Hymn For The Dedication Of Memorial Hall At Cambridge, June 23, 1874
WHERE, girt around by savage foes,
Our nurturing Mother's shelter rose,
Behold, the lofty temple stands,
Reared by her children's grateful hands!
Firm are the pillars that defy
The volleyed thunders of the sky;
Sweet are the summer wreaths that twine
With bud and flower our martyrs' shrine.
The hues their tattered colors bore
Fall mingling on the sunlit floor
Till evening spreads her spangled pall,
And wraps in shade the storied hall.
Firm were their hearts in danger's hour,
Sweet was their manhood's morning flower,
Their hopes with rainbow hues were bright,--
How swiftly winged the sudden night!
O Mother! on thy marble page
Thy children read, from age to age,
The mighty word that upward leads
Through noble thought to nobler deeds.
TRUTH, heaven-born TRUTH, their fearless guide,
Thy saints have lived, thy heroes died;
Our love has reared their earthly shrine,
Their glory be forever thine!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The Flower of Liberty
WHAT flower is this that greets the morn,
Its hues from Heaven so freshly born?
With burning star and flaming band
It kindles all the sunset land:
Oh tell us what its name may be,--
Is this the Flower of Liberty?
It is the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!
In savage Nature's far abode
Its tender seed our fathers sowed;
The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud,
Its opening leaves were streaked with blood,
Till lo! earth's tyrants shook to see
The full-blown Flower of Liberty!
Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!
Behold its streaming rays unite,
One mingling flood of braided light,--
The red that fires the Southern rose,
With spotless white from Northern snows,
And, spangled o'er its azure, see
The sister Stars of Liberty!
Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!
The blades of heroes fence it round,
Where'er it springs is holy ground;
From tower and dome its glories spread;
It waves where lonely sentries tread;
It makes the land as ocean free,
And plants an empire on the sea!
Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!
Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom's flower,
Shall ever float on dome and tower,
To all their heavenly colors true,
In blackening frost or crimson dew,--
And God love us as we love thee,
Thrice holy Flower of Liberty!
Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry FLOWER OF LIBERTY!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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I'll Give You A Flower, Mother
I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
For life is but a garden
To children of 5 years
I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
For to a bride, they’re lovely
Mother, hold your tears
I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
I’ll lay it in your sweet hands
For our time has disappeared
I’ll give you a flower, mother
I’ll give you a flower, dear
When I see you there at heaven
When my time’s done here
poem by Whitney Albright
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The Annunciation Of The Blessed Virgin
Oh! Thou who deign'st to sympathise
With all our frail and fleshly ties,
Maker yet Brother dear,
Forgive the too presumptuous thought,
If, calming wayward grief, I sought
To gaze on Thee too near.
Yet sure 'twas not presumption, Lord,
'Twas Thine own comfortable word
That made the lesson known:
Of all the dearest bonds we prove,
Thou countest sons and mothers' love
Most sacred, most Thine own.
When wandering here a little span,
Thou took'st on Thee to rescue man,
Thou had'st no earthly sire:
That wedded love we prize so dear,
As if our heaven and home were here,
It lit in Thee no fire.
On no sweet sister's faithful breast
Wouldst Thou Thine aching forehead rest,
On no kind brother lean:
But who, O perfect filial heart,
E'er did like Thee a true son's part,
Endearing, firm, serene?
Thou wept'st, meek maiden, mother mild,
Thou wept'st upon thy sinless Child,
Thy very heart was riven:
And yet, what mourning matron here
Would deem thy sorrows bought too dear
By all on this side Heaven?
A Son that never did amiss,
That never shamed His Mother's kiss,
Nor crossed her fondest prayer:
E'en from the tree He deigned to bow,
For her His agonised brow,
Her, His sole earthly care.
Ave Maria! blessed Maid!
Lily of Eden's fragrant shade,
Who can express the love
That nurtured thee so pure and sweet,
Making thy heart a shelter meet
For Jesus' holy dove?
Ave Maria! Mother blest,
To whom, caressing and caressed,
Clings the eternal Child;
Favoured beyond Archangels' dream,
When first on Thee with tenderest gleam
Thy new-born Saviour smiled:-
Ave Maria! thou whose name
All but adoring love may claim,
Yet may we reach thy shrine;
For He, thy Son and Saviour, vows
To crown all lowly lofty brows
With love and joy like thine.
