The Heritage
Our Fathers in a wondrous age,
Ere yet the Earth was small,
Ensured to us a heritage,
And doubted not at all
That we the children of their heart,
Which then did beat so high,
In later rime should play like part
For our posterity.
A thousand years they steadfast built,
To 'vantage us and ours,
The Walls that were a world's despair,
The sea-constraining Towers:
Yet in their midmost pride they knew,
And unto Kings made known,
Not all from these their strength they drew,
Their faith from brass or stone.
Youth's passion, manhood's fierce intent,
With age's judgment wise,
They spent, and counted not they spent,
At daily sacrifice.
Not lambs alone nor purchased doves .
Or tithe of trader's gold--
Their lives most dear, their dearer loves,
They offered up of old.
Refraining e'en from lawful things,
They bowed the neck to bear
The unadorned yoke that brings
Stark toil and sternest care.
Wherefore through them is Freedom sure;
Wherefore through them we stand,
From all but sloth and pride secure,
In a delightsome land.
Then, fretful, murmur not they gave
So great a charge to keep,
Nor dream that awestruck Time shall save
Their labour while we sleep.
Dear-bought and clear, a thousand year,
Our fathers' title runs.
Make we likewise their sacrifice,
Defrauding not our sons.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Children's Song
Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee
Our love and toil in the years to be;
When we are grown and take our place
As men and women with our race.
Father in Heaven who lovest all,
Oh, help Thy children when they call;
That they may build from age to age
An undefiled heritage.
Teach us to bear the yoke in youth,
With steadfastness and careful truth;
That, in our time, Thy Grace may give
The Truth whereby the Nations live.
Teach us to rule ourselves alway,
Controlled and cleanly night and day;
That we may bring, if need arise,
No maimed or worthless sacrifice.
Teach us to look in all our ends
On Thee for judge, and not our friends;
That we, with Thee, may walk uncowed
By fear or favour of the crowd.
Teach us the Strength that cannot seek,
By deed or thought, to hurt the weak;
That, under Thee, we may possess
Man's strength to comfort man's distress.
Teach us Delight in simple things,
And Mirth that has no bitter springs;
Forgiveness free of evil done,
And Love to all men 'neath the sun!
Land of our Birth, our faith, our pride,
For whose dear sake our fathers died;
Oh, Motherland, we pledge to thee
Head, heart and hand through the years to be!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Victoria Regina
A thousand years by sea and land
Our race hath served the island kings,
But not by custom's dull command
To-day with song her Empire rings:
Not all the glories of her birth,
Her armed renown and ancient throne,
Could make her less the child of earth
Or give her hopes beyond our own:
But stayed on faith more sternly proved
And pride than ours more pure and deep,
She loves the land our fathers loved
And keeps the fame our sons shall keep.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Short Shrift
‘I’ve failed! ’ How many times have sons
And fathers’ fathers echoed me?
‘I’ve failed! My life was spent in dreams, ’
We said, ‘in shallow misery.
In dreams and steel and soot and grime,
In screams, and what would seem some crime
Of trying to live beyond our need...
Our lives were spent in some black creed! ’
‘Too short, too short, the days we spent
In trying to right the days before,
Too long, too long, the years we struggled
Knowing not what struggled for.
What goal, what aim, what discontent,
What loves we lost, what life we spent
In wondering what such life could be?
Short shrift for you - harsh words for me! ’
‘I’ve failed, my sons, I’ve failed you all
And so my failure tortures me,
As in that innocence divine
Your love loves all the failed in me.
If I could strip this flesh, or tear
These eyes that cried hot fire for you
To save you from the same despair
My father’s father brought me to...’
20 July 1976
poem by David Lewis Paget
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National Monuments
Count not the cost of honour to the dead!
The tribute that a mighty nation pays
To those who loved her well in former days
Means more than gratitude for glories fled;
For every noble man that she hath bred,
Lives in the bronze and marble that we raise,
Immortalized by art's immortal praise,
To lead our sons as he our fathers led.
