Hymn For The Celebration At The Laying Of The Cornerstone Of Harvard Memorial Hall, Cambridge, October 6, 1870
NOT with the anguish of hearts that are breaking
Come we as mourners to weep for our dead;
Grief in our breasts has grown weary of aching,
Green is the turf where our tears we have shed.
While o'er their marbles the mosses are creeping,
Stealing each name and its legend away,
Give their proud story to Memory's keeping,
Shrined in the temple we hallow to-day.
Hushed are their battle-fields, ended their marches,
Deaf are their ears to the drum-beat of morn,--
Rise from the sod, ye fair columns and arches
Tell their bright deeds to the ages unborn!
Emblem and legend may fade from the portal,
Keystone may crumble and pillar may fall;
They were the builders whose work is immortal,
Crowned with the dome that is over us all!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Over The Water
Think of it, think of it over the water
Thousands of men to-day march on to death,
Think how the sun shines on fields red with slaughter-
How the air chokes, with the cannon's hot breath.
How in the shadows, perchance, of this even,
Hundreds of hearts, will have paused in their beat,
Pale, ghastly brows, will be turned up to heaven-
Brows that were pressed by lips, tender and sweet.
Think of the homes that these battles are leaving
Destitute, desolate, dreary and dumb.
Think of the fond, patient, hearts that are grieving,
Breaking for loved ones, who never will come.
Ah! we so recently felt this same anguish,
Women-Oh! women who suffer and pray,
We well can weep with you, who weep and languish,
We have borne all you are bearing to-day.
'God speed the right,' we cry, 'God be with Prussia,'
Yet to the mourners of soldiers who fall,
Whether their tears flow in France, or in Russia,
Their dead are their dead, and we pity them all.
Think of it, think of it, hearts that are breaking,
Sorrowing, suffering, over the sea.
Think of the eyes that are blinded and aching
With watching for those whom they never will see.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Im A Legend Tonight
Ive been working at my job, slaving like a dog all day
And Ive been thinking about you, girl
And watching the minutes slip away
Yeah, and I know theres someone inside me that nobody sees
And I know in the darkness youre gonna be reaching for me
Im a legend tonight
Gonna make you feel right
When you reach for the light
Im a legend tonight
Im a legend tonight, legend
Gonna make you feel right, legend
When you reach for the light, legend
Im a legend tonight
You know they try to slow me, sometimes I think Im gonna stop
But I gotta keep on going, believing in 5 o clock, yeah
And on the edge of the darkness well be living in another world
And I know that a part of yous gonna be part of me, girl
Im a legend tonight, legend
Gonna make you feel right, legend
When you reach for the light, legend
Im a legend tonight, legend
Im a legend tonight, legend
Gonna make you feel right, legend
When you reach for the light, legend
Im a legend tonight
Look at me
I dont know what happens when the race is run
I dont know what tells me if Ive lost or won
But I know that Ill make it through the day alright
And girl, youre gonna find out
Im a legend tonight, legend
Gonna make you feel right, legend
When you reach for the light, legend
Im a legend tonight, legend
Im a legend tonight, legend
Gonna make you feel right, legend
When you reach for the light, legend
Im a legend tonight, legend
Im a legend tonight, legend
Gonna make you feel right, legend
When you reach for the light, legend
Im a legend tonight, legend
Im a legend tonight, legend
Gonna make you feel right, legend
When you reach for the light, legend
Im a legend tonight, legend
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Becomes A Legend Most
What becomes a legend most
When shes alone in a hotel lobby
What becomes a legend most
Some bad champagne and some foreign bottled beer
What becomes a legend most
When the musicians have come and then leave her
What becomes a legend most
Besides being a legendary star
What becomes a legend most
Lying in bed cold and regal
What becomes a legend most
Lying in bed watching a talk show on tv
What becomes a legend most
Fifty days in fifty cities
And everyone says she looks pretty
At least as pretty as a legend should
Fifty days can wear you down
Fifty cities flying by
A different man in each different hotel
And if youre not careful, word can get around
What becomes a legend most
Not a bed, that is half empty
Not a heart, that is left empty
Thats not pretty, not pretty at all
What becomes a legend most
When shes lying in her hotel room
What becomes a legend most
Well baby, tonight its you (tonight its you)
Baby, tonight its you
(what becomes a legend most, sha-la-la-la-la) baby, its you
(what becomes a legend most, sha-la-la-la-la) maybe tomorrow
(what becomes a legend most, sha-la-la-la-la) baby, its you
(what becomes a legend most, sha-la-la-la-la)
(what becomes a legend most, sha-la-la-la-la)
(what becomes a legend most, sha-la-la-la-la)
(what becomes a legend most, sha-la-la-la-la)
(what becomes a legend most, sha-la-la-la-la)
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Children's Playground In The City
THIS is a place where men laid their dead,
Each with his life-tale of good or ill;
Here prayers were murmured and hot tears shed,
And passionate anguish moaned its fill.
