and all God's glories know.
But to be ready for so great a bliss,
Pause for a moment and take heed of this:
The dearest treasure by each mortal lost
Lies yonder, when the Threshold has been crossed,
And thou shalt find within that Sacred Place
The shining wonder of her worshipped face.
All that is past is but a troubled dream;
Go forward now and claim the Fact Supreme.'
Then clothed like Angels, fitting their estate,
Three Souls went singing, singing through God's Gate.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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In The Harbour: Auf Wiedersehen
Until we meet again! That is the meaning
Of the familiar words, that men repeat
At parting in the street.
Ah yes, till then! but when death intervening
Rends us asunder, with what ceaseless pain
We wait for the Again!
The friends who leave us do not feel the sorrow
Of parting, as we feel it, who must stay
Lamenting day by day,
And knowing, when we wake upon the morrow,
We shall not find in its accustomed place
The one beloved face.
It were a double grief, if the departed,
Being released from earth, should still retain
A sense of earthly pain;
It were a double grief, if the true-hearted,
Who loved us here, should on the farther shore
Remember us no more.
Believing, in the midst of our afflictions,
That death is a beginning, not an end,
We cry to them, and send
Farewells, that better might be called predictions,
Being fore-shadowings of the future, thrown
Into the vast Unknown.
Faith overleaps the confines of our reason,
And if by faith, as in old times was said,
Women received their dead
Raised up to life, then only for a season
Our partings are, nor shall we wait in vain
Until we meet again!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Newly-Wedded
NOW the rite is duly done,
Now the word is spoken,
And the spell has made us one
Which may ne’er be broken;
Rest we, dearest, in our home,
Roam we o’er the heather:
We shall rest, and we shall roam,
Shall we not? together.
From this hour the summer rose
Sweeter breathes to charm us;
From this hour the winter snows
Lighter fall to harm us:
Fair or foul—on land or sea—
Come the wind or weather,
Best and worst, whate’er they be,
We shall share together.
Death, who friend from friend can part,
Brother rend from brother,
Shall but link us, heart and heart,
Closer to each other:
We will call his anger play,
Deem his dart a feather,
When we meet him on our way
Hand in hand together.
poem by Winthrop Mackworth Praed
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The Parting Hour
Not yet, dear love, not yet: the sun is high;
You said last night, 'At sunset I will go.'
Come to the garden, where when blossoms die
No word is spoken; it is better so:
Ah! bitter word 'Farewell.'
Hark! how the birds sing sunny songs of spring!
Soon they will build, and work will silence them;
So we grow less light-hearted as years bring
Life's grave responsibilities - and then
The bitter word 'Farewell.'
The violets fret to fragrance 'neath your feet,
Heaven's gold sunlight dreams aslant your hair:
No flower for me! your mouth is far more sweet.
O, let my lips forget, while lingering there,
Love's bitter word 'Farewell.'
Sunset already! have we sat so long?
The parting hour, and so much left unsaid!
The garden has grown silent - void of song,
Our sorrow shakes us with a sudden dread!
Ah! bitter word 'Farewell.'
poem by Olive Custance
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To A Departed Spirit
From the bright stars, or from the viewless air,
Or from some world unreached by human thought,
Spirit, sweet spirit! if thy home be there,
And if thy visions with the past be fraught,
Answer me, answer me!
Have we not communed here of life and death?
Have we not said that love, such love as ours,
Was not to perish as a rose's breath,
To melt away, like song from festal bowers?
Answer me, answer me!
Thine eye's last light was mine - the soul thtat shone
Intensely, mournfully, through gathering haze -
Didst thou bear with thee to the shore unknown,
Nought of what lived in that long, earnest gaze!
Hear, hear, and answer me!
Thy voice - its low, soft, fervent, farewell tone
Thrilled through the tempest of the parting strife,
Like a faint breeze: - oh, from that music flown,
Send back
one
sound, if love's be quenchless life,
But once, oh! answer me!
In the still noontide, in the sunset's hush,
In the dead hour of night, when thought grows deep,
When the heart's phantoms from the darkness rush,
Fearfully beautiful, to strive with sleep -
Spirit! then answer me!
By the remembrance of our blended prayer;
By all our tears, whose mingling made them sweet
By our last hope, the victor o'er despair; -
Speak! if our souls in deathless yearnings meet;
Answer me, answer me!
The grave is silent: - and the far-off sky,
And the deep midnight - silent all, and lone!
Oh! if thy buried love make no reply,
What voice has earth! - Hear, pity, speak, mine own!