These monuments of manhood strong and high
Do more than forts or battle-ships to keep
Our dear-bought liberty. They fortify
The heart of youth with valour wise and deep;
They build eternal bulwarks, and command
Eternal strength to guard our native land.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Dearer Than Dear
Dearer than dear
O my dear
Make me bold
So that I can bear
The atrocities of the world
Without shedding tear
And uttering a word
Word of grief
Agony and pain
O my dear
Make me smile
So that sadness get disappeared
And there is happiness
All along mile and mile
On the path of life
Like a wife
Be a part of my life
O my dear
Come and see
And help me
When I am in despair
Show me the ray of hope
In me develop
Strengths and grit
So that I can face defeat
And take life easy
Make me busy
Leave no time for tear
Despair and fear
Make it clear
You are dearer than dear
poem by Shashikant Nishant Sharma
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The Building Of The Temple
(An Anthem Heard In Canterbury Cathedral)
[The Organ]
O Lord our God, we are strangers before Thee, and sojourners, as were
all our fathers: our days on the earth are as a shadow, and there is
none abiding.
O Lord God of our fathers, keep this for ever in the imagination of
the thoughts of Thy people, and prepare their heart unto Thee.
And give unto Solomon my son a perfect heart to keep Thy commandments,
and to build the palace for the which I have made provision.
[Boys' voices.]
O come to the Palace of Life,
Let us build it again.
It was founded on terror and strife,
It was laid in the curse of the womb,
And pillared on toil and pain,
And hung with veils of doom,
And vaulted with the darkness of the tomb.
[Men's voices.]
O Lord our God, we are sojourners here for a day,
Strangers and sojourners, as all our fathers were:
Our years on the earth are a shadow that fadeth away;
Grant us light for our labour, and a time for prayer.
[Boys.]
But now with endless song,
And joy fulfilling the Law;
Of passion as pure as strong
And pleasure undimmed of awe;
With garners of wine and grain
Laid up for the ages long,
Let us build the Palace again
And enter with endless song,
Enter and dwell secure, forgetting the years of wrong.
[Men.]
O Lord our God, we are strangers and sojourners here,
Our beginning was night, and our end is hid in Thee:
Our labour on the earth is hope redeeming fear,
In sorrow we build for the days we shall not see.
[Boys.]
Great is the name
Of the strong and skilled,
Lasting the fame
Of them that build:
The tongues of many nations
Shall speak of our praise,
And far generations
Be glad for our days.
[Men.]
We are sojourners here as all our fathers were,
As all our children shall be, forgetting and forgot:
The fame of man is a murmur that passeth on the air,
We perish indeed if Thou remember not.
We are sojourners here as all our fathers were,
Strangers travelling down to the land of death:
There is neither work nor device nor knowledge there,
O grant us might for our labour, and to rest in faith.
[Boys.]
In joy, in the joy of the light to be,
[Men.]
O Father of Lights, unvarying and true,
[Boys.]
Let us build the Palace of Life anew.
[Men.]
Let us build for the years we shall not see.
[Boys.]
Lofty of line and glorious of hue,
With gold and pearl and with the cedar tree,
[Men.]
With silence due
And with service free,
[Boys.]
Let us build it for ever in splendour new.
[Men.]
Let us build in hope and in sorrow, and rest in Thee.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Sir William Gomm: Sonnets
I.
AT threescore years and five aroused anew
To rule in India, forth a soldier went
On whose bright-fronted youth fierce war had spent
Its iron stress of storm, till glory grew
Full as the red sun waned on Waterloo.
Landing, he met the word from England sent
Which bade him yield up rule: and he, content,
Resigned it, as a mightier warrior’s due;
And wrote as one rejoicing to record
That ‘from the first’ his royal heart was lord
Of its own pride or pain; that thought was none
Therein save this, that in her perilous strait
England, whose womb brings forth her sons so great,
Should choose to serve her first her mightiest son.
II.
Glory beyond all flight of warlike fame
Go with the warrior’s memory who preferred
To praise of men whereby men’s hearts are stirred,
And acclamation of his own proud name
With blare of trumpet-blasts and sound and flame
Of pageant honour, and the titular word
That only wins men worship of the herd,
His country’s sovereign good: who overcame
Pride, wrath, and hope of all high chance on earth,
For this land’s love that gave his great heart birth.