Silent now is each voice that cried,
And the tears that were wept have all been dried
In the dust; and dust are the hearts that bled
With hopeless longing for hearts grown still.
Dead and forgotten! for Death, requiter
Of love, taught Memory how to forget!
The love that remembered them died. Grow brighter,
Oh, dim grave-garden, with dead hearts set!
Room for the small flying feet to pass,
The feet of the children over the grass!
The dead, if they knew it, would feel them lighter
Than the weight of a stone that no tears make wet.
We must die too, and the grief that will live
Must die as surely--death comes to all;
But you who come after--let Nature give
To our graves her tears, to our dust her pall:
Let her hide us away in her cold broad breast,
Let us be forgotten, and be at rest,
And over our heads let the great world strive,
And the children's voices carol and call.
If your heart on the flower of remembrance is set,
There is one way to pluck it--and only one:
Dare you ask your country not to forget
A name that needs to be graved on stone?
By grief, strife, sacrifice, scorn of fame,
You may grave on the people's hearts your name,
Or your name may die, and your soul live yet
In the cause you died for--the work you have done.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Ninja
Tell me the story, tell me the legend
Tell me the tales of war
Tell me just one time,
What it was like before
Bring me the feeling, right in that moment
When a heart for battle cries
Find me the treasure where the legend lies.
If I were a noble ancient knight
Id stand by jour side to rule and fight
It will always feel the same
When I call out your name.
Ninja survive, in dreams I walk by your side
Ninja survive, with you theres no need to hide.
A handful of sayings are more than a reason
For me to feel this way
Id like to be near you
Maybe for just one day
So tell me the legend, tell me the story
Tell me the tales of war
Tell me just one time
What it was like before.
song performed by by Europe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pain of the Earth
DOES the earth grow grey with grief
For her hero darling fled?
Though her vales let fall no leaf,
In our hearts her tears are shed.
Still the stars laugh on above:
Not to them her grief is said;
Mourning for her hero love
In our hearts the tears are shed.
We her children mourn for him,
Mourn the elder hero dead;
In the twilight grey and dim
In our hearts the tears are shed.
poem by George William Russell
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Heroes End
I heard a human voice who sang like no one else
I heard a proud lady singing loud
Lived her life as she liked, didnt give a damn
But soon she found she was underground and wasted
I watched her hitting notes as she strutted stage
Her body shook oh, she did her stuff
She screamed and quake, give and take, maybe took too much
If you take the smooth you gotta take the rough
Why do you have to die to be a hero
Its a shame a legend begins at its end
Why do you have to die if youre a hero
When theres still so many things to say unsaid
I heard a mans guitar electrify a crowd
I felt the sound shower round
And he would take you with him where no musics been before
As you merged the power surge together
His music knew no limits if you were in its wake
You had no choice, no, but hear its voice
And you would listen hypnotized, and in a dream
But once so strong survive or become weak
Why do you have to die to be a hero
Its a shame a legend begins at its end
Why do you have to die if youre a hero
When theres still so many things to say unsaid
If you gaze across timeless years youll find them always there
And many gods will join the list compiled with dying care
Hungry mouths are waiting to bite the hand that feeds
And so the living dead carry on immortal deeds
I saw on silver screen an actors rise to fame
But fast car user lose
That legends born from death and that is such a shame
cos evry year new ones appear
Why do you have to die to be a hero
Its a shame a legend begins at its end
Why do you have to die if youre a hero
When theres still so many things to say unsaid.
