Why?
He was our leader and our guide;
He was our saviour and our star.
We walked in friendship by his side,
Yet set him where our heroes are.
He taught disdain of fame and wealth;
With courage he inspired our youth;
He preached the purity of health,
And held aloft the torch of truth.
He bade us battle for the Right,
And led us in the carnage grim;
He was to us a living light,
And like a God we worshiped him.
He raised us from the grievous gloom,
And brimmed our hearts with radiant cheer;
And then he climbed up to his room,
And . . . cut his throat from ear to ear.
Let us not judge his seeming lapse;
His secret soul we could not see;
He smiled and left us, and perhaps
Death was his crowning victory.
poem by Robert William Service
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Related quotes
The Blind Side
To what courage do we fall
Lest we not hear our commander’s call
Fool nor folly, we must not judge
To our mortal enemy we hold a grudge
Though doubt clouds our mind
No order shall we decline
Reason gathers dust
Since the day we sold our trust
For God and country we march on
As battle cries invade the dawn
Doves stop singing as bullets cry
No shield upon us, only rusted sky
For honor we must die
And high our flag must fly
Do we wear our silent courage
Where devils claim to forage
Pushing forward through bloody path
Over obstacles of stained wrath
To what courage do we call
Right or wrong, like dominoes we fall
Heroes left and right to cannons burst stall
One hill closer to victory for all
So is courage a bad thing left to hide
Move bravely forward not seeing the blind side
poem by Alfred Ramos
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Lotus-roots
Lotus-roots
I was then a prisoner of death
-face of hundreds and thousands from birth
I was then I dreamer of name
-treasure and wealth; title and fame
I was then hunger of discipline, education and training
-the aim for growth and maturity and learning
I was then on state I thought of what is health and good
-thus, the great Buddha against the fraud
Note:
Inspired from the four “Noble Truth”
taught by Gautama Buddha, the “Enlightened One”.
poem by Jordan Legaspi
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Close To Jesus
Close to Jesus, so few have been, yet with their stories told,
Through these we see the Nazarene, the Saviour to behold...
From birth to death and far beyond, God's Son has proved His worth
And thus, to Him, we each respond, while we live on this Earth...
Of those we know, some prophets shared what they perceived of Christ,
At whom the disbelievers stared the day He was baptised...
Yet John the Baptist spoke the truth, 'Behold the Lamb of God! '
Though just to them, He seemed a youth, for these, He shed His Blood!
To think, He healed the sick He met and those then brought to Him,
Forgiving sins that caused regret, for guilt can make us grim...
The multitudes were like lost sheep, each one had lost his way,
When God's commands they wouldn't keep, He taught them how to pray.
But while His fame was widely known, disciples came and went,
Until Saint Peter stood alone and called Him Heaven-sent...
'You are the Christ, God's promised Son! No other can we seek!
You speak the words, then deeds are done that make You quite unique! '
Though Peter knew the truth full well, the Saviour he denied!
Three times he lied and wouldn't tell, with Christ soon crucified...
Through John and Mary's eyes we see the Saviour lifted high,
The Lamb of God met Calvary... His destiny... to die...
It didn't end with mortal death, as one would first assume
Behold Jesus of Nazareth, not bound by any tomb!
God raised Him up from Death's embrace, from Hell to Heaven's Throne!
Through Him, receive God's perfect grace... Believe in Christ alone.
His Blood can cleanse and make us whole, for He makes all things new!
Let Jesus in to save your soul... Let Him come close to you...
Denis Martindale, copyright, June 2011.
The poem is based on the Gospel teachings
in the Close To Jesus DVD dramatisations
the Amazon shopping website found for me.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Soldier's Grave
THERE'S a white stone placed upon yonder tomb,
Beneath is a soldier lying -
The death-wound came, amid sword and plume,
When banner and ball were flying.
Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast,
By wet wild flowers surrounded;
The church shadow falls o'er the place of his rest,
Where the steps of his childhood bounded.
There were tears, that fell from manly eyes,
There was woman's gentle weeping,
And the wailing of age and infant cries,
O'er the grave, where he lies sleeping.
He had left his home in his spirit's pride,
With his father's sword and blessing;
He stood with the valiant, side by side,
His country's wrongs redressing.
He came again, in the light of his fame,
When the red campaign was over;
One heart, that, in secret, had kept his name,
Was claimed by the soldier lover.
But the cloud of strife came upon the sky;-
He left his sweet home for battle;
Left his young child's lisp for the loud war-cry,
And the cannon's long death-rattle.
