En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Quest

I sought Him on the purple seas,
I sought Him on the peaks aflame;
Amid the gloom of giant trees
And canyons lone I called His name;
The wasted ways of earth I trod:
In vain! In vain! I found not God.

I sought Him in the hives of men,
The cities grand, the hamlets gray,
The temples old beyond my ken,
The tabernacles of to-day;
All life that is, from cloud to clod
I sought. . . . Alas! I found not God.

Then after roamings far and wide,
In streets and seas and deserts wild,
I came to stand at last beside
The death-bed of my little child.
Lo! as I bent beneath the rod
I raised my eyes . . . and there was God.

poem by Robert William Service
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Sonnet: God Decides Our Earthly-life

I sought a dollar, got a penny just;
I sought a penny, found dollar instead;
I sought a lover, got a load of lust;
I sought but lust yet, got a soul to wed.

The things we seek, don't happen in our time;
The things we search are found neither our way;
The things we see, we cannot always mime;
The things we want, we get some other day.

Man's labour long and plans evade fruition;
God's blessings come just like a waterfall;
The ways of God defies any diction;
He cares for all creatures mighty and small.

Our patience gives us success or defeat,
A man who's blest can walk life-time bare-feet.

poem by John Celes
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Birth of the Warrior

Respect. Sought, yet it is not found, so it cannot be given.
Control. Sought, yet it is not found, so it cannot be obtained.
Power. Sought, yet it is not found, so it cannot be obtained.
Love. Sought, yet it is not found, so it cannot be given.
Joy. Sought, yet it is not found, so it cannot be obtained.
Peace. Sought, yet it is not found, so it cannot be obtained.
Sought from the source external.
Robbing another, and in turn robbing the seeker.
Another protects theirs, as the seeker protects his.
In the quest, it is given away to another, with nothing returned,
The seeker loses themselves.
To put another before self, is to find one self.
Yet, the seeker must protect what is theirs.
Though it must be shared, as it is found for this purpose.
It is that, which is shared, that can never be stolen.
It is the gift.
Not to be given, as one who gives, expects it back.
The gift that is given to one, cannot be shared by many.
The gift must be protected.
For those starving from within, will get a taste,
Not realizing that they have their own.
They just have yet to harness it.
The power lies within.
Yet, within lies, it lies.
It is when the seeker respects themselves, they can respect others, and can share respect.
When they can control themselves, others respect will respect them.
They then find their inner empowerment, and now need power from no other.
The battles you endured, you are courageous.
The demons you have battled, you are fearless.
After many defeats, you rose and became victorious.
The seeker is not a victim,
The seeker is a champion.
They have conquered the battle from within.
Many battles lie ahead, they can reflect on the battles past.
Now, the warrior inside is born.
Fight on!

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Gods of the East

Because I sought it far from men,
In deserts and alone,
I found it burning overhead,
The jewel of a Throne.

Because I sought--I sought it so
And spent my days to find--
It blazed one moment ere it left
The blacker night behind.

We be the Gods of the East--
Older than all--
Masters of Mourning and Feast--
How shall we fall?

* * * * *

This I saw when the rites were done,
And the lamps were dead and the Gods alone,
And the grey snake coiled on the altar stone--
Ere I fled from a Fear that I could not see,
And the Gods of the East made mouths at me.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Sonnet-Life Is Meaningless Sans God

I sought to know Life's meaning for quite long
Through Science and turned Atheist all the more;
And throughtout life, I was proved very wrong;
Science could not open Life's most secret door.

I sought Life's meaning from Mother Nature,
Who unfolded great truths of beauty much;
I learnt from her and turned quickly mature;
She showed me God, His Love and soothing touch.

Thus, Life divorced from God was vain pursuit;
My Theism took me to stellar heights;
God's mystery was more than our Life's great Truth;
I felt like one amidst the flying kites.

My Life was empty till I found my God
And saw His Love that made me Man from clod.

poem by John Celes
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Here Follow Several Occasional Meditations

By night when others soundly slept,
And had at once both case and rest,
My waking eyes were open kept
And so to lie I found it best.

I sought Him whom my soul did love,
With tears I sought Him earnestly;
He bowed His ear down from above.
In vain I did not seek or cry.

My hungry soul He filled with good,
He in His bottle put my tears,
My smarting wounds washed in His blood,
And banished thence my doubts and fears.

