To An Amiable Friend Mourning The Death Of An Excellent Father
LET deep dejection hide her pallid face,
And from thy breast each painful image rase;
Forbid thy lip to utter one complaint,
But view the glories of the rising saint,
Ripe for a crown, and waiting the reward
Of watching long the vineyard of the Lord.
The generous purpose of his zealous heart,
Truth to enforce, and knowledge to impart,
Insures his welcome on the unknown shore,
Where choirs of saints and angel forms adore.
A seraph met him on the trackless way,
And strung his harp to join the heavenly lay.
Complain no more of Death's extensive power,
Whose sceptre wafts us to some blissful shore;
Where the rough billows that roll o'er the head,
That shake the frame, and fill the mind with dread,
Are hush'd in silence, and the soul serene
Looks back delighted on the closing scene.
Happy, thrice happy, that exalted mind,
Who, leaving earth and all its cares behind,
Has not a wish to ruffle or control
The equal temper of his tranquil soul,
Who, on a retrospect, is safe within;
No private passion, nor a darling sin,
Can check his hope, when death's insatiate pow'r
Stands hovering on the last decisive hour.
Then weep no more, my friend, but all resigned,
Submit thy will to the Eternal Mind,
Who watches o'er the movements of the just,
And will again reanimate the dust!
Thy sire commands, suppress the rising sigh,
He wipes the tear from thy too filial eye,
And bids thee contemplate a soul set free,
Just safe escaped from life's tempestuous sea.
poem by Mercy Warren
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On The Death Of A Young Lady Of Five Years Of Age
FROM dark abodes to fair etherial light
Th' enraptur'd innocent has wing'd her flight;
On the kind bosom of eternal love
She finds unknown beatitude above.
This known, ye parents, nor her loss deplore,
She feels the iron hand of pain no more;
The dispensations of unerring grace,
Should turn your sorrows into grateful praise;
Let then no tears for her henceforward flow,
No more distress'd in our dark vale below,
Her morning sun, which rose divinely bright,
Was quickly mantled with the gloom of night;
But hear in heav'n's blest bow'rs your Nancy fair,
And learn to imitate her language there.
"Thou, Lord, whom I behold with glory crown'd,
"By what sweet name, and in what tuneful sound
"Wilt thou be prais'd? Seraphic pow'rs are faint
"Infinite love and majesty to paint.
"To thee let all their graceful voices raise,
"And saints and angels join their songs of praise."
Perfect in bliss she from her heav'nly home
Looks down, and smiling beckons you to come;
Why then, fond parents, why these fruitless groans?
Restrain your tears, and cease your plaintive moans.
Freed from a world of sin, and snares, and pain,
Why would you wish your daughter back again?
No--bow resign'd. Let hope your grief control,
And check the rising tumult of the soul.
Calm in the prosperous, and adverse day,
Adore the God who gives and takes away;
Eye him in all, his holy name revere,
Upright your actions, and your hearts sincere,
Till having sail'd through life's tempestuous sea,
And from its rocks, and boist'rous billows free,
Yourselves, safe landed on the blissful shore,
Shall join your happy babe to part no more.
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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The Resignation
O God, whose thunder shakes the sky,
Whose eye this atom globe surveys,
To thee, my only rock, I fly,
Thy mercy in thy justice praise.
The mystic mazes of thy will,
The shadows of celestial light,
Are past the pow'r of human skill,--
But what th' Eternal acts is right.
O teach me in the trying hour,
When anguish swells the dewy tear,
To still my sorrows, own thy pow'r,
Thy goodness love, thy justice fear.
If in this bosom aught but Thee
Encroaching sought a boundless sway,
Omniscience could the danger see,
And Mercy look the cause away.
Then why, my soul, dost thou complain?
Why drooping seek the dark recess?
Shake off the melancholy chain.
For God created all to bless.
But ah! my breast is human still;
The rising sigh, the falling tear,
My languid vitals' feeble rill,
The sickness of my soul declare.
But yet, with fortitude resigned,
I'll thank th' inflicter of the blow;
Forbid the sigh, compose my mind,
Nor let the gush of mis'ry flow.
