An Elegy On The Glory Of Her Sex, Mrs Mary Blaize
Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word,—
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor,—
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways,—
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew,—
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has followed her,—
When she has walked before.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead,—
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say
That had she lived a twelvemonth more,—
She had not died today.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Vae Victis parody Gilles Menage Thomas Hood Faithless Nellie Gray
Vae Victis
Good people all, with one accord
lament for David Wren,
who never wanted a good word –
from those his praise did pen.
He strove all of this House to please
with manners wondrous winning;
and never followed wicked ways –
except when he was sinning.
At meals, in slacks and jackets neat,
with smile of monstrous size;
he sat up straight upon his seat –
for ladies, though, he’d rise.
His love was sought, the little wren,
by twenty birds and more;
where e’er he went they followed him
to Annesley’s shady shore.
So let us sigh, in sorrow sore,
for South House well may say;
had he but slaved in school some more,
he had not sobbed today.
14 December 1969 University of Toronto, Victoria College
Parody Gilles MENAGE - The Happy Man Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray and Sally Brown
robi3_0002_mena1_0001 19691214
Faithless Ben Simon
Ben Simon was a broker bold
who’d turned his share of crashes,
the recent slump his stumps had bowled
with shares returned to ashes.
Then as they hammered him from ‘Change,
he stammered “with a spread
I might my spread keep, not exchange
my blue bloods, in the red! ”
Head watch-dogs dogged his tracks before
he suddenly made tracks,
and headed south ahead of four
headlines in weekend tracts.
Though contracts signed seemed so well heeled, -
the heel – but yet inside a
good deal of each deal he had wheeled
were bad contacts insider!
Although he swore an open book
each trade was ‘fore bear raid,
betrayed, he soon was brought to book
and in the dock arrayed.
The moral of this tale, who knows?
Fools’ gold will e’er attract,
but details missed, or jealous foes
woe’s tales tell, ‘tis a fact.
27 July 1991
robi3_0411_mena1_0001 19910724
Parody Gilles MENAGE - The Happy Man Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Blaize Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray and Sally Brown
La Palisse now I wish to touch;
Droll air! if I can strike it,
I'm sure the song will please you much;
That is, if you should like it.
La Pallisse was indeed, I grant,
Not used to any dainty
When he was born – but could not want,
As long as he had plenty.
Instructed with the greatest care,
He always was well bred,
And never used a hat to wear
But when 'twas on his head.
His temper was exceeding good,
Just of his father’s fashion;
And never quarrels broil’d his blood,
Except when in a passion.
His mind was on devotion bent;
He kept with care each high day,
And Holy Thursday always spent
The day before Good Friday.
He liked good claret very well,
I just presume to think it;
For ere its flavour he could tell
He thought it best to drink it.
Than doctors more he loved the cook,
Though food would make him gross,
And never any physic took
But when he took a dose.
O happy, happy is the swain
The ladies so adore;
For many followed in his train,
Whene’er he walk’d before.
Bright as the sun his flowing hair
In golden ringlets shone;
And no one could with him compare,
If he had been alone.
His talents I cannot rehearse,
But everyone allows,
That whatsoe’er he wrote in verse,
No one could call it prose.
His powerful logic would surprise,
Amuse, and much delight:
He proved that dimness of the eyes
Was hurtful to the sight.
They liked him much - so it appears
Most plainly - who preferred him;
And those did never want their ears
Who any time had heard him.
He was not always right, 'tis true,
And then he must be wrong;
But none had found it out, he knew,
If he had held his tongue.
He argued with precision nice,
The learnèd all declare;
And it was his decision wise,
No horse could be a mare.
He was not always right, ‘tis true,
And then he must be wrong;
But none had found it out, he knew,
If he had held his tongue.
Whene'er a tender tear he shed,
'Twas certain that he wept;
And he would lie awake in bed,
Unless, indeed, he slept.
In tilting everybody knew
His very high renown;
Yet no opponents he o'erthrew
But those that he knocked down.
At last they smote him in the head –
What hereo ever fought all?
And when they saw that he was dead,
They knew the wound was mortal.
And when at last he lost his breath,
It closed his every strife;
For that sad day that seal’d his death,
Deprived him of his life.
Gilles MENAGE 1613_1692 mena1_0001_mena1_0000
Translator Unknown sometimes in 9 verses only ‘amuse’ variation ‘amaze’
Parodied by Thomas HOOD – Ben Battle, Faithless Nellie Gray
MENAGE Gilles 1613_1692 mena1_0001_mena1_0000 PFT_JMX An Elegy The Happy Man_La Pallisse now I wish to touch
Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran—
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad—
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wond'ring neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost its wits
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light
That showed the rogues they lied, —
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died!
Oliver GOLDSMITH 1728_1774 gold1_0001_mena1_0001
Parody from the French Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man
Elegy on the Glory of her Sex Mrs Mary Blaize
Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word, —
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor, —
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways, —
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew, —
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has followed her, —
When she has walked before.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead, —
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say
That had she lived a twelvemonth more, —
She had not died today.
