On Seeing a Bust of Mrs. Montague
Had this fair figure, which this frame displays,
Adorn'd in Roman time the brightest days,
In every dome, in every sacred place,
Her statue would have breathed an added grace,
And on its basis would have been enroll'd,
'This is Minerva, cast in Virtue's mould.'
poem by Samuel Johnson
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And what does reward virtue? You think the communist commissar rewards virtue? You think a Hitler rewards virtue? You think, excuse me, if you'll pardon me, American presidents reward virtue? Do they choose their appointees on the basis of the virtue of the people appointed or on the basis of their political clout?
quote by Milton Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To His Excellency The Lord Carteret.
The Picture strikes--'tis drawn with won d'rous Art;
Well has the Poet play'd the Painter's Part.
Tho' 'tis your Glory, yet, my Lord, I own,
I grieve the Features fit yourself alone.
But know, tho' All agree the Picture's yours,
'Tis Steadiness alone your Claim secures.
With Pleasure now your Image you furvey;
But should you from the Rules of Virtue stray,
Should e'er degrading Vice deform your Frame,
You'd start, like Io from the crystal Stream.
When Kneller has display'd, with matchless Grace,
The fleeting Glories of Clarinda's Face;
She sighs, to think how Time will soon devour
The lovely Bloom, which gives her now such Pow'r:
But yours, a Likeness of a nobler Kind,
Displays the deathless Beauties of the Mind:
Be it your Glory to surpass the Paint,
And make the finish'd Picture look too faint.
Why is he hid, who, with such matchloss Art,
Calls forth the Graces that adorn your Heart?
True Poets in their deathless Lays should live,
And share that Immortality they give.
poem by Mary Barber
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For an actress to be a success, she must have the face of a Venus, the brains of a Minerva, the grace of Terpsichore, the memory of a MaCaulay, the figure of Juno, and the hide of a rhinoceros.
quote by Ethel Barrymore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For an actress to be a success, she must have the face of Venus, the brains of a Minerva, the grace of Terpsichore, the memory of a Macaulay, the figure of Juno, and the hide of a rhinoceros.
quote by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 52: A Strife Is Grown
A strife is grown between Virtue and Love,
While each pretends that Stella must be his:
Her eyes, her lips, her all, saith Love, do this
Since they do wear his badge, most firmly prove.
But Virtue thus that title doth disprove:
That Stella (oh dear name) that Stella is
That virtuous soul, sure heir of heav'nly bliss,
Not this fair outside, which our hearts doth move;
And therefore, though her beauty and her grace
Be Love's indeed, in Stella's self he may
By no pretense claim any manner place.
Well, Love, since this demur our suit will stay,
Let Virtue have that Stella's self; yet thus
That Virtue but that body grant to us.
poem by Philip Sidney
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To a Snail
If "compression is the first grace of style,"
you have it. Contractility is a virtue
as modesty is a virtue.
It is not the acquisition of any one thing
that is able to adorn,
or the incidental quality that occurs
as a concomitant of something well said,
that we value in style,
but the principle that is hidden:
in the absence of feet, "a method of conclusions";
"a knowledge of principles,"
in the curious phenomenon of your occipital horn.
poem by Marianne Moore
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Sonnet- My Ultimate Wish?
Could I not spend my days talking to God?
My precious time is spent in daily food;
If all spend lives holy, it will look odd;
Man's knowledge of the Divine is so crude.
Could I not spend my days walking with God?
What earthly work we do to save this frame!
Why do we hanker for earthly reward?
We waste God's time in sin without much shame.
Could I not spend my days thinking of God?
My thoughts are just on things of earthly mould;
Oh, how we wish that human beings laud?
Yet, without God, our hearts and souls grow cold.
Oh, how I wish I had more time for God!
Whose love for man comes with a kindly rod.
poem by John Celes
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Mystical Rose, Pray For Us!
O aptly named, Illustrious One!
Thou art that flower fair
That filled this vast and changeful world
With mystic perfume rare—
Shedding on all the balmy breath
Of countless virtues high,
Rising like fragrant odours rich,
To God’s far, beauteous sky.
Mystical Rose! O aptly named!
For, as ’mid brightest flowers
The lovely Rose unquestioned reigns
The Queen of Nature’s bowers,
So ’mid the daughters fair of Eve
Art thou the peerless One!
The chosen handmaid of the Lord!