The gloomy mantle of the night,
Which on my sinking spirit steals,
Will vanish at the morning light,
Which God, my East, my sun reveals.
poem by Thomas Chatterton
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Epitaph, Intended For Himself
1
Escaped the gloom of mortal life, a soul
Here leaves its mouldering tenement of clay,
Safe where no cares their whelming billows roll,
No doubts bewilder, and no hopes betray.
2
Like thee, I once have stemm'd the sea of life;
Like thee, have languish'd after empty joys;
Like thee, have labour'd in the stormy strife;
Been grieved for trifles, and amused with toys.
3
Yet, for a while, 'gainst Passion's threatful blast
Let steady Reason urge the struggling oar;
Shot through the dreary gloom, the morn at last
Gives to thy longing eye the blissful shore.
4
Forget my frailties, thou art also frail;
Forgive my lapses, for thyself mayst fall;
Nor read, unmoved, my artless tender tale,
I was a friend, O man! to thee, to all.
poem by James Beattie
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On Mrs. Johanna Lupton
Her soul, unsetter'd from the bands of clay,
With swift-wing'd haste to heaven takes its way;
She tow'rs the æriel space on wings divine,
While weeping friends surround the bloodless shrine:
The soften'd heart there breathes a tender sigh,
And grief sits pensive in each moisten'd eye:
Suppress the rising tear, and with her sing,
'Death, where's thy vict'ry? Grave, where is thy sting?'
Sing how with God she rests in endless day,
All tears of sorrow ever wip'd away;
'Sing how by tortures heav'n her faith has try'd;
'The saint endur'd it, tho' the woman dy'd!'
Ah, nature will prevail! 'tis all in vain:
Say, sacred muse, what loss do we sustain?
She wip'd the eye of grief---it ceas'd to flow;
Her pitying heart still felt another's woe;
Indigent virtue shar'd her earthly store;
She call'd herself God's steward for the poor:
A duteous child; a faithful, loving wife;
Serene in death, as tranquil was her life:
A pious mother---mother now no more;
Her soft solicitude and cares are o'er:
Sister and friend, each tender name in one.
And is she gone? but heav'n's great will be done!
Like Noah's dove, the wand'rer found no rest,
Till in his ark her Saviour took the guest.
Oh may we meet her on the eternal shore,
Where death shall never separate us more!
poem by Ann Eliza Bleecker from The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Precious In His Sight
Precious in the sight of God, are saints, who leave this earthly sod,
His children, who experienced death, as they receive eternal breath;
No longer left on the earth to roam, as they enter their eternal home,
Prepared for them by Jesus Christ, when they step into Eternal Life.
They’ll leave behind some family, still on that other side of Eternity,
Their loved ones indeed will grieve, but, we must know and believe,
That as they move from this earth, their life takes on Eternal Worth,
And they’re now, in a better place, provided by God’s loving Grace.
We may not understand God’s will, and probably won’t, that is until,
We step onto God’s Gilded Shore, to see His face and much more;
Dear friend, after all, we are His, and to enter into Eternity, is a Gift,
And its Full Measure, only starts, when from earth, the soul departs.
This departure, shall be for us too, as God’s Word is Sure and True,
Our departing from a world amiss, to God’s Heavenly, Eternal Bliss,
To be freed from all pain and strife, only when we enter Eternal Life,
This is the Hope, which has endured, to all, who belong to The Lord.
When one dies, although it’s sad, our heart for them should be glad,
We may have lost, one who died, but, now they’re at the Lord’s side,
Now precious in their Lord’s sight, being filled with Heavenly Delight,
And when we join them my friend, our time together will have no end.