Oliver GOLDSMITH 1728_1774 gold1_0003_mena1_0001
Parody from the French Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man
Faithless Nellie Gray
Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms.
Now as they bore him off the field,
Said he, 'Let others shoot;
For here I leave my second leg,
And the Forty-second Foot.'
The army-surgeons made him limbs:
Said he, 'They're only pegs;
But there's as wooden members quite,
As represent my legs.'
Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, -
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,
When he devoured his pay.
But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off.
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray! '
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat
Should be a little more uniform.
Said she, ' I loved a soldier once,
For he was blithe and brave;
But I will never have a man
With both legs in the grave
'Before you had those timber toes
Your love I did allow;
But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now.'
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
For all your jeering speeches,
At duty's call I left my legs
In Badajos's breaches.'
'Why, then, ' said she, 'you've lost the feet
Of legs in war's alarms,
And now you cannot wear your shoes
Upon your feats of arms! '
'O false and fickle Nelly Gray!
I know why you refuse:
Though I've no feet, some other man
Is standing in my shoes.
'I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
But, now, a long farewell!
For you will be my death' – alas!
You will not be my Nell! '
Now when he went from Nelly Gray
His heart so heavy got,
And life was such a burden grown,
It made him take a knot.
So round his melancholy neck
A rope he did intwine,
And, for his second time in life,
Enlisted in the Line.
One end he tied around a beam,
And then removed his pegs;
And, as his legs were off - of course
He soon was off his legs.
And there he hung till he was dead
As any nail in town;
For, though distress had cut him up,
It could not cut him down.
A dozen men sat on his corpse,
To find out why he died, -
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads
With a stake in his inside.
Thomas Hood Parody from the French Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man and Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Blaize
Faithless Sally Brown
Young Ben he was a nice young man,
A carpenter by trade;
And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.
But as they fetched a walk one day,
They met a press-gang crew;
And Sally did faint away,
Whilst Ben he was brought to.
The Boatswain swore with wicked words,
Enough to shock a saint,
That though she did seem in a fit,
'Twas nothing but a feint.
'Come, girl, ' said he, 'hold up you head,
He'll be as good as me;
For when your swain is in our boat,
A boatswain he will be.'
So when they'd made their game of her,
And taken off her elf,
She roused, and found she only was
A coming to herself.
'And is he gone, and is he gone! '
She cried, and wept outright:
'Then I will to the water side,
And see him out of sight.'
A waterman came up to her,
'Now, young woman, ' said he,
'If you weep on so, you will make
Eye-water in the sea.'
'Alas! they've taken my beau Ben
To sail with old Benbow; '
And her woe began to run afresh,
As if she'd said Gee woe!
Says he, 'They've only taken him
To the Tender ship, you see; '
'To the Tender ship, ' cried Sally Brown,
'What a hard-ship that must be!
'Oh! would I were a mermaid now,
For then I'd follow him;
But oh! I'm not a fish-woman,
And so I cannot swim.
'Alas! I was not born beneath
The Virgin and the Scales,
So I must curse my cruel stars,
And walk about in Wales.'
Now Ben had sailed to many a place
That's underneath the world;
But in two years the ship came home,
And all her sails were furled.
But when he called on Sally Brown,
To see how she went on,
He found she'd got another Ben,
Whose Christian name was John.
'O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown,
How could you serve me so?
I've met with many a breeze before,
But never such a blow.'
Then, reading on his 'bacco box,
He heaved a bitter sigh,
And then began to eye his pipe,
And then to pipe his eye.
And then he tried to sing 'All's Well, '
But could not though he tried:
His head was turned, and so he chewed
His pigtail till he died.
His death which happened in his berth,
At forty-odd befell:
They went and told the sexton, and
The sexton toll'd the bell.
Thomas Hood 1799_1845 hood1_0005_mena1_0001 Parody Gilles MENAGE - The Happy Man Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog
The Cold-Water Man
It was an honest fisherman,
I knew him passing well, -
And he lived by a little pond,
Within a little dell.
A grave and quiet man was he,
Who loved his book and rod, -
So even ran his line of life,
His neighbours thought it odd.
For science and for books, he said,
He never had a wish, -
No school to him was worth a fig,
Except a school of fish.
He ne’er aspired to rank or wealth,
Nor cared about a nae, -
For though much famed for fish was he,
He never fished for fame.
Let others bend their necks at sight
Of Fashion’s gilded wheels,
He ne’er had learned the art to “bob”
for anything but eels.
A cunning fisherman was he,
His angles all were right;
The smallest nibble at his bait
Was sure to prove “a bite.”
John Godfrey SAXE 1816_1887
Parody from the French Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man and Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Blaize Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray and Sally Brown
Pygmalion
There was an ancient classic swell,
An interesting alien,
His kinsfolk called him “Piggy”, but
His full name was Pygmalion.