The Mother of His Son!
Yes, He endowed thee with all gifts
Which could thy beauty grace;
And ne’er did sin, e’en for one hour,
Thy spotless soul deface,
For from the first thou had’st the power
God’s fav’ring love to win;
It was His will that thou should’st be
Conceived devoid of sin.
Oh, Mother dear, obtain for us
That we from evil flee;
Throughout this, fleeting life’s career
Mayst thou our model be!
Seek we to imitate the gifts
That thy pure soul adorn—
Sweet flower of beauty and of grace!
Fair Rose without a thorn!
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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The Philosopher, the Young Man, and his Statue
A Fond Athenian Mother brought
A Sculptor to indulge her Thought,
And carve her Only Son;
Who to such strange perfection wrought,
That every Eye the Statue caught
Nor ought was left undone.
A youthful Smile adorn'd the Face,
The polish gave that Smile a Grace;
And through the Marble reigns
(Which well the Artist's Skill cou'd trace,
And in their due Positions place)
A Thread of purple Veins.
The Parasites about it came,
(Whose Praises were too large to name)
And to each other said;
The Man so well had reach'd his Aim,
Th' Original cou'd o'er it claim
Only a native Red.
Mean while a Sage, amidst the Croud,
Thus, with a Precept wise and loud,
Check'd the Vain-glorious Boy;
By telling him, who now grew proud,
That tho' with Beauty 'twas endow'd,
The Figure was a Toy:
Of no Advantage to the State,
'Twou'd neither combate, nor debate,
But idly stand alone;
Bids him beware, whilst Men create
In Stone thus his Resemblance great,
He proves not like the Stone.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Licia Sonnets 11
In Ida vale three queens the shepherd saw,
Queens of esteem, divine they were all three,
A sight of worth. But I a wonder shaw,
Their virtues all in one alone to be.
Licia the fair, surpassing Venus' pride,
(The matchless queen, commander of the gods,
When drawn with doves she in her pomp doth ride)
Hath far more beauty, and more grace by odds
Juno, Jove's wife, unmeet to make compare,
I grant a goddess, but not half so mild;
Minerva wise, a virtue, but not rare;
Yet these are mean, if that my love but smiled.
She them surpasseth, when their prides are full
As far as they surpass the meanest trull.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Communion
Ive touched some objects of faith more precious than pieces of eight.
Seen sacred places and ritual ways, but for communion lets go to my place.
I learned to pray on my knees.
Been taken in hand, if you please.
Had my own revelations, ideas about fate, but for communion lets go to my place.
So as the body, so as the blood, sacred as the soul is to love.
Dont be mistaken if you dont understand, divinely simple.
Part of the plan.
Take!
Eat!
This is my body!
I give it to you.
Take!
Drink!
This is my blood.
Do it in remembrance of me (so you wont forget me).
Now, Ive been a witness of grace.
Ive stared sacred days in the face.
The long long parade of ritual ways, but for communion lets go to my place.
Sacred stories are told.
Theyre passed on like pieces of gold.
So make your conclusions, consider your fate, and for communion lets go to my place.
Are you ready?
Are you ready for communion?
song performed by by Blondie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mission
For many days we travelled from a distant place and time,
To reach a place they call the planet earth,
There was to be a celebration,
On the mission of the sacred heart.
The planet earth from way up there is beautiful and blue
And floating softly through a rainbow,
But when you touch down things look different here,
At the mission of the sacred heart.
Chorus
Watching all the days roll by
Who are you and who am i?
On a dirty worn-out sidewalk, sits a mother with a baby,
In her vale of tears she sees no rainbow
And someone's singing from a window
In the mission of the sacred heart.
Chorus -- repeat
There's a building on a corner, in a city, in a land,
On a place they call the planet earth,
My orders are to sit here and watch the world go by,
From the mission of the sacred heart.
Chorus -- repeat
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mission (A World Record)
For may days we travelled from a distant place and time,
To reach a place they call the planet Earth,
There was to be a celebration,
On the mission of the sacred heart.
The planet Earth from way up there is beautiful and blue
And floating softly through a rainbow,
But when you touch down things look different here,
At the mission of the sacred heart.
CHORUS
Watching all the days roll by
Who are you and who am I?
On a dirty worn-out sidewalk, sits a mother with a baby,
In her vale of tears she sees no rainbow
And someone's singing from a window
In the mission of the sacred heart.