(Copyright ©05/2010)
Hole In My Soul
I can feel these four walls around me
I can feel them closing in on me
But I know theres someone out there
Ready and waiting
For the chance to set me free
I dont want nothing
Aint looking for no one
You walk into my life
Well I aint no hopeless romantic
Ive gotta listen to my cautious heart
Ive been dealing with my illusions of love
I built it up and then I tear it apart
And I feel this rising suspicion
That my heart will ever rule my mind
Well Im guilty of love
By my own admission
Come on girl let me do my time
Hey, when I call you
I need to fill the hole in my soul
Hey, when I fall through
I need to fill the hole in my soul
Dont need no sisters of mercy
They set me off like a loaded gun
Aint nothing in this world possessing me
Honey youre the only one
Cant live in this empty sadness
Its more than we can endure
Well wise men say
That love is madness
Come on girl I say that love is the cure
Hey, when I call you
I need to fill the hole in my soul
Hey, when I fall through
I need to fill the hole in my soul
Hey, without you
I will fall through the hole in my soul
Hey, when I call you
I need to fill the hole in my soul
Hey, when I fall through
I need to fill the hole in my soul
Hey, without you
I will fall through the hole in my soul
Hey, I need you
I need you to fill the hole in my soul
Hey, I want you to fill the hole in my soul
Hey, hey, hey, I need you to fill the hole in my soul
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To My Wife
Oft in the night, from this lone room
I long to fly o’er land and sea,
To pierce the dark, dividing gloom,
And join myself to thee.
And thou to me wouldst gladly fly,
I know thee well, my own true wife!
We feel, that when we live not nigh,
We lose the crown of life.
Yet soon I hope, at dead of night,
To meet where all is strange beside,
And mid the train’s resounding flight
To have thee by my side.
Then shall I feel that thou art near,
Joined hand to hand and soul to soul;
Short will that happy night appear,
As through the dark we roll.
Then shall the secret of the will,
That dares not enter into bliss;
That longs for love, yet lingers still,
Be solved in one long kiss.
I, drinking deep of thy rich love,
Thou feeling all the strength of mine,
Our souls will rise in faith above
The cares which make us pine.
Till I give thee, thou giving me,
As that which either loves the best,
To Him that loved us both, that He
May take us to His rest.
Wandering and weak are all our prayers,
And fleeting half the gifts we crave;
Love only, cleansed from sins and cares,
Shall live beyond the grave.
Strengthen our love, O Lord, that we
May in Thine own great love believe
And, opening all our soul to Thee,
May Thy free gift receive.
All powers of mind, all force of will,
May lie in dust when we are dead,
But love is ours, and shall be still,
When earth and seas are fled.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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Twilight
I love thee, Twilight! as thy shadows roll,
The calm of evening steals upon my soul,
Sublimely tender, solemnly serene,
Still as the hour, enchanting as the scene.
I love thee, Twilight! for thy gleams impart
Their dear, their dying influence to my heart.
When o'er the harp of thought thy passing wind
Awakens all the music of the mind,
And joy and sorrow, as the spirit burns,
And hope and memory sweep the chords by turns
While contemplation, on seraphic wings,
Mounts with the flame of sacrifice, and sings.
Twilight! I love thee; let thy glooms increase,
Till every feeling, every pulse, is peace.
Slow from the sky the light of day declines,
Clearer within, the dawn of glory shines,
Revealing, in the hour of nature's rest,
A world of wonders in the poet's breast;
Deeper, O Twilight! then thy shadows roll, -
An awful vision opens on my soul.
poem by James Montgomery
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Set Me Free
You operate and motivate on synthetic fuel
you're Mother Nature and an atom bomb
As long as you're kept full of pretty bodies
your little secret will be safe with me
around again insane again
it somes again it sets me free
so set me free
set me free
'cause I think you need my soul
set me free
set me free
Your kept alive and polarized with one thing in mind,
metabolizin' everything that you see
but now and then or a little later
now I'm gonna take you down with me
Around again insane again
she comes again it sets me free
so set me free
set me free
'cause I think you need my soul
set me free
set me free
so set me free
set me free
'cuase I think you need my soul
set me free
set me free
So, take me down
take me down, down, down, down
take me down, take me down
So, take me down
take me down, down, down, down
take me down, take me down
So set me free
set me free
'cause I think you need my soul
set me free
set me free
So set me free
set me free
'cause I think you need my soul
set me free
set me free
So set me free
set me free
'cause I think you need my soul
set me free
set me free
So set me free
set me free
'cause I think you need my soul
set me free
set me free
My freedom
Oh, I don't mind
My freedom
Oh, I don't mind
My freedom
Oh, I don't mind
My freedom
Oh, I don't mind
My freedom
song performed by by Velvet Revolver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Te Deum
Thee, Sovereign God, our grateful accents praise;
We own thee Lord, and bless thy wondrous ways;
To thee, Eternal Father, earth's whole frame
With loudest trumpets sounds immortal fame.