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Id Be A Legend In My Time
Don gibson
If heartaches brought fame
In loves crazy game
Id be a legend in my time
If they gave gold statuettes
For tears and regrets
Id be a legend in my time
But they dont give awards
And theres no praise or fame
For a heart thats been broken
Over love thats in vain
If lonliness meant world acclaim
Everyone would know my name
Id be a legend in my time
If lonliness meant world acclaim
Everyone would know my name
Id be a legend in my time
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Passing Of Dan Leary
Dan Leary was a legend of old Millstreet but he'll never more be seen in Millstreet Town
Or in the Townpark on a Summer's evening With a pair of greyhounds walking up and down
He was a sterling corner back in his prime a stalwart of Millstreet Gaelic Football
Fearless and hard but fair he never shirked a challenge as those who played against him do recall.
For many years he was a Millstreet butcher the Learys of the West End were well known
And Dan the Millstreet schoolboys of the fifties did look up to we were so proud he was one of our own
In Cork County Championship Games in Coachford and in Macroom Dan Leary at his best was often seen
One of his Club's greatest defensive players it was with pride he wore the Millstreet green.
It was with sadness I read of his passing in the flesh one that we never more will see
But for as long as I have the power to remember he surely will live in my memory
He was so down to earth and unassuming and to his friends he always remained true
'Tis not because he's dead I sing his praises in words I only give the man his due.
Dan Leary a legend of Duhallow Gaelic Football now with the dead of Millstreet Parish lay
'Tis sad to think we never more will see him but good memories of him with us bound to stay
The best forwards in Cork Gaelic Football against him always found it hard to score
It was with pride he wore the green of Millstreet and may he rest in peace forever more.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Legend Reborn
Youve been fighting for much to long
You saw the future and what to come
Restless spirits out on the run,
Among the shadows of the sun
You are the rising resistance now
Weve come to show you a way somehow
Beyond the past and in secrecy,
We found it all, but we want more
We come from the age of chivalry
Metal machines, unchained and free
We are hear for you to see
Flying on wings of steel, thundering, we are breaking the seal
Fighting for the oath we sworn, to spread the word of a legend reborn
Moving silent like a gentle breeze
Were the troops of metal and we do as we please
We are the restless, we are the wild,
Burning hearts that never die
We are going against the tide
The hammer has fallen, a thorn in your side
Break the silence or take the fall
The mighty templars will take it all
Welcome the age of chivalry,
Were we all will be set free
Its the time for you and me
Flying on wings of steel, thundering, we are breaking the seal
Fighting for the oath we sworn, to spread the word of a legend reborn
Sons and brothers fight or fall
With our sisters and daughters
Were standing one for all
Flying on wings of steel, thundering, we are breaking the seal
Fighting for the oath we sworn, to spread the word of a legend reborn
Flying on wings of steel, thundering, we are breaking the seal
Fighting for the oath we sworn, to spread the word of a legend reborn
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Christmas Carmen
I.
Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands,
The chorus of voices, the clasping of hands;
Sing hymns that were sung by the stars of the morn,
Sing songs of the angels when Jesus was born!
With glad jubilations
Bring hope to the nations!
The dark night is ending and dawn has begun:
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!
II.
Sing the bridal of nations! with chorals of love
Sing out the war-vulture and sing in the dove,
Till the hearts of the peoples keep time in accord,
And the voice of the world is the voice of the Lord!
Clasp hands of the nations
In strong gratulations:
The dark night is ending and dawn has begun;
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!
III.
Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace;
East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease
Sing the song of great joy that the angels began,
Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man!
Hark! joining in chorus
The heavens bend o’er us!
The dark night is ending and dawn has begun;
Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun,
All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Beat Of Your Drum
Photograph king, watches you go
Now fashions may change, heaven knows, but you
Still leave a stain on me
Only to go colours may fade
The seasons may change, weather blows, but you still leave a mark on me
Wrong-negative fades-never the twain, reckless and tame
I like the beat of your drum
I like to look in your eyes
I like to look thru your things
Id like to beat on your drum
I like the smell of your flesh
I like the dirt that you dish
I like the clothes that you wear
Id like to beat on your drum
I beat it I beat I beat it
I feel it
Disco brat-follow the pack
Watching you peel, heaven knows, prison cant hold all this greedy intention
Only to go-i picture you now
Music may change-hi-di-ho keen to follow your nose
Wrong-love out of tune
Sweet is the night, bright light destroys me
I like the beat of your drum
I like to look in your eyes
I like to look thru your things
Id like to beat on your drum
I like the smell of your flesh
I like the dirt that you dish
I like the clothes that you wear
Id like to beat on your drum
I beat it I beat cant beat it
I feel it
I like to beat on your drum
I like to beat on your drum
I like your face in the crowd
I like to beat on your drum
I beat it I beat cant beat it
I feel it
Cant beat it
I feel it
Ho beat it
I beat it
Oh yeah
Id like to beat on your drum
Id like to beat on your drum
Id like to yell it out loud
Id like to beat on your drum
Cant beat it cant beat it
I feel it I feel it
Id like to beat on your drum
Id like to beat on your drum
Id like your face in the crowd
Id like to beat on your drum
Yeah yeah yeah
Cant beat it
Cant beat it
I be there
Baet it all out
Beat it all in the crowd
Beat it beat it beat it beat it
I feel it I feel it
Id like to beat on your drum
Id like to beat on your drum
Id like to blow your horne
Id like to beat on your drum
Yeah yeah yeah
Ahhhhhh
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Little Cripple's Complaint
I'm a helpless cripple child,
Gentle Christians, pity me;
Once, in rosy health I smiled,
Blithe and gay as you can be,
And upon the village green
First in every sport was seen.
Now, alas! I'm weak and low,
Cannot either work or play;
Tottering on my crutches, slow,
Thus I drag my weary way:
Now no longer dance and sing,
Gaily, in the merry ring.
Many sleepless nights I live,
Turning on my weary bed;
Softest pillows cannot give
Slumber to my aching head;
Constant anguish makes it fly
From my heavy, wakeful eye.
And, when morning beams return,
Still no comfort beams for me:
Still my limbs with fever burn,
Painful still my crippled knee.
And another tedious day
Passes slow and sad away.
From my chamber-window high,
Lifted to my easy-chair,
I the village-green can spy,
Once I used to frolic there,
March, or beat my new-bought drum;
Happy times! no more to come.
There I see my fellows gay,
Sporting on the daisied turf,
And, amidst their cheerful play,
Stopp'd by many a merry laugh;
But the sight I scarce can bear,
Leaning in my easy-chair.
Let not then the scoffing eye
Laugh, my twisted leg to see:
Gentle Christians, passing by,
Stop awhile, and pity me,
And for you I'll breathe a prayer,
Leaning in my easy-chair.
poem by Ann Taylor
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I Charge You
I charge you, O winds of the West, O winds with the wings of the dove,
That ye blow o'er the brows of my Love, breathing low that I sicken for love.
I charge you, O dews of the Dawn, O tears of the star of the morn,
That ye fall at the feet of my love with the sound of one weeping forlorn.
I charge you, O birds of the Air, O birds flying home to your nest,
That ye sing in his ears of the joy that for ever has fled from my breast.
I charge you, O flowers of the Earth, O frailest of things, and most fair,
That ye droop in his path as the life in me shrivels consumed by despair.
O Moon, when he lifts up his face, when he seeth the waning of thee,
A memory of her who lies wan on the limits of life let it be.
