The Hour of the Angel
Sooner or late--in earnest or in jest--
(But the stakes are no jest) Ithuriel's Hour
Will spring on us, for the first time, the test
Of our sole unbacked competence and power
Up to the limit of our years and dower
Of judgment--or beyond. But here we have
Prepared long since our garland or our grave.
For, at that hour, the sum of all our past,
Act, habit, thought, and passion, shall be cast
In one addition, be it more or less,
And as that reading runs so shall we do;
Meeting, astounded, victory at the last,
Or, first and last, our own unworthiness.
And none can change us though they die to save!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Related quotes
What A Friend
Lady of the G..spot...
You are just a dot...
I've always wish that you...
Sh- or get off the pot...
In you I do not plot...
To me you are...
A save-a-lot...
You are truly my friend...
And that I want to never...
End...
But every now and then...
I ask if I came come in...
But I keep in mind that we..are...
Truly freinds...Platonic at best...
So my asking...is always in jest...
And maybe that is best...jset...
And anything other...I would be a pest...
That would be a mess...
But you rest...
We both have pass..the test...
I would love to fail...in jest...
We shall remain platonic...
Now that takes balls...
But that is my call...
We are friends after all...
And I am the freind in need...in deed...
Keep one eye open...
And the other eye on...
Jest...
whisperkwane
swtlamb@y ahoo.com
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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The Tree-Toad
''Scurious-like,' said the tree-toad,
'I've twittered far rain all day;
And I got up soon,
And I hollered till noon--
But the sun, hit blazed away,
Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,
Weary at heart, and sick at soul!
'Dozed away far an hour,
And I tackled the thing agin;
And I sung, and sung,
Till I knowed my lung
Was jest about give in;
And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now.
There're nothin' in singin', anyhow!
'Once in awhile some
Would come a drivin' past;
And he'd hear my cry,
And stop and sigh--
Till I jest laid back, at last,
And I hollered rain till I thought my th'oat
Would bust right open at ever' note!
'But _I fetched_ her! O _I fetched_ her!--
'Cause a little while ago,
As I kindo' set,
With one eye shet,
And a-singin' soft and low,
A voice drapped down on my fevered brain,
Sayin',--' Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!''
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Love And Knowledge
THOUGH you and I so long have been so near--
Have felt each other's heart-beats hour by hour,
Have watered, plucked, and trampled passion's flower,
Have known so many days so very dear--
Yet still through every hour of every year
We have sought to win and failed to win the dower
Of perfect insight, and to gain the power
To see what we are, and not what we appear.
Yet you desire such knowledge--would possess,
You say, completion of love; if that were won
--Ah! by it might not haply be undone
The little measure of joy we knew before?
Though we should swear we loved each other more,
How surely we should love each other less!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Edmund Clarence Stedman
Life laid upon his forehead a caress,
And, smiling, gave him for his birthright dower,
Humor and judgment, passion, purpose, power,
And gifts of vision, pure and limitless:
Then—for she ever tempers man's success,
Nursing the canker in Earth's fairest flower—
She added pain; and taught him, hour by hour,
To know that only blessed which doth bless!
So, following the Gleam from early youth,
He lent a strengthening hand, and gave his heart,
And aided feet, less sure than his, to climb:
He sacrificed not others to his art,
But worshiped beauty with unselfish truth,
And lives, the well-beloved of his time!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Grand-Pa's Whim
While for me gapes the greedy grave
It don't make sense
That I should have a crazy crave
To paint our fence.
Yet that is what I aim to do,
Though dim my sight:
Jest paint them aged pickets blue,
Or green or white.
Jest squat serenely in the sun
Wi' brush an' paint,
An' gay them pickets one by one,
--A chore! It ain't.
The job is joy. Although I'm slow
I save expense:
So folks, let me before I go,
Smart that ol' fence.
Them pickets with my hands I made,
When young and spry;
I coloured them a gleeful shade
To glad the eye.
So now as chirpy as a boy,
'Ere I go hence,
Once more let me jest bright to joy
Our picket fence.
poem by Robert William Service
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A Song for New Year's Eve
Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay—
Stay till the good old year,
So long companion of our way,
Shakes hands, and leaves us here.
Oh stay, oh stay,
One little hour, and then away.
The year, whose hopes were high and strong,
Has now no hopes to wake;
Yet one hour more of jest and song
For his familiar sake.
Oh stay, oh stay,
One mirthful hour, and then away.
The kindly year, his liberal hands
Have lavished all his store.
And shall we turn from where he stands,
Because he gives no more?