O nursling of the sea-winds and the sea,
Immortal England, goddess ocean-born,
What shall thy children fear, what strengths not scorn,
While children of such mould are born to thee?
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Dear Motherland Of France
DEDICATED TO THE MEN AND WOMEN OF FRANCE
Our Motherland, dear Motherland,
The source of beauty and of Art,
Who but thy children understand
The love which permeates each heart!
We see, through rainbow-tints of tears,
Thy glory of a thousand years.
O country of the Great and Free,
We live for thee, we live for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
O Motherland, both blithe and brave,
What magic lies in thy name-France!
Yet can thy radiant mien be grave,
And stern thy ever-smiling glance.
And when thy sons and daughters know
That enemies would lay thee low
And dim thy fame on land and sea,
We fight for thee, we fight for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
Dear Motherland of joy and mirth,
Dear Motherland of faith divine,
A thousand years the wondering earth
Has seen thy star in splendour shine.
Still shall it see that star of France
Its splendour and its light enhance.
Dear Motherland, when it need be
We die for thee, we die for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Harpy
There was a woman, and she was wise; woefully wise was she;
She was old, so old, yet her years all told were but a score and three;
And she knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity.
There is no hope for such as I on earth, nor yet in Heaven;
Unloved I live, unloved I die, unpitied, unforgiven;
A loathed jade, I ply my trade, unhallowed and unshriven.
I paint my cheeks, for they are white, and cheeks of chalk men hate;
Mine eyes with wine I make them shine, that man may seek and sate;
With overhead a lamp of red I sit me down and wait
Until they come, the nightly scum, with drunken eyes aflame;
Your sweethearts, sons, ye scornful ones -- 'tis I who know their shame.
The gods, ye see, are brutes to me -- and so I play my game.
For life is not the thing we thought, and not the thing we plan;
And Woman in a bitter world must do the best she can --
Must yield the stroke, and bear the yoke, and serve the will of man;
Must serve his need and ever feed the flame of his desire,
Though be she loved for love alone, or be she loved for hire;
For every man since life began is tainted with the mire.
And though you know he love you so and set you on love's throne;
Yet let your eyes but mock his sighs, and let your heart be stone,
Lest you be left (as I was left) attainted and alone.
From love's close kiss to hell's abyss is one sheer flight, I trow,
And wedding ring and bridal bell are will-o'-wisps of woe,
And 'tis not wise to love too well, and this all women know.
Wherefore, the wolf-pack having gorged upon the lamb, their prey,
With siren smile and serpent guile I make the wolf-pack pay --
With velvet paws and flensing claws, a tigress roused to slay.
One who in youth sought truest truth and found a devil's lies;
A symbol of the sin of man, a human sacrifice.
Yet shall I blame on man the shame? Could it be otherwise?
Was I not born to walk in scorn where others walk in pride?
The Maker marred, and, evil-starred, I drift upon His tide;
And He alone shall judge His own, so I His judgment bide.
Fate has written a tragedy; its name is "The Human Heart".
The Theatre is the House of Life, Woman the mummer's part;
The Devil enters the prompter's box and the play is ready to start.
poem by Robert William Service
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Song for norway national hymn
Yes, we love this land that towers
Where the ocean foams;
Rugged, storm-swept, it embowers
Many thousand homes.
Love it, love it, of you thinking,
Father; mother dear,
And that night of saga sinking
Dreamful to us here.
This the land that Harald guarded
With his hero-throng,
This the land that Haakon warded,
Hailed by Eyvind's song.
Olaf here the cross erected,
While his blood he shed;
Sverre's word this land protected
'Gainst the Roman dread.
Peasants whetted axes carried,
Broke th' invader's blow;
Tordenskjold flashed forth and harried,
Lighted home the foe.
Women oft to arms were leaping,
Manlike in their deed;
Others' lot was naught but weeping,
Tears that brought their meed.
Many truly were we never,
But we did suffice,
When in times of testing ever
Worthy was the prize.
For we would the land see burning,
Rather than its fall;
Memory our thoughts is turning
Down to Fredrikshald!
Harder times we bore that tried us
Were cast off in scorn;
In that crisis was beside us
Blue-eyed freedom born.
