Related quotes: Our King went forth on...

The King's Pilgrimage

Our King went forth on pilgrimage
His prayers and vows to pay
To them that saved our heritage
And cast their own away.

And there was little show of pride,
Or prows of belted steel,
For the clean-swept oceans every side
Lay free to every keel.

And the first land he found, it was shoal and banky ground -
Where the broader seas begin,
And a pale tide grieving at the broken harbour-mouth
Where they worked the death-ships in.

And there was neither gull on the wing,
Nor wave that could not tell
Of the bodies that were buckled in the life-buoy's ring
That slid from swell to swell.

All that they had they gave - they gave; and they shall not return,
For these are those that have no grave where any heart may mourn.

And the next land he found, it was low and hollow ground -
Where once the cities stood,
But the man-high thistle had been master of it all,
Or the bulrush by the flood.

And there was neither blade of grass,
Nor lone star in the sky
But shook to see some spirit pass
And took its agony.

And the next land be found, it was bare and hilly round -
Where once the bread-corn grew,
But the fields were cankered and the water was defiled,
And the trees were riven through.

And there was neither paved highway,
Nor secret path in the wood,
But had borne its weight of the broken clay
And darkened 'neath the blood.

Father and mother they put aside, and the nearer love also -
An hundred thousand men who died whose graves shall no man
know.

And the last land he found, it was fair and level ground
About a carven stone,
And a stark Sword brooding on the bosom of the Cross
Where high and low are one.

And there was grass and the living trees,
And the flowers of the spring,
And there lay gentlemen from out of all the seas
That ever called him King.

'Twixt Nieuport sands and the eastward lands where the Four Red Rivers spring,
Five hundred thousand gentlemen of those that served their King.

All that they had they gave - they gave -
In sure and single faith.
There can no knowledge reach the grave
To make them grudge their death
Save only if they understood
That, after all was done,
We they redeemed denied their blood
And mocked the gains it won.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Related quotes

The Gift Outright

The land was ours before we were the land's.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England's, still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding made us weak
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.

poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace & Love

Peace and love, flying so high
Peace and love, too young to die
Peace and love, now you decide
Stay for the children
You dont really want to go
Cant feel it pulling like you did, peace and love...
Peace and love, only a ride
Strength is gone, dying inside
Tell me now, what did you find?
Found love in the people
Livin in a sacred land
Found love in the people, peace and love...
Found love...saw my mistake...broke walls of pain to walk again...
I saw the dream, I saw the wake...we shared it all but not the take...
Peace and love, lennons goodbye
Over now, living in time
A broken bell, a nursery rhyme
Deserted by heroes
Strangers in your own land
No way to deny you, to deny you...peace and love...
I took the oath till I had most
I took whats left, I gave it breath
I had it all once I gave it back...gave it back...

song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Land Of The Living

i found myself
in another world
i found myself
alive and well

i am the vapor
i am the gas
you be the angel
of everything

this is the land of the living
this is the land of reprisal
this is the land of the living
the living
the living

i lost myself
too wide a plane
i opened up
i'm not the same

i am electric
made of wire
you be the match
i'll be the fire

this is the land of the living
this is the land of reprisal
this is the land of the living
the living
the living
the living

in myself i try for you
walk a thousand miles to get us through
airways
jet planes
safe landings
no branding

land
land

this is the land of the living
the land of reprisal
this is the land of the living
the land of survival
survival

land
land

this is the land of the living
the living
the living
the living

song performed by by Bush from Golden State
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peace And Love

Peace and love
Flying so high
Peace and love
Too young to die
Peace and love
Now you decide
Stay for the children
You don't really want to go
Can't feel it pulling like you did
Peace and love
Peace and love
Only a ride
Strength is gone
Dying inside
Tell me now
What did you find
Found love in the people
Livin' in a sacred land
Found love in the people
Peace and love
[Vedder:]
Found love (found ...?)
Saw my mistake
Broke walls of pain to walk again
I saw the dream
I saw the wake
We shared it all
But not the take
Peace and love
Lennon's goodbye
Over Now
Living in time
A broken bell
A nursery rhyme
Deserted by heroes
Strangers in your own land
No way to deny you
No way to deny you
Peace and love
[Vedder:]
I took it all
I took the oath
I took it all
Til I had most
I took what's left
I gave it breath
I had it all once
I gave it back
[solo]

song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Tree

Just a plain old TREE. I Ignored the weather
satisfied with me. I Looked at TREE.