Oh stay, oh stay,
One grateful hour, and then away.
Days brightly came and calmly went,
While yet he was our guest;
How cheerfully the week was spent!
How sweet the seventh day's rest!
Oh stay, oh stay,
One golden hour, and then away.
Dear friends were with us, some who sleep
Beneath the coffin-lid:
What pleasant memories we keep
Of all they said and did!
Oh stay, oh stay,
One tender hour, and then away.
Even while we sing, he smiles his last,
And leaves our sphere behind.
The good old year is with the past;
Oh be the new as kind!
Oh stay, oh stay,
One parting strain, and then away.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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The Sun-Dial at Wells College
The shadow by my finger cast
Divides the future from the past:
Before it, sleeps the unborn hour
In darkness, and beyond thy power:
Behind its unreturning line,
The vanished hour, no longer thine:
One hour alone is in thy hands,--
The NOW on which the shadow stands.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Vagabond
Dunno a heap about the what an' why,
Can't say's I ever knowed.
Heaven to me's a fair blue stretch of sky,
Earth's jest a dusty road.
Dunno the names o' things, nor what they are,
Can't say's I ever will.
Dunno about God - he's jest the noddin' star
Atop the windy hill.
Dunno about Life - it's jest a tramp alone,
From wakin'-time to doss.
Dunno about Death - it's jest a quiet stone
All over-grey wi' moss.
An' why I live, an' why the old world spins,
Are things I never knowed.
My mark's the gypsy fires, the lonely inns,
An' jest the dusty road.
poem by John Masefield (1902)
Submitted by anonym
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Lying Fallow
All natures know it’s for the best.
Except for man who lacks the sense
to realise it’s time for rest.
Man views the winter as a test,
a hurdle barrier or fence.
All nature knows it’s for the best.
Although unwelcome as a guest
Conceited man makes no pretence
to realise it’s time for rest
He raises his voice in protest
he’s far too quick to take offence.
All nature knows it’s for the best.
He longs for spring becomes obsessed.
Wild creatures have the confidence
to realise it’s time for rest.
Nature regards man as a jest,
and doubts his mental competence.
All nature knows it’s for the best
to realise its time for rest.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Earth Hour - It's just a click
earth hour
in the darkness
brightness
earth hour
i bask in the energy of love
wrapping round earth
earth hour, just
a click to reduce
mother earth's woes
earth hour
just a click to unite
the world
earth hour
needed - the same spirit
to fight the recession
from MSN:
Do you want to show you care about energy conservation? Simply switch off your lights on March 28 from 8: 30 to 9: 30 p.m., local time.
This is Earth Hour, and Saturday is the third annual worldwide event. Earth Hour is both a symbolic act and the start of a practical habit.
Millions of homes and businesses and hundreds of major landmarks will go dark for one hour to show that energy conservation is important and to send this message to political leaders attending the United Nations Climate Change Conference in December 2009.
At the same time, Earth Hour reminds each of us how easy it is to conserve - just turn off non-essential lights and electronics to reduce our own power consumption.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Skies The Limit
Written by christine mcvie
If Ive been acting just a little strange
And you have noticed it too
Its cos my life has been rearranged
With the presence of you
The sky is the limit now
We can hit it on the nail
And when we do
Ill think about you
How can we fail
Can you give me one reason why
Youd ever let me down
I wont believe it baby, but Ill try
The truths goin to come around
The sky is the limit now
We can hit it on the nail
And when we do
Ill think about you
How can we fail
The sky is the limit
Oh the sky is the limit
How can we fail
Sooner or later
Ill keep the promise
I made to you
Sooner or later
It will be greater
Then we ever knew
The sky is the limit now
We can hit it on the nail
And when we do
Ill think about you
The sky is the limit now
We can hit it on the nail
And when we do
Ill think about you
How can we fail
The sky is the limit
Oh the sky is the limit
How can we fail
Oh the sky is the limit
How can we fail
The sky is the limit
Oh the sky is the limit
How can we fail
The sky is the limit
Oh the sky is the limit
How can we fail
The sky is the limit
Oh the sky is the limit
How can we fail
The sky is the limit
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Taunted
Save him, save him!
He cries out for help.
He wars with One,
one who is he and yet is not.
He has fallen;
in his darkest hour he strikes him.
With thorns he has stabbed him.
Yet he makes no effort it seems.
He dabbles back and forth,
never staying for long.
He knows that must change.
He knows it will.
But that time seems to be taunting him,
haunting him...
It reaches out to him with an outstretched hand.
