The Crooked Footpath
AH, here it is! the sliding rail
That marks the old remembered spot,--
The gap that struck our school-boy trail,--
The crooked path across the lot.
It left the road by school and church,
A pencilled shadow, nothing more,
That parted from the silver-birch
And ended at the farm-house door.
No line or compass traced its plan;
With frequent bends to left or right,
In aimless, wayward curves it ran,
But always kept the door in sight.
The gabled porch, with woodbine green,--
The broken millstone at the sill,--
Though many a rood might stretch between,
The truant child could see them still.
No rocks across the pathway lie,--
No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown,--
And yet it winds, we know not why,
And turns as if for tree or stone.
Perhaps some lover trod the way
With shaking knees and leaping heart,--
And so it often runs astray
With sinuous sweep or sudden start.
Or one, perchance, with clouded brain
From some unholy banquet reeled,--
And since, our devious steps maintain
His track across the trodden field.
Nay, deem not thus,--no earthborn will
Could ever trace a faultless line;
Our truest steps are human still,--
To walk unswerving were divine!
Truants from love, we dream of wrath;
Oh, rather let us trust the more!
Through all the wanderings of the path,
We still can see our Father's door!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Related quotes
What Do You Do I Ask
(5/4/12)
What do you do when you feel all hope is gone
And hanging by a thread you linger on.
What do you do when you take three steps forward
And eight steps back, and in life you're always under attack.
What do you do when you have door after door
Slam in your face, and to hide - there is no place.
What do you do when your loved ones have lost faith in you
And you don't know what to do.
What do you do when you pray every day
And the answers don't come your way.
Is this really the time to give up hope
When all your life you learned to cope.
Your dreams don't come when you want
And may never come at all
And to the ground they may fall.
Your dreams may not be what GOD has intended
But in your life, your dreams may be ended.
There may be another path that he wants you to travel
And his answers will all unravel.
Your life is not lived just for yourself
You must touch everyone else.
We are surrounded by millions of people
And each life touching another
And giving hope to so many others.
We can not see what he has in store
But we live with faith as we open the new door.
The door may be something that we don't expect
And it will make our lives better yet.
So open the door and let that radiating light shine through
For this is the light and path that belongs to you.
poem by Louis Rams
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At the door
I thought myself indeed secure,
So fast the door, so firm the lock;
But, lo! he toddling comes to lure
My parent ear with timorous knock.
My heart were stone could it withstand
The sweetness of my baby's plea,--
That timorous, baby knocking and
"Please let me in,--it's only me."
I threw aside the unfinished book,
Regardless of its tempting charms,
And opening wide the door, I took
My laughing darling in my arms.
Who knows but in Eternity,
I, like a truant child, shall wait
The glories of a life to be,
Beyond the Heavenly Father's gate?
And will that Heavenly Father heed
The truant's supplicating cry,
As at the outer door I plead,
"'T is I, O Father! only I"?
poem by Eugene Field
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Steps
Each house has steps of various types,
And numbers, leading to its door;
We leave our foot-wear and walk in,
As tradition demands us so.
And there are steps to temples too,
Especially those built on hills;
We do most things in steps in life;
But walk, we must in Lord’s footsteps!
Our spiritual life has steps to make;
We cannot take a nap at all;
The door to heaven has no steps,
And so also, the fall to hell!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-16-2008
poem by John Celes
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Walk With God
Why does one walk with God, and why does a heart humbly nod,
While a sinner in the present life, to follow as Lord, Jesus Christ?
What are the choices one will make, as former ways they forsake,
Ignoring all that others will say, as they choose in life a new way?
No soul will move towards God, upon the earth we presently trod,
Unless the person is drawn by, the Spirit of God, Who is on High.
Their heart by God is stirred within, that sinner lost and wandering,
And given eyes so they will see, the need for The God of Eternity.
A need they never saw before, the Savior knocked upon the door,
The very door of their own heart, for the new life with God to start,
And at that moment they believe, The Holy Spirit, they will receive,
Thus, beginning a New Life when, that sinner becomes Born Again.
