The Hill.
The holy lamps of Evening shine
Sheer in the West — the air is still —
As I sit with this heart of mine
At the foot of Parnassus' hill.
Through my life's day I've reached to this —
To see where the immortals trod,
Winding up the dark height, I wis,
Till they came on the light of God.
Ah! I, a pilgrim with tired feet,
Have touched the verge of their renown,
As I look up on Homer's seat
And know the bards may not come down.
Still on those peaks, as powers apart,
They breathe the air now breathed by me,
For each has climbed the human heart —
The deathless hill of Poesy!
poem by Robert Crawford
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Today... 'Holy Servant
Oh Holy Servant of God
The pathways of earth You trod
walked with mankind healing the blind
Oh Holy Servant of God
Oh Holy Servant of God
the hill of Calvary You trod
and from that cross You saved the lost
Oh Holy Servant of God
Oh Holy Servant of God
all the way to the grave You trod
and from that grave reached out to save
Oh Holy Servant of God
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
New Year Song
WE climb the hill; the mist conceals
That valley where we could not stay;
Surely this hill's crest, gained, reveals
The glory of the sunlit day.
The hill is climbed. Still shadow-land--
Still darkling looms another hill.
Oh, weary feet!--climb that to find
A new ascent, 'mid shadows still!
We dare not stop or think of rest,
This one hill may be all that lies
Between us and our souls' desire--
The splendour of the eastern skies.
Through long long lives we till and tend,
Sow, weed, and water, all in vain;
Without the flower we looked to find,
Each year springs blooms and dies again.
Bowed down with our unanswered prayers,
Our face averted from our past,
We watch each year grow green, and cry,
'Surely this brings our flower at last!'
Failure on failure! What! tired out?
Too tired to live? Heart, dare you die
When this new year may bud and bear
Your longed-for flower of Liberty?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Touched Her Face
I pray beneath streetlights
To find the light within myself;
I kiss holy books and letters she wrote
In the belief that life is sacred mystery.
Every day is an unknown journey;
Maybe our life will remain routine,
Maybe we will veer off into a nightmare or dream.
Perhaps, I’m shallow:
I only want to listen to music
And to smell the fragrance of her hair,
To exist in a place of flowers.
Anymore, I’m always on the verge tears
For no definable reason
And I can no longer discern
If I’m happy or sad.
If I disappear tomorrow,
It will be as if I never breathed
In this fragile place,
But a part of me believes
I’ve reached her heart
And touched her face.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Sonnet LII.
FAULTERING and sad the unhappy pilgrim roves,
Who, on the eve of bleak December's night,
Divided far from all he fondly loves,
Journeys alone, along the giddy height
Of these steep cliffs, and as the sun's last ray
Fades in the West, sees, from the rocky verge,
Dark tempests scowling o'er the shortened day,
And hears, with ear appall'd, the impetuous surge
Beneath him thunder!--So, with heart oppress'd,
Alone, reluctant, desolate, and slow,
By Friendship's cheering radiance now unblest,
Along life's rudest path I seem to go;
Nor see where yet the anxious heart may rest,
That, trembling at the past--recoils from future woe.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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Walking Through Fields Of Fire
I walk through fields of fire
With coals of fire beneath my feet
I sail through stormy waters
Guided by the mercy seat
The brimstones shortly coming
You must flee now from the wrath
For fire falls down from heaven
Yet I am guided by His staff
The narrow path through valleys dark
Leads onward to the hill
And all around the mountains fall
But our Lord says ' be still.'
Come higher now ascend the hill
My God atop He stands
And looks to see the pure in heart
To see those with clean hands
Who is this King lift up your head
And sing with all your might
The King of Glory is His name
His light defeats the night
He is God's Son, the Holy One
He puts and end to death and sin
Fall to your knees, lift up your hands
And the King of Glory shall come in!
poem by Frank McEleny
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St. Senanus and the Lady
St. Senanus
"On! haste, and leave this sacred isle,
Unholy bark, ere morning smile;
For on thy deck, though dark it be,
A female form I see;
And I have sworn this sainted sod
Shall ne'er by woman's feet by trod!"
The Lady
"Oh! Father, send not hence my bark
Through wintry winds and billows dark,
I come, with humble heart, to share
Thy morn and evening prayer;
Nor mine the feet, oh! holy Saint,
The brightness of thy sod to taint."
The lady's prayer Senanus spurn'd;
The winds blew fresh, the bark return'd.
But legends hint, that had the maid
Till morning's light delay'd,
And given the saint one rosy smile,
She ne'er had left his lonely isle.
poem by Thomas Moore
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A Mansion On The Hill
Tonight down here in the valley
Im lonesome and o how I feel
As I sit here alone in my cabin
I can see your mansion on the hill
Do you recall when we parted
The story to me you revealed
You said you could live without loving
In your loveless mansion on the hill
Ive waited all through the years love
To give you a heart true and real
Cause I know youre living in sorrow
In your loveless mansion on the hill
The light shine bright from yer window
The trees stand so silent and still
I know youre alone with your pride dear
In your loveless mansion on the hill
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elegy to the Old Man Hokuju
You left in the morning, at evening my heart is in a
thousand pieces.