Blessed is the womb that bare Him--blessed
The bosom where His lips were pressed,
But rather blessed are they
Who hear His word and keep it well,
The living homes where Christ shall dwell,
And never pass away.
poem by John Keble
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Sonnet: Mother’s Day,2006!
O earthly mother, you are truly great!
You’re wife to one who’as nobler in much ways;
You reared a family so well till date;
May God give you good health in your last days!
O earthly lady, hallowed be thine womb!
What sufferings you underwent for us!
May God give you more useful years ’fore tomb!
Through you, so many miracles, God does.
O noble soul of love, may God bless you!
Your love and care is just incomparable;
You toiled unceasingly for others too;
Our mother dear, you were so capable!
I pray God gives you some more years of joy!
I am so glad to be your youngest boy!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-14-2006
Dedicated to my most wonderful, beloved, living mother
On Mother’s Day,2006.
poem by John Celes
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Our Sweet Love
I thought about a summer day
And how the time just floats away
Pretty things like incense and flowers
I wanna make them part of
Our sweet love
Could last forever
(our sweet love)
Our sweet love
Could last forever
I thought about a winter night
And how Id like to hold you tight
Candlelight the warmth of a fire
We could make them part of
Our sweet love
Honey its heaven
(our sweet love)
Our sweet love
Could last forever
Sweet love sweet love
Like a child with his new toy
My heart is filled with joy for
Our sweet love
Honey its heaven
(our sweet love)
Our sweet love
Lord knows I love her so
I feel it down inside my soul
A precious love like this can flower
Theres nothing in this world like
Our sweet love
Should last forever
(our sweet love)
Our sweet love
Could last forever
Our sweet love
Could last forever
Our sweet love
Could last forever
(our sweet love)
Oh
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Tribute to Our Beloved Mom, ‘STELLA’
(On The Occasion of her Sad Demise …)
Our mom is not alive anymore, oh!
She’s gone to be with God forever, so;
She had a sudden exit from the earth;
Nevertheless, it was a peaceful, death.
Last time I met her, she looked quite healthy;
She was already aged more than ninety;
Her talk and attitude had us impressed;
But in her heart of hearts, she was distressed.
She’d thought, her time had come to say ‘Good-bye’;
She lived as if she was ready to die;
She had prepared for this for quite a while;
She lived in fear of God but fearless style.
Her life was exemplary from the start;
She loved to live but knew she must depart;
She lived a simple life through sheer God’s will;
She kept her cool and wasn’t seriously ill.
We thank Thee God for taking her away!
We thank Thee for keeping her till this day;
To us, she looked so great, almost a Fay;
Her love, we children can never repay!
She looked after herself until the last;
She knew the present, future and the past;
She lived in high spirits, never downcast;
She walked and wrote and spoke so very fast.
We wondered if she was a living saint!
She was a workaholic all her life;
She was so smart in everything she did;
She kept her sanity until the end.
All children loved her very much by heart;
A tower of strength and good advice, she stayed;
She kept so calm in face of trying times;
She prayed the Holy rosary always!
She was the link to all our relatives;
She was beloved in all family circles;
She worked from dawn till dusk, until mid-night;
She was up in the morning ’fore the rest.
Oh, what a fine mother and wife, she was!
Oh, what a nice grand-mother, sibling too!
She was some kind of living library;
She consoled anyone who sought her aid.
Her will-power surprised us very much;
Her words of kindness had a magic touch;
She spoke effortlessly and heard our woes;
She loved all friends, strangers and even foes!
We feel so happy; yet, we want to cry!
We feel so sad but ecstatic as well;
We know our mother no more lives with us;
The loss is irreparable and true!
She left the world on Tuesday, St.Antony’s day!
That was the name of dad, her husband too;
She was so brave until the very last;
Today the earth’s star ‘Stella’ is heavened!
She was a lamp so bright atop life’s hill;
She lived by Word of God and by God’s will;
She served as example to all around;
Her life was founded upon holy ground!
She loved to serve the Almighty always;
She loved her children, husband, all her days;
Her love for God was firm and steadfast too;
For sake of God, her duties, she would do!
She’ll guide her children from her newer place;
In death, she wore a holy, smiling face;
She’s now a blessing for the human race;
Amongst women, she showed she was an ‘ace’!
Fondly dedicated to (late) Mrs. Stella Antoniswamy, CBE
By all her children, grand-children and their spouses
Copyright by Dr John Celes 27-04-2010
poem by John Celes
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To Peter Cooper
The Pyramids of Egypt, even to-day
The wonder of the world, stupendous stand
In their material greatness, and defy
Alike relentless Time and Libyan sand.