That gave father-strength for bearing
Famine-need and sword,
Honor death itself outwearing,
And it gave accord.
Far our foe his weapons flinging
Up his visor raised;
We in wonder to him springing
On our brother gazed.
Both by wholesome shame incited
Southward made our way;
Brothers three
, in heart united,
We shall stand for aye!
Men of Norway, high or lowly,
Give to God the praise!
He our land's Defender Holy
In its darkest days!
All our fathers here have striven
And our mothers wept,
Hath the Lord His guidance given,
So our right we kept.
Yes, we love this land that towers
Where the ocean foams;
Rugged, storm-swept, it embowers
Many thousand homes.
As our fathers' conflict gave it
Vict'ry at the end,
Also we, when time shall crave it,
Will its peace defend.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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60th Republic Day Celebrations in India
I’m proud to be Indian;
I love my motherland;
I breathe air that is free
and till the soil, my land!
I hoist the tricolor,
atop the mast so tall –
a beauty Indians all
can watch with pride and awe!
I think about the past –
the lives that had been lost;
The blood for freedom shed,
and freedom-fighters dead!
My India looks so great,
for sixty years till date;
How Gandhi changed our fate
is told by India Gate!
The freedom I enjoy
since when I was a boy,
got by sacrifice, toil,
and burning mid-night oil!
This heritage of mine
has always been so fine;
So is the warm sunshine,
surrounding clear blue brine.
Let Indians maintain peace;
Let global wars all cease;
Let mounting tensions ease;
Let cures come for disease.
Let’s make our India proud;
Let brethren all feel loved;
Let’s unite against foes
that cause our daily woes!
May God bless India
o’er years that lie ahead!
May Indian keep his head
high and work hard instead!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-26-2009
poem by John Celes
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Mater Dolorosa
Who is this that sits by the way, by the wild wayside,
In a rent stained raiment, the robe of a cast-off bride,
In the dust, in the rainfall sitting, with soiled feet bare,
With the night for a garment upon her, with torn wet hair?
She is fairer of face than the daughters of men, and her eyes,
Worn through with her tears, are deep as the depth of skies.
This is she for whose sake being fallen, for whose abject sake,
Earth groans in the blackness of darkness, and men's hearts break.
This is she for whose love, having seen her, the men that were
Poured life out as water, and shed their souls upon air.
This is she for whose glory their years were counted as foam;
Whose face was a light upon Greece, was a fire upon Rome.
Is it now not surely a vain thing, a foolish and vain,
To sit down by her, mourn to her, serve her, partake in the pain?
She is grey with the dust of time on his manifold ways,
Where her faint feet stumble and falter through year-long days.
Shall she help us at all, O fools, give fruit or give fame,
Who herself is a name despised, a rejected name?
We have not served her for guerdon. If any do so,
That his mouth may be sweet with such honey, we care not to know.
We have drunk from a wine-unsweetened, a perilous cup,
A draught very bitter. The kings of the earth stood up,
And the rulers took counsel together, to smite her and slay;
And the blood of her wounds is given us to drink today.
Can these bones live? or the leaves that are dead leaves bud?
Or the dead blood drawn from her veins be in your veins blood?
Will ye gather up water again that was drawn and shed?
In the blood is the life of the veins, and her veins are dead.
For the lives that are over are over, and past things past;
She had her day, and it is not; was first, and is last.
Is it nothing unto you then, all ye that pass by,
If her breath be left in her lips, if she live now or die?
Behold now, O people, and say if she be not fair,
Whom your fathers followed to find her, with praise and prayer,
And rejoiced, having found her, though roof they had none nor bread;
But ye care not; what is it to you if her day be dead?
It was well with our fathers; their sound was in all men's lands;
There was fire in their hearts, and the hunger of fight in their
hands.
Naked and strong they went forth in her strength like flame,
For her love's and her name's sake of old, her republican name.
But their children, by kings made quiet, by priests made wise,
Love better the heat of their hearths than the light of her eyes.
Are they children of these thy children indeed, who have sold,
O golden goddess, the light of thy face for gold?
Are they sons indeed of the sons of thy dayspring of hope,
Whose lives are in fief of an emperor, whose souls of a Pope?