Many tears cannot quench, nor my sighs extinguish, the flames of love's fire,
Which lifteth my heart like a wave, and smites it, and breaks its desire.
I rise like one in a dream when I see the red sun flaring low,
That drags me back shuddering from sleep each morning to life with its woe.
I go like one in a dream, unbidden my feet know the way
To that garden where love stood in blossom with the red and white hawthorn of May.
The song of the throstle is hushed, and the fountain is dry to its core,
The moon cometh up as of old; she seeks, but she finds him no more.
The pale-faced, pitiful moon shines down on the grass where I weep,
My face to the earth, and my breast in an anguish ne'er soothed into sleep.
The moon returns, and the spring, birds warble, trees burst into leaf,
But Love once gone, goes for ever, and all that endures is the grief.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Lines To A Married Friend
There are flowers that never wither,
There are skies that never fade,
There are trees that cast forever
Cooling bowers of leafy shade.
There are silver wavelets flowing,
With a lulling sound of rest,
Where the west wind softly blowing
Fans the far lands of the blest.
Thitherward our steps are tending,
Oft through dim, oppressive fears,
More of grief than pleasure blending
In the darkening woof of years.
Often would our footsteps weary
Sink upon the winding way,
But that, when all looks most dreary,
O'er us beams a cheering ray.
Thus the Father who hath made us
Tenants of this world of care,
Knoweth how to kindly aid us,
With the burdens we must bear.
Knoweth how to cause the spirit
Hopefully to raise its eyes
Toward the home it doth inherit
Far beyond the azure skies.
There's a voice that whispers lowly,
Down within this heart of mine,
Where emotions the most holy
Ever make their sacred shrine;
And it tells a thrilling story
Of the Great Redeemer's love,
And the all-bewildering glory
Of the better land above.
O, this life, with all its sorrows,
Hasteth onward to a close!
In a few more brief to-morrows
Will have ended all our woes.
Then o'er death the part immortal
Shall sublimely rise and soar
O'er the star-resplendent portal,
There to dwell for evermore.
May we meet, no more to sever,
Where the weary are at rest,
Far beyond dark Jordan's river,
In the Canaan of the blest.
Guard the treasures God hath given
To thy tenderest nurturing care,
And upon the fields of heaven
Thou shalt see them blooming fair.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Stanzas
I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
There's nothing lovely here;
And doubly will the dark world grieve me,
While thy heart suffers there.
I'll not weep, because the summer's glory
Must always end in gloom;
And, follow out the happiest story -
It closes with a tomb!
And I am weary of the anguish
Increasing winters bear;
Weary to watch the spirit languish
Through years of dead despair.
So, if a tear, when thou art dying,
Should haply fall from me,
It is but that my soul is sighing,
To go and rest with thee.
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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To Groves
Ye silent shades, whose each tree here
Some relique of a saint doth wear;
Who for some sweet-heart's sake, did prove
The fire and martyrdom of Love:--
Here is the legend of those saints
That died for love, and their complaints;
Their wounded hearts, and names we find
Encarved upon the leaves and rind.
Give way, give way to me, who come
Scorch'd with the self-same martyrdom!
And have deserved as much, Love knows,
As to be canonized 'mongst those
Whose deeds and deaths here written are
Within your Greeny-kalendar.
--By all those virgins' fillets hung
Upon! your boughs, and requiems sung
For saints and souls departed hence,
Here honour'd still with frankincense;
By all those tears that have been shed,
As a drink-offering to the dead;
By all those true-love knots, that be
With mottoes carved on every tree;
By sweet Saint Phillis! pity me;
By dear Saint Iphis! and the rest
Of all those other saints now blest,
Me, me forsaken,--here admit
Among your myrtles to be writ;
That my poor name may have the glory
To live remember'd in your story.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Bi-Focal
Sometimes up out of this land
a legend begins to move.
Is it a coming near
of something under love?