But what great thought through those grim structures smiles?
What Aspiration reared those wondrous piles?
None,---save that kings, forgotten long ago,
Might leave their worthless dust to waste below.
This Shrine thou 'st reared to Science and to Art
A nobler Thought than Egypt dreamed contains,
And every stone speaks of a regal heart
Benignant as the Nile to desert plains,
When all the arid waste it overflows,
And the parched shores grow green, and blossom as the rose.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Fresh Flower Blue
It's a fresh flower blue.
I wrap it in a sheet.
I love its scent, it's hues.
It sips the mist, the dew
and leaves an odor, treat
It's a fresh flower blue.
Its pets, the bees and crew
they meet, they greet, they eat.
I love its scent, its hues.
From dawn to dusk they woo
and bask in rain or heat.
It's a fresh flower blue.
There's a flower for you
There's one for me. A treat!
I love its scent, its hues.
The day I say adieu
I send you one so sweet.
It's a fresh flower blue
I love its scent, its hue.
poem by Agatha Lai
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A Welcome To The Month Of Mary
Oh! gladly do we welcome thee,
Fair pleasant month of May;
Month which we’ve eager longed to see,
Through many a wintry day:
And now with countless budding flowers,
With sunshine bright and clear—
To gild the quickly fleeting hours—
At length, sweet month, thou’rt here!
But, yet, we do not welcome thee
Because thy genial breath
Hath power our sleeping land to free
From winter’s clasp of death;
Nor yet because fair flowers are springing
Beneath thy genial ray;
And thousand happy birds are singing
All welcome to thee, May!
No, higher, nobler cause have we
These bright days to rejoice—
’Twas God ordained that thou should’st be
The loved month of our choice:
It is because thou hast been given
To honor her alone,
The ever gentle Queen of Heaven—
The mother of God’s son.
The blossoms that we joyous cull
By bank or silver stream;
The fragrant hawthorn boughs we pull,
Most sacred too, we deem:
For not amid our tresses we
Their op’ning buds will twine,
But garlands fair we’ll weave with care
For Mary’s lowly shrine.
And when the twilight shades descend
On earth, so hushed and still,
And the lone night bird’s soft notes blend
With breeze from glade and hill,
We seek her shrine with loving heart,
And, humbly kneeling there,
We linger long, loth to depart
From that sweet place of prayer!
Oh! who can tell with what gifts rare
Our Mother will repay
Their love who honor thus with care
Her own sweet month of May!
A grace for every flower they’ve brought
Or ’Ave, they have said;
And ev’ry pious, holy thought
Shall be by her repaid!
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Anniversary hymn
[sung to tune: "All Saints New"]
Our fathers, in the years grown dim, reared slowly, wall by wall
A holy dwelling-place for Him, that filleth all in all.
They wrought His house of faith and prayer, the rainbow round the Throne,
A precious temple builded fair on Christ the Cornerstone.
The Angel of the Golden Reed hath found the measure strait'
He hears the Great Foundation plead for ampler wall and gate.
The living pillars of the Truth grown on from morn to morn,
And still the heresy of youth is age's creed outworn.
But steadfast is their inner shrine wrought of the heart's fine gold,
Its hunger and its thirst divine, with jewels manifold,
Red sard of pain, hope's emerald gleam, white peace, no glory missed
Of righteous life and saintly dream, Jasper to amethyst.
Spirit of Truth, forbid that we who now God's temple are
And keep the faith with minds more free, our father's fabric mar.
Better than thoughts the stars that search is self still sacrificed,
For only Love can build the church whose corner-stone is Christ.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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The Sunset Thoughts Of A Dying Child
Friends! do you see in yon sunset sky,
That cloud of crimson bright?
Soon will its gorgeous colors die
In coming dim twilight;
E’en now it fadeth ray by ray—
Like it I too shall pass away!
Look on yon fragile summer flower
Yielding its sweet perfume;
Soon shall it have lived out its hour,
Its beauty and its bloom:
Trampled, ’twill perish in the shade—
Alas! as quickly shall I fade.
Mark you yon planet gleaming clear
With steadfast, gentle light,
See, heavy dark clouds hovering near,
Have veiled its radiance bright—
As you vainly search that gloomy spot,
You’ll look for me and find me not!