What if anything do I knoe about TREE.
It used to be a thing made out of wood, always tall,

with branches near the ground. Roots fingering the ground.
Life comes up somehow to TREE. Water cascades down to ground, seeping slowly into ROOT. ROOT transmogrifies

the water into inner sanctum stuff known only to the Lord.
People still tell me, Tree just cannot live.

There is no real feeling in TREE.
There is knowledge in TREE or it would be a blade of grass.

People say the life is in the seed or sapiling.
I think the knowledge is in the MAN, the ONE who can.

He Makes all the TREE begin, upon a distant planet,
Creates the thing again, in the courtyard of his KING.

And every meadow of his earth.
The ONE who gave me birthe the second time around.

The ONE who gave me TREE.
And Time to write this down.

poem by Charles Hice
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Alexander And Phillip

HE stood by the river's side
A conqueror and a king,
None match'd his step of pride
Amid the armed ring.
And a heavy echo rose from the ground,
As a thousand warriors gather'd round.
And the morning march had been long,
And the noontide sun was high,
And weariness bow'd down the strong,
And heat closed every eye;
And the victor stood by the river's brim
Whose coolness seem'd but made for him.

The cypress spread their gloom
Like a cloak from the noontide beam,
He flung back his dusty plume,
And plunged in the silver stream;
He plunged like the young steed, fierce and wild,
He was borne away like the feeble child.

They took the king to his tent
From the river's fatal banks,
A cry of terror went
Like a storm through the Grecian ranks:
Was this the fruit of their glories won,
Was this the death for AMMON'S son?

Many a leech heard the call,
But each one shrank away;
For heavy upon all
Was the weight of fear that day:
When a thought of treason, a word of death,
Was in each eye, and on each breath.

But one with the royal youth
Had been from his earliest hour,
And he knew that his heart was truth,
And he knew that his hand was power;
He gave what hope his skill might give,
And bade him trust to his faith and live.

ALEXANDER took the cup,
And from beneath his head a scroll,
He drank the liquor up,
And bade PHILLIP read the roll;
And PHILLIP look'd on the page, where shame,
Treason, and poison were named with his name.

An angry flush rose on his brow,
And anger darken'd his eye,
What I have done I would do again now!
If you trust my fidelity.
The king watch'd his face, he felt he might dare
Trust the faith that was written there.

Next day the conqueror rose
From a greater conqueror free;
And again he stood amid those
Who had died his death to see:
He stood there proud of the lesson he gave
That faith and trust were made for the brave.

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Birds Of Passage

Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing!
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring?
–'We come from the shores of the green old Nile,
From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,
From the palms that wave thro' the Indian sky,
From the myrrh-trees of glowing Araby.

'We have swept o'er cities in song renown'd,–
Silent they lie with the deserts round!
We have cross'd proud rivers, whose tide hath roll'd
All dark with the warrior-blood of old;
And each worn wing hath regain'd its home,
Under peasant's roof-tree, or monarch's dome.'

And what have ye found in the monarch's dome,
Since last ye travers'd the blue sea's foam?
–'We have found a change, we have found a pall,
And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall,
And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt,–
Nought looks the same, save the nest we built!'

Oh! joyous birds, it hath still been so;
Thro' the halls of kings doth the tempest go!
But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep,
And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep.–
Say what have ye found in the peasant's cot,
Since last ye parted from that sweet spot?

