A Boy in Church
“Gabble-gabble,… brethren,… gabble-gabble!”
My window frames forest and heather.
I hardly hear the tuneful babble,
Not knowing nor much caring whether
The text is praise or exhortation,
Prayer or thanksgiving, or damnation.
Outside it blows wetter and wetter,
The tossing trees never stay still.
I shift my elbows to catch better
The full round sweep of heathered hill.
The tortured copse bends to and fro
In silence like a shadow-show.
The parson’s voice runs like a river
Over smooth rocks. I like this church:
The pews are staid, they never shiver,
They never bend or sway or lurch.
“Prayer,” says the kind voice, “is a chain
That draws down Grace from Heaven again.”
I add the hymns up, over and over,
Until there’s not the least mistake.
Seven-seventy-one. (Look! there’s a plover!
It’s gone!) Who’s that Saint by the lake?
The red light from his mantle passes
Across the broad memorial brasses.
It’s pleasant here for dreams and thinking,
Lolling and letting reason nod,
With ugly serious people linking
Sad prayers to a forgiving God….
But a dumb blast sets the trees swaying
With furious zeal like madmen praying.
poem by Robert Graves
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Related quotes
The Boy In Church
'Gabble-gabble . . . brethren . . . gabble-gabble!'
My window glimpses larch and heather.
I hardly hear the tuneful babble,
Not knowing nor much caring whether
The text is praise or exhortation,
Prayer of thanksgiving or damnation.
Outside it blows wetter and wetter,
The tossing trees never stay still;
I shift my elbows to catch better
The full round sweep of heathered hill.
The tortured copse bends to and fro
In silenece like a shadow-show.
The parson's voice runs like a river
Over smooth rocks. I like this church.
The pews are staid, they never shiver,
They never bend or sway or lurch.
'Prayer,' says the kind voice, 'is a chain
That draws down Grace from Heaven again.'
I add the hymns up over and over
Until there's not the least mistake.
Seven-seventy-one. (Look! there's a plover!
It's gone!) Who's that Saint by the Lake?
The red light from his mantle passes
Across the broad memorial brasses.
It's pleasant here for dreams and thinking.
Lolling and letting reason nod,
With ugly, serious people linking
Prayer-chains for a forgiving God.
But a dumb blast sets the trees swaying
WIth furious zeal like madmen praying.
poem by Robert Graves
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Cult, difficult!
Difficult,
The ceasefire! !
To adhere to it
Cult, difficult!
Over the wekend,
To handle the issue appropraitely;
Seeking to,
Seeking after,
Put of nothing!
Different from;
Bemoaned!
In recent times;
being fired! !
Salvo,
Concentrates,
Arrogance!
Tyrant,
Quizzed;
Policies,
Like a ruling Party!
Clotted cream,
Entreated!
Like material things;
To dabble,
Mythical!
Accordingly,
Of the distinction,
Sinister!
Like political actors;
Babble,
Machiavellian!
Responded to;
Showdown! !
To maintain it,
Like sin and sinners;
Babble, dabble, gabble, rabble!
To adhere to it;
Salvo,
The ceasefire! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Prayer Of Thanksgiving
Here below, when the cold wind blow,
A voice may cry for those many that will die,
I too; shall have company at my elbow,
And the prayer of thanks rises in the sky.
Spirit going over the grass and white cloud,
With the prayer of gratitude endearing essence,
Passing through testing flames to shout aloud,
Near heaven, aromas of thanksgiving grace.
To live in this world just as we should do,
Sharing with others the joy in my soul,
With no crystal moon to distinguish an ego,
Only pursuit of inner peace I want god to behold.
I am in a realm where we mortals are glad,
When we are sad, to fall upon hands and knees,
In thanksgiving prayer we shall reach our God,
Eternity is destining for truth and justice.
You may leave me on these shores in fire,
But I shall live while grace is abounding,
When the banners fan in their final hour,
I will remember a prayer of thanksgiving.
To the alter burn sun of endearing essence,
poem by Gerry Legister
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An Echo
Never sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak;
The delight of old and young,
Though I speak without a tongue.
Nought but one thing can confound me,
Many voices joining round me;
Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the labourers of Babel.
Now I am a dog, or cow,
I can bark, or I can low;
I can bleat, or I can sing,
Like the warblers of the spring.
Let the lovesick bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel pain;
Let the happy swain rejoice,
And I join my helping voice:
Both are welcome, grief or joy,
I with either sport and toy.
Though a lady, I am stout,
Drums and trumpets bring me out:
Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the din of battle.
Jove, with all his loudest thunder,
When I'm vext, can't keep me under;
Yet so tender is my ear,
That the lowest voice I fear;
Much I dread the courtier's fate,
When his merit's out of date,
For I hate a silent breath,
And a whisper is my death.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Sonnet: On Prayer
The pow’r of prayer can astonish you;
Through prayer, we can speak to God each day.