Like many a high artistic Greek,
He got his bread by chiselling;
I don’t mean running into debt
and then by moonlight mizzling.
I don’t mean billiars, cards or dice,
At which the sharper garbles
Some spooney flat – the only game
Pymalion played was marbles.
He chiselled marble into forms
Defying competition;
And won no end of Kudos at
Each R.A. Exhibition.
One eve, he’d worked the whole day long,
And felt used up and wearied;
His subject was a Grecian Bend,
Or Lady of the Period.
Now Piggy was a lonely man,
Since he had never mated;
But always kept a celibate,
Although so celebrated.
So when he laid his chisel down
And saw his fair creation,
He said, - as critics often say –
“She lacks but animation! ”
And straightway Love and Phantasy,
Like disobedient vassals,
Heedless of Reason, in his brain
Wen building Spanish castles.
He thought it would be very nice
Each morning could he see
Presiding at his breakfast-board
Just such a Mrs. P.
He pictured her at parties, fêtes,
In pinery or grapery,
Looking as she was looking then –
Plus just a little drapery.
He bent on her a steadfast gaze
(Mesmeric ‘twas, I’m thinking)
And straight her sympathetic lids
Moved like – yes, just like – winking.
She breathed – she lived – she came to him,
And he embraced her quick;
“You are not stone! ” he fondly cried –
“You are a little brick! ”
His vision thus was realised:
Next morning he was able
To see that partner exquisite
Presiding at his table.
He ordered in no end of ‘things”,
He thought it but his duty;
Since, even for that antique age,
Too ‘unadorned’ her beauty.
And knowing well that spinsters prim
Would make her case a handle
For rude remark, he put a stop
Effectually to scandal.
For shortly in the Morning Post
This won the Monde’s regards –
“Mr. Pygmalion, R.A., -
Married Miss Stone. No cards.”
And many an artist, since that day,
Has found his sighs love-laden
Warm into animated clay
The coldest ‘marble maiden.”
Author Unknown The Hornet c.1890 PSho1_0005_mena1_0001
Parody after Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man, Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on a Mad Dog, Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray
Elegy
“Great Britain makes a difficult sacrifice of principle by promising to bring the question of the recognition of the sovereignty of Ethiopia before the League of Nations”
The Times 18 April 1938
Good People all of every kind,
Unto my song give ear,
Of how the nations late combined
To make aggressors fear,
Of eight-and-fifty sheep-dogs, bound
No more to bark or bite,
And tainted wethers to impound
With full collective might.
A wolf in sheepskin was disclosed,
A lurking beast of prey.
The league his brigandage opposed,
A mouton enragé –
And more in sorrow than in ire
Put on the sanctions screw
To make the peacebreakers retire,
As they were sworn to do.
The killer ravaged, undismayed
By their coercive thrust,
The justice of his force outweighed
The forces of the just.
Their logic was confounded quite
As fact with theory vied,
The wolf recovered from the bite;
The League it was that died.
KATZIN Olga Miller 1896_1987
Parody after Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man, Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray
To Add
BENSON Gerard 1931_20xx bens2_0004_mena1_0001 PWX_DXX Ben Barley_Ben Barley was a barman stout
FAGG Martin fagg1_0003_mena1_0001 PWX_DXX Elegy on Thomas Hood_O spare a tear for poor Tom Hood
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Love
Everytime I get to see you
I get this feelin
Its so fuzzy inside
And as soon as I walk away from you
Im still tasting your kiss
Saving it in my mind
Its not everyday I find
A guy that makes me smile all the time
Not the way that you do
All the guys I thought I used to love
Compared to you they dont match up
They got nothing on you
I think I found a good good good love
The kind that will put it on you
The kind that you wanna hold on to
I think I found a good good good love
We can be lovers and friends too
And theyll do anything for you
A good love
Baby you got somethin special
That has me thinking of settling down
Youre the one my mama told me
Would sooner or later one day finally come around
I think I found a good good good love
The kind that will put it on you
The kind that you wanna hold on to
I think I found a good good good love
We can be lovers and friends too
And theyll do anything for you
A good love
I think I found a good good good love
The kind that will put it on you
The kind that you wanna hold on to
I think I found a good good good love
We can be lovers and friends too
And theyll do anything for you
A good love
You bring me joy
And you bring me much pleasure
I could never see myself leaving you ever
Your soft touch is good and it cant get no better
You have got my mind so caught up
Im drunk off of your good love
I think I found a good good good love
The kind that will put it on you
The kind that you wanna hold on to
I think I found a good good good love
We can be lovers and friends too
And theyll do anything for you
A good love
I think I found a good good good love
The kind that will put it on you
The kind that you wanna hold on to
I think I found a good good good love
We can be lovers and friends too
And theyll do anything for you
A good love
I think I found a good good good love
The kind that will put it on you
The kind that you wanna hold on to
I think I found a good good good love
We can be lovers and friends too
And theyll do anything for you
A good love
I think I found a good good good love
The kind that will put it on you
The kind that you wanna hold on to
I think I found a good good good love
We can be lovers and friends too
And theyll do anything for you
A good love
I think I found a good good good love
The kind that will put it on you
The kind that you wanna hold on to
I think I found a good good good love
We can be lovers and friends too
And theyll do anything for you
A good love
song performed by by TLC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Plain And Simple
When I walked through the door
of a fancy fashion store.