Hide then thine head, O beloved; thy time is done;
Thy kingdom is broken in heaven, and blind thy sun.
What sleep is upon you, to dream she indeed shall rise,
When the hopes are dead in her heart as the tears in her eyes?
If ye sing of her dead, will she stir? if ye weep for her, weep?
Come away now, leave her; what hath she to do but sleep?
But ye that mourn are alive, and have years to be;
And life is good, and the world is wiser than we.
Yea, wise is the world and mighty, with years to give,
And years to promise; but how long now shall it live?
And foolish and poor is faith, and her ways are bare,
Till she find the way of the sun, and the morning air.
In that hour shall this dead face shine as the face of the sun,
And the soul of man and her soul and the world's be one.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Memorial Day
Memories of those who are no longer here
are shared by millions who hold them dear.
Their faces so young that stay in the mind
of parents and wives and husbands that find
their loved ones were taken so young in their years.
Their children were left too young to cry tears,
never knowing their fathers or seeing their smile
or having them there as they walk down the aisle.
No war's ever worth their great sacrifice,
fought with their lives, they paid the great price.
And now we take time just one day a year
and pray somehow, somewhere they can hear
we miss them and honor them in memory
and hope their children's lives will turn out to be
ones that are filled with love and with peace.
So in their futures 'Memorial Days' will cease.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Quaker Of The Olden Time
THE Quaker of the olden time!
How calm and firm and true,
Unspotted by its wrong and crime,
He walked the dark earth through.
The lust of power, the love of gain,
The thousand lures of sin
Around him, had no power to stain
The purity within.
With that deep insight which detects
All great things in the small,
And knows how each man's life affects
The spiritual life of all,
He walked by faith and not by sight,
By love and not by law;
The presence of the wrong or right
He rather felt than saw.
He felt that wrong with wrong partakes,
That nothing stands alone,
That whoso gives the motive, makes
His brother's sin his own.
And, pausing not for doubtful choice
Of evils great or small,
He listened to that inward voice
Which called away from all.
O Spirit of that early day,
So pure and strong and true,
Be with us in the narrow way
Our faithful fathers knew.
Give strength the evil to forsake,
The cross of Truth to bear,
And love and reverent fear to make
Our daily lives a prayer!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Ground Zero- Twin Towers, USA, Tenth Anniversary 9/11/2011
Like a phoenix from the ash:
Twin towers from rubble
Should rise back to glory,
Despite attacks gory!
The pride of a nation great
Was hurt from depths of heart;
The shock still lingers on
As dear lives had been lost.
Tenth Anniversary
Brings memories of past;
A world united stands
To fight Terrorism.
Yet, hatred isn’t the key
To problems that we see;
Love is the missing link
Forgot by those who ink.
Bury the hurt of heart;
Don’t hurt back on your part;
Rethink on what went wrong;
Despair is in life’s song!
Let nations be alert;
Terror acts don’t seem brave;
Yet, men for love just crave;
Sow seeds of love, don’t hate!
No man is bad by heart;
The world turns some, insane;
Violence is always bane;
Let love of life remain!
Let new Twin Towers rise,
Showing newer resolve!
A sign of love and peace
As wounds of hearts all heal!
‘In memory of all the dear lives lost
And those who lost their own
to save their dear ones’ lives! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-11-’11
poem by John Celes
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Justice
October, 1918
Across a world where all men grieve
And grieving strive the more,
The great days range like tides and leave
Our dead on every shore.
Heavy the load we undergo,
And our own hands prepare,
If we have parley with the foe,
The load our sons must bear.
Before we loose the word
That bids new worlds to birth,
Needs must we loosen first the sword
Of Justice upon earth;
Or else all else is vain
Since life on earth began,
And the spent world sinks back again
Hopeless of God and Man.
A People and their King
Through ancient sin grown strong,
Because they feared no reckoning
Would set no bound to wrong;
But now their hour is past,
And we who bore it find
Evil Incarnate hell at last
To answer to mankind.
For agony and spoil
Of nations beat to dust,
For poisoned air and tortured soil
And cold, commanded lust,
And every secret woe
The shuddering waters saw.
Willed and fulfilled by high and low.
Let them relearn the Low.