Answer me, answer me!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Farewell Farewell I Bid You Adieu
How do you say Farewell to a
loved on who's passed on, there
are no words to say except
Farewell
Saying Farwell to friend who's
stabed you in the back, there to many
to say many we cant mention
Farewell to a failded marriage can
be healthy for the heart, and were glad
were now apart.
Farewell ''see you soon''
Farewell ''come back real soon''.
Farewell to a co worker who's
retireing
Farwell ''I shant be back''
Adieu Adieu I bid you Adieu.
Farewell parting is such sweet
sorrow.
Farewell to the garbage, dont
let the door hit you in the- - -
GAYLE GOFF
FEB 2009
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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Farewell My Rebel Latvian (For Erica)
Farewell my noble rebel so cold and deep the grave
But you were not afraid of death and you were always brave
You were my favourite brother the one I loved the best
The rebel heart from Latvia has gone to peaceful rest.
I remember back in Germany when you and your friend ran away
You planned to go to Latvia to join the rebel fray
But of course ye did not make it as ye were far too young
you were the lad of action who spoke with rebel tongue.
Farewell my brother Johnny you never lived to see
the greatest dream you ever had that Latvia might be free,
Free of the tyrant Soviets and their brutality
We had so much in common we loved our own Country.
Farewell my rebel Latvian with dignity you died
You bore your suffering bravely and and faced the end with pride
God thought you'd suffered too much and on your life quenched the light
And now you're in a freer World where you won't have to fight
Farewell my rebel brother my heart is flood with tears
You were my king and hero in hard and bitter years
But god he loved you better he took you from your pain
And we will meet in heaven I know we'll meet again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Wind And The Sea
I STOOD by the shore at the death of day,
As the sun sank flaming red;
And the face of the waters that spread away
Was as gray as the face of the dead.
And I heard the cry of the wanton sea
And the moan of the wailing wind;
For love's sweet pain in his heart had he,
But the gray old sea had sinned.
The wind was young and the sea was old,
But their cries went up together;
The wind was warm and the sea was cold,
For age makes wintry weather.
So they cried aloud and they wept amain,
Till the sky grew dark to hear it;
And out of its folds crept the misty rain,
In its shroud, like a troubled spirit.
For the wind was wild with a hopeless love,
And the sea was sad at heart
At many a crime that he wot of,
Wherein he had played his part.
He thought of the gallant ships gone down
By the will of his wicked waves;
And he thought how the churchyard in the town
Held the sea-made widows' graves.
The wild wind thought of the love he had left
Afar in an Eastern land,
And he longed, as long the much bereft,
For the touch of her perfumed hand.
In his winding wail and his deep-heaved sigh
His aching grief found vent;
While the sea looked up at the bending sky
And murmured: 'I repent.'
But e'en as he spoke, a ship came by,
That bravely ploughed the main,
And a light came into the sea's green eye,
And his heart grew hard again.
Then he spoke to the wind: 'Friend, seest thou not
Yon vessel is eastward bound?
Pray speed with it to the happy spot
Where thy loved one may be found.'
And the wind rose up in a dear delight,
And after the good ship sped;
But the crafty sea by his wicked might
Kept the vessel ever ahead.
Till the wind grew fierce in his despair,
And white on the brow and lip.
He tore his garments and tore his hair,
And fell on the flying ship.
And the ship went down, for a rock was there,
And the sailless sea loomed black;
While burdened again with dole and care,
The wind came moaning back.
And still he moans from his bosom hot
Where his raging grief lies pent,
And ever when the ships come not,
The sea says: 'I repent,'
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Cinderella man
I’m home alone at three am
The sound of silence blow out my brain
And look around is just the pain
This is how this story ends
There wasn’t light all now is dark
The broken heart of this poor guy
He found one day, his own soul mate
And he just thought…..well he just thought
He fell in love ……well he just fell
And never notice all was a game
This little boy was only playing
With his heart, soul and brain
And later then he realize
This entire joke around his heart
And in this moment the crystal’s shoes
In thousand pieces over the floor
He run away, didn’t turn back
His precious clothes is all wet now
And this joke just destroy
All around this naive boy
The happiness haven’t a point
Over this tale the faith is gone
And this is how this story ends
With my story: The disgrace of Cinderella Man.
poem by Michael Vinicio Camacho Menéndez
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Good Bye My Sweet Heart
GOODBYE SWEET HEART
Where do you want to take
All my sad notes
When every eye of heart’s fountain
Dried up in this waste land
When my last word too
Defeated to the last straw.
Farewell, oh, my sweet thought
The thought where I gently float.
Let me remain here itself
With bruised wounds
Being all my dreams shattered to ground.