Love is of the earth only,
the surface, a map of roads
leading wherever go miles
or little bushes nod.
Not so the legend under,
fixed, inexorable,
deep as the darkest mine
the thick rocks won't tell.
As fire burns the leaf
and out of the green appears
the vein in the center line
and the legend veins under there,
So, the world happens twice—
once what we see it as;
second it legends itself
deep, the way it is.
poem by William Stafford
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The Queen Of Prussia's Tomb
In sweet pride upon that insult keen
She smiled; then drooping mute and broken-hearted,
To the cold comfort of the grave departed. ~ Milman.
It stands where northern willows weep,
A temple fair and lone;
Soft shadows o'er its marble sweep,
From cypress-branches thrown;
While silently around it spread,
Thou feel'st the presence of the dead.
And what within is richly shrined?
A sculptur'd woman's form,
Lovely in perfect rest reclined,
As one beyond the storm:
Yet not of death, but slumber, lies
The solemn sweetness on those eyes.
The folded hands, the calm pure face,
The mantle's quiet flow,
The gentle, yet majestic grace,
Throned on the matron brow;
These, in that scene of tender gloom,
With a still glory robe the tomb.
There stands an eagle, at the feet
Of the fair image wrought;
A kingly emblem–nor unmeet
To wake yet deeper thought:
She whose high heart finds rest below,
Was royal in her birth and wo.
There are pale garlands hung above,
Of dying scent and hue;–
She was a mother–in her love
How sorrowfully true!
Oh! hallow'd long be every leaf,
The record of her children's grief!
She saw their birthright's warrior-crown
Of olden glory spoil'd,
The standard of their sires borne down,
The shield's bright blazon soil'd:
She met the tempest meekly brave,
Then turn'd o'erwearied to the grave.
She slumber'd; but it came–it came,
Her land's redeeming hour,
With the glad shout, and signal flame
Sent on from tower to tower!
Fast thro' the realm a spirit moved–
'Twas hers, the lofty and the loved.
Then was her name a note that wrung
To rouse bold hearts from sleep;
Her memory, as a banner flung
Forth by the Baltic deep;
Her grief, a bitter vial pour'd
To sanctify th' avenger's sword.
And the crown'd eagle spread again
His pinion to the sun;
And the strong land shook off its chain–
So was the triumph won!
But wo for earth, where sorrow's tone
Still blends with victory's!–She was gone!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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The Garden Of Gethsemane
The place is fair and tranquil, Judaea’s cloudless sky
Smiles down on distant mountain, on glade and valley nigh,
And odorous winds bring fragrance from palm-tops darkly green,
And olive trees whose branches wave softly o’er the scene.
Whence comes the awe-struck feeling that fills the gazer’s breast,
The breath, quick-drawn and panting, the awe, the solemn rest?
What strange and holy magic seems earth and air to fill,
That worldly thoughts and feelings are now all hushed and still?
Ah! here, one solemn evening, in ages long gone by,
A mourner knelt and sorrowed beneath the starlit sky,
And He whose drops of anguish bedewed the sacred sod
Was Lord of earth and heaven, our Saviour and our God!
Hark to the mournful whispers from olive leaf and bough!
They fanned His aching temples, His damp and grief-struck brow;
Hark! how the soft winds murmur with low and grieving tone!
They heard His words of anguish, they heard each sigh and moan.
Alone in deepest agony, while tired apostles slept;
No one to share His vigil—weep with Him as He wept;
Before Him, clearly rising, the Cross, the dying pain,
And sins of hosts unnumbered whose souls He dies to gain.
O Garden of Gethsemane! the God-like lesson, then
Left as a precious token to suff’ring, sorrowing men,
Has breaking hearts oft strengthened, that else, so sharply tried,
Had sunk beneath sin’s burden and in despair had died.
O Garden of Gethsemane! “when pressed and sore afraid,”
May I in spirit enter beneath thine olive shade,
And, great though be my anguish, still, like that God-like One,
Submissive say: “Oh Father! Thy will, not mine, be done!”
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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