There isn’t a thing that prayer cannot do!
A miracle can happen, if you pray.
A prayer ought to come deep from your heart;
God hears your prayer if you can just kneel;
Saying a prayer is a faithful’s art!
A prayer must be fervent in appeal.
God answers prayers said by righteous souls;
Through Mary, we can win favors from God;
A hymn of praise or thanksgiving has roles;
When more than two can pray, God will reward.
A prayer can change fate of sinners all;
A prayer breaks sin’s invisible wall!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-3-2008
poem by John Celes
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So You Will Know Where You Will End
I stopped being nice
To be happy for once
And so today
you will find the word
No
in my dictionary,
I will keep things
Short and sweet
I won’t gabble
I won’t give you
A rope to hang you with
I won’t engage
And apologize
Or even explain
I won’t give you the
Fuel to use against me
And I get my 'no'
In quickly
I set the marker
Right from the
Beginning
So you will
Know where
You will end.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Prayer
In my perfect world
Theres no need to right the wronged
Laid down my burden
I know I did not carry the weight
Not sure to who responsibility belonged
I turned a blind eye
While waiting for the hand of fate to still the waters
Heal all the broken hearts
And hope it could be done without a sacrifice
And maybe I just wouldnt pay the price
Ive fought this long enough
Now I send the prayer to heaven for the chance to be
A better man than the man I see
I send the prayer to heaven, lay your hands on me
I aint a saint but to this I swear I send the prayer
And now I feel all I can do is not enough
My rome is burning and Im standing at the deep abyss
But every passion started with an act of love
And every act of love, started with a single kiss
Father, father your gift was my world of light
And Ive betrayed you with a single judas kiss
Ive been my own executioner
But its not just me anymore
Now I send the prayer to heaven for the chance to be
A better man than the man I see
I send the prayer to heaven, lay your hands on me
I aint a saint but to this I swear
Burn my wasted pride
Open your heart to this
Theres a voice thats crying somewhere
Deep inside my soul for shelter
Now I send the prayer to heaven for the chance to be
A better man than the man I see
I send the prayer to heaven, lay your hands on me
I aint a saint but to this I swear
Now I send the prayer to heaven for the chance to be
A better man than the man I see
I send the prayer to heaven, lay your hands on me
I aint a saint but to this I swear I send the prayer...
Now I send a prayer to heaven...
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Marker
I stopped being nice
To be happy for once
And so today
you will find the word
No
in the dictionary of my mind
I will keep things
Short and sweet
I won’t gabble
I won’t give you
A rope to hang you with
I won’t engage
And apologize
Or even explain
I won’t give you the
Fuel to use against me
And I get my 'no'
In quickly
I will set the marker
Right from the
Beginning
So you will
Know where
You will end.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Metaphysical Prayer
O You Who Are..
O You who, so they say, say
that You are me myself,
that I myself am You -
or Who does not, in truth, say that;
since You created me as You yourself,
brooking no division and no doubt…
then teach me, who am You yourself
to know myself; to know
that I indeed know this in deed; and to rejoice
in knowing that I know…
teach me to know, in stillness, that
which I already know
for You have known this in myself;
You who stand when I stand;
sit when I sit; even
think when I think – even
when my thinking is not Yours –
You who are where praise and prayer meet;
where prayer and praise are silence
and that silence, full of You..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Sound of Trees
I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
poem by Robert Frost
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The Aggravation
Hallowed be the academics
all those worldly astute
So be all the ill bred
and ones intellectually destitute
Endured I have their follies
and the toxins they continually spew
With warped their sensibilities
doubt my perspectives as gone askew
Having logic shrunk to triviality,
to plain gabble they are confined
With me treated as a sounding board
to their tirades get consigned
poem by Sunny Chopra
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Chicago Sestina
I am surprised by the streets of Chicago
when the palm of winter grips them with snow
as if to forgive the city’s mistakes
and give it a canvas that’s new, white, and clean–
its fingers, the branches on all of the trees
kneading the air that blows in from the lake.
I’ve never lived next to the pulse of the lake
(until I set foot down the side of Chicago)
breathing in through the streets and out through the trees
welcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.
It lets my mind slip into thinking it’s clean
as if to personally forgive my mistakes.
“But what have you done to forgive your mistakes? ”
Did I ask this? Or is that the voice of the lake?
Some days, not even does it appear clean,
worn down from its tall standing neighbor, Chicago.
It scrapes at the sky, asking it for more snow
to stick to and freeze the trunks of the trees.
If I were a branch on one of these trees
incapable of making a single mistake,
I’d grab at the sky as it shook out the snow
and grow my roots thick till they tasted the lake.
But I wouldn’t bend to the force of Chicago
that’s constantly keeping me from being clean.