Why is it so far away?
Thinking of you, I go up on the hill and wander.
Around the hill, why is it such a sadness?
Dandelions yellow and shepherds-purse blooming white --
not anyone to look at them.
I hear a pheasant, calling and calling fervently.
Once a friend was there across the river, living.
Ghostly smoke rises and fades away with a west wind
strong in fields of small bamboo grasses and reedy fields.
Nowhere to leave for.
Once a friend was there across the river, living, but today
not even a bird sings a song.
You left in the morning, at evening my heart is in a
thousand pieces.
Why is it so far away?
In my grass hut by the Amida image I light no candle,
offer no flowers, and only sit here alone.
This evening, how invaluable it is.
Priest Buson
with a thousand bowings
poem by Yosa Buson
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Rising So Low As If Falling From The Sky
Rising so low as if falling from the sky
the light of the silver moon is so bright
that it blots out stars, it looks as if
it is part of the high hill
gleams upon the snow capped peaks,
leaving them sparkling,
creates another kind of world
and your eyes catch me.
Sometimes there are sparkling stars
in your glance that turns my heart
crazily like a Ferris wheel
making it spin almost out of control
as if there are elemental forces
that are at you disposal
with the power of wind,
of rain, thunder and furious cyclone
or at other times the sieving tranquil rain
that brings refreshment and joy to the heart,
your eyes become the only stars shining
at me in this dark night with a own sheer light
and you really know me, know the road
that for years I have been travelling on
which always returns back to you,
even if it leads away from everything.
poem by Gert Strydom
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More Peaks to Find
I've seen those peaks pass,
As I climbed.
Looking back and feeling fantastic.
To breathe deep the fresh air.
And being aware of accomplishments,
Wished.
'I have done this! '
I can now say it.
I have dreamt that I could.
And did.
What has been desired in my heart...
Has been done.
But I can not rest.
I know my best,
Has not yet come.
I take a deeper breath.
Wasting no time to take more steps.
Continuing to climb I do.
With achieving on my mind!
And knowing there would be more peaks to climb!
More peaks to find and leave behind.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Gave Me A Mountain
(words & music by marty robbins)
Born in the heat of the desert
My mother died giving me life
Deprived of the love of a father
Blamed for the loss of his wife
You know lord Ive been in a prison
For something that I never done
Its been one hill after another
Ive climbed them all one by one
But this time, lord you gave me a mountain
A mountain you know I may never climb
It isnt just a hill any longer
You gave me a mountain this time
My woman got tired of heartaches
Tired of the grief and the strife
So tired of working for nothing
Just tired of being my wife
She took my one ray of sunshine
She took my pride and my joy
She took my reason for living
She took my small baby boy
But this time, lord you gave me a mountain
A mountain you know I may never climb
It isnt just a hill any longer
You gave me a mountain this time
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cairnsmill Den
As I, with hopeless love o'erthrown,
With love o'erthrown, with love o'erthrown,
And this is truth I tell,
As I, with hopeless love o'erthrown,
Was sadly walking all alone,
I met my love one morning
In Cairnsmill Den.
One morning, one morning,
One blue and blowy morning,
I met my love one morning
In Cairnsmill Den.
A dead bough broke within the wood
Within the wood, within the wood,
And this is truth I tell.
A dead bough broke within the wood,
And I looked up, and there she stood.
I asked what was it brought her there,
What brought her there, what brought her there,
And this is truth I tell.
I asked what was it brought her there.
Says she, `To pull the primrose fair.'
Says I, `Come, let me pull with you,
Along with you, along with you,'
And this is truth I tell.
Says I, `Come let me pull with you,
For one is not so good as two.'
But when at noon we climbed the hill,
We climbed the hill, we climbed the hill,
And this is truth I tell.
But when at noon we climbed the hill,
Her hands and mine were empty still.
And when we reached the top so high,
The top so high, the top so high,
And this is truth I tell.
And when we reached the top so high
Says I, `I'll kiss you, if I die!'
I kissed my love in Cairnsmill Den,
In Cairnsmill Den, in Cairnsmill Den,
And this is truth I tell.
I kissed my love in Cairnsmill Den,
And my love kissed me back again.
I met my love one morning
In Cairnsmill Den.
One morning, one morning,
One blue and blowy morning,
I met my love one morning
In Cairnsmill Den.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Love
My soul; is raying like a star,
My heart is happier than a bird,
And all because, through fortune’s jar,
I hear one little word.
I feel as if all life and might
Had started on a loftier course,
As if all passion and delight
Were deepened at the source.
I feel as if the very air
Was breathed from out the heart of love,
And in my heart, still rapture rare,
Sat brooding like a dove.
O beauty! Even through a word
What powers are thine to raise and bless!