Lord God of Hosts! for thee the heavenly powers,
With sounding anthems, fill the vaulted towers.
Thy Cherubims thee Holy, Holy, Holy, cry;
Thrice Holy, all the Seraphims reply,
And thrice returning echoes endless songs supply.
Both heaven and earth thy majesty display;
They owe their beauty to thy glorious ray.
Thy praises fill the loud apostles' quire:
The train of prophets in the song conspire.
Legions of martyrs in the chorus shine,
And vocal blood with vocal music join.[24]
By these thy church, inspired by heavenly art,
Around the world maintains a second part,
And tunes her sweetest notes, O God, to thee,
The Father of unbounded majesty;
The Son, adored co-partner of thy seat,
And equal everlasting Paraclete.
Thou King of Glory, Christ, of the Most High,
Thou co-eternal filial Deity;
Thou who, to save the world's impending doom,
Vouchsafst to dwell within a virgin's womb;
Old tyrant Death disarmed, before thee flew
The bolts of heaven, and back the foldings drew,
To give access, and make thy faithful way;
From God's right hand thy filial beams display.
Thou art to judge the living and the dead;
Then spare those souls for whom thy veins have bled.
O take us up amongst thy bless'd above,
To share with them thy everlasting love.
Preserve, O Lord! thy people, and enhance
Thy blessing on thine own inheritance.
For ever raise their hearts, and rule their ways,
Each day we bless thee, and proclaim thy praise;
No age shall fail to celebrate thy name,
No hour neglect thy everlasting fame.
Preserve our souls, O Lord, this day from ill;
Have mercy on us, Lord, have mercy still:
As we have hoped, do thou reward our pain;
We've hoped in thee--let not our hope be vain.
poem by John Dryden
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The Angel Of The Sun
WHILE bending o'er my golden lyre,
While waving light my wing of fire ;
Creation's regions to explore,
To gaze, to wonder, to adore:
While faithful to th' eternal will,
My task of glory I fulfil;
To rule the comet's dread career,
To guide the planets on their sphere;
While from this pure, empyreal sky,
I dart my truth-enlighten'd eye;
What mists involve yon changeful scene,
How dark thy views, thou orb terrene!
E'en now compassion clouds awhile
Bright ecstasy's immortal smile!
I see the flames of war consume
Fair scenes that smil'd in glowing bloom;
O'er ev'ry nation, ev'ry land,
I see destruction wave his hand;
How dark thy billows, ocean-flood!
Lo! man has dy'd thy waves in blood!
Nature! how chang'd thy vivid grace!
Vengeance and war thy charms deface.
Oh! scene of doubt, of care, of anguish!
Oh! scene, where virtue's doom'd to languish!
Oh! scene, where death triumphant rides,
The spear, the sword, the javelin guides!
And canst thou be that earth, declare,
That earth so pure, so good, so fair,
O'er which, a new-created globe,
Thy Father spread Perfection's robe?
Oh, Heav'n, how chang'd, how pale, how dim!
Since first arose the choral hymn,
That hail'd, at thy auspicious birth,
A dawning Paradise on earth!
On that sublime, creative morn,
That saw the infant-planet born,
How swell'd the harp, the lyre, the voice,
To bless, to triumph, to rejoice!
How kneeling rapture led the song,
How glow'd th' exulting cherub-throng!
When the fair orb, arising bright,
Sprang into glory, life, and light!
—Oh! Heav'n, how chang'd, a thorny waste,
With shadows dimm'd, with clouds o'ercast!
See passions desolate the ball,
See kingdoms, thrones, and empires fall!