That when the dooms are read,
Not high nor low shall say:--
" My haughty or my humble head
Was saved me in this day."
That, till the end of time,
Their remnant shall recall
Their fathers old, confederate crime
Availed them not at all.
That neither schools nor priests,
Nor Kings may build again
A people with the heart of beasts
Made wise concerning men.
Whereby our dead shall sleep
In honour, unbetrayed,
And we in faith and honour keep
That peace for which they paid.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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My Dream Come True Just Turned Out To Be A Dream
Had Many Dreams
of Course you and I.
But my Dream Come True,
Just turned out to be a dream.
Badly did I want it to come true..
But it is really true,
True that
My Dream Come True,
Just turned out to be a dream.
We Dreamt of it Each Night,
Thought of it Each Day
My Dream Come True,
Just turned out to be a dream.
We Bickered With it all day
Through out our ways
But we still remained,
Remained unaware that
The Dream Come True,
Will just turn out to be a Dream.
We imagined us there
But we truly couldn't bear,
Bare that
Our Dream Come True,
Will just turned out to be a dream.
Up the Mountains,
Did we wish to go...
To the land of streams and snow
Did we wish to go…
But we didn't ever know,
Know that,
We'd sacrifice a soul…
Give it up as a whole
I wished we hadn't done that
So did all…
But we never ever knew
That the pass to enter the mounts,
Was to sacrifice a soul....
Mountains and rivulets,
Kept beckoning us…
The days faded away...
And at last
Towards them we made our Sway!
We called ourselves lucky,
Without knowing we weren't.
We Beamed with Pride
Over flowed with Joy.
But we stilled remained Unaware
That we'd sacrifice a soul.
And
Our Dream Come True,
Will just turn out to be a dream.
UP the divine land,
We were to be.
But couldn't we ever think,
Think one of us would reach Far Above
And Above to the Heaven.
We didn't imagine
She'd fly without us
FLY SO HIGH
High to the Heaven.
To make our dream come true
Just turn out to become a dream
And just a Dream
Mourning her removal from the Earth
Praying for her Placement in the Heaven,
We slid down the Mountains…
Being one less
One less than how many arrived
Our Dream Come true
JUST Turned out to be a DREAM!
It is Really True,
True That
Our Dream Come True,
Just turned out to be a dream.
A Dream Unforgettable…
poem by Rishi Kaashyap
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England's Answer
Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban;
Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man.
Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone that I bare;
Stark as your sons shall be -- stern as your fathers were.
Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether,
But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together.
My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by;
Sons, I have borne many sons, but my dugs are not dry.
Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors,
That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors --
Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas,
Ay, talk to your gray mother that bore you on her knees! --
That ye may talk together, brother to brother's face --
Thus for the good of your peoples -- thus for the Pride of the Race.
Also, we will make promise. So long as The Blood endures,
I shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my strength is yours:
In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all,
That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall.
Draw now the threefold knot firm on the ninefold bands,
And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands.
This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle-bloom,
This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom.
The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press my will,
Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still.
Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to you,
After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and few.
Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways,
Balking the end half-won for an instant dole of praise.
Stand to your work and be wise -- certain of sword and pen,
Who are neither children nor Gods, but men in a world of men!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Patriot's Game
I.
TEAR down the crape from the column! Let the shaft stand white and fair!
Be silent the wailing music—there is no death in the air!
We come not in plaint or sorrow—no tears may dim our sight:
We dare not weep o'er the epitaph we have not dared to write.
Come hither with glowing faces, the sire, the youth, and the child;
This grave is a shrine for reverent hearts and hands that are undefiled:
Its ashes are inspiration; it giveth us strength to bear,
And sweepeth away dissension, and nerveth the will to dare.
In the midst of the tombs a Gravestone—and written thereon no word!
And behold! at the head of the grave, a gibbet, a torch, and a sword!
And the people kneel by the gibbet, and pray by the nameless stone
For the torch to be lit, and the name to be writ, and the sword's red work to be done!
II.
With pride and not with grief
We lay this century leaf
Upon the tomb, with hearts that do not falter:
A few brief, toiling years
Since fell the nation's tears,
And lo, the patriot's gibbet is an altar!