It is only after that spiritual birth, the things of God have real worth,
When given new sight from above, God’s Spirit kindles a new love,
A flame in your heart becomes a fire, with new purpose and desire,
Walking with God you’ll soon find, the former ways are left behind.
With a desire to walk in The Light, to help men still lost in the night,
Persuading others to open the door, to a life in Christ forevermore,
So as the Spirit of God moves in, they leave a present path of sin,
To join that race with you and me, on the new path to Life Eternally.
(Copyright ©09/2009)
The Old Love
Out of my door I step into
The country, all her scent and dew,
Nor travel there by a hard road,
Dusty and far from my abode.
The country washes to my door
Green miles on miles in soft uproar,
The thunder of the woods, and then
The backwash of green surf again.
Beyond the feverfew and stocks,
The guelder-rose and hollyhocks;
Outside my trellised porch a tree
Of lilac frames a sky for me.
A stretch of primrose and pale green
To hold the tender Hesper in;
Hesper that by the moon makes pale
Her silver keel and silver sail.
The country silence wraps me quite,
Silence and song and pure delight;
The country beckons all the day
Smiling, and but a step away.
This is that country seen across
How many a league of love and loss,
Prayed for and longed for, and as far
As fountains in the desert are.
This is that country at my door,
Whose fragrant airs run on before,
And call me when the first birds stir
In the green wood to walk with her.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Silver Birch Tree
Silver birch tree
I carved my love, into you
A school-locker key
I used for his name,
Piercing a heart
I carved my love, into you
Please keep it there
So that somewhere
We'll stay alive.
Silver birch tree
My life is in line, with you
It's always us three
Twisting through time,
Days come and go
My life is in line, with you
Seasons may change
Please stay the same
We'll stay alive.
poem by Sofia Darling
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Footsteps
As I follow my dear Savior, He guides my path and my behavior,
By His Spirit God makes my life, a shadow of The Savior, Christ.
This, as my footsteps follow Him; Christ, who died for all my sin,
For Christ leads me to my Calvary, to live my life for men to see.
As Christ who paid all sins price, guides me as a living sacrifice.
Living in the power of His Name, with God’s Gospel to proclaim.
His footsteps get me to a place, that He fills me with His Grace,
So that I can be Christ’s light, as God’s testimony in men’s sight.
The Lord above says follow me, upon a new pathway to Eternity,
For me, new footsteps had begun, as I chose to follow The Son.
My steps took me from my night, into my Blessed Savior’s Light,
From my world of darkened sin, to a holy walk, modeled by Him.
His footsteps never waver friend, but guide us safely to the end,
Leading all believers, day by day, safely down life’s narrow way,
Veering not to the left or right, but straight ahead in God’s Light,
The Light of the Word of God, upon our path on this earthly sod.
God has put us on an eternal path, far from God’s coming Wrath,
Upon a path prepared by Him, who took that wrath for all our sin.
By Christ becoming a sacrifice, believers gain entry into Paradise,
Following the steps of Jesus Christ, we will enter into Eternal Life.
A Song of the Road
O I will walk with you, my lad, whichever way you fare,
You'll have me, too, the side o' you, with heart as light as air;
No care for where the road you take's a-leadin' anywhere,--
It can but be a joyful ja'nt whilst you journey there.
The road you take's the path o' love, an' that's the bridth o' two--
An' I will walk with you, my lad -- O I will walk with you.
Ho! I will walk with you, my lad,
Be weather black or blue
Or roadsides frost or dew, my lad --
O I will walk with you.
Aye, glad, my lad, I'll walk with you, whatever winds may blow,
Or summer blossoms stay our steps, or blinding drifts of snow;
The way thay you set face an' foot 's the way that I will go,
An' brave I'll be, abreast o' ye, the Saints and Angels know!
With loyal hand in loyal hand, an' one heart made o' two,
Through summer's gold, or winter's cold, It's I will walk with you.
Sure, I will walk with you, my lad,
A love ordains me to,--
To Heaven's door, an' through, my lad.
