Be Not Proud
Oh Death be not proud,
Oh Grave be not shallow
For out reaching your darkened hand
And refusing a boy, to become a man.
Oh grave I feel your sting
And Death I hear you sing
From the lives that you do take
From the lives, to you we gave.
Oh grave, be not proud
For taking the little child
For refusing them yet to grow,
Unto the Adults, they'll never know.
Death be not proud
For arriving as a thief
To break the heart and shatter the soul
To only fill it, with your grief.
Death be not proud
Grave be not victorious
Pain be not loud
Sorrow, be not continuous.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Related quotes
Power of the King
Death be not proud
for you have no hold over my life,
Death be not proud
for I cannot die! !
Death be not proud
you instill no fear
Death be not proud
for my King lay down His life for me
Death be not proud
you have no power
you destroy just flesh and bone
you dont have the power to resurrect
Death be not proud
you own me not
for I have been bought
Death be not proud
for my soul shall live on,
In HIS Kingdom is where I belong! !
poem by Melissa Desiree Reddy
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Proud To Be Loud
Listen up good
I got a lot to say
I know what I want
And I get my own way
I call em as I see em
I dont play by the book
One dose of volume
Thats all it took
Ive seen it, Ive done it
Ive heard it before
Now its my turn
To settle the score
Ill sing it, Ill shout it
Ill say it again
I dont care if they
Never give in cause im
Proud to be loud
Proud to be loud
You know Im proud
Proud to be loud
Well Ive alway believed
In freedom of speech
And Ive always been the one
Who practiced what I preached
Love it or leave it
Ill give you the choice
But itll snow in hell
Before I lower my voice
I live it, I breathe it
I gotta have more
Its full blast
And this means war
The power, the glory
Its callin my name
I wont start to
Play their game cause im
Proud to be loud
Proud to be loud
Im proud to be loud
And Ill never
Turn it down again no!!
Proud to be loud
Proud to be loud
Im proud,
Proud to be loud
song performed by by Pantera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death Snips Proud Men
DEATH is stronger than all the governments because
the governments are men and men die and then
death laughs: Now you see 'em, now you don't.
Death is stronger than all proud men and so death
snips proud men on the nose, throws a pair of
dice and says: Read 'em and weep.
Death sends a radiogram every day: When I want
you I'll drop in--and then one day he comes with a
master-key and lets himself in and says: We'll
go now.
Death is a nurse mother with big arms: 'Twon't hurt
you at all; it's your time now; just need a
long sleep, child; what have you had anyhow
better than sleep?
poem by Carl Sandburg
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He Is Risen #2 (Bible Poems for Children)
Now in the sixth hour darkness
filled the earth, in the ninth
hour, JESUS cried in a loud
voice, 'MY GOD, MY GOD why
hath thou forsaken me
Crying again, he yielded to
death and the grave. As the
end of the sabbath began to
dawn, toward the first day
of the week.
The two Marys brought spices
to the place where JESUS lay.
There was great earth-quake.
This world trembled on it's axis,
Darkness covered the land.
A loud voice from heaven rumbled
throughout this earth.
'COME FORTH, COME FORTH'
the grave belched, gave way, the
SON OF GOD, stood up and
walked away.
The grave could not contain him.
He had defeated death and hell.
He had risen to live forever in
our hearts.
An angel of the Lord appeared
from heaven. His countenance
alike to lightening, his raiment
white as snow.Speaking in a
loud voice, He has risen, he is
not here. He lives forever more.
Sitting now on the right hand throne
of GOD..
Because he lives I can face tomorrow.
poem by Heather Burns
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Psalm 49
The rich sinner's death, and the saint's resurrection.
Why do the proud insult the poor,
And boast the large estates they have?
How vain are riches to secure
Their haughty owners from the grave!
They can't redeem one hour from death,
With all the wealth in which they trust;
Nor give a dying brother breath,
When God commands him down to dust.
There the dark earth and dismal shade
Shall clasp their naked bodies round;
That flesh, so delicately fed,
Lies cold and moulders in the ground.
Like thoughtless sheep the sinner dies,
Laid in the grave for worms to eat:
The saints shall in the morning rise,
And find th' oppressor at their feet.
His honors perish in the dust,
And pomp and beauty, birth and blood:
That glorious day exalts the just
To full dominion o'er the proud.