See mad Ambition's whirlwind sweep,
Resistless as the wintry deep!
See, waving thro' the troubled sky,
His crimson banner glare on high!
Blush, Anger! blush, and hide thy sword;
Weep, Conquest! weep, imperious lord!
And mourn, to view thy sullied name
Inscrib'd in blood—emblaz'd in flame!
And are those cries, which rend the air,
Of death, of torture, of despair,
Hymns that should mount on wings above,
To him, the GOD OF PEACE AND LOVE!
And is yon flame of ruthless war,
That spreads destruction's reign afar,
The incense taught by man to blaze,
For him, who dwells in mercy's rays?
Mortals! if angels grief might know,
From angels if a tear might flow,
In yon celestial woes might rise,
And pity dim a seraph's eyes;
Yet, mortals! oft, thro' mists and tears,
Your bright original appears,
Gleams thro' the veil, with radiant smile,
A sun-beam on a ruin'd pile!
Exulting, oft the forms I trace,
Of moral grandeur, beauty, grace;
That speak your pow'rs for glory giv'n,
That still reveal the Heir of Heav'n!
Not yet extinct your heav'nly fire,
For cherubs oft its beams admire!
I see fair virtue nobly rise,
Child, fav'rite, darling, of the skies!
Smile on the pangs that round her wait,
And brave, and bear, the storms of fate!
I see her lift th' adoring eye,
Forbid the tear, suppress the sigh;
Still on her high career proceeding,
Sublime! august!—tho' suff'ring—bleeding!
The thorn, tho' sharp, the blast, tho' rude,
Shake not her lofty fortitude!
Oh! graceful dignity serene,
Faith, glory, triumph on thy mien!
Still, virtue! still the strife maintain,
The smile, the frown of fate, disdain!
Think on that hour, when freed from clay,
Thy soul shall rise to life and day;
Still mount to heav'n—on sorrow's car;
There shine a fix'd unclouded star,
Like me to range, like me to soar,
Suns, planets, worlds of light explore!
Then angel-forms around shall throng,
And greet thee in triumphal song;
'Mount, spirit! mount, thy woes are o'er,
Pain, sickness, trials, now no more!
Hail, sister! hail, thy task is done,
Rise, cherub, rise!—thy crown is won!'
Oh, favor'd mortals! best belov'd,
Ye in stern perils fiercely prov'd;
When faith and truth, with pure control,
Refine, inspire, exalt, your soul;
When firm in brightest, noblest aims,
Your bosoms glow with hallow'd flames;
When still the narrow path you tread,
Nor scorn, nor grief, nor dangers dread;
Tho' fate with ev'ry dart assail,
To pierce your heart's heav'n-temper'd mail;
Nor shrink, tho' death his jav'lin hurl'd,
Scorn'd, yet untainted, by the world!
Then think, ye brave, ye constant few,
To faith, to hope, to virtue, true!
Then think, that seraphs from above,
Behold your deeds, admire, and love!
That those, who heav'n's commands perform,
Who still the wave, who ride the storm;
Who point the lightning's fiery wing,
Or shed the genial dews of spring;
Who fill with balm the zephyr's breath,
Or taint th' avenging winds with death;
That those, who guide the planets' course,
Who bend at light's transcendent source;
Oh! think that those your toil survey,
Your struggling mind, your rugged way!
Oh! think that those, e'en now prepare,
A bow'r of bliss, for you to share!
E'en now, th' immortal wreath entwine,
Around your sainted brows to shine;
E'en now, their golden harps attune,
To greet you in the blaze of noon!
Soon shall your captive souls be free,
To bless, to hymn, to soar, like me!
The fair, the perfect, and the bright,
Shall beam unclouded on your sight;
Soon shall the silver lutes be strung,
Soon shall the Pæan lays be sung;
'Hail, sister, hail! thy task is done;
Rise, cherub, rise! thy palm is won!!'
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Dear Savior Of A Dying World
“The Lord is risen.”
Dear Savior of a dying world,
Where grief and change must be,
In the new grave where Thou wast laid
My heart lies down with Thee.