All around was finery.
Who could ask for anything more?
But all I saw was not for me.
It was too fancy for my eyes.
So when I tried one on for size
I saw immediately
that fancy lace and silks and satin
never were my style.
And still just the sight I saw in the glass
for that shortened while
contented me to know myself
and who I'd never be.
Simple, comfortable and practical
were the clothes for me.
When I walked through the door
of that fancy fashion store
I went in because I needed a job
and saw a sign on the door
'HELP NEEDED'
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I Was A Child
when I was a child
so very small
so very young
so very long ago
I had a few
very small wishes
I wanted to
leave this world
a little better
than I found it
I wanted to
be less sinning
than I was
sinned against
I wanted to
give God a good
life witness
from my heart
I wanted to help
people not realizing
many wanted to help
themselves unjustly
very small wishes
so easy to perceive
in innocent childhood years
so hard to lifetime complete
I am glad I kept
my innocence
much longer
than most children
growing up today
I am glad I lived
in an age of values
less are proud to affirm
I am glad truth
was born in my heart
for it is truly better
to give than to receive
I am glad and I smile
because it is to some uncool
but I am still in many ways
that simple childish fool.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Miracles
Two thousand years ago a man was born
Raised, and praised.
Little did anyone see- that he would
Change mans history.
Many miracles were created while he lived
To this world he had so much to give.
Miracles still happen to this day
And to him we do pray.
Little miracles here and there
That with the world we do share.
A person who walked away from a car on fire
Only thing left was a burning tire.
An abandoned newborn found on a frozen street
How he survived without any heat.
A single engine plane crashed into the ground
Two hundred feet away the pilot is found.
9/11 was a disastrous day
But we had people who had walked away.
People buried in a caved in mine
All were found and are doing fine.
These are the miracles of which I speak
They may not have been of astounding feats.
Unlike the parting of the waters
Where the Jews walked through in an uncivil disorder.
All of them were shedding some tears
But GOD wiped away all their fears.
In every country in the world
There are miracles happening every day.
Is it GODS hand? Who is to say!
But with FAITH, LOVE, and HOPE
People accept it and learn to cope.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Could Be So Good Together
We could be so good together
Ya, so good together
We could be so good together
Ya, we could, I know we could
Tell you lies
I tell you wicked lies
Tell you lies
Tell you wicked lies
Tell you bout the world that well invent
Wanton world without lament
Enterprise, expedition
Invitation and invention
Ya, so good together
Ah, so good together
We could be so good together
Ya, we could, know we could
Alright!
Do da do do do do do bup bup de day
We could be so good together
Ya, so good together
We could be so good together
Ya, we could, I know we could
Tell you lies
Tell you wicked lies
Tell you lies
Tell you wicked lies
The time you wait subtracts the joy
Beheads the angels you destroy
Angels fight, angels cry
Angels dance and angels die
Ya, so good together
Ah, but so good together
We could be so good together
Ya, we could, know we could
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Epitaph
Interr'd beneath this marble stone,
Lie saunt'ring Jack and idle Joan.
While rolling threescore years and one
Did round this globe their courses run;
If human things went ill or well;
If changing empires rose or fell;
The morning passed, the evening came,
And found this couple still the same.
They walk'd and eat, good folks: what then?
Why then they walk'd and eat again:
They soundly slept the night away:
They did just nothing all the day:
And having buried children four,
Would not take pains to try for more.
Nor sister either had, nor brother:
They seemed just tallied for each other.
Their moral and economy
Most perfectly they made agree:
Each virtue kept its proper bound,
Nor tresspass'd on the other's ground.
Nor fame, nor censure they regarded:
They neither punish'd nor rewarded.
He cared not what the footmen did:
Her maids she neither prais'd nor chid:
So ev'ry servant took his course;
And bad at first, they all grew worse.
Slothful disorder fill'd his stable;
And sluttish plenty deck'd her table.
Their beer was strong; their wine was port;
Their meal was large; their grace was short.
They gave the poor the remnant-meat
Just when it grew not fit to eat.
They paid the church and parish rate;
And took, but read not the receipt;
For which they claim'd their Sunday's due,
Of slumb'ring in an upper pew.
No man's defects sought they to know;
So never made themselves a foe.
No man's good deeds did they commend;
So never rais'd themselves a friend.
Nor cherish'd they relations poor:
That might decrease their present store:
Nor barn nor house did they repair:
That might oblige their future heir.
They neither added, nor confounded:
They neither wanted, nor abounded.
