Still Heart
When I give up the helm
I know that the time has come for thee to take it.
What there is to do will be instantly done.
Vain is this struggle.
Then take away your hands
and silently put up with your defeat, my heart,
and think it your good fortune to sit perfectly still
where you are placed.
These my lamps are blown out at every little puff of wind,
and trying to light them I forget all else again and again.
But I shall be wise this time and wait in the dark,
spreading my mat on the floor;
and whenever it is thy pleasure, my lord,
come silently and take thy seat here.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Hymn
Rise, O my soul! with thy desires to heaven,
And with divinest contemplation use
Thy time, when time's eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse;
But down in darkness let them lie;
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die.
And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye
That holy cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die!
For in the sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life treasure.
To Thee, O Jesu! I direct mine eyes,
To Thee my hands, to Thee my humble knees;
To Thee my heart shall offer sacrifice;
To Thee my thoughts, who thoughts only see;
To Thee myself, myself and all I give;
To Thee I die, to Thee I only live.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Rise, Oh My Soul, With Thy Desires To Heaven
1. Rise, oh my Soul, with thy desires to Heaven,
And with Divinest contemplation, use
Thy time, where times eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse:
But down in darkness let them lie,
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die.
2. And thou, my Soul, inspir'd with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye,
That holy Cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour, and thy sin did die:
For in that Sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life, my treasure.
3. To thee (O Jesu) I direct my eye,
To thee my hands, to thee my humble knees,
To thee my heart shall offer sacrifice,
To thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees:
To thee my self, my self and all I give;
To thee I die, to thee I only live.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Dying Husband's Farewell
I LEAVE them, now the trumpet calls away;
In vain thine eyes beg for some times reprieving;
Yet in my children here immortall stay:
In one I die, in many ones am living:
In them, and for them stay thy too much grieving:
Look but on them, in them thou still wilt see
Marry'd with thee again thy twice-two Antonie.
And when with little hands they stroke thy face,
As in thy lap they sit (ah carelesse) playing,
And stammering ask a kisse, give them a brace;
The last from me : and then a little staying,
And in their face some part of me survaying,
In them give me a third, and with a teare
Show thy deare love to him, who lov'd thee ever deare.
poem by Phineas Fletcher
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Ode to the Divine Mother
Ode to the Divine Mother
Found the great treasure of my life
Got the answers to questions, beyond science
O Shree Mataji, the True Guru, embodiment of divinity
With deep reverence, I bow to thee
This devotee, thou miraculously reformed
From darkness to light, ingnorance removed
O Adi Shakti, the primordial source of energy
For thy divine benevolence, I bow to thee
With thy presence, unlocked the energy divine
Unleashing with ease, creativity infinite
O Shri Mataji, Mother of all poets and poetry
For thy divine inspiration, I bow to thee
As mother earth, thou giveth balance and gravity
Erasing all my sins, negativity and impurity
O Shri Mataji, the creator of Lord Ganesha, the Ganapati
Guardian of my innocence and chastity, I bow to thee
Just a glance of thee, removes all chaos instantly
I am in bliss, I am in joy to realize thy divinity
O Nirmala Maa, the very manifestation of Adi Shakti
Giving us salvation instantly, I bow to thee
A ‘particle of dust’, Mother, in childhood, you aspired to be
Touched by thy hands divine, such a particle, let me be
O Shri Mataji, on thy Lotus Feet, let me always be
As that ‘particle of dust’, thy divine instrument, I bow to thee
Oh, the Sight Entrancing
Oh, the sight entrancing,
When morning's beam is glancing
O'er files array'd
With helm and blade,
And plumes in the gay wind dancing!
When hearts are all high beating
And the trumpet's voice repeating
That song, whose breath
May lead to death,
But never to entreating.
Oh, the sight entrancing,
When morning's beam is glancing
O'er files array'd
With helm and blade,
And plumes in the gay wind dancing!
Yet, tis not helm or feather --
For ask yon despot, whether
His plumed bands
Could bring such hands
And hearts as ours together.
Leave pomps to those who need 'em --
Give man but heart and freedom,
And proud he braves
The gaudiest slaves
That crawl where monarchs lead 'em.
The sword may pierce the beaver,
Stonewalls in time may sever,
'Tis mind alone,
Worth steel and stone,
That keeps men free for ever.
Oh, that sight entrancing,
When the morning's beam is glancing,
O'er files array'd
With helm and blade,
And in Freedom's cause advancing!
poem by Thomas Moore
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SONNET: God, what shall I render Thee?
Oh, what can I give Thee O God, my Lord?
How can I ev’r repay thy love for me?
Oh, can I call Thee by a better word?
All that I have today are Thine truly!
Oh, can I give my labour and my toil?
But still, my energy must come from Thee;
Oh, can I offer things that grow on soil?
Alas! Nothing on earth looks heavenly!
Oh, can I give my time that Thou gav’st me?
My time is meant to serve Thee through brethren;
Oh, can I give my precious life only?
If thats the way to Heaven, let me then.
Oh show me something that is truly mine!
Thou art the Fountain of my Life, divine!
poem by John Celes
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To ---- III
Give me but the energy,
That guides thy dauntless will;
Give me but thy ardent hope,
That no reverse can chill;
Thy buoyant soul, that on life's sea,
No billows can o'erwhelm,
When Faith sits smiling through the clouds,
And Reason holds the helm;
Give me these qualities of thine,
In such a meet alliance,
And I, like thee, upon the fates
Will smile a calm defiance.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet XXIII: Time, Cruel Time
Time, cruel Time, come and subdue that brow
Which conquers all but thee, and thee, too, stays
As if she were exempt from scythe or bow,
From love or years unsubject to decays.