O, not in cold despair of joy,
Or weariness of pain,
But from a hope that shall not die,
To rise and live again.
I would arise in all Thy strength
My place on earth to fill,
To work out all my time of war
With love's unflinchng will.
Firm against every doubt of Thee
For all my future way —
To walk in Heaven's eternal light
Throughout the changing day.
Ah, such a day as Thou shalt own
When suns have ceased to shine
A day of burdens borne by Thee,
And work that all was Thine.
Speed Thy bright rising in my heart,
Thy righteous kingdom speed, —
Till my whole life in concord say,
“The Lord is risen indeed.”
O for an impulse from Thy love
With every coming breath,
To sing that sweet undying song
Amid the wrecks of death!
A “hail!” to every mortal pang
That bids me take my right
To glory in the blessed life
Which Thou hast brought to light.
I long to see the hallowed earth
In new creation rise,
To find the germs of Eden hid
Where its fallen beauty lies, —
To feel the spring–tide of a soul
By one deep love set free,
Made meet to lay aside her dust
And be at home with Thee.
And then — there shall be yet an end —
An end now full to bless!
How dear to those who watch for Thee
With human tenderness.
Then shall the saying come to pass
That makes our hope complete,
And, rising from the conquered grave,
Thy parted ones shall meet.
Yes — they shall meet, and face to face
By heart to heart be known,
Clothed with Thy Likeness, Lord of Life,
And perfect in their own.
For this corruptible must rise
From its corruption free,
And this frail mortal must put on
Thine immortality.
Shine then, Thou Resurrection Light,
Upon our sorrows shine!
The fulness of Thy joy be ours,
As all our griefs were Thine.
Now in this changing, dying life
Our faded hopes restore,
Till, in Thy triumph perfected,
We taste of death no more.
poem by Anna Laetitia Waring
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Lines To The Memory Of A Very Amiable Young Lady, Who Died At The Age Of Eighteen
AT length, departed saint! thy pangs are o'er,
And earthly suff'ring shall be thine no more;
Like some young rose-bud, blighted in its May,
Thy virtues bloom'd, to wither soon away!
Around thy grave let Spring her off'ring strew,
Her drooping lilies, bath'd in fragrant dew;
Emblems of thee, thou sweet, lamented maid;
Thou spotless lily, doom'd so soon to fade!
Angelic sweetness, piety refin'd,
Within thy gentle bosom were enshrin'd.
Thy heav'nly mind display'd, in early youth,
The fairest blossom of celestial truth—
How oft, sweet girl! thy soothing tears would flow,
In sacred sympathy with others' woe!
Yet Patience taught thee to sustain thy own,
Suppress the sigh, and hush the rising moan;
'Midst anguish, still to wear the placid mien,
Mild Resignation's smile and look serene!
Ye who have watch'd beside the mournful bed,
And rais'd, with anxious care, the languid head;
Gaz'd on the pallid cheek, the faded eye,
And heard the breathings of the parting sigh;
Ye who have mourn'd a sister's early doom,
Or bent in sorrow o'er a daughter's tomb;
Oh! weep for those, who sadly now deplore,
The fate, the virtues, of the maid no more.
What pow'r can sooth a tender parent's grief,
Or bring the friend's, the sister's woes relief?
Religion pure, ineffably divine,
Angel of peace, that heav'nly pow'r is thine,
Though spreading glooms the beam of joy may shroud,
Still, still thy rainbow brightens in the cloud;
Dispels the mist of error and of night,
Till fairer prospects open on the sight;
The blissful regions of eternal rest,
The calm, Elysian mansions of the blest.
—There too, each pang, each earthly suff'ring o'er,
Her gentle spirit soars, to weep no more!
'Mourn not for me,' the happy seraph cries,
'Exulting, lo! I gain my native skies!
A golden harp enraptur'd now I bear,
A wreath of bright, unfading palms I wear!
Mourn not for me, escap'd from ev'ry woe!
I gaze with pity, on the scenes below!
And bless the hour, when, freed from mortal clay,
My spirit mounted to the realms of day!