Each Christmas they accompts did clear;
And wound their bottom through the year.
Nor tear, nor smile did they employ
At news of public grief, or joy.
When bells were rung, and bonfires made,
If asked they ne'er denied their aid:
Their jug was to the ringers carried,
Whoever either died, or married.
Their billet at the fire was found,
Whoever was depos'd or crown'd.
Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise;
They would not learn, nor could advise;
Without love, hatred, joy, or fear,
They led--a kind of--as it were:
Nor wish'd nor car'd, nor laugh'd nor cry'd:
And so they liv'd; and so they died.
poem by Matthew Prior
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's_Got_To Be
'When it's _got_ to be,'--like! always say,
As I notice the years whiz past,
And know each day is a yesterday,
When we size it up, at last,--
Same as I said when my _boyhood_ went
And I knowed _we_ had to quit,--
'It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!'--
So I said 'Good-by' to _it_.
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say in a hearty way,--
'Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!'
The time jes melts like a late, last snow,--
When it's _got_ to be, it melts!
But I aim to keep a cheerful mind,
Ef I can't keep nothin' else!
I knowed, when I come to twenty-one,
That I'd soon be twenty-two,--
So I waved one hand at the soft young man,
And I said, 'Good-by to _you_!'
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say, in a cheerful way,--
'Well, it's _got_ to be.--Good-by!'
They kep' a-goin', the years and years,
Yet still I smiled and smiled,--
For I'd said 'Good-by' to my single life,
And I now had a wife and child:
Mother and son and the father--one,--
Till, last, on her bed of pain,
She jes' smiled up, like she always done,--
And I said 'Good-by' again.
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say, in a humble way,--
'Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!'
And then my boy--as he growed to be
Almost a man in size,--
Was more than a pride and joy to me,
With his mother's smilin' eyes.--
He gimme the slip, when the War broke out,
And followed me. And I
Never knowed till the first right's end ...
I found him, and then, ... 'Good-by.'
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say, in a patient way,
'Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!'
I have said, 'Good-by!--Good-by!--Good-by!'
With my very best good will,
All through life from the first,--and I
Am a cheerful old man still:
But it's _got_ to end, and it's _goin'_ to end!
And this is the thing I'll do,--
With my last breath I will laugh, O Death,
And say 'Good-by' to _you_!...
It's _got_ to be! And again I say,--
When his old scythe circles high,
I'll laugh--of course, in the kindest way,--
As I say 'Good-by!--Good-by!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Lament of a Wash-basin
LAMENT OF A WASH-BASIN
Very sorry my friends,
If by my lament,
Your tender hearts, I hurt,
When thus out I blurt.
But no other way have I,
To gain your sympathy o'er my cry,
Than in black and white to mention
And draw your kind attention.
All of you I beseech,
To yonder bin to reach
And, my dears-there to empty
Your tiffin-boxes, of left-overs sundry.
Of my gurgling throat, I'm sure,
It'll no more be wrote to cure,
For, I hope, you'll ne'er again so choke
And then, with a rod try to poke!
Thank you so much, my dears,
For so patiently lending your ears,
To the lament of a poor sink,
In this emanating stink!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Gone to be with Jesus Lord in Heaven
He tried to kill himself before a train!
But God would not allow him to do that;
His uncle gave him timely good advice,
And introduced him to Lord, Jesus Christ.
The twenty-year-old man turned new a leaf;
From hopelessness and poverty, he fled;
God afilled him with hope anew instead;
A divine peace now overwhelmed his heart.
He took refuge in Savior, Jesus Christ;
He labored hard in Bank wherein employed;
He rose in status rapidly in life;
But God had other better plans for him.
He recognized the love of Jesus Christ;
The love of God had swathed him forever;
He desired to start a ministry;
He wanted it to be named, ‘Jesus Calls.’
He prayed to God for hours and days and weeks;
A vision of Lord Jesus came to him;
God wanted him to be a preacher fast,
And take the Good News Gospel to people.
He founded ‘Jesus Calls Ministry’ soon;
He reached the Word of God to many souls;
He spoke to crowds from every walk of life;
He authored books to influence more hearts.
He spoke through radio, television too;
He reached the length and breadth of India soon;
Stella, his life-partner, joined him as well;
He took the Word of God across the globe.
The preacher turned Evangelist quickly;
Filled by the Holy Spirit, he did well;
He cried and prayed to God for others’ sake;
He sang good hymns aloud in his own voice.
The Lord was pleased by Dhinakaran’s toil;
He gained the pow’r of fore-casting events;
He cured the sick and consoled woe-filled hearts;
God worked miracles in his crusade-talks.
Huge crowds attended DGS’ talks;
His prayer rallies brought more souls to God;
His son too joined him in his ministry;
Love’s Apostle prayed for millions at large.
He established CBN in India;
His daughter’s sudden demise upset him;
The loss brought immense despair to his heart;
But God comforted him in His own ways.
