Love's Humility
As some rapt gazer on the lowly earth,
Looks up to radiant planets, ranging far,
So I, whose soul doth know thy wondrous worth
Look longing up to thee as to a star.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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God
THOUGHT of the Infinite--the All!
Be thou my God.
Lover Divine, and Perfect Comrade!
Waiting, content, invisible yet, but certain,
Be thou my God.
Thou--thou, the Ideal Man!
Fair, able, beautiful, content, and loving,
Complete in Body, and dilate in Spirit,
Be thou my God.
O Death--(for Life has served its turn;) 10
Opener and usher to the heavenly mansion!
Be thou my God.
Aught, aught, of mightiest, best, I see, conceive, or know,
(To break the stagnant tie--thee, thee to free, O Soul,)
Be thou my God.
Or thee, Old Cause, when'er advancing;
All great Ideas, the races' aspirations,
All that exalts, releases thee, my Soul!
All heroisms, deeds of rapt enthusiasts,
Be ye my Gods! 20
Or Time and Space!
Or shape of Earth, divine and wondrous!
Or shape in I myself--or some fair shape, I, viewing, worship,
Or lustrous orb of Sun, or star by night:
Be ye my Gods.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Thule, the Period of Cosmography
Thule, the period of cosmography,
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire
Doth melt the frozen clime and thaw the sky;
Trinacrian Etna's flames ascend not higher:
These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry.
The Andalusian merchant, that returns
Laden with cochineal and china dishes,
Reports in Spain how strangely Fogo burns
Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes:
These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry.
poem by Thomas Weelkes
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Blest are the pure in heart
Blest are the pure in heart,
For they shall see our God;
The secret of the Lord is theirs;
Their soul is Christ’s abode.
The Lord, Who left the heavens
Our life and peace to bring,
To dwell in lowliness with men
Their Pattern and their King.
Still to the lowly soul
He doth Himself impart;
And for His dwelling and His throne
Chooseth the pure in heart.
Lord, we Thy presence seek;
May ours this blessing be;
Give us a pure and lowly heart,
A temple meet for Thee.
poem by John Keble
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Teaching From The Stars
Stars, that on your wondrous way
Travel through the evening sky,
Is there nothing you can say
To such a little child as I?
Tell me, for I long to know,
Who has made you sparkle so?
Yes, methinks I hear you say,
'Child of mortal race attend;
While we run our wondrous way,
Listen; we would be your friend;
Teaching you that name Divine,
By whose mighty word we shine.
'Child, as truly as we roll
Through the dark and distant sky,
You have an immortal soul,
Born to live when we shall die.
Suns and planets pass away:
Spirits never can decay.
'When some thousand years at most,
All their little time have spent,
One by one our sparkling host
Shall forsake the firmament.
We shall from our glory fall;
You must live beyond us all.
'Yes, and God, who bade us roll -
God, who hung us in the sky,
Stoops to watch an infant's soul
With a condescending eye;
And esteems it dearer far-
More in value than a star!
'Oh, then, while your breath is given,
Let it rise in fervant prayer,
And beseech the God of heaven
To receive your spirit there,
Like a living star to blaze,
Ever to your Saviour's praise.'
poem by Jane Taylor
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My Longing's Compare
I miss thee, as the Spring flowers crave the rain,
To beget thought otherwise, I could ne'er feign;
I long for thee, as leaves in Fall want for hues, obscured,
I have, at long last, found thee-my heart's jubilation, assured!
I want for thee, you are my heart's trusted tutelar-
An amorous feeling ne'er before felt, yet so famular!
I wait for thee, as the Summer waits for June;
Anticipation, as the night doth wait for the Moon!
As the Winter awaits its earnest renewal in December,
I look to a wondrous future, enamored by all I do remember!
Inspiration drawn, by all I see, in nature and its seasons,
The parallel drawn betwixt we two, but one of many reasons!
Soon, my beloved, wish and want shall turn to our unity-
Then, our abiding love shall become our eternity;
Though, only rivaled by time itself, to live in perpetuity-
This, a pittance of my love for thee, which dwells with sempiternity!
Words are bereft, ne'er shall they fully suffice, nor surely, explicate
What is felt in my heart, what glorious emotions in me, you do evocate;
Though surely shall I ne'er requite for all, to me you doth give-
Try I shall, to honor and repay you still, for as long as I may live!