O I will walk with you.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Loves On The Line
Tell me baby
Have we lost everything that we had before
What do you do in the day
When I walk out the door
I can see you made up your mind
And I know our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
With each passing day
I gotta watch more and more what I say to you
I can feel your eyes looking through me
As I sit at the table at dinnertime
I can feel our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
I watch our kids
Growin up, going to school
Is there anything else for us now
Are we both just fools
Wasting our precious time
At night we lay in bed
But its like youre not even there
Theres something real bad
Going wrong somewhere
Last night I heard you cry
And I know our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Path
RUNNING along a bank, a parapet
That saves from the precipitous wood below
The level road, there is a path. It serves
Children for looking down the long smooth steep,
Between the legs of beech and yew, to where
A fallen tree checks the sight: while men and women
Content themselves with the road and what they see
Over the bank, and what the children tell.
The path, winding like silver, trickles on,
Bordered and even invaded by thinnest moss
That tries to cover roots and crumbling chalk
With gold, olive, and emerald, but in vain.
The children wear it. They have flattened the bank
On top, and silvered it between the moss
With the current of their feet, year after year.
But the road is houseless, and leads not to school.
To see a child is rare there, and the eye
Has but the road, the wood that overhangs
And underyawns it, and the path that looks
As if it led on to some legendary
Or fancied place where men have wished to go
And stay; till, sudden, it ends where the wood ends.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Two Steps
Two steps together
Our Myths says
Brings two souls together
Two steps together
Is the surround of
One’s life to another
Two steps together
Can bring the long path
Seeming so far away
To so close that
One can feel the step’s beat
In his own heart.
Two steps together
But,
Will life be just the path of two steps only?
Anyhow, any steps walking is incomplete
If it is not done in two steps
All begins by just two steps together….
poem by Kriti Krits
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Beloved - Hide Your Eyes
A steep but lovely trail -
I notice a divide and realize
before me lies a known and beloved path - beloved of you.
And you, beloved of me,
the longing comes to choose your chosen trail.
I want to see the flowers you saw that day
when you held my hand and my heart all at once.
In seeing the rocks and branches you cherished
I might catch a ghost like glimpse of a once loved you.
The once loved you - a once beloved me.
Beloved no more.
And maybe the present me might stumble upon the present you.
The steps hasten now to the path, the rocks, the branches.
The steps stop.
What if I find your eyes and they find mine?
What looks out from a beloved's eyes when love has departed?
I choose the other path.
poem by Meli Secret
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The Path Through The Snow
BARE and sunshiny, bright and bleak,
Rounded cold as a dead maid's cheek,
Folded white as a sinner's shroud,
Or wandering angel's robes of cloud.--
Well I know, well I know
Over the fields the path through the snow.
Narrow and rough it lies between
Wastes where the wind sweeps, biting keen:
Every step of the slippery road
Marks where some weary foot has trod;
Who'll go, who'll go
After the rest on the path through the snow?
They who would tread it must walk alone,
Silent and steadfast--one by one:
Dearest to dearest can only say,
'My heart! I'll follow thee all the way,
As we go, as we go
Each after each on this path through the snow.'
It may be under that western haze
Lurks the omen of brighter days;
That each sentinel tree is quivering
Deep at its core with the sap of spring,
And while we go, while we go,
Green grass-blades pierce thro' the glittering snow.
It may be the unknown path will tend
Never to any earthly end,
Die with the dying day obscure,
And never lead to a human door:
That none know who did go
Patiently once on this path through the snow.
No matter, no matter! the path shines plain;
These pure snow-crystals will deaden pain;
Above, like stars in the deep blue dark,
Eyes that love us look down and mark.
Let us go, let us go,
Whither heaven leads in the path thro' the snow.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Old Man
Old Man, or Lads-Love, - in the name there's nothing
To one that knows not Lads-Love, or Old Man,
The hoar green feathery herb, almost a tree,
Growing with rosemary and lavender.