Oh! think, when past, a few eventful years,
Of toil and sorrow in the vale of tears;
Then shall we meet, releas'd from ev'ry pain,
Then shall we meet—nor ever part again!'
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hymn: Thou Hidden Love of God
Thou hidden love of God, whose height,
Whose depth unfathom'd no man knows,
I see from far thy beauteous light,
Inly I sigh for thy repose;
My heart is pain'd, nor can it be
At rest, till it finds rest in thee.
Thy secret voice invites me still,
The sweetness of thy yoke to prove:
And fain I would: but tho' my will
Seem fix'd, yet wide my passions rove;
Yet hindrances strew all the way;
I aim at thee, yet from thee stray.
'Tis mercy all, that thou hast brought
My mind to seek her peace in thee;
Yet while I seek, but find thee not,
No peace my wand'ring soul shall see;
O when shall all my wand'rings end,
And all my steps to thee-ward tend!
Is there a thing beneath the sun
That strives with thee my heart to share?
Ah! tear it thence, and reign alone,
The Lord of ev'ry motion there;
Then shall my heart from earth be free,
When it hath found repose in thee.
O hide this self from me, that I
No more, but Christ in me may live;
My vile affections crucify,
Nor let one darling lust survive;
In all things nothing may I see,
Nothing desire or seek but thee.
O Love, thy sov'reign aid impart,
To save me from low-thoughted care:
Chase this self-will thro' all my heart,
Thro' all its latent mazes there:
Make me thy duteous child, that I
Ceaseless may Abba, Father, cry!
Ah no! ne'er will I backward turn:
Thine wholly, thine alone I am!
Thrice happy he who views with scorn
Earth's toys, for thee his constant flame;
O help that I may never move
From the blest footsteps of thy love!
Each moment draw from earth away
My heart that lowly waits thy call:
Speak to my inmost soul, and say,
I am thy love, thy God, thy all!
To feel thy power, to hear thy voice,
To taste thy love, be all my choice.
poem by John Wesley
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Psalm 42
As the deer pants for the water
So my soul longs after thee
My heart wanders through this desert
And there is no joy in me
I remember the days of your presence
How your Spirit burned in me
Shall I forever wander in this desert?
O Lord shall I ever be free?
Night and day I continually weep
My tears have almost ran dry
My starving soul continues to seek
For the glorious one who reigns on high
Where is the voice of joy and praise
For I surely remember all the days
When we came and sought and found Him there
Yet now I'm lost and He is no-where
I will remember the Lord my King
And I will lift my voice and sing
Of all His glories and His deeds
So now my Lord my soul it pleads
My downcast soul cries out to deep
A song awakes me from my sleep
Angel choirs they fill the night
My eyes are dried I have my sight
Now that I can clearly see
I hear my God say 'trust in me.'
And up from the dead my soul shall rise
To the Lord my King who heard my cries
poem by Frank McEleny
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Lonely Tear
I close my eyes and you are there
As you stand in front of me
I reach out my hand to hold you
As you have set my soul and mind free
You then give me a smile and then a kiss
And now my heart and soul is on fire
I tremble and shake with thoughts only of you
My heart is full of want and your desire.
You then close your eyes and walk towards me
We then kiss with both passion and need
You gave me what I want I gave you what you have
To each other our passions we will feed.
You then step away to show me who you are
I ravish you with my hands and eyes
I then caress your breasts and touch your lips
Once again I am a man deep inside.
You turn around just one more time
To prove to me that your the woman for me
I take a deep breath it explodes in my soul
My soul and mind of all other women is free.
You take me by the hand and lead me to our bed
We lay down together with you at my side
Your head is on my chest and my hands in your hair
My passion for you for this night I will not hide.
You then make me a man I can barely stand
I look at you as you are covered with silk and lace
We then kiss again you’re my lover and friend
As I can see the pleasure upon your face.
I open my eyes and now you are gone
And sadly it was a dream you are no longer here
I now forget the passion and the words I had spoke
Now I walk away alone, with one lonely tear.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Soul Deep
Save a prayer for a sinner and a saint, my babys coming back.