My Savior shall my life restore,
And raise me from my dark abode;
My flesh and soul shall part no more,
But dwell for ever near my God.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Heel On The Shovel
Im diggin you a shallow grave
An to the sun your face Ill raise
Im diggin you a shallow grave
One hundred buzzards buzzin
I seen death hangin from the tallest tree
Eyes closed no lookin back at me
Ye they came an took him in the night
The one who kissed em was greed
O everyone will see
An everyone will know
Boy you reap what you sow
Im diggin you a shallow grave
An on your rotten bones Ill raise
Yellow daisies
For my true loves hair
One hundred buzzards buzzin
I see death runnin from his majesty
O lord where is the fear in me
In between your praying hands
You hold the skeleton key
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heel On A Shovel
i'm diggin' you a shallow grave
an to the sun your face i'll raise
i'm diggin' you a shallow grave
one hundred buzzards buzzin'
i seen death hangin' from the tallest tree
eyes closed no lookin' back at me
ye they came an took him in the night
the one who kissed em was greed
o everyone will see
an everyone will know
boy you reap what you sow
i'm diggin' you a shallow grave
an on your rotten bones i'll raise
yellow daisies
for my true loves hair
one hundred buzzards buzzin'
i see death runnin' from his majesty
o lord where is the fear in me
in between your praying hands
you hold the skeleton key
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Proud Masie
Proud Maisie is in the wood,
Walking so early;
Sweet Robin sits on the bush,
Singing so rarely.
'Tell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me?'
'When six braw gentlemen
Kirkward shall carry ye.'
'Who makes the bridal bed,
Birdie, say truly?'
'The grey-headed sexton
That delves the grave duly.
'The glow-worm o'er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady;
The owl from the steeple sing
Welcome, proud lady!'
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Proud Maisie
Proud Maisie is in the wood,
Walking so early;
Sweet Robin sits on the bush,
Singing so rarely.
'Tell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me?'
—'When six braw gentlemen
Kirkward shall carry ye.'
'Who makes the bridal bed,
Birdie, say truly?'
—'The grey-headed sexton
That delves the grave duly.
'The glow-worm o'er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady;
The owl from the steeple sing
Welcome, proud lady!'
poem by Sir Walter Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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Death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Your Grave
I alone will stand over your grave
And I will not shed a tear,
I will be both proud and brave
And finally my words you will hear.
You will listen to the words that I speak
And every quote that I have to say,
And this time you will not ignore me
Or from me will you run away.
I will be the only person standing there
As no-one else will care for your passing,
As in my heart for you there once was care
But now its full of remorse and laughing.
I will read for you the many bible quotes
Especially the ones pertaining how you lived,
You will understand how you destroyed hopes
Goodness fell out of you like flour being sieved.
I truly hope that you can hear my voice
As that will be the last time I will speak to you,
Where you spend your eternity that was your choice
And this one outcome you cant undo.
I will look on your gave and give you pity
As pity is all that you acquired in life,
And to think I thought you once were pretty
But you were ugly as a woman, mother and wife.
I look around and your families not there
I guess they decided they had better things to do,
Maybe though you are in their prayers
Or maybe they too didn’t care about you.
Now my speech to you it has ended
In the end I know you could not of been saved,
So many innocents you have used and offended
So now forever, I walk away from your grave.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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American Pride
I am proud to be an American
I am proud of our flag which flies,
And when I feel life, freedom and see hope,
I realize sacrifice is not greater than the prize.
I choose the way I need to live
And I write and say what I believe,
Though many will not agree with what I do or say,
But Liberty, gave me the right to be me.
I have gave my soul and thoughts for this land
As proudly I know freedom through sight,
And I will shed my blood, if needed me,
And if needed I would gladly, give my life.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Only A Soldier's Grave
Only a soldier's grave! Pass by,
For soldiers, like other mortals, die.
Parents had he - they are far away;
No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay;
No brother comes, with tearful eye;
It's only a soldier's grave - pass by.
True, he was loving, and young, and brave,
Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave;
No proud recital of virtues known,
Of griefs endured, or triumphs won;
No tablet of marble, or obelisk high; -
Only a soldier's grave: - pass by.
Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight,
And he gave his life in the cause of right!
When his hope was high, and his youthful dream
As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream;
His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh; -
Yet, 'tis only a soldier's grave: - pass by.
Yet, we should mark it - the soldier's grave,
Some one may seek him in hope to save!