Even to one that knows it well, the names
Half decorate, half perplex, the thing it is:
At least, what that is clings not to the names
In spite of time. And yet I like the names.
The herb itself I like not, but for certain
I love it, as someday the child will love it
Who plucks a feather from the door-side bush
Whenever she goes in or out of the house.
Often she waits there, snipping the tips and shrivelling
The shreds at last on to the path,
Thinking perhaps of nothing, till she sniffs
Her fingers and runs off. The bush is still
But half as tall as she, 'though it is as old;
So well she clips it. Not a word she says;
And I ca only wonder how much hereafter
She will remember, with that bitter scent,
Of garden rows, and ancient damson trees
Topping a hedge, a bent path to a door
A low thick bush beside the door, and me
Forbidding her to pick.
As for myself,
Where first I met the bitter scent is lost.
I, too, often shrivel the grey shreds,
Sniff them and think and sniff again and try
Once more to think what it is I am remembering,
Always in vain. I cannot like the scent,
Yet I would rather give up others more sweet,
With no meaning, than this bitter one.
I have mislaid the key. I sniff the spray
And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing;
Yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait
For what I should, yet never can, remember;
No garden appears, no path, no hoar-green bush
Of Lad's-love, or Old Man, no child beside,
Neither father nor mother, nor any playmate;
Only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end
poem by Edward Thomas
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Cliff House
When the sun has set in the wintertime
And I'm all alone in this grey old house,
I bolt the shutters and pull the blinds
And set a spark to the candlewax;
The wind runs howling about the eaves,
The shutters chatter, the wind-cock spins,
The breakers clatter and clash below
As my world returns to me, widdershins.
It's then that I hear my mother's voice
So faint at first in the storm outside,
She sighs and moans, and I hear her plead
The length and breadth of the countryside.
Her voice soughs out from the aspens near,
Quivers in ferns and rocks, as if
No year that followed has spent her need
For still she sobs at the edge of the cliff.
Her voice comes whispering under the door
I plug my ears and I cry out loud:
'Leave me, mother, you worked your will,
You earned your fee of a graveyard shroud! '
Still she mutters and moans for him
The shape that darkened our outer door,
Whenever my father was not around
I'd hear his steps on the oaken floor.
Then I'd be sent to my lonely room
And told to play as she locked me in,
Her eyes were bright and her tone was gay
As she breathless, left for her wayward sin.
I heard them laugh in the room above,
The steady beat as they rocked the bed,
And then he'd bellow, and she would scream
As I pulled the covers right over my head.
On winter nights she would pace the floor,
Impatient then, and she'd peer outside,
Men with torches were on the beach
And I'd hear them curse at the rising tide.
But then I'd peek through my window shades
To see them marching up over the hill,
Carrying barrels and flagons of wine
To the village, seen from my window-sill.
She caught me once and she screamed in fright,
'You never, never must look, you see!
Those men are phantoms, they're only ghosts
From wrecks aground on the outer key.'
Then later came the knock at the door,
I saw the shadow, the wide brimmed hat,
And as she turned the key in the lock,
I heard her whisper, and sigh: 'Oh Jack! '
I asked her once who the stranger was
Who came so late, it was awful queer,
'It's always dark when he comes to call,
He never comes when my father's here.'
My mother grimaced, and turned quite pale
Then said, 'he brings us our victuals, son,
Tea and coffee, sugar and salt,
And a bushel of wheat and barleycorn.'
One day, a team of Revenue Men
Were waiting there in the cove below,
A gale was blowing, the breakers crashed,
I woke when the early rooster crowed.
Then lights and men in a mad melee
And a gun went off and a scream of pain,
I watched as they marched them over the hill,
A line of phantoms encased in chain.
My mother ran from the open door,
Out to the windswept cliff she fled,
I heard her moan as she looked on down
At the figure that lay on the beach, stone dead.
My father followed her, looking grim
As he stood behind in the driving rain,
But mother fell to her knees, and wailed
Like a banshee whirled in a pit of pain.