And what does it mean to try to be clean?
I don’t understand the stillness of the trees
when they’re being attacked by the size of Chicago
as if to glorify the city’s mistakes
that glisten like stars at night on the lake
before it all froze and was covered with snow.
Ah! To imagine how long there’s been snow.
How can something this old still feel so clean
and dance through the wind that swoops in from the lake?
Is it the kneading by the spiny branches on trees
trusting that there will be no more mistakes
that leaves these the only pure thing in Chicago?
Here comes the snow that seeks out the trees
Am I now clean? Where are my mistakes?
Chicago belongs where it lay with the lake.
poem by Brian Maloney
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Amazon
This song appears on four albums, and was first released on the different directions album, and has also been released on the gift you are and the john denver collection - sunshine on my shoulde
Ums. a live version appears on the wildlife concert album.
There is a river that runs from the mountains
That one river is all rivers
All rivers are that one
There is a tree that stands in the forest
That one tree is all forests
All trees are that one
There is a flower that blooms in the desert
That one blossom is all flowers
All flowers are that one
There is a bird that sings in the jungle
That one song is all music
All songs are that one
It is the song of life
It is the flower of faith
It is the tree of temptation
It is the river of no regret
There is a child that cries in the ghetto
That one child is all children
All children are that one
There is a vision that shines in the darkness
That one vision is all of our dreams
It is a vision of heaven
It is a child of promise
It is the song of life
It is the river of no regret
Let this be a voice for the mountains
Let this be a voice for the river
Let this be a voice for the forest
Let this be a voice for the flowers
Let this be a voice for the ocean
Let this be a voice for the desert
Let this be a voice for the children
Let this be a voice for the dreamers
Let this be a voice of no regret
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Emit Remmus
The California animal is a bear
Angeleno but the devil may care
Summer time to talk and swear
Later maybe we could share some air
I'll take you to the movies there
We could walk through Leicester Square
What could be wetter than
An English girl American man
[Chorus:]
London in the summer time
Call me now use the satellite
London in the summer time
Cuss me out and it'll feel all right
Hesitate but don't refuse
The choice was yours but you said choose
The look she used was green and sharp
Stabbed that boy all in his heart
Come what may the cosmos will
Take me up and down on Primrose Hill
What could be wetter than
An English girl American man
[Chorus]
Cuss me out and it'll feel all right
It's all right now
Call me now use the satellite
It's all right
It's all right
Down and out and it'll sound all right
It's all right now
It's all right
The California flower is poppy child
Felony sends me all the gold in your smile
Drift away from anyone you can
Nothing ever goes according to plan
Though I know that every river bends
Time to say hello to snow on the Thames
What could be wetter than
An English girl American man
[Chorus]
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Californication
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Whistling Girl
Back of my back, they talk of me,
Gabble and honk and hiss;
Let them batten, and let them be-
Me, I can sing them this:
"Better to shiver beneath the stars,
Head on a faithless breast,
Than peer at the night through rusted bars,
And share an irksome rest.
"Better to see the dawn come up,
Along of a trifling one,
Than set a steady man's cloth and cup
And pray the day be done.
"Better be left by twenty dears
Than lie in a loveless bed;
Better a loaf that's wet with tears
Than cold, unsalted bread."
Back of my back, they wag their chins,
Whinny and bleat and sigh;
But better a heart a-bloom with sins
Than hearts gone yellow and dry!
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Our God is a God of mercy and of grace. (Gerald Albright's Kicking it up #6)
God, I just do not understand why
You treat me so good everyday.
In spite of all of my sins and all of my mistakes,
You are still good to me.
Yes, you are; my God really is.
My God is so wonderful.
He has provided for all of my needs.
He created the sun to shine brightly everyday.
God has supplied the very air that I breathe.
Yes, He does.
My God is so good to me each day.
He has provided for all of my needs.
God sends out the cooling invisible breeze.
He produced all of the food that I eat.
Yes he does; now help me say it.
Our God is a God of mercy.
He truly deserves all of our praise.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.
Our God is a God of mercy.
He wakes us up every single day.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.
My God is so wonderful.
He provides me with His grace each day.
All I need to do is confess my sins to Him,
He has promised to forgive every one.
Yes, He does.
All that God has ask me to do
Is give to Him all of my praise every day.
By the life that I have chosen to live
I must show the world that my God is.
Now open your mouth and help me praise Him.
Our God is a God of mercy.
He truly deserves all of our praise.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.
Our God is a God of mercy.
He wakes us up every single day.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
All we need to do is ask
He will answer our every prayer.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace
He hears all of our prayers.
He really listens to the words we say.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace
He will always be right there
He guides every single step that we take.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace
No matter, what we may go through
He has promised to show us the way.
I will always praise you, my God.
You have been good to me.
You saved my soul
You set me free from sin.