Oh, my sweet thoughts
Flow not again out of my deep sea
As rising waves
Throw not my messages in vain
Again and again.
I am thrown lying
In my silence, are all my dreams buried
I am lying thrown in my street
Like an empty mutilated tin
Exhausted all of its contains.
Farewell, oh, my sweet thought
The thought where I always gently float
The death is certain
Yes honey, it’s for me too
Yet I see not yours in any of my scripts
Even I myself request.
Farewell, oh, my sweet thought
Oh, my sweet heart, farewell to thee
Is the love narrowed only to a fire
Whenever I like to light
And whenever you like to put it out?
poem by Ponniah Ganeshan
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To Thyrza
Without a stone to mark the spot,
And say, what Truth might well have said,
By all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?
By many a shore and many a sea
Divided, yet beloved in vain;
The past, the future fled to thee,
To bid us meet no ne'er again!
Could this have been--a word, a look,
That softly said, 'We part in peace,'
Had taught my bosom how to brook,
With fainter sighs, thy soul's release.
And didst thou not, since Death for thee
Prepared a light and pangless dart,
Once long for him thou ne'er shaft see,
Who held, and holds thee in his heart?
Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here?
Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye,
In that dread hour ere death appear,
When silent sorrow fears to sigh,
Till all was past; But when no more
'Twas thine to reek of human woe,
Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flow'd as fast--as now they flow.
Shall they not flow, when many a day
In these, to me, deserted towers,
Ere call'd but for a time away,
Affection's mingling tears were ours?
Ours too the glance none saw beside;
The smile none else might understand;
The whisper'd thought of hearts allied,
The pressure of the thrilling hand;
The kiss, so guiltless and refined,
That Love each warmer wish forbore;
Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind,
Even Passion blush'd to plead for more.
The tone, that taught me to rejoice,
When prone, unlike thee, to repine;
The song, celestial from thy voice,
But sweet to me from none but thine;
The pledge we wore--I wear it still,
But where is thine?--Ah! where art thou?
Oft have I borne the weight of ill,
But never bent beneath till now!
Well hast thou left in life's best bloom
The cup of woe for me to drain.
If rest alone be in the tomb,
I would not wish thee here again.
But if in worlds more blest than this
Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere,
Impart some portion of thy bliss,
To wean me from mine anguish here.
Teach me--too early taught by thee!
To bear, forgiving and forgiven:
On earth by love was such to me--
It fain would form my hope in heaven!
October 11, 1811.
To Thought
I may not give to thee
One hour again;
The past is not for me,
It burns my brain.
Thy haunts are treasuries now
I may not see;
Dark cypress binds my brow,
The willow tree.
And yet I linger here,
With thee would stay;
Thy shrine! receive my tear,
My parting lay.
Time wings his flight along
O'er memory's glass;
Years given to mirth and song
Too quickly pass.
Few—few—how few my lot!
Like early flowers,
Which blow and are forgot
Mid summer bowers.
My infant hopes and joys,
Too bright—too brief—
I flung with childhood's toys,
To nurse my grief.
And what my riper years—
An aching breast,
Cradled by hopes and fears,
Still asking rest.
Farewell!—a long farewell!
Pale thought,—we part—
Oblivion's waters swell
Around my heart.
poem by Edward Henry Bickersteth
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The Miracles
I sent a message to my dear --
A thousand leagues and more to Her --
The dumb sea-levels thrilled to hear,
And Lost Atlantis bore to Her.
Behind my message hard I came,
And nigh had found a grave for me;
But that I launched of steel and flame
Did war against the wave for me.
Uprose the deep, by gale on gale,
To bid me change my mind again --
He broke his teeth along my rail,
And, roaring, swung behind again.
I stayed the sun at noon to tell
My way across the waste of it;
I read the storm before it fell
And made the better haste of it.
Afar, I hailed the land at night --
The towers I built had heard of me --
And, ere my rocket reached its height,
Had flashed my Love the word of me.
Earth sold her chosen men of strength
(They lived and strove and died for me)
To drive my road a nation's length,
And toss the miles aside for me.
I snatched their toil to serve my needs --
Too slow their fleetest flew for me --
I tired twenty smoking steeds,
And bade them bait a new for me.
I sent the lightnings forth to see
Where hour by hour She waited me.
Among ten million one was She,
And surely all men hated me!
Dawn ran to meet me at my goal --
Ah, day no tongue shall tell again!
And little folk of little soul
Rose up to buy and sell again!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Face Up
Ever since Ive seen your face
This life of mine has gone to waste
I was young and you were old
And I always knew you were cold
At the start you had a heart
But in the end you lost your friend
Can you see your own dark face?