For more than fifty years, he preached the Word;
His life had witnessed miracles galore;
The ministry had grown in size quickly;
The Doctor of Divinity was great.
The humble heart of DGS saw God;
He spoke to him and walked in Lord’s foot-steps;
His daughter-in-law, grand-children too came;
His life on earth was paradise in short.
But death came suddenly to seize his soul;
He died in piety and fortitude;
God made him ‘fisher of men’ in his life;
The pot of clay had served the Lord truly.
The ‘man of God’ has left the planet earth;
He lives with God in His heav’nly abode;
God chose this soul to bring more souls to Him;
The world will know his exemplary life.
The work of DGS has roots all strong;
The trunk has grown into a massive tree;
The ‘birds’ that seek Jesus will nest on it,
And praise God for His infinite mercy.
The Apostle had sought the heart of God;
He radiated love of divine form;
His holy words had touched so many hearts;
He has gone to be with God in heaven.
(The Life-story of Bro. Dr. DGS Dhinakaran
Of Jesus Calls Ministry)
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-24-2008
poem by John Celes
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Lost and Found
In a southern city lived a wealthy family;
In a southern city was the happy home
Of a father and mother and a little daughter.
In peace and contentment they lived alone.
But one summer evening there happened a misfortune,
Which caused the parents to weep and mourn,
For this little daughter, a loving little treasure,
Was a poor little wanderer far, far from home.
It happened thus, -- the mother went out calling
On a widow friend, who lived all alone;
She left her little daughter in the care of her father,
And through his neglect she wandered from home.
The father rocked his child, till her eyes closed in slumber;
Thought he to himself, I'll go over across the way,
And see a neighbor friend; he'll be there this evening,
And I must see him before he goes away.
He left his little one, he supposed, sweetly sleeping
In her little cradle, in the house alone,
And in his great hurry he left the gate ajar;
This thoughtlessness caused destruction to his home.
Soon after he was gone she awoke from her slumber,
Poor child, she then found herself all alone,
For no one was there, no one heard her weeping
As she wandered away far, far from home.
She wandered along on the busy thoroughbare,
No one seemed to notice this little one alone;
She wandered down Broadway till the little feet were tired,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
At last, getting weary, she sat down on the pavement,
And soon fell asleep, so tired had she grown;
In her troubled sleep she would softly murmur, papa;
This poor little lost one so far away from home.
A policeman came along and saw her sweetly sleeping,
On the pavement at midnight alone.
He gently picked her up and took her to the station,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
He advertised, but could not find her parents;
At last he took her to the orphan home,
Where she lived till a farmer in the country
Took her to live with him, this wanderer alone.
The father died o'er the loss of his daughter,
The mother sought for her three years alone;
At last she found her with kind people in the country,
Her poor little wanderer far away from home.
Kind people can imagine the joy of the mother,
When she found her little loving one.
"Oh God," exclaimed the mother, "I have found my little Alice,
My poor little wanderer far away from home.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Here Lie's The truth
“Here Lies the truth”,
On Her tombstone this will be wrote.
It was never spoke when She was living,
So also in death, it will be unspoke.
By Her it was never said
it was as though pulling out Her soul,
So here lies the truth and herself dead
Both has died in sadness and woe.
Here lies the truth,
Not once by her was it cried,
Not in the days that she was living,
Not even in the day that She had died.
She must of believed that it was a sin
To open Her heart and listen to the word
So She closed her heart and locked it shut,
And She never believed in no one but Her.
Here lies the truth,
It lived but a very short life,
Though the Woman died of years of age
The truth though, never had a chance to try.
Everyone She knew had learned Her lie
They never believed a word that she said
So when She finally tried to speak the truth,
Her heart stopped; and She laid dead.
Here lies the truth
It lived but a very short life,
It was loved by neither Child or Man,
For they believe its living was but a lie.
So here in the grave it will lay dead
As it had lived in this woman's soul,
Never again will it be uttered or thought of,
Never till the end of time will it be thought of or known.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Amongst Wealth And Fame
Amongst wealth and fame there is great poverty
With such things should not happen here most would agree
A poor homeless bloke with only a mattress for a bed
On the embankment under a railway underpass for six months lay dead.
Under the railway underpass he died where he lay
For months undiscoverd that seems sad to say
A man in his forties one without a friend
He lived a sad life and his was a sad end.
In Melbourne Victoria this must be a lie
In such a wealthy City people of neglect never die?
But the facts tell us differently and i must make it clear
That it is not of fiction i am writing of here.
Some of the less kind will tell you we live and die as we choose
That he was one of those blokes destined to lose
And though they are entitled for to air their views
They seem to make light of what is quite sad news.
Six months he was dead when his remains were found
Amongst wealth and fame poverty does abound
It is not for one like him that you should pray
For if there is a heaven he is there today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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King Goodheart
There lived a King, as I've been told
In the wonder-working days of old,
When hearts were twice as good as gold,
And twenty times as mellow.