Say a prayer, hide hide away yea babys coming back.
Hey hey hey, aint gonna trouble his wandering mind,
Gonna take on the time to find out if my love is
Soul deep - spinning the heart round a wire.
Soul deep - a heavenly wave.
Soul deep - heating the heart like a fire,
Soul deep is taking my breath away-ay-ay.
Save a tear till the curtain will fall,
Well Im saving them all for you.
Knock on wood, is it understood that Im saving it up for you.
Hey hey hey, love is a hustle just a moment behind,
Gonna walk on the line to find out if my love is
Soul deep...
Save a prayer for a sinner and a saint, my babys coming back.
Say a prayer, hide hide away yea yea babys coming back.
Hey hey hey ride on the soul train now Im too close to hide,
Gonna take on the time to find out if my love is
Soul deep...
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Way To Happiness
How long ye miserable blind
Shall idle dreams engage your mind,
How long the passions make their flight
At empty shadows of delight?
No more in paths of error stray,
The Lord thy Jesus is the way,
The spring of happiness, and where
Shou'd men seek happiness but there?
Then run to meet him at your need,
Run with boldness, run with speed,
For he forsook his own abode
To meet thee more than half the road.
He laid aside his radiant crown
And love for mankind brought him down
To thirst and hunger, pain and woe,
To wounds, to death it self below,
And he that suffer'd these alone
For all the World, despises none.
To bid the soul that's sick be clean,
To bring the lost to life again,
To comfort those that grieve for ill,
Is his peculiar goodness still.
And as the thoughts of parents run
Upon a dear and only son,
So kind a love his mercies shew,
So kind and more extreamly so.
Thrice happy men (or find a phrase
That speaks your bliss with greater praise)
Who most obedient to thy call
Leaving pleasures leaving all,
With heart with soul, with strength incline
O sweetest Jesu! to be thine;
Who know thy will, observe thy ways,
And in thy service spend their days:
E'en death that seems to set them free
But brings them closer still to thee.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Come To Me When I'm Dying
A SONG.
Come to me when I'm dying;
Gaze on my wasted form,
Tired with so long defying
Life's ever-rushing storm.
Come, come when I am dying,
And stand beside my bed,
Ere yet my soul is flying,
And I am cold and dead.
Bend low and lower o'er me,
For I've a word to say
Though death is just before me,
Ere I can go away.
Now that my soul is hovering
Upon the verge of day,
For thee I'll lift the covering
That veils its quivering ray.
O, ne'er had I thus spoken
In health's bright, rosy glow!
But death my pride hath broken,
And brought my spirit low.
Though now this last revealing
Quickens life's curdling springs,
And a half-timid feeling
Faint flushes o'er me flings.
Bend lower yet above me,
For I would have thee know
How passing well I love thee,
And joy to tell thee so.
This love, so purely welling
Up in this heart of mine,
O, hath it e'er found dwelling
Within thy spirit's shrine?
I've prayed my God, in meekness,
To give me some control
Over this earthly weakness
That so enthralled my soul;
And now my soul rejoices
While sweetly-thrilling strains,
From low, harmonious voices,
Soothe all my dying pains.
They sing of the Eternal,
Whose throne is far above,
Where zephyrs softly vernal
Float over bowers of love;
Of hopes and joys, earth-blighted,
Blooming 'neath cloudless skies,
Of hearts and souls united
In love that never dies.
'Tis there, 'tis there I'll meet thee
When life's brief day is o'er;
O, with what joy to greet thee
On that eternal shore!
Farewell! for death is chilling
My pulses swift and fast;
And yet in God I'm willing
This hour should be my last.
Sometimes, when day declineth,
And all the gorgeous west
In gold and purple shineth,
Go to my place of rest;
And if thy voice in weeping,
Is borne upon the air,
Think not of me as sleeping;
All cold and silent there:--
But turn, with glances tender,
Toward a shining star,
Whose rays with chastened splendor
Fall on thee from afar.
And know the blissful dwelling
Where I am waiting thee,
When Jordan fiercely swelling
Shall set thy spirit free.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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