What to my Savior shall I give,
Who freely hath done this for me?
I'll serve Him here whilst I shall live
And love Him to eternity.

poem by Anne Bradstreet
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By Night when Others Soundly Slept

By night when others soundly slept
And hath at once both ease and Rest,
My waking eyes were open kept
And so to lie I found it best.

I sought him whom my Soul did Love,
With tears I sought him earnestly.
He bow'd his ear down from Above.
In vain I did not seek or cry.

My hungry Soul he fill'd with Good;
He in his Bottle put my tears,
My smarting wounds washt in his blood,
And banisht thence my Doubts and fears.

What to my Saviour shall I give
Who freely hath done this for me?
I'll serve him here whilst I shall live
And Loue him to Eternity.

poem by Anne Bradstreet
Submitted by anonym
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Come Out, Come Out Wherever You Are

As a 'precocious' child,
And extremely curious...
The playing of hide and seek,
Was fun until it wasn't.
Yes...
I use to peek to see,
Where the others would hide first...
Before I found a place impossible,
To be found.
Then I would leave the neighborhood,
To walk around and adventure.

And when I returned,
Those same kids would be hiding.
To be sought.

Today?
Those same 'kids' are hiding,
To be sought.
And there is something about that,
I no longer find amusing.

Come out, come out wherever you are.
Your children have become crazed.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nature And Art. To My Friend Charles Booth Nettleton

I.
THE young queen Nature, ever sweet and fair,
Once on a time fell upon evil days.
From hearing oft herself discussed with praise,
There grew within her heart the longing rare
To see herself; and every passing air
The warm desire fanned into lusty blaze.
Full oft she sought this end by devious ways,
But sought in vain, so fell she in despair,
For none within her train nor by her side
Could solve the task or give the envied boon.
So day and night, beneath the sun and moon,
She wandered to and fro unsatisfied,
Till Art came by, a blithe inventive elf,
And made a glass wherein she saw herself.
II.
Enrapt, the queen gazed on her glorious self,
Then trembling with the thrill of sudden thought,
Commanded that the skilful wight be brought
That she might dower him with lands and pelf.
Then out upon the silent sea-lapt shelf
And up the hills and on the downs they sought
Him who so well and wondrously had wrought;
And with much search found and brought home the elf.
But he put by all gifts with sad replies,
And from his lips these words flowed forth like wine:
'O queen, I want no gift but thee,' he said.
She heard and looked on him with love-lit eyes,
Gave him her hand, low murmuring, 'I am thine,'
And at the morrow's dawning they were wed.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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On The Eve Of His Execution

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen and yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made:
My glass is full, and now my glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

poem by Chidiock Tichborne
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Elegy

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen and yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made:
My glass is full, and now my glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

poem by Chidiock Tichborne
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The Fairy's Quest (Verses For The Children).

As the Fairy Queen sat on her gossamer throne
That sparkled with pearls of dew,
She suddenly cried to a sprite at her side-
'A mission 1 have for you!
Go, search every country and continent,
Till you find the jewel men call Content.'

Away at her bidding the fairy sped,
In quest of the gem so rare;
In north and in south, in east and in west,
He sought for it everywhere
From the frozen realm of the great Ice-King,
To the Eastern groves where the bulbuls sing.

Long days, and weeks, and months went by,
And still his quest was vain.
He sought it in many a monarch's Court,
And in Beauty's glittering train ;
But neither in crown, nor in diadem,
Could he find a trace of the precious gem.

While resting one day by a peasant's cot,
There fell on the fairy's ear
The sound of laughter rippling sweet,
And of melody, joyous and clear,
Which rose, like the thrush's wood-notes wild,
From the young mother's lips, as she fondled her child.

''Tis surely here where Content must be!'
He cried, with a sudden start.
Then his fairy eyes pierced the inmost depths
Of that peasant mother's heart:
And found at last was the treasure rare,
For, lo! the jewel he sought was there !

poem by William Baron
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Exchanges

All that I had I brought,
Little enough I know;
A poor rhyme roughly wrought,
A rose to match thy snow:
All that I had I brought.

Little enough I sought:
But a word compassionate,
A passing glance, or thought,
For me outside the gate:
Little enough I sought.

Little enough I found:
All that you had, perchance!
With the dead leaves on the ground,
I dance the devil's dance.
All that you had I found.

poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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The Pilgrim Fathers

The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard, and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.

The ocean eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave's foam;
And the rocking pines of the forest roared-
This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst the pilgrim band:
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod;
They have left unstained what there they found -
Freedom to worship God.