I left the window, I crossed the room,
I took the stairs at a run that day,
The door lay open to morning gloom
I raced on out in the pouring rain.
But over toward the edge of the cliff
I could see my father, looking down,
Mother lay on the beach below, while
All my father could do was frown.
I'll never know if she jumped that day
To join the shape that lay dead on the beach,
Or whether my father pushed her there,
A love long dead, that was out of reach.
He cried no tears, that I recall
When they buried them both in a hillside grave,
But followed them after a year and a day,
Slashed his throat in the old church nave.
Years have gone, and I prowl the house,
Perched on the edge of this dreadful cliff,
I dare not leave, for my mother's cries
Blow in and out from the storm swept reef.
But late on wintry nights the sound
Of those heavy steps on the oaken floor,
A shadow passes my room at night
And my mother sighs, and I hear no more.
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Light Beyond the Door
A place where I have found answers ahead
Turning back will only give me more questions and doubts
With my thoughts cleared from my mind once clouded I move on
Confident of answers leading me to a different path
Many stairs stretch toward the top with no sight of the end
Ignoring the frustration in my thoughts I will start toward the top
With each step I took towards the top I felt tiresome
Using the strength I had left I was able to move forward
Almost all the strength I have is depleted
I was forced on my hands and knees until I could move again
Just when I was about to lose consciousness
I see a blinding light beyond a door to begin my journey
poem by Sarah Bruun
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Broken Down
By simon climie & dennis morgan
Everything was wonderful when you were in my life.
Yesterday we were on a roll, baby, then we end up in a fight.
Everywhere I look, I see problems, where I never seen before.
The cracks in the sidewalk, when I get home my key dont even fit the door.
The moon dont shine, its broken down.
The clouds are crying, theyre broken down.
The car wont start, its broken down.
And this shattered heart, its broken down.
My whole damn world, its broken down.
Since you left me girl, Ive broken down.
Stepped outside into the night, I took a walk around the block.
I stopped by the church that I used to go inside but even that door was locked.
So I came back home, feeling so alone, a light had burned out in the hall.
My tv is broke, said Im out of smoke, theres no one I can even call.
Chorus
Said my whole damn world, its broken down.
Since you left me girl, Ive broken down.
Till you come back, come back to me, Im going to be broken down.
Till you come back, come back to me, Im going to be broken down.
Chorus
I mean my whole damn world, its broken down.
Since you left me girl, Ive broken down.
My whole damn world, its broken down.
Since you left me girl, its broken down.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Becomes The Poem!
there comes a time...
when the artist lays down the brush,
when the carpenter lays down the hammer,
when the lover walks out the door.
when the child turns away
from childish things.
when the mother steps back,
and opens the door.
when the old man stomps out
the fire with his boots.
when the sky falls,
and the earth rises.
when the poor just will not
take it any more.
when the sacred reveals
itself in a back alley.
when the truth steps up
and cuts the throat of the lie.
when the wind returns
from whence it came.
when the poet lays down his pen,
and becomes the poem!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Unicorn
I finally went outside the house
Walked slowly down
Its stairs
Moving towards the path
That my father trod
Many years ago
The same path that mother
Too walked upon
Years ago to follow those
She loved most
Now, taking the same path
I too, look for those
I truly love
The white horse that father left
That mother caressed
With her tiny hands
The little bird that barely
Knew how to fly
Fallen and then learned to fly
Away
The face of the white princess
Powdered cheeks with
My kisses my sweet memories
I had seen almost everything
That was left
Except the white horse
That they have taken
Away from me
She was my only unicorn.
poem by Antonio Liao
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Perhaps The Cat!
he rose from the coffin,
shook himself, and walked,
out the door, out of sight.
the body he left behind,
nothing but an empty shell!
the mourners wept for the body.
who sings the song of
the spirit set free?
who sees with his eyes?
who knows his heart?
perhaps the blind man
at the piano...
perhaps the cat that followed
his steps, in search of food!
perhaps the wind that
closed the door behind...
perhaps the ones who really loved,
or the child waving at the window!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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