CHORUS -- repeat
There's a building on a corner, in a city, in a land,
On a place they call the planet Earth,
My orders are to sit here and watch the world go by,
From the mission of the sacred heart.
CHORUS -- repeat
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sacred Cow
Deliberate provocation
I is what you gave to me
You got me going
You got me going
How could such a simple thing
Get so out of control
You let me down again
You let me down again
I know my place inside your heart
The painted figure that glows in the dark
No you're not mysterious now
I don't worship that sacred cow
In my head
In my head
In my head
You'd never know it
You'd never know it
I went home in a jealous rage
You were rolling on the glass in a younger age
You know what's good for me
I know you're too good for me
Cos I have seen inside your heart
Religious figues that glow in the dark
No you're not too precious now
And I don't worship that sacred cow
Go and try as you may
To get a sharp shift on Judgement Day
You let me down again
You let me down again
I know my place inside your heart
The painted figure that glows in the dark
No you're not too precious now
I don't worship that sacred cow
Go and try as you may
To get a sharp shift on Judgement Day
Sacred Cow
Judgement Day
Coming Your Way
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Virtues
My virtues can be recorded by people,
Who are led on a regular basis by my own headship.
How does cruelty ever shine on a real basis
With cars to revolve on the Earth,
And windows to be shattered into pieces?
The accidents are numerous, as even the rituals
Speed up entertainment, the long haul concerned all.
My virtue converts into reality, it is blue as the whole sky
And forests over the moon are witnessed by the alien ones,
Their virtue carried pain, yet mine not.
There is meaning in places of under water as well,
For it is wet, it is dry, and never are there fish-people.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Life At Its Best
Jesus came as Prince of Peace, offering a life that will not cease.
There’s a peace He came to give, to all on earth who chose to live,
Life on this earth at its very best, until this weary body’s laid to rest.
Helping us to live this earthly life, while dealing with the daily strife.
For this peace we must lay on Him, every burden and anxious whim.
Satan may place a trial in our way, to fill our heart with utter dismay,
But with the presence of The Lord, help and grace can be implored,
If as Believer’s we would only dare, cast to Christ every single care.
God The Father calls upon all of us, to in His Son place all our trust.
All cares and burdens of this life, are to be cast to the feet of Christ.
The Lord Jesus Christ is over all, and knows all needs, big and small,
When we trust Him with all our days, God fills life with joy and praise.
It’s not an option as some suggest, or from Christ a passing request,
For it is a command to cast to Him, all our burden lest to turns to sin,
As the sins of worry and of unbelief, is what the enemy tries to seed.
To take our mind off Jesus Christ; and fill our heart with undue strife.
God’s inner peace is the essence, of living daily in Christ’s presence,
For when a trial causes one grief, His omnipresence brings him relief.
All that I need, I have through Grace, that helps me any time or place,
Grace from God that will not cease, that gives me Everlasting Peace.
(04/2007)
Beauty is according to frame
When a figure is fit to the frame
Conceived in brain, it is a beauty.
If it is a grossly unfit, it is ugly.
If it is slightly unfit, time adjudge the
frame.
16.09.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I've lost a delicate cameo
'I've lost a delicate cameo,
Somewhere on the Neva's shore.
I pity the charming Roman girl,'
You said to me, almost in tears.
But why, fair Georgian beauty,
Stir up the dust on a sacred tomb?
Another downy snowflake
Melted on her eyelid's fan.
You bowed your gentle neck.
Alas, no cameo, no Roman girl.
I pity the tawny Tinotine -- virgin
Rome on the Neva's shore.
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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To Be Back At Home (Italian Sonnet)
To be back at home
while the lovely spring leads the summer on
when the last traces of the cold winter is gone,
when a brilliant blue is the day's dome
when happily the insects and birds do roam,
when not a single thing is lonesome
to me you are the only one
while the months and years do come
while in a flash the happy times pass
and fruitfulness is everywhere
when love has truly found a dwelling place
while nothing stays just as it was
when times seems to be without a care
then our love is divine, sacred, a Godly grace.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Calendar of Sonnets: April
No days such honored days as these! While yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April's name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget.
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth,
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth,
A holier symbol still in seal and sign,
Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine,
When Christ ascended, in the time of birth
Of spring anemones, in Palestine.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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