As the sun and rain do give to all forms of life, renewal-
So too provide for my rejuvenescence, doth my güzel {g'zool};
Like the Moon doth giveth life to seas, and predict the tide
My beloved, life you giveth me, though, in you, this I needn't confide!
Ponderances of thee pervade through all, to my very soul-
Keep sentry you hath over my fragile heart, which you 'stole'!
These and so many more ways have I, for my longing's compare,
Every moment, a lifetime-without you, my beloved, beauteous and fair!
Maurice Harris,3 November 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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Love's Infinity
Dear lowly flower that liftest up
Among the grass thy golden cup,
I take thee from thy earthly bed
And plant thee in my heart instead.
Ye ocean waves that mount on high
As emulous of the lofty sky,
'Tis in my breast ye onward sweep
Which as the sea is wide and deep.
Great sun, from thy supernal height
On flower and wave who pourest light,
My soul doth clasp thee in the skies,
And thou in me dost set and rise.
O thou I love, thy lips of fire
Have waked an infinite desire,
And unto all things as to thee
Flames out the love that burns in me.
poem by William Gay
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Longing
The day when you know something great is coming. When peace resonates in the hearts longing.
Hope makes joy worth finding.
When nightmares are fought with daylight dreaming.
Your sleaves are pulled up to continue working.
You will see that dreams are worth the working & longing.
God will keep your heart and soul burning.
May your soul resemble lightening.
My Humble Quittance
I dreamt before I again consorted with thee-yet, always it was of thee;
I now see these as my wondrous reality-because of thee;
Before thee, I saw only in hues of gray, no colors without thee-
Now, my rainbow of hues surrounds-I could never doubt thee!
I lived before thee, yet now and e'er, I am truly alive;
A more awe-inspiring consort I could never contrive!
I loved before thee, though always within a known bound;
Ne'er before have I known a love, which doth astound!
I have been known before, yet not as you do now;
I feel as though you always have, yet I know not how!
Now, I can not imagine a life without thee-I shudder;
To explicate proper your meaning to me, I could ne'er utter
Words, whether poetic or not-they would be but a pittance;
All the love I am capable of gifting, my humble quittance! !
Maurice Harris,19 May 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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To a Pianiste
I SAW thee once, I see thee now;
Thy pure young face, thy noble mien,
Thy truthful eyes, thy radiant brow;
All childlike, lovely, and serene;
Rapt in harmonious visions proud,
Scarce conscious of the audient crowd.
I heard thee when the instrument,
Possessed and quickened by thy soul,
Impassioned and intelligent,
Responded to thy full control
With all the treasures of its dower,
Its sweetest and its grandest power.
I saw and heard with such delight
As rarely charms our lower sphere
Blind Handel would not miss his sight,
Thy beauty voiced thus in his ear;
Beethoven in that face would see
His glorious unheard harmony.
poem by James Thomson
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Sonnet (II)
O
Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry
Oceans of Ink ; for, as the Deluge did
Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty :
Each Cloud distills thy praise, and doth forbid
Poets to turn it to another use.
Roses and Lillies speak thee ; and to make
A pair of Cheeks of them, is thy abuse.
Why should I Womens eyes for Chrystal take?
Such poor invention burns in their low mind,
Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go
To praise, and on thee Lord, some Ink bestow.
Open the bones, and you shall nothing find
In the best face but filth, when Lord, in thee
The beauty lies, in the discovery
poem by George Herbert
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Song VI
Our almighty Lord, eternal, unfathomed,
To Thee Cherubin proclaim "Holy, holy, holy!"
To Thee too, Seraph, true love's pure brand;
A fiery firmament tho marks Thy glory's stead.
And tho Thou art in all, 'tis there my teary eyes
I lift, and there doth my longing heart sigh;
For my senses' strengths match not their afflictions,
Like servants of masters, Thy mercies they crave.
And my will, to Thy will no whining slave,
Like a lowly maid of a lady, awaits Thee
To fast lend her a hand, and in Thy just
Compassion, alleve the burden's force.
O compassionate Father, whose fontheads
Of goodness no weir of sin car divert,
Have mercy on us, have mercy:
Long we overflow in infamies of our wrong!
No more doth the heart pang, it dies forthwith,
As force of ingrates tears our allotment and honor,
As lofty pride casts a downward eye on us,
Not marking that Thine eyes scorn us not.
poem by Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
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Nativity
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb,
Now leaves His well-belov'd imprisonment,
There He hath made Himself to His intent
Weak enough, now into the world to come;
But O, for thee, for Him, hath the inn no room?