He came again - but an altered man:
The path of the grave was before him,
And the smile, that he wore, was cold and wan,
For the shadow of death hung o'er him.
He spoke of victory - spoke of cheer:-
These are the words, that are vainly spoken
To the childless mother, or orphan's ear,
Or the widow, whose heart is broken.
A helmet and sword are engraved on the stone,
Half hidden by yonder willow;
There he sleeps, whose death in battle was won,
But he died on his own home pillow.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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What I Have Seen #4
I saw a youth, one of God's favored few,
Crowned with beauty, and talents, and health;
He had climbed the steep pathway, and cut his way through
To the summit of glory and wealth.
The day is breaking, hearts are waking,
Refreshed for the field of labor:
Arise, arise, like the king of the skies,
With a greeting for friend and neighbor.
He had toiled hard for the honors he'd won,
He had climbed over high rocks, forded streams;
Braved the bleak winter snow, the hot summer sun,
He was reaching the goal of his dreams.
The day hangs around us, the sun hath bound us
With fetters silken and yellow:
Flow, flow away, fleeting day,
Golden-hearted and mellow.
I saw the youth lift a mug to his mouth,
Drink the last drop of the fearful first glass!
Ah! his veins thrill in a fierce, scorching drouth,
He fills it again, again drinks it! alas!
The day is dying, hearts are sighing,
Crushed with a weight of sorrow:
Sleep, oh! sleep, in a slumber deep,
And wait for a bright to-morrow.
I saw him low in the dust at my feet,
Gone beauty, health, wealth, strength, talents, all;
From the summit of Fame to the slime of the street,
He had bartered his soul for the fiend Alcohol.
The night hangs o'er us, the wind's wild chorus
Shrieks like a demons' revel:
Weep, sob, weep, for the fog is deep,
And the world is sold to the devil.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The True Legend-Swami Vivekananda
A spark from heaven travelled on to the earth in 1963!
He was indebted to mother for his knowledge of efflorescence,
Stating “brothers and sisters of America”, he, a speaker of eloquence,
At Parliament of World’s Religions in Chicago with eminence
Introduced Vedanta, Yoga and Hinduism in 1993!
Name and fame, fame and name, Vivekananda is his name.
He was taught by mystic Paramhamsa Ramakrishna
All religious are true to reach heaven's abode, he preached
Service to humans is worship to god he a glory reached
Therefore, Vivekananda started mission Ramakrishna
One touch, one glance, changed his life by the guru, we are told
Name and fame, fame and name, Vivekananda is his name
He pioneered- Upanishads and Vedas for dinner
Bhagavad Gita and Mahabharata and scriptures hollowed;
Ramayana and Puranas are swallowed, he a winner
With prodigious memory, He, a genius in Manifold
“Arise and awake and stop not the goal is achieved” said thee
Name and fame, fame and name, Vivekananda is his name!
Swami is the India's nation-builder foremost,
He is philanthropist of all times with fame utmost;
He is a thinker of all thinkers of his right,
He is a philosopher to Philosophers with rare insight,
A leader of all leaders is he!
Name and fame, fame and name, Vivekananda is his name!
He is a leader of all Leaders as his name inspired,
All, he, a scholars’ scholar with fame, youth aspired;
Yogi to yogis and Perfect Karma yogi and light of the world,
Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King are mystified
Nehru and Tagore, Chandra Bose and Prof. Right are also inspired!
Name and fame, fame and name, Vivekananda is his name!
In East and in West, he is the legends' Legend!
Misery is dependence, Happiness is dependence
He liberated lives all individuals with pity
He Practiced and pioneered the Doctrine of Unity
Pure, simple, sympathy are his words of great sense
Name and fame, fame and name, Vivekananda is his name!
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Youth and Calm
'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is here,
And ease from shame, and rest from fear.
There's nothing can dismarble now
The smoothness of that limpid brow.
But is a calm like this, in truth,
The crowning end of life and youth,
And when this boon rewards the dead,
Are all debts paid, has all been said?
And is the heart of youth so light,
Its step so firm, its eye so bright,
Because on its hot brow there blows
A wind of promise and repose
From the far grave, to which it goes;
Because it hath the hope to come,
One day, to harbour in the tomb?
Ah no, the bliss youth dreams is one
For daylight, for the cheerful sun,
For feeling nerves and living breath -
Youth dreams a bliss on this side death.