'A change we have found there–and many a change!
Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange!
Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,
And the young that were, have a brow of care,
And the place is hush'd where the children play'd,–
Nought looks the same, save the nest we made!'

Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
Birds that o'ersweep it in power and mirth!
Yet thro' the wastes of the trackless air,
Ye have a Guide, and shall we despair?
Ye over desert and deep have pass'd,–
So may we reach our bright home at last!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rainbow Not

I do not make rainbows,
But thunder from a different art -
I am kind to slaughter,
Death, nobody thanks her -
Clouds so dark in my sky,
Rain drops that makes me high -
Blue i do not see,
Not even in my sea -
I water pain everyday -
I seeked destruction,
Yesterday -
I do not play a flute,
I never will confront,
And obey - I battle my darkness,
I have no moon -
I see the sun,
Before the room -
Of death, i want to hide,
She has no sides -
I bare in mind,
Hours is also time -
I silk in the sand,
I bake by the land -
Waters of drought,
Am i on route -
The deeper i dig,
I dug with the pigs -
I want my soul to be clensed -
I have many broken bends -
I run, i saw,
The blade, by my blood,
Is which i draw - not to be found - not on the ground

poem by Unic Cjonr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beyond The Temple ('78 Demo)

Beyond the temple
There lies a tomb with a king from long ago
A traveler from a distant planet
Ten thousand years or so
The legend tells of an agin' man
Whose city he built alone
Till the pirates of our western world
Tore it down stone by stone
The clouds are gettin' heavy
As he points unto the sky
But with the guidance of his finger
He let the lightning fly
So don't turn around, don't turn around
Lightning don't strike twice
Don't turn around, don't turn around
Death is a very high price
He gathered up his people
And he took them underground
To the caves of silvery water
Where they never could be found
The king came to the surface
Could not believe what he had found
The temple left in ruins
His city knocked to the ground
He went back to his people
Sad news he had to tell
The only justice for the king
Was to put these men in hell
So don't turn around, don't turn around
Lightning don't strike twice
Don't turn around, don't turn around
Death is a very high price
His face showing sorrow
His heart full of grief
His life's work in ruins
Destroyed by a thief
His people just sit around
His children just cry
The king's mind is all confused
Just wonderin' why
The temple split in half
And scattered through the desert
The dust had risen in the air
The race of people had to live in devastation
Why wasn't he even there?
Message from the gods to gather up his people
The kingdom couldn't lose them there
That's when all the gods and all are livin' peaceful
Just a galaxy away
The king rose up from underground
To light the darkened sky
Red lights, green lights, blue lights flashing
It seemed a mile high
As it lifted from the ground
And soared into the air
The king looked at what might have been
A world that needed care
A storm had risen quickly
Across the take of hope
Now there's no trace of the king
Just a memory carved in stone
So don't turn around, don't turn around
Lightning don't strike twice
Don't turn around, don't turn around
Death is a very high price
Don't turn around, don't turn around
Lightning don't strike twice
Don't turn around, don't turn around
Death is a very high price

song performed by by Def Leppard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fields Of The Brave

Sometimes I close my eyes
And picture the plains
I see Buffalo Bill and the Iroquois
Riding again
Open skies, fertile ground
This was heaven on earth
That they found
We got what they gave
By their God we were saved
They were humble not depraved
These streets were afraid of
Once were the fields of the brave
The fields of the brave
Where a Chevrolet rusts
By a closed shopping mall
Can you see through the dust
Where the brave ones stood tall
Buried deep where they fell
They live on in the stories we tell
They got what they gave
By their God they were saved
And I say this as I pray
I cant help but dream of
The days these were fields of the brave
The fields of the brave
After all this time
And the struggles in between
We stand next in line
With the chance we can build on their dreams
In the
Fields of the brave
Fields of the brave
We got what they gave
In the fields of the brave
Let their spirits be saved
And I pray this on their graves
Therell be a return of
The days these were fields of the brave
The fields of the brave

song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forgave, Saved and Raised

The Spirit sent from Jesus Christ, came and my heart He engaged.
Christ became for all a sacrifice, and all of my sins Christ forgave.
And by the blood of Jesus Christ, a sinful soul by Christ was saved.
From the grave He came to life, and now my life Christ has raised.