Good temper triumphed in his face,
And in his heart he found a place
For all the erring human race
And every wretched fellow.
When he had Rhenish wine to drink
It made him very sad to think
That some, at junket or at jink,
Must be content with toddy:
He wished all men as rich as he
(And he was rich as rich could be),
So to the top of every tree
Promoted everybody.
Ambassadors cropped up like hay,
Prime Ministers and such as they
Grew like asparagus in May,
And Dukes were three a penny:
Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats,
And Bishops in their shovel hats
Were plentiful as tabby cats -
If possible, too many.
On every side Field-Marshals gleamed,
Small beer were Lords-Lieutenants deemed,
With Admirals the ocean teemed,
All round his wide dominions;
And Party Leaders you might meet
In twos and threes in every street
Maintaining, with no little heat,
Their various opinions.
That King, although no one denies,
His heart was of abnormal size,
Yet he'd have acted otherwise
If he had been acuter.
The end is easily foretold,
When every blessed thing you hold
Is made of silver, or of gold,
You long for simple pewter.
When you have nothing else to wear
But cloth of gold and satins rare,
For cloth of gold you cease to care -
Up goes the price of shoddy:
In short, whoever you may be,
To this conclusion you'll agree,
When every one is somebody,
Then no one's anybody!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Epitaphs
Her Mother's Epitaph
Here lies
A worthy matron of unspotted life,
A loving mother and obedient wife,
A friendly neighbor, pitiful to poor,
Whom oft she fed, and clothed with her store;
To servants wisely aweful, but yet kind,
And as they did, so they reward did find:
A true instructor of her family,
The which she ordered with dexterity,
The public meetings ever did frequent,
And in her closest constant hours she spent;
Religious in all her words and ways,
Preparing still for death, till end of days:
Of all her children, children lived to see,
Then dying, left a blessed memory.
Her Father's Epitaph
Within this tomb a patriot lies
That was both pious, just and wise,
To truth a shield, to right a wall,
To sectaries a whip and maul,
A magazine of history,
A prizer of good company
In manners pleasant and severe
The good him loved, the bad did fear,
And when his time with years was spent
In some rejoiced, more did lament.
1653, age 77
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Thirteen Mile Goodbye
(gary burr/gerry house)
The sign said synonara in the japanese restaurant
The billboard said theres no tomorrow in the christ church parking lot
The laundry mat said, youre all washed up
How can I disagree?
And the street sign
Did everyone know but me?
She must have gone
To a lot of trouble
I got the truth
Right betweent he eyes
Dont know how she found the time
But between her door and mine
Was a thirteen mile goodbye
Now this cant be paranoia
Its just coincidence
At the palace theatre on the corners playing
Gone with the wind
And theres one more grim reminder
Every twenty feet
How come I never noticed
This is a dead end street?
She must have gone
To a lot of trouble
I got the truth
Right betweent he eyes
Dont know how she found the time
But between her door and mine
Was a thirteen mile goodbye
I see the y in the ymca
Ive been asking myself that all day
She put a closed sign on every door
Just to proved the point if I wasnt sure
She must have gone
To a lot of trouble
I got the truth
Right betweent he eyes
Dont know how she found the time
But between her door and mine
Was a thirteen mile goodbye
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Love Story(The King And I)
Once in time, there lived a king
Who lives still, nor ever could die
Who lived neither in space nor time
But made them both alike
For his queen to breathe and move
While he watched from not so far a distance
As she danced and played, and laughed and ached
He loved her so, and longed to show her so
Born by love, she sought for love
In all the wrong places and all the wrong people
While all the while the love she sought
Was in her, was by her, was for her, and with her
The time had come for her to know
The one who indeed loved her so
'I am God', he said, I love you so
And this I did, and that I did, to show you so
I'd love for you to love me too and show me so
Let me in, and make me your king or something in between
She took him in, and became his queen
And him her king and so much more
He fought for her, the apple of his eye
The beauty from his ashes
There lied a problem, he knew her number
The number of her days
He unbound by time, loved one bound in time
To live forever, he died to save her
She cried and cried, for he was gone away
I'm building our kingdom, he said in a letter
I'll be back so soon, I miss you too
A day to her, a thousand years to him
She waited and waited, and then became like knaves
She said these words when are days were made:
To my darling, my love, my king
You walked with me, you talked with me
Now I'm here, so far from you
My conscience is fading
With evil prevailing
The thoughts that walk the streets of my mind
Are far from good, my heart far from home
Years unending, I did my will
And chased the thrills of my will
Despair revealed his face in mine
As all I got was pain and shame
I could apologize for falling short today
And still fall short tomorrow
I am frail...I am human
But in all my humanity
I have come to love your divinity
In the day I breathe my last
May I see your face
And rest forever in your arms
The King smiled and thought to himself
In all my divinity, I have come to love your humanity
Rest in peace my child, my love, my queen.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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The Death of the Old Mendicant
There was a rich old gentleman
Lived on a lonely moor in Switzerland,
And he was very hard to the wandering poor,
'Tis said he never lodged nor served them at his door.