Yet lay Him in this stall, and from the Orient,
Stars and wise men will travel to prevent
The effect of Herod's jealous general doom.
Seest thou, my soul, with thy faith's eyes, how He
Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie?
Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high,
That would have need to be pitied by thee?
Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go,
With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe.
poem by John Donne
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Dear Motherland Of France
DEDICATED TO THE MEN AND WOMEN OF FRANCE
Our Motherland, dear Motherland,
The source of beauty and of Art,
Who but thy children understand
The love which permeates each heart!
We see, through rainbow-tints of tears,
Thy glory of a thousand years.
O country of the Great and Free,
We live for thee, we live for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
O Motherland, both blithe and brave,
What magic lies in thy name-France!
Yet can thy radiant mien be grave,
And stern thy ever-smiling glance.
And when thy sons and daughters know
That enemies would lay thee low
And dim thy fame on land and sea,
We fight for thee, we fight for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
Dear Motherland of joy and mirth,
Dear Motherland of faith divine,
A thousand years the wondering earth
Has seen thy star in splendour shine.
Still shall it see that star of France
Its splendour and its light enhance.
Dear Motherland, when it need be
We die for thee, we die for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Sky Star' (On A Peaceful Night)
Sky Star…., so far….., on a peaceful night….,
Blinking…, twinkling…, with a wondrous light…,
Sky Star…., so far…., sparkling so bright….,
Shimmering…, quivering…, on a peaceful night.
Celestial flame…. Glowing with delight….,
Gleaming, flashing, glimmering white….,
Radiant spirit…., such a beautiful sight…,
Sky Star…., so far….., on a peaceful night.
poem by Trade Martin
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Russian Cathedral
Bow down my soul in worship very low
And in the holy silences be lost.
Bow down before the marble man of woe,
Bow down before the singing angel host.
What jewelled glory fills my spirit's eye,
What golden grandeur moves the depths of me!
The soaring arches lift me up on high
Taking my breath with their rare symmetry.
Bow down my soul and let the wondrous light
Of beauty bathe thee from her lofty throne,
Bow down before the wonder of man's might.
Bow down in worship, humble and alone;
Bow lowly down before the sacred sight
Of man's divinity alive in stone.
poem by Claude McKay
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Sonnet 59: Dear, Why Make You More
Dear, why make you more of a dog than me?
If he do love, I burn, I burn in love;
If he wait well, I never thence would move;
If he be fair, yet but a dog can be.
Little he is, so little worth is he;
He barks, my songs thine own voice oft doth prove:
Bidden perhaps he fetcheth thee a glove,
But I unbid, fetch ev'n my soul to thee.
Yet while I languish, him that bosom clips,
That lap doth lap, nay lets in spite of spite
This sour-breath'd mate taste of those sugar'd lips.
Alas, if you grant only such delight
To witless thngs, then Love I hope (since wit
Becomes a clog) will soon ease me of it.
poem by Philip Sidney
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A Flower's Song
Star! Star, why dost thou shine
Each night upon my brow?
Why dost thou make me dream the dreams
That I am dreaming now?
Star! Star, thy home is high --
I am of humble birth;
Thy feet walk shining o'er the sky,
Mine, only on the earth.
Star! Star, why make me dream?
My dreams are all untrue;
And why is sorrow dark for me
And heaven bright for you?
Star! Star, oh, hide thy ray,
And take it off my face;
Within my lowly home I stay,
Thou, in thy lofty place.
Star! Star, and still I dream,
Along thy light afar
I seem to soar until I seem
To be, like you, a star.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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A Dead Rose
O Rose! who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,---
Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day,---
If breathing now,---unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,---
If shining now,---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was,---
If dropping now,---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,
Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now,---would coldly overrun thee.
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,---
If passing now,---would blindly overlook thee.
The heart doth recognise thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,---
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee!
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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He Who Owns the Universe
Glorious is our Lord,
In his station up above,
Glorious, the one adored,
With his endless flow of love.
He who owns the heavens,
The earth and planets far,
He who owns the universe,
Sun, moon and each bright star.
We are but a speck,
In his wide and wondrous hands,
We are but a fleck,
In his wide and pleasant lands.
He will always constant be,
Our guardian at our side,
He will always be continually,
Our Saviour and our guide.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Sonnet 87
Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know’st thy estimate.
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gav’st it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter:
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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