The Holy Spirit Christ sent to us, came from The Father up above.
Who had sent to us His Son Jesus, to the entire world by His Love.
And in His Son we place our trust, as we look to The Father above.
God then purges us of worldly lust, by filling us with Christ like love.

Christ forgave me of all my sin, when I accepted Him into my heart.
He cleansed my heart deep within, and gave me a brand new start.
And The Spirit that was sent from Him, from my life shall not depart.
The Spirit helps me avoid all sin, as He guides my mind and heart.

As a darkened soul I was saved, through the blood of Jesus Christ.
With the very life that Christ gave, He paid for all the ultimate price.
From my life that was so depraved, He gave to me brand a new life.
And so this life, back to Him I gave, to be for Jesus a living sacrifice.

Men who once knew me are amazed, as I live like an innocent dove,
As now with Him I’ve been raised, seated in the Heavens up above.
Where He’s to be forever praised, for what’s truly God’s Eternal Love.
And I may never look on my grave, if soon raptured to His side above.

poem by Bob Gotti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Fantasy of War

From Australia
.
OH, tell me, God of Battles! Oh, say what is to come!
The King is in his trenches, the millionaire at home;
The Kaiser with his toiling troops, the Czar is at the front.
Oh! Tell me, God of Battles! Who bears the battle’s brunt?
The Queen knits socks for soldiers, the Empress does the same,
And know no more than peasant girls which nation is to blame.
The wounded live to fight again, or live to slave for bread;
The Slain have graves above the Slain—the Dead are with the Dead.
The widowed young shall wed or not, the widowed old remain—
And all the nations of the world prepare for war again!
But ere that time shall be, O God, say what shall here befall!
Ten millions at the battle fronts, and we’re five millions all!
The world You made was wide, O God, the world we made is small.
We toiled not as our fathers toiled, for
Sport was all our boast;
And so we built our cities, Lord, like warts, upon the coast.

From Europe
.
The seer stood on the mountain side, the witch was in her cave;
The gipsy with his caravan, the sailor on the wave;
The sophist in his easy chair, with ne’er a soul to save,
The factory slaves went forth to slave, the peasant to the field;
The women worked in winter there for one-tenth of the yield;
The village Granny nursed their babes to give them time to slave;
The child was in the cradle, and the grandsire in his grave.
The rich man slumbered in his chair, full fed with wine and meat;
The lady in her carriage sat, the harlot walked the street
With paint upon her cheek and neck, through winter’s snow and sleet.
We saw the pride of Wealth go mad, and Misery increase—
And still the God of Gods was dumb and all the world was Peace!

The wizard on the mountain side, he drew a rasping breath,
For he was old and near to life, as he was near to death;
And he looked out and saw the star they saw at Nazareth.
“Two thousand years have passed,” he said. “A thousand years,” he said.
“A hundred years have passed,” he said, “and, lo! the star is red!
The time has come at last,” he said, and bowed his hoary head.
He laid him on the mountain-side—and so the seer was dead.
And so the Eastern Star was red, and it was red indeed—
We saw the Red Star in the South, but we took little heed.
(The Prophet in his garret starved or drank himself to death.)

The witch was mumbling in her hole before the dawn was grey;
The witch she took a crooked stick and prodded in the clay;
She doddered round and mumbled round as is the beldame’s way.
“Four children shall be born,” she said, “four children at a birth;
Four children of a peasant brood—and what shall come on earth?
Four of the poorest peasantry that Europe knows,” she said,
“And all the nations of the world shall count their gory dead!”
The babes are born in Italy—and all the world is red!