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers

The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods, against a stormy sky,
Their giant branches tost;

And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and water o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear, -
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.

The ocean-eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave's foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared -
This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of the seas? the spoils of war? -
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod!
They have left unstained what there they found -
Freedom to worship God!

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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The Seeker

I sought for my happiness over the world,
Oh, eager and far was my quest;
I sought it on mountain and desert and sea,
I asked it of east and of west.
I sought it in beautiful cities of men,
On shores that were sunny and blue,
And laughter and lyric and pleasure were mine
In palaces wondrous to view;
Oh, the world gave me much to my plea and my prayer
But never I found aught of happiness there!

Then I took my way back to a valley of old
And a little brown house by a rill,
Where the winds piped all day in the sentinel firs
That guarded the crest of the hill;
I went by the path that my childhood had known
Through the bracken and up by the glen,
And I paused at the gate of the garden to drink
The scent of sweet-briar again;
The homelight shone out through the dusk as of yore
And happiness waited for me at the door!

poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Deus Absconditus

SINCE Thou dost clothe Thyself to-day in cloud,
Lord God in heaven, and no voice low or loud
Proclaims Thee,--see, I turn me to the Earth,
Its wisdom and its sorrow and its mirth,
Thy Earth perchance, but sure my very own,
And precious to me grows the clod, the stone,
A voiceless moor's brooding monotony,
A keen star quivering through the sunset dye,
Young wrinkled beech leaves, saturate with light,
The arching wave's suspended malachite;
I turn to men, Thy sons perchance, but sure
My brethren, and no face shall be too poor
To yield me some unquestionable gain
Of wonder, laughter, loathing, pity, pain,
Some dog-like craving caught in human eyes,
Some new-wak'd spirit's April ecstasies;
These will not fail nor foil me; while I live
There will be actual truck in take and give,
But Thou hast foil'd me; therefore undistraught,
I cease from seeking what will not be sought,
Or sought, will not be found through joy or fear;
If still Thou claimst me, seek me. I am here.

poem by Edward Dowden
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What if?

A question to which no answer could be found
What if?
Someone to give an answer in fervent sought
What if she ask herself
What if all precious moments in waste
And every sweet word spoken in vain
What if?
Loved never to be
And chosen yet was another
What if she found him not handsome?
And in seeing, is another seen
What if?
He never looks into my eyes?
And never speaks the words of love
What if my lips never kissed?
And never more than an innocent virgin felt.

poem by Nicholas Boateng
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A Tale Of Tragedy

I saw your life as a pool of agony,
Your pain filled,
and categorized in the midst's
of your self destruction
I saw you scream your last
declaration of distress.

' My father, my father, why hast thou forsaken me? '
Then came the peace you sought for all mankind,
But only to your eyes!
Not mine, nor generations of mine!
Only your eyes saw that peace O Christ,
It was your soul alone,
cleansed by the blood of your sacrifice,
no others!
The peace you sought for all mankind was your own,
and in your own death you found it,
As will all the living,
each for themselves,
seek peace while in life,
But it is in death that peace finds us all,
and to each individual in their own way,
For men are not sheep and gods are mere
images of that peace we all seek

poem by Count Dracula
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Bitter In the Winter of Your Discontent

If you know a love sought,
Isn't where you are.
And has not been.
When will you awaken,
From that wishful thinking?
You attend with repeated heartbreaking.
Again and again.
What point are you really making?

You wish to receive warm hugs,
On faces quick with grins.
What season of life,
Have you found yourself stuck in?

If you know a love sought,
Isn't where you are.
And has not been...
You either neither need it!
Or...
You are frozen with resentment,
Bitter in the Winter of your discontent.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Maid's Lament

I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone,
I feel I am alone.
I check'd him while he spoke; yet, could he speak,
Alas! I would not check.
For reasons not to love him once I sought,
And wearied all my thought
To vex myself and him: I now would give
My love could he but live
Who lately lived for me, and, when he found
'Twas vain, in holy ground
He hid his face amid the shades of death!
I waste for him my breath
Who wasted his for me! but mine returns,
And this torn bosom burns
With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep,
And waking me to weep
Tears that had melted his soft heart: for years
Wept he as bitter tears!
Merciful God! such was his latest prayer,
These may she never share.
Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold,
Than daisies in the mould,
Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate,
His name and life's brief date.
Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be,
And oh! pray too for me!

poem by Walter Savage Landor
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