Pilgrims
For oh, when the war will be over
We'll go and we'll look for our dead;
We'll go when the bee's on the clover,
And the plume of the poppy is red:
We'll go when the year's at its gayest,
When meadows are laughing with flow'rs;
And there where the crosses are greyest,
We'll seek for the cross that is ours.
For they cry to us: Friends, we are lonely,
A-weary the night and the day;
But come in the blossom-time only,
Come when our graves will be gay:
When daffodils all are a-blowing,
And larks are a-thrilling the skies,
Oh, come with the hearts of you glowing,
And the joy of the Spring in your eyes.
But never, oh, never come sighing,
For ours was the Splendid Release;
And oh, but 'twas joy in the dying
To know we were winning you Peace!
So come when the valleys are sheening,
And fledged with the promise of grain;
And here where our graves will be greening,
Just smile and be happy again.
And so, when the war will be over,
We'll seek for the Wonderful One;
And maiden will look for her lover,
And mother will look for her son;
And there will be end to our grieving,
And gladness will gleam over loss,
As -- glory beyond all believing!
We point . . . to a name on a cross.
poem by Robert William Service
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Related quotes
Tri-Colour
Poppies, you try to tell me, glowing there in the wheat;
Poppies! Ah no! You mock me: It's blood, I tell you, it's blood.
It's gleaming wet in the grasses; it's glist'ning warm in the wheat;
It dabbles the ferns and the clover; it brims in an angry flood;
It leaps to the startled heavens; it smothers the sun; it cries
With scarlet voices of triumph from blossom and bough and blade.
See the bright horror of it! It's roaring out of the skies,
And the whole red world is a-welter. . . . Oh God! I'm afraid! I'm afraid!
Cornflowers, you say, just cornflowers, gemming the golden grain;
Ah no! You can't deceive me. Can't I believe my eyes?
Look! It's the dead, my comrades, stark on the dreadful plain,
All in their dark-blue blouses, staring up at the skies.
Comrades of canteen laughter, dumb in the yellow wheat.
See how they sprawl and huddle! See how their brows are white!
Goaded on to the shambles, there in death and defeat. . . .
Father of Pity, hide them! Hasten, O God, Thy night!
Lillies (the light is waning), only lilies you say,
Nestling and softly shining there where the spear-grass waves.
No, my friend, I know better; brighter I see than day:
It's the poor little wooden crosses over their quiet graves.
Oh, how they're gleaming, gleaming! See! Each cross has a crown.
Yes, it's true I am dying; little will be the loss. . . .
Darkness . . . but look! In Heaven a light, and it's shining down. . . .
God's accolade! Lift me up, friends. I'm going to win -- my Cross.
poem by Robert William Service
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In France I Saw A Hill
In France I saw a hill-a gentle slope
Rising above old tombs to greet the gleam
From soft spring skies. Beyond these skies dwells hope,
But those green graves bespeak a broken dream.
There was a row of narrow beds, new-made;
Each bore a starry banner and a cross.
And each the name of one who, ere he played
His rôle of warrior, met earth's final loss.
They were so young, so eager for the fray!
And thoughts of glory filled each boyish heart,
When over dangerous seas they sailed away
To face the foe and play some splendid part.
But in the tedious toil, the dull routine
Which must precede achievement on the field,
Disease, that secret enemy with mean
Sly tactics, forced them to disarm and yield.
So they were buried on that hill in France,
Before their ears had heard the battle din;
Before life gave them its dramatic chance-
A lasting fame, or glorious death to win.
Yet, looking up beyond their graves of green,
I seem to see them wearing band and star;
Men are rewarded in the Worlds Unseen
Not for the way they die, but what they are.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Serendipity It Came Calling
Serendipity it came calling--
Rolling in the clover oh so green...
Glory and joy danced in sheer delight--
With the wind blowing 'cross the scene;
The Weeping Willow ceased her tears...
The rippling brook broke out into a smile-
Buttercups just melted their rich yellow--
'Twas a natures celebration that could be seen for miles;
Serendipity it came calling...
'Cross the golden orchards of yesterday---
Through the Gardens of Sweet Hapenstance...
Dancing with ecstatic glee through month of May;
Coming 'cross this oh so greatest splendour--
So fortunate were we to truly find...