The Ship

The world You gave was wide, O Lord, and wars were far away!
The goal was just as near, O Lord, to-morrow or to-day!
The tree You grew was stout and sound to carve the plank and keel.
(And when the darkness hid the sky Your hand was on the wheel.)
The pine You grew was straight and tall to fashion spar and mast.
Our sails and gear from flax and hemp were stout and firm and fast.
You gave the metal from the mine and taught the carpenter
To fasten plank and rib and beam, and sheath and iron her.
The world You made was wide, O Lord, with signs on sea and sky;
And all the stars were true, O Lord, you gave to steer her by.
More graceful than the albatross upon the morning breeze.
Ah me! she was the fairest thing that ever sailed the seas;
And when the madness of mankind burns out at last in war,
The world may yet behold the day she’ll sail the seas once more.
We were not satisfied, O Lord, we were not satisfied;
We stole Your electricity to fortify our pride!
You gave the horse to draw our loads, You gave the horse to ride;
But we must fly above the Alps and race beneath the tide.
We searched in sacred places for the things we did not need;
Your anger shook our cities down—and yet we took no heed.
We robbed the water and the air to give us “energy,”
As we’d exhaust Thy secret store of electricity.
The day may come—and such a day!—when we shall need all three.

And lest Thou shouldst not understand our various ways and whys,
We cut Thy trees for paper, Lord, where-on to print our lies.
We sent the grand Titanic forth, for pleasure, gold and show;
And all her skeletons of wealth and jewels lie below.
For fame or curiosity, for pride, and greed, or trade,
We sought to know all things and make all things that Thou hast made!
From Pole to Pole we sought to speak, and Heaven’s powers employ—
Our cruisers feverishly seek such language to destroy.
We shaped all things for war, and now the Sister Nations wade
Knee-deep in white man’s blood to wreck all things that we have made!
For in the rottenness of Peace—worse than this bitter strife!—
We murdered the Humanity and Poetry of Life.

The Bells and the Child
.
The gongs are in the temple—the bells are in the tower;
The “tom-tom” in the jungle and the town clock tells the hour;
And all Thy feathered kind at morn have testified Thy power.

Did ever statesman save a land or science save a soul?—
Did ever Tower of Babel stand or war-drums cease to roll?—
Or wedding-bells to ring, O Lord—or requiems to toll?

Did ever child in cradle laid—born of a healthy race—
Cease for an hour, all unafraid, to testify Thy grace?
That shook its rattle from its bed in its proud father’s face?

Cathedral bells must cease awhile, because of Pride and Sin,
That never failed a wedding-morn that hailed a king and queen,
Or failed to peal for victory that brave men died to win.
(Or failed to ring the Old Year out and ring the New Year in.)

The world You made was wide, O God!—O God, ’tis narrow now—
And all its ways must run with blood, for we knew more than Thou!
And millions perish at the guns or rot beside the plough,
For we knew more than Thou.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is My Land

Bill dees
The sun on the rim of the view overlooking all that I love
Lights up every leaf and blade, birds circling high above
With trembling hand I reach down and say this is my land
This land will pass on to my child, when hes grown
To love it as much as i, for all the sons gone by
And when hes a man hell do what he can
For this, my land, this is my land
When young men die in glory and for freedom take their stand
May they sing this same proud story, this is my land
Life fade away, and my body is laid to rest on the ground
May this comfort fill my soul more on the land, I know
That those after me say with much dignity
This is my land, this is my land

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song of the Fifth River

Where first by Eden Tree
The Four Great Rivers ran,
To each was appointed a Man
Her Prince and Ruler to be.

But after this was ordained
(The ancient legends' tell),
There came dark Israel,
For whom no River remained.