Turn now to yonder sparkling stream,
Where silver ripples play;
Dancing within the moon’s pale beam—
Ah! short will be their stay,
They break and die upon the shore—
Like them I soon shall be no more!
Yes! emblems meet of my career,
Are ripple, cloud, and flower;
Fated like me to linger here,
But for a brief, bright hour—
And then, alas! to yield my place;
And leave, perchance, on earth no trace!
No trace, my friends, save in your hearts,
That pure and sacred shrine—
Where, ’spite life’s thousand cares and arts,
A place shall yet be mine;
And love as deep as that of yore—
Though on this earth we meet no more!
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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The Gardener
WITHIN this garden space are set
Sweet mignonette and violet,
Sunk in rich mould; at dawn and night
Their leaves dew-wet.
Who set them in the kindly loam
Lies buried 'neath the clover-foam
Of alien meadows, far away
From his loved home.
If it be glory thus to pass
For Honour's sake, and 'neath the grass
Red-wounded lie, then he, in truth,
Great glory has.
Yet, blossoms that he loved and set! —
Sweet mignonette, sweet violet —
Not Honour's self, nor Glory's crown,
Can stay regret.
'Twixt bud of leaf and fall of leaf,
Why should Fate in an hour so brief
Wreck flower and flower, and nurse alone
The cypress — Grief?
He is not gone — not all of him;
For trees have memories; leaf and limb
Shall breathe his name, and grateful flowers
At twilight dim.
For like these blooms, he left behind
Some fragrance, subtle and refined —
A memoried sweetness that shall haunt
Tree, flower and wind.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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To William Shelley.
(With what truth may I say--
Roma! Roma! Roma!
Non e piu come era prima!)
I.
My lost William, thou in whom
Some bright spirit lived, and did
That decaying robe consume
Which its lustre faintly hid,--
Here its ashes find a tomb,
But beneath this pyramid
Thou art not—if a thing divine
Like thee can die, thy funeral shrine
Is thy mother’s grief and mine.
II.
Where art thou, my gentle child?
Let me think thy spirit feeds,
With its life intense and mild,
The love of living leaves and weeds
Among these tombs and ruins wild;--
Let me think that through low seeds
Of sweet flowers and sunny grass
Into their hues and scents may pass
A portion--
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Bande Mataram
Mother, I bow to thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving, Mother of might,
Mother free.
Glory of moonlight dreams
Over thy branches and lordly streams,
Clad in thy blossoming trees,
Mother, giver of ease,
Laughing low and sweet!
Mother, I kiss thy feet,
Speaker sweet and low!
Mother, to thee I bow.
Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands,
When the swords flash out in twice seventy million hands
And seventy millions voices roar
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
To thee I call, Mother and Lord!
Thou who savest, arise and save!
To her I cry who ever her foemen drave
Back from plain and sea
And shook herself free.
Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou our heart, our soul, our breath,
Thou the love divine, the awe
In our hearts that conquers death.
Thine the strength that nerves the arm,
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thine.
Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,
With her hands that strike and her swords of sheen,
Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,
Pure and perfect without peer,
Mother, lend thine ear.
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleams,
Dark of hue, O candid-fair
In thy soul, with jewelled hair
And thy glorious smile divine,
Loveliest of all earthly lands,
Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
Mother, mother mine!
Mother sweet, I bow to thee,
Mother great and free.
poem by Sri Aurobindo
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A Mother's Love
A Mother's Love
Nowhere will i find a love like a mother's love
Who did her best, to look her best
Whose love abounds, unconditional, endless
Outshines her beauty, because she is full of bounty
To the greatest joy of her life..her children
She would not trade for anything, for any treasure
They are the best things that ever happened to her
If only she could give all her life
Be born again and again
She will choose to be a mother
To the children she loves and adores.
The palm of her hands
Brings a touching offering of a smile
Making her children feel special
And being there when they need her
In sickness and in pain,
in the midst of the storm
She creates a song
That echoes sweetly of peace and joy in their hearts
bringing a lullaby
rocking them into a deep slumber
How sweet it is to have a mother
Who paints a meaning and a goal in our lives
The sunshine is even more bright
With her by our side..what can we ask for more
poem by Meggie Gultiano
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The Flowers
Ye offspring of the morning sun,
Ye flowers that deck the smiling plain,
Your lives, in joy and bliss begun,
In Nature's love unchanged remain.
With hues of bright and godlike splendor
Sweet Flora graced your forms so tender,
And clothed ye in a garb of light;
Spring's lovely children weep forever,
For living souls she gave ye never,
And ye must dwell in endless night?