This golden gilded opportunity so grand...
Thank you Mother Earth for this gift so kind! ;
May,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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Its The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
Its the most wonderful time of the year
Its the most wonderful time of the year
With the kids jingle-belling
And everyone telling you be of good cheer
Its the most wonderful time of the year
Its the hap-happiest season of all
With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings
When friend come to call
Its the hap-happiest season of all
Therell be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for toasting
And caroling out in the snow
Therell be scary ghost story
And tales of glories of christmas long, long ago
Its the most wonderful time of the year
Therell be much mistletoe-ing and hearts will be glowing
When love ones are near
Its the most wonderful time of the year
Therell be much mistletoe-ing and hearts will be glowing
When love ones are near
Its the most wonderful time
Its the most wonderful time
Its the most wonderful time of the year
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME
OF THE YEAR
It's the most wonderful time of the year
With the kids jingle belling
And everyone telling you ?Be of good cheer!?
It's the most wonderful time of the year
It's the happiest season of all
With those holiday meetings
And gay, happy greetings
When friends come to call
It's the happiest season of all
There'll be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for toasting
And caroling out in the snow
There'll be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories
Of Christmases long, long ago
It's the most wonderful time of the year
There'll be much mistletoeing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
It's the most wonderful time of the year
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wonderful Cross
When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died
My Richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride
See from His head His hands His feet
Sorrow and love mingled down
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown
Oh the wonderful cross (2x)
Bides me come and die and find
that I may truly live
Oh the wonderful cross (2x)
All who gather here by grace
draw here and bless your name
Were the whole realm of nature mine
That were and an off'ring far too small
Love so amazing so divine
Demands my soul my life my all
Oh the wonderful cross (2x)
Bids me come and die and find
that I may truly live
Oh the wonderful cross (2x)
All who gather here by grace
draw here and bless your name
Life so amazing, so divine
Demands my soul. my life, my all
and the beauty and the shame
in the glory of His name
Oh the wonderful cross
Oh the wonderful cross (2x)
Bids me come and die and find
that I may truly live
Oh the wonderful cross (2x)
All who gather here by grace
draw here and bless your name
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pilgrims
An uphill path, sun-gleams between the showers,
Where every beam that broke the leaden sky
Lit other hills with fairer ways than ours;
Some clustered graves where half our memories lie;
And one grim Shadow creeping ever nigh:
And this was Life.
Wherein we did another's burden seek,
The tired feet we helped upon the road,
The hand we gave the weary and the weak,
The miles we lightened one another's load,
When, faint to falling, onward yet we strode:
This too was Life.
Till, at the upland, as we turned to go
Amid fair meadows, dusky in the night,
The mists fell back upon the road below;
Broke on our tired eyes the western light;
The very graves were for a moment bright:
And this was Death.
poem by John McCrae
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Jesus’ Cross
The Holy Cross beckons
To follow Jesus Christ;
The source of strength and joy
To souls, for Lord athirst!
The Holy Cross guides us
To walk upon His steps;
The Son of God had died
To save mankind from sins.
The Holy Cross reminds
To place our trust in God;
Jesus resurrected
To annul man from rod.
The Holy Cross signals
That life has crosses, woes;
Yet, we must tread fearless;
Engages God, our foes!
The Holy Cross goads us
To carry each one’s cross;
Our war with satan’s won,
By Jesus, without loss!
The Holy Cross renews
Our ties with Jesus Lord;
He will come in glory
To judge mankind by Word!
poem by John Celes
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Its The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
Its the most wonderful time of the year
With the kids jingle-belling
And everyone telling you
Be of good cheer
Its the most wonderful time of the year
Its the hap-happiest season of all
With those holiday greetings
And great happy meetings
When friends come to call
Its the hap-happiest season of all
Therell be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for roasting
And caroling out in the snow
Therell be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories
Of christmases long, long ago
Its the most wonderful time of the year
Therell be much mistletoe-ing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
Its the most wonderful time of the year
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Spaniards' Graves
O sailors, did sweet eyes look after you
The day you sailed away from sunny Spain?
Bright eyes that followed fading ship and crew,
Melting in tender rain?