Or art thou grown in league with those fair eyes
That they may help thee to consume our days?
Or dost thou spare her for her cruelties,
Being merciless like thee that no man weighs?
And yet thou seest thy power she disobeys,
Cares not for thee, but lets thee waste in vain,
And prodigal of hours and years betrays
Beauty and youth t'opinion and disdain.
Yet spare her, Time, let her exempted be,
She may become more kind to thee or me.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Sonnet XXIX
I think of thee !--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there 's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better ! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere !
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too near thee.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet XXIX: I Think of Thee
I think of thee!--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee,as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too near thee.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Xxix
I think of thee !--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there 's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better ! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere !
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too near thee.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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The Curse of Kehama
I charm thy life,
From the weapons of strife,
From stone and from wood,
From fire and from flood,
From the serpent’s tooth,
And the beast of blood.
From sickness I charm thee,
And time shall not harm thee;
But earth, which is mine,
Its fruits shall deny thee;
And water shall hear me,
And know thee and flee thee:
And the winds shall not touch thee
When they pass by thee,
And the dews shall not wet thee
When they fall nigh thee.
And thou shalt seek death,
To release thee, in vain;
Thou shalt live in thy pain,
While Kehama shall reign,
With a fire in thy heart,
And a fire in thy brain.
And sleep shall obey me,
And visit thee never,
And the curse shall be on thee
Forever and ever.
poem by Robert Southey
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Your Smile Remains to Stay
When you smile that way,
I know you mean it.
Come what may,
I will believe...
You wish to see,
The very best in me.
And I'm so glad,
To see that smile you have.
When you say to me,
I mean more to you.
Instantly...
I know that's true.
Since you would not give,
Me the time of day...
To show me what your heart,
Has to say.
I know that you really care,
For me.
I see it!
With my eyes closed.
I can feel your honesty.
Showing now...
You care and how!
When you smile that way,
I know you mean it.
Come what may,
I will believe...
You wish to see,
The very best in me.
And I'm so glad,
To see that smile you have.
When you say to me,
I mean more to you.
Instantly...
I know that's true.
Since you would not give,
Me the time of day...
To show me what your heart,
Has to say.
And come what may,
Your smile remains to stay.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Face To Face
Day after day, O lord of my life,
shall I stand before thee face to face.
With folded hands, O lord of all worlds,
shall I stand before thee face to face.
Under thy great sky in solitude and silence,
with humble heart shall I stand before thee face to face.
In this laborious world of thine, tumultuous with toil
and with struggle, among hurrying crowds
shall I stand before thee face to face.
And when my work shall be done in this world,
O King of kings, alone and speechless
shall I stand before thee face to face.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Sonnet 29 - I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
XXIX
I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there 's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,—burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee—I am too near thee.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Her Picture
Go then, if she, whose shade thou art,
No more will let thee soothe my pain;
Yet, tell her, it has cost this heart
Some pangs, to give thee back again.
Tell her, the smile was not so dear,
With which she made the semblance mine,
As bitter is the burning tear,
With which I now the gift resign.
Yet go -- and could she still restore,
As some exchange for taking thee.
The tranquil look which first I wore,
When her eyes found me calm and free;
Could she give back the careless flow,
The spirit that my heart then knew --
Yet, no, 'tis vain -- go, picture, go --
Smile at me once, and then -- adieu!
poem by Thomas Moore
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March
Slayer of the winter, art thou here again?
O welcome, thou that's bring'st the summer nigh!
The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,
Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.
Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry
Make April ready for the throstle's song,
Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong!
Yea, welcome March! and though I die ere June,
Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise,
Striving to swell the burden of the tune
That even now I hear thy brown birds raise,
Unmindful of the past or coming days;
Who sing: 'Oh joy! a new year is begun:
What happiness to look upon the sun!'
Ah, what begetteth all this storm of bliss
But death himself, who crying solemnly,
E'en from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,
Bids us 'Rejoice, lest pleasureless ye die,
Within a little time must ye go by.
Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give.'
poem by William Morris
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Give me space, give me time
It is the hands of time that
Heals.let its hands caress
My weary thoughts. So much
Have been lost in my fingers
Slipping away. I walk down
The road now, to freedom.
Hand in hand with the tree
And twigs. Feeling the
Caresses of the leaves
On the road to my freedom.
Give me space. Let my wholeness
Occupy. I need to expand
My choking life. Give me time.
Give me the healing hands
Of time. Let me sleep on its
Palms. I am throwing my
Hands in the air. I want to fly
Now. Sensational. I must.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: LXXXVIII
THE SAME CONTINUED
There were two with thee in thine agony,
I and another. In that hour supreme
We stood beside thy cross and gazed at thee,
Waiting till death should wake thee from thy dream.
Thy hands held both our hands and clung to them
And drew them to each other. We could see
Thy dumb lips open as to either name
And thy eyes turn to our eyes wistfully.
O eloquent eyes! Ye were not closed in vain.
Still from the grave ye speak, ``Behold a son,
Behold a mother.'' From that rite of pain
We two went home together bone of bone
And flesh of flesh, distinguished among men,
Thy witnesses till death shall come again.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Silently
Silently waiting
for that first kiss,
silently wishing
that cupid won't miss.
Silently pleading
that you won't leave me,
silently hoping
for you to see
that you belong
completely to me.
poem by Faith Franklin
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