'Twas on a stormy night, and Boreas blew a bitter blast,
And the snowflakes they fell thick and fast,
When a poor old mendicant, tired and footsore,
Who had travelled that day fifteen miles and more,
Knocked loudly at the rich man's door.
The rich man was in his parlour counting his gold,
And he ran to the door to see who was so bold,
And there he saw the mendicant shivering with the cold.
Then the mendicant unto him said,
My dear sir, be not afraid,
Pray give me lodgings for the night,
And heaven will your love requite;
Have pity on me, for I am tired and footsore,
I have travelled fifteen miles to-day and more.
Begone! you vagabond, from my door!
I never give lodgings to the poor;
So be off, take to your heels and run,
Or else I'll shoot you with my gun!
Now do not think I'm making fun;
Do you hear, old beggar, what I say?
Now be quick! and go away.
Have mercy, sir, I cannot go,
For I shall perish in the snow;
Oh! for heaven's sake, be not so hard
And God will your love reward.
My limbs are tired, I cannot go away,
Oh! be so kind as let me stay.
'Twas vain! the rich man said, I shan't,
And shut his door on the mendicant,
And said, That is the way I'll serve the poor
While I live on this lonely moor.
Then the old mendicant did go away,
And, murmuring to himself, did say,
Oh, woe's me that ever I was born!
Oh, God, protect me from the storm!
My feeble limbs refuse to go,
And my poor heart does break with woe.
Then he lay down and died among the snow.
He was found by the rich man's shepherd next day,
While he was searching for sheep that had gone astray;
And he was struck with fear and woe
To see the body lying dead among the snow.
So the shepherd ran home and told his master
About the very sad disaster;
That he had found a dead body in the snow,
But whose it was he did not know.
Then the rich man ordered the body to be brought to his house
And to be instantly dressed by his loving spouse,
For his conscience smote him with fear and woe,
When he heard of the old mendicant being found dead in the snow.
So the poor old mendicant was buried without delay
In a very respectable way,
And from that very day the rich man was kind to the poor
And never turned any one away from his door.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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‘He came unto His own, and His own received Him not’
As Christ the Lord was passing by,
He came, one night, to a cottage door.
He came, a poor man, to the poor;
He had no bed whereon to lie.
He asked in vain for a crust of bread,
Standing there in the frozen blast.
The door was locked and bolted fast.
‘Only a beggar!’ the poor man said.
Christ the Lord went further on,
Until He came to a palace gate.
There a king was keeping his state,
In every window the candles shone.
The king beheld Him out in the cold.
He left his guests in the banquet-hall.
He bade his servants tend them all.
‘I wait on a Guest I know of old.’
‘’Tis only a beggar-man!’ they said.
‘Yes,’ he said; ‘it is Christ the Lord.’
He spoke to Him a kindly word,
He gave Him wine and he gave Him bread.
Now Christ is Lord of Heaven and Hell,
And all the words of Christ are true.
He touched the cottage, and it grew;
He touched the palace, and it fell.
The poor man is become a king.
Never was man so sad as he.
Sorrow and Sin on the throne make three,
He has no joy in mortal thing.
But the sun streams in at the cottage door
That stands where once the palace stood.
And the workman, toiling to earn his food,
Was never a king before.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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My Experience
MY EXPERIENCE
My City-
My Native Region-
'Tis twenty and seven
I passed here around-
Gave me things many to bound
A name for Teacher
That I'm renowned.
Many cheerly, beautiful and cute
Many-many bright, happy and sweet-
Like many a morning flower-
CHILDREN-
To whom I feel
My heart delight
With gladdening thoughts
Of warmth and affection
And pleasure in some abundant showers
As standing in some shady bower
Sensing around the sweetening showers.
But some cursed, scornsome faces
That the society and environment prompt
That like the hounds hound around
(Hell of those that make them rouse
Hush! for things of good cant forever accord;
Moreover the things without remedy
Should be the things witbout regard)
A man (I) ever, not divine!
Yet I wish them all
All pleasure and peace.
May the time soothen all
All that tangles all things Good.
EXPERIENCE-
I hoarded
Both bitter and sweet
How the Hight plays with the Low
How the steps are plotted around
How the Prosperity robs the Need
Exploitation from Post and Position
Incurred after Wealth and Greed
Too much! Too much!
Beyond all calculations!
Needy are used beyond the ranges
Like the things of exchange.
FRIENDSHIP-
For years lasting
More peaceful
Little exhausting.
LOVE-
For peace
And life lasting
For true happiness
And for all
That is ever sweetely tasting.
People are Sweet
But wealth outdoes the people in common
Poor to poverty and riches to growth.
Mine thoughts are bound
With this town around
'Tis twenty and seven
I passed around.
Vivek Tiwari
Composed on
In this very afternoon of 01 November 2012.
poem by Vivek Tiwari
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