Did no one dream of that drear night to be,
Wild with the wind, fierce with the stinging snow,
When on yon granite point that frets the sea,
The ship met her death-blow?
Fifty long years ago these sailors died:
(None know how many sleep beneath the waves)
Fourteen gray headstones, rising side by side,
Point out their nameless graves,-
Lonely, unknown, deserted, but for me,
And the wild birds that flit with mournful cry,
And sadder winds, and voices of the sea
That moans perpetually.
Wives, mothers, maidens, wistfully, in vain
Questioned the distance for the yearning sail,
That leaning landward, should have stretched again
White arms wide on the gale,
To bring back their beloved. Year by year,
Weary they watched, till youth and beauty passed,
And lustrous eyes grew dim and age drew near,
And hope was dead at last.
Still summer broods o'er that delicious land,
Rich, fragrant, warm with skies of golden glow:
Live any yet of that forsaken band
Who loved so long ago?
Spanish women, over the far seas,
Could I but show you where your dead repose!
Could I send tidings on this northern breeze
That strong and steady blows!
Dear dark-eyed sisters, you remember yet
These you have lost, but you can never know
One stands at their bleak graves whose eyes are wet
With thinking of your woe!
poem by Celia Thaxter
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Let The Weary World Go Round
Let the weary world go round!
What care I?
Life's a surfeiting of sound:
I would die.
It would be so sweet to lie
Under waving grasses,
Where a maiden's footstep sly,
Tremulous for a lover nigh,
Sometimes passes.
Why, why remain?
Graves are the sovereign simples
Against life's pain;
Graves are the sheltering wimples
Against life's rain;
Graves are a mother's dimples
When we complain.
O Death! beautiful Death!
Why do they thee disfigure?
To me thy touch, thy breath,
Hath nor alarm nor rigour.
Thee do I long await;
I think thee very late;
I pine much to be going.
Others have gone before;
I hunger more and more
To know what they are knowing.
Heart, heart! be thou content!
Accept thy banishment;
Like other sorrows, life will end for thee.
Yet for a little while
Bear with this harsh exìle,
And Death will soften and will send for thee.
poem by Alfred Austin
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The Iron Cross
THEY pass, with heavy eyes and hair,
Before the Christ upon the Cross,
The Nations, stricken with their loss,
And lifting faces of despair.
What is the prayer they pray to Him,
Christ Jesus on the Iron Cross?
The Christ, neglected, dark with moss,
Whose hands are pierced, whose face is grim.
Is it forgiveness for great sin
They plead before the Iron Cross?
Or for some gift of gold or dross?
Or battle lost, that they would win?
With eyes where hate and horror meet,
They pass before the Iron Cross,
The Cross, that ancient words emboss,
Where hangs the Christ with nail-pierced feet.
His hair is fallen on his face.
His head hangs sidewise from the Cross —
The Crucified, who knows all loss,
And had on Earth no resting place.
'O world of men,' he seems to say,
'Behold me on your Iron Cross!
To me why kneel and tell your loss?
Why kneel to me and weep and pray?
'Have I not taught you to forgive?
And bade you from my Iron Cross
Believe, and bear your grief and loss,
That after death you too may live?
'You have not followed at my call!
You keep me on this Iron Cross,
And pray me keep you from all loss,
And save and comfort you withal.—
'You ask for love, and hate the more! —
You keep me on this Iron Cross!—
Restore to me my greater loss,
The brotherhood of rich and poor.'
They pass, with weary eyes and hair,
Before the Christ upon the Cross —
The Nations, wailing of their loss,
And lifting faces of despair.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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The Cross
Two fallen twigs when kept across
Can form a cross;
Two blades of grass just put cris-cross
Becomes a cross.
Two fingers placed atop the next
Looks like a cross;
A wire-mesh has umpteen crosses,
Like stars the sky across.
The cross is symbol of Christians;
The cross is pride of all baptized;
The cross instills love of Jesus;
The cross is feared by all devils!
The cross is sign of faith in God;
The cross means sacrifice like Christ;
The cross reminds of victory over death;
Carry your cross and follow Christ.
The cross can save the worst sinner;
The cross is sign of after-life;
The cross means Christ is Son of God!