Our God is a God of mercy.
He truly deserves all of our praise.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.
Our God is a God of mercy.
He wakes us up every single day.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.
Our Father, hollowed be your most holy name
Our God is a God of mercy
O’ how much I love you
Our God is a God of mercy
You have saved my soul and set me free
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that He is.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
All we need to do is ask
He will answer our every prayer.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace
He hears all of our prayers.
He really listens to every word we say.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace
He will always be right there
He guides every single step that we take.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace
No matter, what we may go through
He has promised to show us the way.
Let me hear you say it with me.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
Let me hear you give him praise.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
Our God is a God of mercy.
He truly deserves all of our praise.
Our God is a God of wonder and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.
Our God is a God of mercy.
He wakes us up every single day.
Our God is a God of mercy and of grace.
O’ Yes, I know that our God is.
poem by Reginald Walker
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I Could Be The Moon
i could be the moon
where you can be a body and a
shadow
i could be a lake where
the moon may shine
and you can still be the body
and the shadow
and the voice
i could be a candle in the dark
where you may put
your hope and you can still be the
body and the shadow
and the scent
i could all be your moon
your lake and your candle
and you can still be the body and the shadow
and you shall walk
under me (if i were the moon)
and around me (if i were the lake)
and you may have the power
to put me off (if i were just a candle
in the dark
where you are the body
and the shadow and the voice
and by the mere sigh
of your whimper
i may die
so i still prefer to be your moon
or your lake so i can be your full light
so i can be your mirror
larger than your body
not helpless to your shadow
in silence, i still like to be myself
not a slave, not someone whom you can just
give away as easily as a flicker of a candle
as fickle as you are
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sea By The Wood
I DWELL in the sea that is wild and deep,
But afar in a shadow still,
I can see the trees that gather and sleep
In the wood upon the hill.
The deeps are green as an emerald's face,
The caves are crystal calm,
But I wish the sea were a little trace
Of moisture in God's palm.
The waves are weary of hiding pearls,
Are aweary of smothering gold,
They would all be air that sweeps and swirls
In the branches manifold.
They are weary of laving the seaman's eyes
With their passion prayer unsaid,
They are weary of sobs and the sudden sighs
And movements of the dead.
All the sea is haunted with human lips
Ashen and sere and gray,
You can hear the sails of the sunken ships
Stir and shiver and sway
In the weary solitude;
If mine were the will of God, the main
Should melt away in the rustling wood
Like a mist that follows the rain.
But I dwell in the sea that is wild and deep
And afar in the shadow still,
I can see the trees that gather and sleep
In the wood upon the hill.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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A-Roving
WHEN the sap runs up the tree.
And the vine runs o’er the wall,
When the blossom draws the bee,
From the forest comes a call,
Wild, and clear, and sweet, and strange,
Many-tongued and murmuring
Like the river in the range—
’Tis the joyous voice of Spring!
On the boles of grey, old trees,
See the flying sunbeams play
Mystic, soundless melodies—
A fantastic march and gay;
But the young leaves hear them—hark
How they rustle, every one!—
And the sap beneath the bark
Hearing, leaps to meet the sun.
Oh, the world is wondrous fair
When the tide of life’s at flood!
There is magic in the air,
There is music in the blood;
And a glamour draws us on
To the distance, rainbow-spanned,
And the road we tread upon
Is the road to Fairyland.
Lo! the elders hear the sweet
Voice, and know the wondrous song;
And their ancient pulses beat
To a tune forgotten long;
And they talk in whispers low,
With a smile and with a sigh,
Of the years of long ago,
And the roving days gone by.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Song Of The Spirit
Too sweet and too subtle for pen or for tongue
In phrases unwritten and measures unsung,
As deep and as strange as the sounds of the sea,
Is the song that my spirit is singing to me.
In the midnight and tempest when forest trees shiver,
In the roar of the surf, and the rush of the river,
In the rustle of leaves and the fall of the rain,
And on the low breezes I catch the refrain.
From the vapours that frame and envelop the earth,
And beyond, from the realms where my spirit had birth,
From the mists of the land and the fogs of the sea,
For ever and ever the songs come to me.
I know not its wording - its import I know -
For the rhythm is broken, the measure runs low,
When vexed or allured by the things of this life
My soul is merged into its pleasures or strife.
When up to the hill tops of beauty and light
My soul like a lark in the ether takes flight,
And the white gates of heaven shine brighter and nearer,
The song of the spirit grows sweeter and clearer.
Up, up to the realms where no mortal has trod -
Into space and infinity near to my God -
With whiteness, and silence, and beautiful things,
I am bourne when the voice of eternity sings.
When once in the winds or the dropp of the rain
Thy spirit shall listen and hear the refrain,
Thy soul shall soar up like a bird on the breeze,
And the things that have pleased thee will never more please.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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