Then He Whom the Rivers obey
Said to him: "Fling on the ground
A handful of yellow clay,
And a Fifth Great River shall run,
Mightier than these Four,
In secret the Earth around;
And Her secret evermore,
Shall be shown to thee and thy Race."

So it was said and done.
And, deep in the veins of Earth,
And, fed by a thousand springs
That comfort the market-place,
Or sap the power of King,
The Fifth Great River had birth,
Even as it was foretold--
The Secret River of Gold!

And Israel laid down
His sceptre and his crown,
To brood on that River bank
Where the waters flashed and sank
And burrowed in earth and fell
And bided a season below,
For reason that none might know,
Save only Israel

He is Lord of the Last--
The Fifth, most wonderful, Flood.
He hears Her thunder past
And Her Song is in his blood.
He can foresay: "She will fall,"
For he knows which fountain dries
Behind which desert-belt
A thousand leagues to the South.

He can foresay: "She will rise."
He knows what far snows melt
Along what mountain-wall
A thousand leagues to the North,
He snuffs the coming drouth
As he snuffs the coming rain,
He knows what each will bring forth,
And turns it to his gain.

A Ruler without a Throne,
A Prince without a Sword,
Israel follows his quest.
In every land a guest,
Of many lands a lord,
In no land King is he.
But the Fifth Great River keeps
The secret of Her deeps
For Israel alone,
As it was ordered to be.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Burghers of Calais

It were after the Battle of Crecy-
The foe all lay dead on the ground-
And King Edward went out with his soldiers
To clean up the places around.

The first place they came to were Calais,
Where t' burghers all stood in a row,
And when Edward told them to surrender
They told Edward where he could go.

Said he, " I'll beleaguer this city,
I'll teach them to flout their new King -
Then he told all his lads to get camp-stools
And sit round the place in a ring.

Now the burghers knew nowt about Crecy-
They laughed when they saw Edward's plan-
And thinking their side were still winning,
They shrugged and said- " San fairy Ann."

But they found at the end of a fortnight
That things wasn't looking so nice,
With nowt going out but the pigeons,
And nowt coming in but the mice.

For the soldiers sat round on their camp-stools,
And never a foot did they stir,
But passed their time doing their knitting,
And crosswords, and things like that there.

The burghers began to get desperate
Wi' t' food supply sinking so low,
For they'd nowt left but dry bread and water,
Or what they called in French "pang" and "oh"

They stuck it all autumn and winter,
But when at last spring came around
They was bothered, bewitched and beleaguered,
And cods' heads was tenpence a pound.

So they hung a white flag on the ramparts
To show they was sick of this 'ere-
And the soldiers, who'd finished their knitting,
All stood up and gave them a cheer.

When King Edward heard they had surrendered
He said to them, in their own tongue,
"You've kept me here all football season,
And twelve of you's got to be hung."

Then up stood the Lord Mayor of Calais,
"I'll make one" he gallantly cried-
Then he called to his friends on the Council
To make up the rest of the side.

When the townspeople heard of the hanging
They rushed in a crowd through the gate-
They was all weeping tears of compassion,
And hoping they wasn't too late.

With ropes round their necks the twelve heroes
Stood proudly awaiting their doom,
Till the hangman at last crooked his finger
And coaxingly said to them-" Come.

At that moment good Queen Phillippa
Ran out of her bower and said-
Oh, do have some mercy, my husband;
Oh don't be so spiteful, dear Ted."

Then down on her knee-joints before them
She flopped, and in accents that rang,
Said, "Please, Edward, just to oblige me,
You can't let these poor burghers hang.