The cross leads always to heaven.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 10-30-2009
poem by John Celes
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0082 The New Grave
You brought your watercolour kit.
For it’s so picturesque – the smallish church
in the centre of the village
like a mother hen at drowsy midday
surrounded by her chicks;
the red-white flag of Saint George
the only sign of life, fluttering like
an aerial footnote to history
(or for some, a corner of a foreign football field…)
but there’s a new detail in the picture
since last you sketched here:
the newest arrival is the oldest: death;
the oldest signifier is the fresh-turned earth.
The uninvited thought squirms across the mind
like the exposed worms of that rich soil,
how reassuring to be buried in this ideal
picture-book of continuity amidst the change,
a country churchyard. A cemetery
has no geography and thus no history
save in the hearts of families;
here, all is reassuring
except to broken hearts which time will heal
all bar the scar.
Already, the bunch of daffodils
in the empty honey jar
have bowed to that same death;
reminding us that graves are spun around
a hundred and forty years of family history:
she’ll remember how she loved her Nan
who died at seventy-something
for all her own seventyish future years.
Rest in peace means something here.
Meanwhile, the daffodils thrive, dotted
among the graves, as unconcerned
as the soft rubber tyres of the hearse
now catching at the Spring’s reaching foliage
as it approaches at a perfectly-judged pace
down Church Lane, returning peace to peace.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Path
There is no turning back from this unending path of mine
Serpent turning back it stands before my eyes
To hell and back it will lead me once more
Its all I have as I stumble in and out of grace
I walk through the gardens of dying lights
And cross over rivers deep and dark as the night
Searching for reasons why time passes by
With every step I take the less I know myself
And every vow I break on my way towards your heart
Countless times Ive prayed for forgiveness
But God just laughed at my face
And this path remains
Leading me into solitude zones
I seek through the darkness my way back home
The journey seems endless but Ill carry on
The shadows will rise and day will fall
And a night turns in dawn
And after the tears this smile all angels grieve with an envious song
When looking into strangers eyes
And I know where I belong
I walk through the gardens of dying lights
And cross over rivers deep and dark as the night
Searching for reasons why time passes by
I seek through the darkness my way back home
The journey seems endless but Ill carry on
The shadows will rise and day will fall
And a night turns in dawn
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Impoverished Dignity
I seek but a dash of water to quench my horrible thirst.
I scour dumps for scraps as my children’s stomachs burst.
I have so many enemies like angry ground and skies.
I know not why I’m chosen the one that they despise.
In less than a minute my country is destroyed.
Sickening sights of dead and dying, I’m unable to avoid.
My people came to this land to escape becoming slaves.
For many now their escapes will be at best mass graves.
I was born with nothing and grew up with pain and death.
Now it’s so much harder to sustain each belabored breath.
All I ask is that dash of water to keep my babies alive…
And a few grains of rice so that they can survive.
I have not asked for much, but even then I’ve been denied.
I hope my young will seek more and not be too satisfied.
Ground and sky, be friend or foe, will always fill the days.
Though tragic, I seek a chance to dignify impoverished ways.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Seek Beauty
how long
and how lonely
are the steeps of your lies
and yet
how painfully liberating is the path that your truth requires?
so seek
seek beauty
in laughter and in tears
seek love
and fantastic colours just may highlight the dust in your eyes
seek beauty
coz in the end
when the lamp oil
burnt the flicker once and for all
we fade
we perish in that final hour
savouring the promise of glorious dawn
so seek
seek beauty in the ugly and in the vain
seek love
and fantastic colours just may highlight
the dust in your eyes
seek beauty
and take joy
in your daily struggle
let go repulsion as it clings to the shock
discovery
entering illumination
the transformation of matter into void
so seek
seek beauty
in corruption and in the pure
seek love
and fantastic colours just may highlight the dust in your eyes
seek beauty
seek beauty!
poem by Andrew JansBrown
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It’s Christmas and I Am So Very Happy
I am so happy, oh yes I am so happy,
And I don’t care what anybody else says.
I put a little Christmas tree on my shelf today,
I decorated it with bright shining lights,
And I hung ornaments on every branch available.
Yes my friends Christmas is coming faster and faster
And I am happily enjoying the moment with all its cheer.