And as he draws closer,
it runs out on the road.
O miserable taunted one!
poem by Soren Valentine
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After-Thought
. I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
As being past away.--Vain sympathies!
For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
I see what was, and is, and will abide;
Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide;
The Form remains, the Function never dies;
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied
The elements, must vanish;--be it so!
Enough, if something from our hands have power
To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,
Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,
We feel that we are greater than we know.
poem by William Wordsworth
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A Grey Mood
As we hurry away to the end, my friend,
Of this sad little farce called existence,
We are sure that the future will bring one thing,
And that is the grave in the distance.
And so when our lives run along all wrong,
And nothing seems real or certain,
We can comfort ourselves with the thought (or not)
Of that spectre behind the curtain.
But we haven’t much time to repine or whine,
Or to wound or jostle each other;
And the hour for us each is to-day, I say,
If we mean to assist a brother.
And there is no pleasure that earth gives birth,
But the worry it brings is double;
And all that repays for the strife of life,
Is helping some soul in trouble.
I tell you, if I could go back the track
To my life’s morning hour,
I would not set forth, seeking name or fame,
Or that poor bauble called power.
I would be like the sunlight, and live to give;
I would lend, but I would not borrow;
Nor would I be blind and complain of pain,
Forgetting the meaning of sorrow.
This world is a vaporous jest at best,
Tossed off by the gods in laughter;
And a cruel attempt at wit were it
If nothing better came after.
It is reeking with hearts that ache and break,
Which we ought to comfort and strengthen,
As we hurry away to the end, my friend,
And the shadows behind us lengthen.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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After-Thought
I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
As being past away. -Vain sympathies!
For backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
I see what was, and is, and will abide;
Still glides the Stream, and shall not cease to glide;
The Form remains, the Function never dies;
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied
The elements, must vanish; -be it so!
Enough, if something from our hands have power
To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,
Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,
We feel that we are greater than we know.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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An Unresolved New Year
At the hour of twelve on New Years Eve
When the old year turns into the new
Thoughts turn to what the future holds
And what goals we should pursue.
At the hour of nine on New Years Day
Or some time thereabouts
We wake with great reluctance and
Those resolutions start to doubt.
At the hour of ten on New Years Day
When we start to feel our age
By then we've written lists of things
That will benefit through change.
At the hour of twelve on New Years Day
When things start getting clear
We find we've hid that list away
To return to in one year.
poem by David Keig
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At Midnight Hour
AT midnight hour I went, not willingly,
A little, little boy, yon churchyard past,
To Father Vicar's house; the stars on high
On all around their beauteous radiance cast,
At midnight hour.
And when, in journeying o'er the path of life,
My love I follow'd, as she onward moved,
With stars and northern lights o'er head in strife,
Going and coming, perfect bliss I proved
At midnight hour.
Until at length the full moon, lustre-fraught,
Burst thro' the gloom wherein she was enshrined;
And then the willing, active, rapid thought
Around the past, as round the future twined,
At midnight hour.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Real, constructive mental power lies in the creative thought that shapes your destiny, and your hour-by-hour mental conduct produces power for change in your life. Develop a train of thought on which to ride. The nobility of your life as well as your happiness depends upon the direction in which that train of thought is going.
quote by Laurence J. Peter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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97
even on the late hour of the night
even when late,
try getting in, they will not notice, you are not famous,
try being a nobody
and they won't bother, so get inside the room and pretend
you are not a part of them in this
discussion,
behave like you are the waiter bringing them a glass
of water,
no excuses this time, do not talk, do not bother them,
and they too will not bother you,
try being nothing
just be the ordinary you, and they will not notice,
even on the late hour of this night
they still have eyes only for themselves
within their circle
and you are still an outcast, simply because from the very
first day of this meeting
you are just being yourself
and you remain being so,
you have not become like them,
mimicking each other
into conformity
for fear of rejection, so at this hour of the night when they seem
to enjoy each other's likeness
get inside,
just be yourself and take your own kind of drink
your self-identity
your name that they will never know
when tomorrow
you will soon part and they will be themselves again
alone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Alfred Tennyson - 1883
Familiar with thy melody,
We go debating of its power,
As churls, who hear it hour by hour,
Contemn the skylark's minstrelsy -
As shepherds on a Highland lea
Think lightly of the heather flower
Which makes the moorland's purple dower,
As far away as eye can see.
Let churl or shepherd change his sky,
And labour in the city dark,
Where there is neither air nor room -
How often will the exile sigh
To hear again the unwearied lark,
And see the heather's lavish bloom!
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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