The King was so touched with her pleading,
He lifted his wife by the hand
And he gave her all twelve as a keepsake
And peace once again reigned in the land.

poem by Marriott Edgar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love-Laurel

Ah! that God once would touch my lips with song
To pierce, as prayer doth heaven, earth’s breast of iron,
So that with sweet mouth I might sing to thee,
O sweet dead singer buried by the sea,
A song, to woo thee, as a wooing siren,
Out of that silent sleep which seals too long
Thy mouth of melody.
For, if live lips might speak awhile to dead,
Or any speech could reach the sad world under
This world of ours, song surely should awake
Thee who didst dwell in shadow for song’s sake!
Alas! thou canst not hear the voice of thunder,
Nor low dirge over thy low-lying head
The winds of morning make.

Down through the clay there comes no sound of these;
Down in the grave there is no sign of Summer,
Nor any knowledge of the soft-eyed Spring;
But Death sits there, with outspread ebon wing,
Closing with dust the mouth of each new-comer
To that mute land, where never sound of seas
Is heard, and no birds sing.

Now thou hast found the end of all thy days
Hast thou found any heart a vigil keeping
For thee among the dead—some heart that heard
Thy singing when thou wert a brown, sweet bird
Gray Æons gone, in some old forest sleeping
Beneath the seas long since? in Death’s dim ways
Has thy heart any word?

For surely those in whom the deathless spark
Of song is kindled, sang from the beginning
If life were always? But the old desires—
Do they exist when sad-eyed Hope expires?
How live the dead? what crowns have they for winning?
Have they, to warm them in the dreamless dark,
For sun earth’s central fires?

Are the dead dead indeed whom we call dead?
Has God no life but this of ours for giving?—
When that they took thee by each well-known place,
Stark in thy coffin with a cold white face,
What thought, O Brother, hadst thou of the living?
What of the sun that round thee glory shed?
What of the fair day’s grace?

Is thy new life made up of memories
Or dreams that lull the dead, bright visions bringing
Of Spring above! Are thy days short or long?
Thou who wert master of our singing throng
Mayhap in death thou hast not lost thy singing,
But chauntst unheard, beside the moaning sea,
A solitary song.

The chance spade turns up skulls. God help the dead
And thee whose singing days have all passed over—
Thee, whom the gold-haired Spring shall seek in vain
When at the glad year’s doors she stands again,
Remembering the song-garlands thou hast wove her
In years gone by: but all these years have fled
With all their joy and pain.

My soul laughed out to hear my heart speak so,
And sprang forth skyward, as an eagle, hoping
To look upon thy soul with living eyes,
Until it came to where our dim life dies,
And dead suns darkly for a grave are groping
Through cycles of immeasurable woe,
Stone-blind in the blind skies.
The stars walk shuddering on that awful verge
From which my soul, with swift and fearless motion,
Clove the black depths, and sought for God and thee;
But God dwells where nor stars nor suns there be—
No shore there is to His Eternal Ocean;
A thousand systems are a fringe of surge
On that great starless sea.

And thou wert not. So that, with weary plumes,
My soul through the great void its way came winging
To earth again. “What hope for him who sings
Is there?” it sighed. “Death ends all sweetest things.”
When lo! there came a swell of mighty singing,
Flooding all space, and swift athwart the glooms
A flash of sudden wings.

Dreamer of dreams, thy songs and dreams are done.
Down where thou sleepest in earth’s secret bosom
There is no sorrow and no joy for thee,
Who canst not see what stars at eve there be,
Nor evermore at morn the green dawn blossom
Into the golden king-flower of the sun
Across the golden sea.
But haply there shall come in days to be
One who shall hear his own heart beating faster,
Plucking a rose sprung from thy heart beneath,
And from his soul, as sword from out its sheath,
Song shall leap forth where now, O silent master,
On thy lone grave beside the sounding sea,
I lay this laurel-wreath.

poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hes The King

(harold faltermeyer/ gernot rothenbach)
Producers for bonnie: harold faltermeyer and gernot rothenbach
Hes seen all the changes
been going up and down
Had to rearrange it
But never lost his crown
Never was afraid of
Playing his last round
He is, he is the king
Look into his face
It never told you lies
Falling down from grace
Has been more than twice
But theres always one thing
You should realise
He is, he is the king
He is the king
No one else will be around
He is the king
Sometimes lost but now hes found
Without losing all, you wont touch sacred ground
He is, he is the king
He is the king
Loving her was easy,
They were day and night
Trying to release her
Was a never ending fight
He had only one chance
Playing for her life
He is, he is the king
But theres always one thing
You should realise
He is, he is the king
He is the king
No one else will be around
He is the king
Sometimes lost but now hes found
Without losing all, you wont touch sacred ground
He is, he is the king
He is the king
No one else will be around
He is the king
Sometimes lost but now hes found
Without losing all, you wont touch sacred ground, yeah
He is, he is the king
He is the king

song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Dawn and Dusk

At Dawn and Dusk
Love-Laurel
IN MEMORY OF HENRY KENDALL

AH! that God once would touch my lips with song
To pierce, as prayer doth heaven, earth’s breast of iron,
So that with sweet mouth I might sing to thee,
O sweet dead singer buried by the sea,
A song, to woo thee, as a wooing siren,
Out of that silent sleep which seals too long
Thy mouth of melody.
For, if live lips might speak awhile to dead,
Or any speech could reach the sad world under
This world of ours, song surely should awake
Thee who didst dwell in shadow for song’s sake!
Alas! thou canst not hear the voice of thunder,
Nor low dirge over thy low-lying head
The winds of morning make.

. . . . .
My soul laughed out to hear my heart speak so,
And sprang forth skyward, as an eagle, hoping
To look upon thy soul with living eyes,
Until it came to where our dim life dies,
And dead suns darkly for a grave are groping
Through cycles of immeasurable woe,
Stone-blind in the blind skies.
The stars walk shuddering on that awful verge
From which my soul, with swift and fearless motion,
Clove the black depths, and sought for God and thee;
But God dwells where nor stars nor suns there be—
No shore there is to His Eternal Ocean;
A thousand systems are a fringe of surge
On that great starless sea.

. . . . .
Dreamer of dreams, thy songs and dreams are done.
Down where thou sleepest in earth’s secret bosom
There is no sorrow and no joy for thee,
Who canst not see what stars at eve there be,
Nor evermore at morn the green dawn blossom
Into the golden king-flower of the sun
Across the golden sea.
But haply there shall come in days to be
One who shall hear his own heart beating faster,
Plucking a rose sprung from thy heart beneath,
And from his soul, as sword from out its sheath,
Song shall leap forth where now, O silent master,
On thy lone grave beside the sounding sea,
I lay this laurel-wreath.

poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Body & Soul

Man placed God’s Christ within the tomb –Mk.15: 42-47
Who’d died in awesome pain –Mk.15: 21-41
His grave a simile to the womb –Mt.12: 39-40
Gave birth to Christ again –Ro.6: 4

He left behind the clothes He wore –Jn.20: 6-7
To rise as Lord and King –Mt.19: 28
Enrobed in Glory’s Light once more –Rev.1: 13-18
His praises now we sing

The complete Christ had left the grave
No bones were found within
Revealing, bodies too He’ll save
That leaves behind their sin

Yet who’ll believe Salvation’s plan?
From death to birth anew!
Fulfilled in Christ, who proved to man
By dining with the few

Earth’s food, the spirit has no need
This truth God’s Lamb has shown
Dining on fish, God’s risen Seed –Lk.24: 42-43
Nourished His flesh and bone

Once Enoch, walked with God the earth
One day he was no more –Gen.5: 24
Quite whole to him who gave him birth
He entered Heaven’s door

With whirlwind sent from God on high –2Ki.2: 11
Came chariot, fire and steed
Bore whole Elijah in the sky
Alive, as God decreed

So offer God your body true –Ro.12: 1-5
Through Jesus, free of shame –1Co.6: 11
Quite reasonable in Christ to do
When baptised in His name…

poem by Michael P. Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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