It dreams a rest, if not more deep,
More grateful than this marble sleep;
It hears a voice within it tell:
Calm's not life's crown, though calm is well.
'Tis all perhaps which man acquires,
But 'tis not what our youth desires.
poem by Matthew Arnold (1852)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ode for Memorial Day
DONE are the toils and the wearisome marches,
Done is the summons of bugle and drum.
Softly and sweetly the sky overarches,
Shelt'ring a land where Rebellion is dumb.
Dark were the days of the country's derangement,
Sad were the hours when the conflict was on,
But through the gloom of fraternal estrangement
God sent his light, and we welcome the dawn.
O'er the expanse of our mighty dominions,
Sweeping away to the uttermost parts,
Peace, the wide-flying, on untiring pinions,
Bringeth her message of joy to our hearts.
Ah, but this joy which our minds cannot measure,
What did it cost for our fathers to gain!
Bought at the price of the heart's dearest treasure,
Born out of travail and sorrow and pain;
Born in the battle where fleet Death was flying,
Slaying with sabre-stroke bloody and fell;
Born where the heroes and martyrs were dying,
Torn by the fury of bullet and shell.
Ah, but the day is past: silent the rattle,
And the confusion that followed the fight.
Peace to the heroes who died in the battle,
Martyrs to truth and the crowning of Right!
Out of the blood of a conflict fraternal,
Out of the dust and the dimness of death,
Burst into blossoms of glory eternal
Flowers that sweeten the world with their breath.
Flowers of charity, peace, and devotion
Bloom in the hearts that are empty of strife;
Love that is boundless and broad as the ocean
Leaps into beauty and fullness of life.
So, with the singing of paeans and chorals,
And with the flag flashing high in the sun,
Place on the graves of our heroes the laurels
Which their unfaltering valor has won!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Proof Of Worth
Though victory's proof of the skill you possess,
Defeat is the proof of your grit;
A weakling can smile in his days of success,
But at trouble's first sign he will quit.
So the test of the heart and the test of your pluck
Isn't skies that are sunny and fair,
But how do you stand to the blow that is struck
And how do you battle despair?
A fool can seem wise when the pathway is clear
And it's easy to see the way out,
But the test of man's judgment is something to fear,
And what does he do when in doubt?
And the proof of his faith is the courage he shows
When sorrows lie deep in his breast;
It's the way that he suffers the griefs that he knows
That brings out his worst or his best.
The test of a man is how much he will bear
For a cause which he knows to be right,
How long will he stand in the depths of despair,
How much will he suffer and fight?
There are many to serve when the victory's near
And few are the hurts to be borne,
But it calls for a leader of courage to cheer
The men in a battle forlorn.
It's the way you hold out against odds that are great
That proves what your courage is worth,
It's the way that you stand to the bruises of fate
That shows up your stature and girth.
And victory's nothing but proof of your skill,
Veneered with a glory that's thin,
Unless it is proof of unfaltering will,
And unless you have suffered to win.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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A Health to Mark Twain
At his Birthday Feast
With memories old and wishes new
We crown our cups again,
And here's to you, and here's to you
With love that ne'er shall wane!
And may you keep, at sixty-seven,
The joy of earth, the hope of heaven,
And fame well-earned, and friendship true,
And peace that comforts every pain,
And faith that fights the battle through,
And all your heart's unbounded wealth,
And all your wit, and all your health,--
Yes, here's a hearty health to you,
And here's to you, and here's to you,
Long life to you, Mark Twain.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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What Is Truth?
What is truth? said Pilate, groping
In the darkness of his ire.-
Trembling, doubting, fearing, hoping,
Calmer souls may well inquire,
What is truth?-that prize whose worth
Far exceeds the gifts of earth.
Truth-of love and light the presence,
Truth-the stepping-stone to heaven,
Truth-of knowledge soul and essence,
Truth-celestial pole-star given,
Wandering barks to cheer and guide
Through the tempest and the tide.
poem by John Bowring
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Autumn And Winter
Three months bade wane and wax the wintering moon
Between two dates of death, while men were fain
Yet of the living light that all too soon
Three months bade wane.
Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain,
Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune
That death smote silent when he smote again.
First went my friend, in life's mid light of noon,
Who loved the lord of music: then the strain
Whence earth was kindled like as heaven in June
Three months bade wane.
A herald soul before its master's flying
Touched by some few moons first the darkling goal
Where shades rose up to greet the shade, espying
A herald soul;
Shades of dead lords of music, who control
Men living by the might of men undying,
With strength of strains that make delight of dole.