Its dieing in a lonely place
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
I said, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
As we get old, we lose our place
Reflecting back the worlds disgrace
I feel so low, I feel so humble
Sometimes in life we take a tumble
Dont let anybody tell you that youre no good
Cause you know they would
Dont let anybody tell you what you should do
Cause its not that way and...
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
I said, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
We were young and we were pure
And life was just an open door
I said oh, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
You were me and I was you
This world of ours it felt brand new
You took me a little further...
I heard it all before, Ive heard it all before
I cant hear it anymore
Your hair was long, your eyes was blue
Guess what Im gonna do to you
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
I said, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
We were young and we were pure
And life was just an open door
I said oh, oh, how I cannot bear the thought...
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
I said oh, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
We were young and we were pure...
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twenty-Third Sunday After Trinity
Red o'er the forest peers the setting sun,
The line of yellow light dies fast away
That crowned the eastern copse: and chill and dun
Falls on the moor the brief November day.
Now the tired hunter winds a parting note,
And Echo hide good-night from every glade;
Yet wait awhile, and see the calm heaves float
Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.
How like decaying life they seem to glide!
And yet no second spring have they in store,
But where they fall, forgotten to abide
Is all their portion, and they ask no more.
Soon o'er their heads blithe April airs shall sing,
A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold,
The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring,
And all be vernal rapture as of old.
Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie,
In all the world of busy life around
No thought of them; in all the bounteous sky,
No drop, for them, of kindly influence found.
Man's portion is to die and rise again -
Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part
With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain,
As his when Eden held his virgin heart.
And haply half unblamed his murmuring voice
Might sound in Heaven, were all his second life
Only the first renewed--the heathen's choice,
A round of listless joy and weary strife.
For dreary were this earth, if earth were all,
Tho' brightened oft by dear Affection's kiss; -
Who for the spangles wears the funeral pall?
But catch a gleam beyond it, and 'tis bliss.
Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart,
Whether slow creeping on cold earth, or borne
On lofty steed, or loftier prow, we dart
O'er wave or field: yet breezes laugh to scorn
Our puny speed, and birds, and clouds in heaven,
And fish, living shafts that pierce the main,
And stars that shoot through freezing air at even -
Who but would follow, might he break his chain?
And thou shalt break it soon; the grovelling worm
Shall find his wings, and soar as fast and free
As his transfigured Lord with lightning form
And snowy vest--such grace He won for thee,
When from the grave He sprang at dawn of morn,
And led through boundless air thy conquering road,
Leaving a glorious track, where saints, new-born,
Might fearless follow to their blest abode.
But first, by many a stern and fiery blast
The world's rude furnace must thy blood refine,
And many a gale of keenest woe be passed,
Till every pulse beat true to airs divine,
Till every limb obey the mounting soul,
The mounting soul, the call by Jesus given.
He who the stormy heart can so control,
The laggard body soon will waft to Heaven.
poem by John Keble
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Advent
This Advent moon shines cold and clear,
These Advent nights are long;
Our lamps have burned year after year
And still their flame is strong.
'Watchman, what of the night?' we cry,
Heart-sick with hope deferred:
'No speaking signs are in the sky,'
Is still the watchman's word.
The Porter watches at the gate,
The servants watch within;
The watch is long betimes and late,
The prize is slow to win.
'Watchman, what of the night?' But still
His answer sounds the same:
'No daybreak tops the utmost hill,
Nor pale our lamps of flame.'
One to another hear them speak
The patient virgins wise:
'Surely He is not far to seek'—
'All night we watch and rise.'
'The days are evil looking back,
The coming days are dim;
Yet count we not His promise slack,
But watch and wait for Him.'
One with another, soul with soul,
They kindle fire from fire:
'Friends watch us who have touched the goal.'
'They urge us, come up higher.'
'With them shall rest our waysore feet,
With them is built our home,
With Christ.'—'They sweet, but He most sweet,
Sweeter than honeycomb.'
There no more parting, no more pain,
The distant ones brought near,
The lost so long are found again,
Long lost but longer dear:
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
Nor heart conceived that rest,
With them our good things long deferred,
With Jesus Christ our Best.
We weep because the night is long,
We laugh for day shall rise,
We sing a slow contented song
And knock at Paradise.
Weeping we hold Him fast, Who wept
For us, we hold Him fast;
And will not let Him go except
He bless us first or last.
Weeping we hold Him fast to-night;
We will not let Him go
Till daybreak smite our wearied sight
And summer smite the snow:
Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove
Shall coo the livelong day;
Then He shall say, 'Arise, My love,
My fair one, come away.'
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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