Some of the dear ones, far away,
Would bear him home to his native clay:
'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh,
Find not the hillock, and pass him by.
poem by S.A. Jones
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Death is.....
Death is peaceful
Death is sharp pain in my heart
Death is feeling sadness
Death is deppresion
death is when my loved ones have gone away
Death is when i give up the fight
Death is when i cant think about whats right
Death is a good thing on my behalf
Death started when i gained life
Death is where ill go
Death is near
Death is what i see
Death lives inside of me
DEATH WILL STOP MY MISERY
poem by Angelique Paniagua
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Im So Proud
Youre prettier than all the world
And Im so proud, Im so proud, Im so proud of you
cause youre only one fellows girl
Im so proud, Im so proud, Im so proud of you
Im so proud of being loved by you
And it would hurt, hurt to know,
If you ever were untrue, yeah
Sweeter than the taste of a cherry so sweet
Yeah, and Im so proud, Im so proud,
Im so proud of you
Compliments to you from all the people we meet
Yes babe and Im so proud, Im so proud,
Im so proud of you
Im so proud of being loved by you
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only A Soldier's Grave
Only a soldier's grave! Pass by,
For soldiers, like other mortals, die.
Parents he had--they are far away;
No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay;
No brother comes, with a tearful eye:
It's only a soldier's grave--pass by.
True, he was loving, and young, and brave,
Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave;
No proud recital of virtues known,
Of griefs endured, or of triumphs won;
No tablet of marble, or obelisk high;--
Only a soldier's grave--pass by.
Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight,
And he gave his life in the cause of right!
When his hope was high, and his youthful dream
As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream;
His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh;--
Yet,'tis only a soldier's grave:--pass by.
Yet, should we mark it--the soldier's grave,
Some one may seek him in hope to save!
Some of the dear ones, far away,
Would bear him home to his native clay:
'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh,
Find not the hillock, and pass him by.
poem by Sidney Alroy Jonas
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Death Is a Mockery of Life
Death is a mockery of life
They who have lived it through, are dead
So what about death can be said
It lingers in the living room after the funeral
They who have lived it through are dead
We do not speak of death too much
It lingers in the living room after the funeral
We try not to think about the lonely grave
We do not speak of deah too much
It is always raining in the grave yard
We try not to think about the lonely grave
Where no one seems to be, but only was
It is always raining in the grave yard
Some flowers grow between the tombstones
As nature doesn’t care about it, live or death
Just carry on as usual
Some flowers grow between the tombstones
So what about death can be said
Just carry on as usual
Death is a mockery of life
poem by Ina SchrodersZeeders
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Death is when....
Death is when my loved ones must depart
Death is a sharp pain in my heart
Death is this feeling of permanent sadness and pain
Death is when my loved ones have gone away
Death is the call to heaven or hell
Death is an eternal mansion or cell
Death is the lesson i need to learn about
Death is a loss, without a doubt
Death is this unhappy feeling i have
Death is pleasant on my behalf
Death is the day i end my life
Death is when i give up the fight
Death is happiness to the world around me
Death started when i gained my life
Death can be helped along with this knife
Death is where i shall go
Death is close, i kno
Death willl come fast
Death is vast
Death is what i see
Death lives inside of me
Death is joy to me
Death has come for me
Death is gonna take me
Death will stop my misery
Death loves my company
Death ends the pain
Death takes me on that train
Death is near
Death is finally here
The Thread of Life
I
The irresponsive silence of the land,
The irresponsive sounding of the sea,
Speak both one message of one sense to me:--
Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand
Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band
Of inner solitude; we bind not thee;
But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free?
What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?--
And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek,
And sometimes I remember days of old
When fellowship seemed not so far to seek
And all the world and I seemed much less cold,
And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold,
And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.
II
Thus am I mine own prison. Everything
Around me free and sunny and at ease:
Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees
Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing
And where all winds make various murmuring;
Where bees are found, with honey for the bees;
Where sounds are music, and where silences
Are music of an unlike fashioning.
Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew,
And smile a moment and a moment sigh
Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you?
But soon I put the foolish fancy by:
I am not what I have nor what I do;
But what I was I am, I am even I.
III
Therefore myself is that one only thing
I hold to use or waste, to keep or give;
My sole possession every day I live,
And still mine own despite Time's winnowing.
Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring
From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanitive;
Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve;
And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing.
And this myself as king unto my King
I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me;
Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing
A sweet new song of His redeemed set free;
he bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting?
And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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