The deep dense dust on death's dim threshold lying
Trembled with sense of kindling sound that stole
Through darkness, and the night gave ear, descrying
A herald soul.
One went before, one after, but so fast
They seem gone hence together, from the shore
Whence we now gaze: yet ere the mightier passed
One went before;
One whose whole heart of love, being set of yore
On that high joy which music lends us, cast
Light round him forth of music's radiant store.
Then went, while earth on winter glared aghast,
The mortal god he worshipped, through the door
Wherethrough so late, his lover to the last,
One went before.
A star had set an hour before the sun
Sank from the skies wherethrough his heart's pulse yet
Thrills audibly: but few took heed, or none,
A star had set.
All heaven rings back, sonorous with regret,
The deep dirge of the sunset: how should one
Soft star be missed in all the concourse met?
But, O sweet single heart whose work is done,
Whose songs are silent, how should I forget
That ere the sunset's fiery goal was won
A star had set?
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Friendship
At the end of every tunnel,
there is a light somewhere,
a light of hope and reason,
and a light to guide us to
the safety from the dark,
to outstretched hands there.
These hands hold out friendship,
something everyone needs,
for friendship brings a wealth
much more than anything money can buy,
for without this wealth,
many of us would
just shrivel up and die.
28 July 2007
poem by David Harris
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Truth Is Wealth
Truth is power, truth is true wealth,
Truth is unequalled ultimate strength,
Truth makes soul its own king
And makes the angels in heaven sing,
Truth is joy, truth is sunshine,
Truth is heart's pristine sheen.
Truth is true friend if we side with it,
And the deadliest foe while stand against it,
Truth strikes terror in law-breakers' heart
And shakes those hearts that go short of it,
For truth is all, truth is tall,
No noble soul ever refrains from its call.
Truth is might, truth is true light,
Truth is the path always is right.
poem by Pratheek Praveen
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The Spirit Of Wine
The Spirit of Wine
Sang in my glass, and I listened
With love to his odorous music,
His flushed and magnificent song.
- 'I am health, I am heart, I am life!
For I give for the asking
The fire of my father, the Sun,
And the strength of my mother, the Earth.
Inspiration in essence,
I am wisdom and wit to the wise,
His visible muse to the poet,
The soul of desire to the lover,
The genius of laughter to all.
'Come, lean on me, ye that are weary!
Rise, ye faint-hearted and doubting!
Haste, ye that lag by the way!
I am Pride, the consoler;
Valour and Hope are my henchmen;
I am the Angel of Rest.
'I am life, I am wealth, I am fame:
For I captain an army
Of shining and generous dreams;
And mine, too, all mine, are the keys
Of that secret spiritual shrine,
Where, his work-a-day soul put by,
Shut in with his saint of saints -
With his radiant and conquering self -
Man worships, and talks, and is glad.
'Come, sit with me, ye that are lovely,
Ye that are paid with disdain,
Ye that are chained and would soar!
I am beauty and love;
I am friendship, the comforter;
I am that which forgives and forgets.' -
The Spirit of Wine
Sang in my heart, and I triumphed
In the savour and scent of his music,
His magnetic and mastering song.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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An Ode
I
NOT with slow, funereal sound
Come we to this sacred ground;
Not with wailing fife and solemn muffled drum,
Bringing a cypress wreath
To lay, with bended knee,
On the cold brows of Death—
Not so, dear God, we come,
But with the trumpets’ blare
And shot-torn battle-banners flung to air,
As for a victory!
Hark to the measured tread of martial feet,
The music and the murmurs of the street!
No bugle breathes this day
Disaster and retreat!—
Hark, how the iron lips
Of the great battle-ships
Salute the City from her azure Bay!
II
Time was—time was, ah, unforgotten years!—
We paid our hero tribute of our tears.
But now let go
All sounds and signs and formulas of woe:
’T is Life, not Death, we celebrate;
To Life, not Death, we dedicate
This storied bronze, whereon is wrought
The lithe immortal figure of our thought,
To show forever to men’s eyes,
Our children’s children’s children’s eyes,
How once he stood
In that heroic mood,
He and his dusky braves
So fain of glorious graves!—
One instant stood, and then
Drave through that cloud of purple steel and flame,
Which wrapt him, held him, gave him not again,
But in its trampled ashes left to Fame
An everlasting name!
III
That was indeed to live—
At one bold swoop to wrest
From darkling death the best
That death to life can give.