The nightingale and lark still sing
In your tranced ears the bliss of love;
The toying sylphs, on airy wing,
Around your fragrant bosoms rove,
Of yore, Dione's daughter [6] twining
In garlands sweet your cup-so shining,
A pillow formed where love might rest!
Spring's gentle children, mourn forever,
The joys of love she gave ye never,
Ne'er let ye know that feeling blest!
But when ye're gathered by my hand,
A token of my love to be,
Now that her mother's harsh command
From Nanny's [7] sight has banished me--
E'en from that passing touch ye borrow
Those heralds mute of pleasing sorrow,
Life, language, hearts and souls divine;
And to your silent leaves 'tis given,
By Him who mightiest is in heaven,
His glorious Godhead to enshrine.
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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A flower for the night [2]
In the garden we sat watching the stars,
talking softly, intimately while she smoked
and the cigarette glowed red
with her perfume and its flavour
mixing on the evening air
and around us there were flowers
opening everywhere
and some had large cups, others hanged
with petals in strings
in different hues from white, pink,
red to crimson, violet and blue.
There is a flower (whose name I know)
who showed me the most beautiful petals
and bloomed one night
in a bed besides me
in sheer nudity
with perfection in ever aspect of her body
while the full moon rose almost silver white
on a cloudless night
she was soft, firm and tender
and her lips sweet and hot
and I could not resist her,
the intimacy, the tenderness
and the love that she brought.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Vernal Deity
In spring mother endowed with the garlands of red china roses
Attracts the chaste women.
Innocent devotees to distribute love and affection;
In the vernal morn, beauteous looks mother’s vast creation.
Mother Bhandara Gharanee’s sweet lovely shrine attracts the
Distant devotees for purification;
Attracts poets, scientists to bless with sweet invention.
In kaliyuga, o devotees! Chant the sweet name of mother
With profound love and delight;
Mother is the deity of deities, almighty, a sweet stream of gaiety.
Mother Mahamaya evaporates feat;
With profound love she contents all devotees’ desire.
Mother’s shrine pervades eternal peace;
She is an ocean of divine bliss.
Mother loves all innocent creatures;
She contents their desires.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Chaos Rules the Garden of Her Harmony.
Out of the calm expectancy we claim as security
Rides a child of glowing radiance, born of the blood moon tamed.
He sleeps within the garden evergreen
Keeping clean the blue that glazes the dreams of children
Reflecting upon their means.
We as dogs are reared from birth to conform within uniform.
We are taught that man in the lord of nature yet fickle by
His own existence. We learn beyond the translucent panes
We know as escape that upon our hands the blood of our
Mother stains. It pains me so to see the mother that bore me birth
Laid placid in acceptance of the turning of her children.
She is butchered. Chaos rules the garden of her harmony.
What are we to do as brothers of the grain?
Are we to watch our mother writhe in pain?
As we abuse the Love we receive from her nurture
Using the excuse that we are by the nature of our stature destructive.
Ever excusing our actions with the construction of abstractions
All we are doing is refracting the truth upon a reflection distorted.
Creating only obstruction to the construction of a palace Avalon
Within which we would wish to dwell.
We may always glance at the philosopher kings of the past
We may forever ponder why such ideals faded and didn’t last.
Rome died a death of decadence debased
Through slavery, through organised brutality
Such an illusion of glory was formed
Upon these ideals the building blocks of all
Empires are placed. Upon these ideals breed
Storm fuelled eyes within the most placid of Emperors.
poem by David Lacey
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The Flower That Shattered The Stone (Reprise)
(HenryJarvis)
The earth is our mother, just turning around with her trees in the forest and roots underground. Our father above us, whose sigh is the wind, paint us a rainbow without any end.
As the river runs freely, the mountain does rise.
Let me touch with my fingers, and see with my eyes.
In the hearts of the children, a pure love still grows.
Like a bright star in heaven that lights our way home, like the flower that shattered the stone.
Sparrows find freedom beholding the sun, in the infinite beauty, we're all joined in one.
I reach out before me and look to the sky, did I hear someone whisper, did something pass by?
As the river runs freely, the mountain does rise.
Let me touch with my fingers, and see with my eyes.
In the hearts of the children, a pure love still grows.
Like a bright star in heaven that lights our way home, like the flower that shattered the stone.
Like a bright star in heaven that lights our way home, like the flower that shattered the stone.
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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