I am just so happy and singing falalalala falallala,
And how I am laughing merrily crying hoohohhohoho
Christmas has come with something big and joyous to say
It’s the most wonderful day around the world
How can anybody shed a tear on such a day or even frown?
Blessed to all and give thanks for all who celebrate the day today
Christmas is here, and I am so happy, what is there to fear?
I am so happy yes; I am so very happy I could almost cry,
But I won’t do that unless I have a reason to, I tell you that won’t be soon
You see my story of the Little Christmas tree continues to live another year
I have it back on its stand and bringing such joy to all about.
Christmas music plays in the background singing choirs of angels to all to hear
Oh come now and rejoice the season Glory to God in the highest and peace to all
It’s Christmas let’s bring out the Champaign and celebrate the moment with someone dear.
Merry Christmas! Oh Merry Christmas and a Happy New year one and all
Let’s pray that the New Year brings a new message of hope and change to this world
I think everyone needs a miracle at this time of the year whatever it is it will be great I am sure
Maybe peace on earth and bring our soldiers safely home,
Or maybe find a cure for a painful illness or disease
Christmas is here and I am so very happy and hope a smile can make an unhappy child laugh
It is a wonderful day and the entire world has time to celebrate and forget the past year.
poem by Monica Engeler
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Night
Hark how the tremulous night-wind is passing in joy-laden sighs;
Soft through my window it comes, like the fanning of pinions angelic,
Whispering to cease from myself, and look out on the infinite skies.
Out on the orb-studded night, and the crescent effulgence of Dian;
Out on the far-gleaming star-dust that marks where the angels have trod;
Out on the gem-pointed Cross, and the glittering pomp of Orion,
Flaming in measureless azure, the coronal jewels of God;
Luminous streams of delight in the silent immensity flowing,
Journeying surgelessly on through impalpable ethers of peace.
How can I think of myself when infinitude o'er me is glowing,
Glowing with tokens of love from the land where my sorrows shall cease?
Oh, summer-night of the South! Oh, sweet languor of zephyrs love-sighing!
Oh, mighty circuit of shadowy solitude, holy and still!
Music scarce audible, echo-less harmony joyously dying,
Dying in faint suspirations o'er meadow, and forest, and hill!
I must go forth and be part of it, part of the night and its gladness.
But a few steps, and I pause on the marge of the shining lagoon.
Here then, at length, I have rest; and I lay down my burden of sadness,
Kneeling alone 'neath the stars and the silvery arc of the moon.
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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Tullahoma
TULLAHOMA
RICH IN CULTURE WHERE VIRTUES STRAY
IN DEPTHS OF HEARTS OF BEAUTY
TULLAHOMA LAND OF THE RED CLAY
BLESSED IT IS PRETTIER THAN PRETTY
NESTLED IN VALLEYS OF CUMBERLAND HEIGHTS
REFLECTING ITS SERENITY IN BEAUTIFUL LAKES
TULLAHOMA LAND OF HEART WARMING SIGHTS
BEST OF WHAT GOD’S HANDS MAKES
WHERE DAFFODILS BLOOM WHEN BLUEBIRD SING
HAPPY TUNES FOR HEARTS TO DREAM
AS THE CARDINALS FLAP THEIR WINGS
CHEERING TULLAHOMA LAND OF THE GLEAM
PICTURE PERFECT HOME OF SOUTHERN FLAVOR
WARMER THAN WARM IN EVERY SMILE
TULLAHOMA LAND OF THE RED FLOWERS
RAPTURE OF SPLENDOR IN EVERY TRAIL
SHADOWS OF SUN WALTZING INTO NIGHTS
STEPPING WITH MOON CHASING THE STARS
TULLAHOMA LAND OF LOVE OF HEARTS
OPENING ARMS TO FRIENDS AND STRANGERS
WHERE DAFFODILS BLOOM WHEN BLUEBIRD SINGS
HAPPY TUNES FOR HEARTS TO DREAM
AS THE CARDINALS FLAP THEIR WINGS
CHEERING TULLAHOMA LAND OF THE GLEAM
Tullahoma is where I live which is in middle Tennessee 60 miles Nashville on west and 60 miles from chattanooga in east
poem by Mittur Ramprasad
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