He fell as Roland fell
That day at Roncevaux,
With foot upon the ramparts of the foe!
A pæan, not a knell,
For heroes dying so!
No need for sorrow here,
No room for sigh or tear,
Save such rich tears as happy eyelids know.
See where he rides, our Knight!
Within his eyes the light
Of battle, and youth’s gold about his brow;
Our Paladin, our Soldier of the Cross,
Not weighing gain with loss—
World-loser, that won all
Obeying duty’s call!
Not his, at peril’s frown,
A pulse of quicker beat;
Not his to hesitate
And parley hold with Fate,
But proudly to fling down
His gauntlet at her feet.
O soul of loyal valor and white truth,
Here, by this iron gate,
Thy serried ranks about thee as of yore,
Stand thou for evermore
In thy undying youth!
The tender heart, the eagle eye!
Oh, unto him belong
The homages of Song;
Our praises and the praise
Of coming days
To him belong—
To him, to him, the dead that shall not die!
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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The Last Three From Trafalgar At The Anniversary Banquet, st October
IN grappled ships around The Victory,
Three boys did England's Duty with stout cheer,
While one dread truth was kept from every ear,
More dire than deafening fire that churned the sea:
For in the flag-ship's weltering cockpit, he
Who was the Battle's Heart without a peer,
He who had seen all fearful sights save Fear,
Was passing from all life save Victory.
And round the old memorial board to-day,
Three greybeards—each a warworn British Tar—
View through the mist of years that hour afar:
Who soon shall greet, 'mid memories of fierce fray,
The impassioned soul which on its radiant way
Soared through the fiery cloud of Trafalgar.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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God's Little Champions
We know there's victory in Jesus
Our strength is trusting in Him
Nations will stand and glorify the Lord
All God's children, always win
We are all God's little champions
There's power in Him even if we fall
We are all God's little champions
The Cross is there for us all
**CHORUS**
We carry the torch of truth
With His Spirit in our hearts
We are all God's little champions
With Him we are set a part
Across the finish line to Heaven
It doesn't matter to Him the score
For in Him there is true Victory
Eternal life forever more
We are all God's little champions
There's power in Him even if we fall
We are all God's little champions
The Cross is there for us all
We carry the torch of truth
With His Spirit in our hearts
We are all God's little champions
With Him we are set a part
We carry the torch of truth
With His Spirit in our hearts
We are all God's little champions
With Him we are set a part
We are all God's little champions
With His Spirit in our hearts
We are all God's little champions
With Him we are set a part
(c) 1996 Words & Music - Gene Gamble /Two-G's Music
Key of C
Chord rotation - C - F - G (fill chord Bb for return) 4/4 moderate pace
poem by Gene Gamble
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Threnody
I
Upon your hearse this flower I lay
Brief be your sleep! You shall be known
When lesser men have had their day:
Fame blossoms where true seed is sown,
Or soon or late, let Time wound what it may.
II
Unvext by any dream of fame,
You smiled, and bade the world pass by:
But I--I turned, and saw a name
Shaping itself against the sky--
White star that rose amid the battle's flame!
III
Brief be your sleep, for I would see
Your laurels--ah, how trivial now
To him must earthly laurel be
Who wears the amaranth on his brow!
How vain the voices of mortality!
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Rebel Color-Bearers At Shiloh
_A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians
shortly after the surrender at Appomattox_
The color-bearers facing death
White in the whirling sulphurous wreath,
Stand boldly out before the line;
Right and left their glances go,
Proud of each other, glorying in their show;
Their battle-flags about them blow,
And fold them as in flame divine:
Such living robes are only seen
Round martyrs burning on the green--
And martyrs for the Wrong have been.
Perish their Cause! but mark the men--
Mark the planted statues, then
Draw trigger on them if you can.
The leader of a patriot-band
Even so could view rebels who so could stand;
And this when peril pressed him sore,
Left aidless in the shivered front of war--
Skulkers behind, defiant foes before,
And fighting with a broken brand.
The challenge in that courage rare--
Courage defenseless, proudly bare--
Never could tempt him; he could dare
Strike up the leveled rifle there.
Sunday at Shiloh, and the day
When Stonewall charged--McClellan's
crimson May,
And Chickamauga's wave of death,
And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath--
All these have passed away.
The life in the veins of Treason lags,
Her daring color-bearers drop their flags,
And yield. _Now_ shall we fire?
Can poor spite be?
Shall nobleness in victory less aspire
Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire,
And think how Grant met Lee.
poem by Herman Melville
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