O love! A seraph’s voice is heard
In thy confiding Yes!
Love is God’s messenger divine,
And nature, tending up to God,
Shall breathe His clear air pure and fine
Whatever love hath trod.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Lavender Hill
I want to walk eternity,
In through the land of make believe.
And watch the clouds roll over me,
And let the sun shine down on me.
The only place that I wanna be,
Lavender hill for me.
Wish I could live on sugar and milk,
Then I could live on lavender hill.
Then I could raise my head to the sky,
And let the sun saturate me with love.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill,
Everybody loves lavender hill.
Even the bird that sits in the tree,
Seems to sing sweet melodies.
Even the breeze is whispering,
Lavender hill for me.
While people eat their biscuits with tea,
They dream of daffodils that sway in the breeze.
And every sunday afternoon,
Tidy ladies shine their shoes.
And every little lady dreams,
Lavender memories.
Lavender hill for me.
Lavender hill for me.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Sunnydale
There lies the trail to Sunnydale,
Amid the lure of laughter.
Oh, how can we unhappy be
Beneath its leafy rafter!
Each perfect hour is like a flower,
Each day is like a posy.
How can you say the skies are grey?
You're wrong, my friend, they're rosy.
With right good will let's climb the hill,
And leave behind all sorrow.
Oh, we'll be gay! a bright to-day
Will make a bright to-morrow.
Oh, we'll be strong! the way is long
That never has a turning;
The hill is high, but there's the sky,
And how the West is burning!
And if through chance of circumstance
We have to go bare-foot, sir,
We'll not repine -- a friend of mine
Has got no feet to boot, sir.
This Happiness a habit is,
And Life is what we make it:
See! there's the trail to Sunnydale!
Up, friend! and let us take it.
poem by Robert William Service
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Today... 'The Holy One
The Holy One came from God
and the paths of earth He trod.
Climbing Calvary's Hill
He died to fulfil God's will.
And those He came to save
rolled the stone over His grave.
But He did not see decay
and rose up on the third day.
The Holy One from God
The pathway to Glory trod.
Triumphantly ascending
all other men transcending.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Journey To Light
Lost somewhere,
In between nowhere
Too far for the moon to shine
Too far for the stars to twinkle and rhyme
On a full moon night,
I’m on my journey to light
Tired of the dark
Where everywhere are howls and barks
I was juvenile to envisage reaching my destiny so fast
For what my heart says,
Slow down and reach there than never to arrive at all
Starving for a shaft of light
A thirst of shine
I know the life will change
My heart believes
From now and gone
On the way traps and hurdles
Sights with dark
Ponds and puddles
It was my mind, way to wrong
Because the light was where my destiny belonged
poem by Sanya Zahid
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Journey To Light
Lost somewhere,
In between nowhere
Too far for the moon to shine
Too far for the stars to twinkle and rhyme
On a full moon night,
I’m on my journey to light
Tired of the dark
Where everywhere are howls and barks
I was juvenile to envisage reaching my destiny so fast
For what my heart says,
Slow down and reach there than never to arrive at all
Starving for a shaft of light
A thirst of shine
I know the life will change
My heart believes
From now and gone
On the way traps and hurdles
Sights with dark
Ponds and puddles
It was my mind, way to wrong
Because the light was where my destiny belonged
poem by Sanya Zahid
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Hope The Hornblower
'Hark ye, hark to the winding horn;
Sluggards, awake, and front the morn!
Hark ye, hark to the winding horn;
The sun's on meadow and mill.
Follow me, hearts that love the chase;
Follow me, feet that keep the pace:
Stirrup to stirrup we ride, we ride,
We ride by moor and hill.'
Huntsman, huntsman, whither away?
What is the quarry afoot to-day?
Huntsman, huntsman, whither away,
And what the game ye kill?
Is it the deer, that men may dine?
Is it the wolf that tears the kine?
What is the race ye ride, ye ride,
Ye ride by moor and hill?
'Ask not yet till the day be dead
What is the game that's forward fled,
Ask not yet till the day be dead
The game we follow still.
An echo it may be, floating past;
A shadow it may be, fading fast:
Shadow or echo, we ride, we ride,
We ride by moor and hill'
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Daughter Poesy
An adopted child mine daughter Poesy
At this age of sixtyplus
My skin wrinkly and body rickety
Senses dying and soul almost ready
To up on a count down
Like the fading light of evening sky
Longing for a full moon in new moon night...
Asking everybody why
Opted I for a foreign lexicon
Whilst not an adept in home diction itself
Just a desire before expire
Though in brain much I require..
Ponder my Poesy enforcing the quintescence
So far of my cognition, Poesy to soar high
Progressively speaking, my Poesy
Years few old, amazingly
Like my country Lotus growing divine
God sent blessings! Pamper Poesy with gratitude
All concepts, knowledge mine exclusively for Poesy
My elder daughters the tamils aren't jealousy
But ponder their sister, my English Poesy
poem by Indira Renganathan
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