The people that are blest
Have him they love the best
To mount the martyr's scaffold when they need him;
And vain the cords that bind
While the nation's steadfast mind,
Like the needle to the pole, is true to freedom!
III.
Three powers there are that dominate the world-
Fraud, Force, and Right—and two oppress the one:
The bolts of Fraud and Force like twins are hurled—
Against them ever standeth Right alone.
Cyclopian strokes the brutal allies give:
Their fetters massive and their dungeon walls;
Beneath their yoke, weak nations cease to live,
And valiant Right itself defenseless falls!
Defaced is law, and justice slain at birth;
Good men are broken—malefactors thrive;
But, when the tyrants tower o'er the earth,
Behind their wheels strong right is still alive!
Alive, like seed that God's own hand has sown—
Like seed that lieth in the lowly furrow,
But springs to life when wintry winds are blown:
To-day the earth is gray—'tis green to-morrow.
The roots strike deep despite the rulers' power,
The plant grows strong with summer sun and rain,
Till autumn bursts the deep red-hearted flower,
And freedom marches to the front again!
While slept the right, and reigned the dual wrong,
Unchanged, unchecked, for half a thousand years,
In tears of blood we cried, 'O Lord, how long!'
And even God seemed deaf to Erin's tears.
But, when she lay all weak and bruised and broken,
Her white limbs seared with cruel chain and thorn—
As bursts the cloud, the lightning word was spoken,
God's seed took root—His crop of men was born!
With one deep breath began the land's progression:
On every field the seeds of freedom fell:
Burke, Grattan, Flood, and Curran in the session—
Fitzgerald, Sheares, and Emmet in the cell!
Such teachers soon aroused the dormant nation—
Such sacrifice insured the endless fight:
The voice of Grattan smote wrong's domination—
The death of Emmet sealed the cause of right!
IV.
Richest of gifts to- a, nation! Death with the living crown!
Type of ideal manhood to the people's heart brought down!
Fount of the hopes we cherish—test of the things we do;
Gorgon's face for the traitor—talisman for the true!
Sweet is the love of a woman, and sweet is the kiss of a child;
Sweet is the tender strength, and the bravery of the mild;
But sweeter than all, for embracing all, is the young life's peerless price—
The young heart laid on the altar, as a nation's sacrifice.
How can the debt be canceled? Prayers and tears we may give—
But how recall the anguish of hearts that have ceased to live?
Flushed with the pride of genius—filled with the strength of life—
Thrilled with delicious passion for her who would be his wife—
This was the heart he offered—the upright life he gave—
This is the silent sermon of the patriot's nameless grave.
Shrine of a nation's honor—stone left blank for a name
Light on the dark horizon to guide us clear from shame
Chord struck deep with the keynote, telling us what can save—
'A nation among the nations,' or forever a nameless grave.
Such is the will of the martyr—the burden we still must bear;
But even from death he reaches the legacy to share:
He teaches the secret of manhood—the watchword of those who aspire—
That men must follow freedom though it lead through blood and fire;
That sacrifice is the bitter draught which freemen still mast quaff—
That every patriotic life is the patriot's epitaph.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love, Oh Love
Show the world and all its people
All the wonders love can bring
Give us strength and understanding
Give us all one song to sing
Let the music play
Play it loud and make it clear
Its time to stand up
To a new world that is now so near
From the bottom to the top
To the leaders of the land
We all have one heart
Everyone of us must lend a hand
And let there be joy in the world
And let there be no sorrow
(let there be)
And let there be peace on earth
And let there be peace on earth
For all the world
Weve got to see
That love, oh love
What a blessed thing (oh, yeah)
Say it loud
Make it clear today
All the walls are falling down
No more children off to war
If we search in our hearts
All the suffering will be no more
And let there be joy in the world
And let there be no sorrow
For all gods children
Let them see
That love, oh love
What a blessed thing (oh, yeah)
Say it loud
Make it clear today
And freedom, no more lies
We can save this world if we try
One world I know we can make it
Yes, its only in your heart
Yes, its only in your dreams
You can climb the highest mountains
You can make the whole world sing
Love, oh love
What a blessed thing (oh, yeah)
Say it loud
Make it clear today
song performed by by Lionel Richie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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