Evening
Children astray to their mothers, and goats to the herd,
Sheep to the shepherd, through twilight the wings of the bird,
All things that morning has scattered with fingers of gold,
All things thou bringest, O Evening! at last to the fold.
Related quotes
To Evening
O HESPERUS! Thou bringest all things home;
All that the garish day hath scattered wide;
The sheep, the goat, back to the welcome fold;
Thou bring'st the child, too, to his mother's side
Hesperus The Bringer
O Hesperus, thou bringest all good things--
Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer,
To the young bird the parent's brooding wings,
The welcome stall to the o'erlabored steer;
Whate'er our household gods protect of dear,
Are gathered round us by thy look of rest;
Thou bring'st the child too to its mother's breast.
Nod
Softly along the road of evening,
In a twilight dim with rose,
Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew
Old Nod, the shepherd, goes.
His drowsy flock streams on before him,
Their fleeces charged with gold,
To where the sun's last beam leans low
On Nod the shepherd's fold.
The hedge is quick and green with briar,
From their sand the conies creep;
And all the birds that fly in heaven
Flock singing home to sleep.
His lambs outnumber a noon's roses,
Yet, when night's shadows fall,
His blind old sheep-dog, Slumber-soon,
Misses not one of all.
His are the quiet steeps of dreamland,
The waters of no-more-pain,
His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars,
'Rest, rest, and rest again.'
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Red Sky: The Good Shepherd and I
Jesus, the good shepherd, once said:
'When it is evening, ye say,
It will be fair weather:
For the sky is red.
And in the morning,
It will be foul weather today:
For the sky is red and lowering.'
Evening red and morning gray
Are the signs of a bonny day.
Evening red:
'Shepherd's delight, '
Daddy said.
That is to say,
'Red sky at night,
Shepherd's delight.'
Evening gray and morning red
Bring down rain on the farmer's head.
Morning red:
'Shepherd's warning, '
Daddy said.
That is to say,
'Red sky in the morning,
Shepherd's warning.'
Evening gray and morning red
Brought down rain on my father's head.
My father, a seasoned farmer,
Could discern the face of the sky.
O Lord, my shepherd, so can I.
poem by Monty Gilmer
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Sleepless
How many sheep have jumped the fence
as I lie in bed wide-awake?
More than the wooly herd like things
be allowed for goodness sake.
I'm waiting for that black sheep to jump
and give my eyes a break.
But I guess he's lost within the herd
for I find I'm still wake.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sonnet: The Flocks Need More Shepherds
Shepherds are turning scarcer, day by day!
Fragmented flocks have lesser sheep in fold;
With many lost, many sheep go astray;
Devils on rampage trouble, young and old.
Meadows have lesser grass that's succulent;
More sheep want better grass, water to drink;
The climes these days are turning turbulent;
The few shepherds are old-aged, on death's brink!
Shepherdless stay some flocks for many days;
They do not know the shepherd or his call!
The shepherd does not know his sheep by face;
From wolves' attack, there is no staff to stall!
Yet, God will find the shepherds in strange ways;
All righteous find their way through earthly maze!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 15-07-12
poem by John Celes
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Today... 'God's Fellow
The sword of Jehovah smote the Shepherd
and all the sheep of the fold were scattered.
The Good Shepherd was smitten by His God
when the pathway to Calvary He trod.
For our iniquities He was smitten
fulfilling what Zechariah had written.
By his stripes the price for our sins He paid
when our transgression upon Him were laid.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
The Straying Sheep
How many sheep are straying
Lost from the Savior's fold!
Upon the lonely mountain, They shiver with the cold:
Within the tangled thickets,
Where poison vines do creep,
And over rocky ledges
Still roam the poor lost sheep.
O come, let us go and find them!
In the paths of death they roam.
At the close of the day 'twill be sweet to say:
"I have brought some lost one home."
O who will go to find them?
Who, for the Savior's sake,
Will search with tireless patience
Through brier and through brake
Unheeding thirst or hunger,
Who still from day to day,
Will seek, as for treasure,
The sheep that go astray?
O come, let us go and find them!
In the paths of death they roam.
At the close of the day 'twill be sweet to say:
"I have brought some lost one home."
Say, will you seek to find them?
From pleasant bow'rs of ease
Will you go forth determined
To find the least of these?
For still the Savior calls them,
And looks across the wold,
And still He holds wide open
The door into His fold.
O come, let us go and find them!
In the paths of death they roam.
At the close of the day 'twill be sweet to say:
"I have brought some lost one home."
How sweet 'twound be at evening
If you and I could say,
"Good Shepherd we've been seeking
The sheep that went astray!
Heartsore and faint with hunger,
We heard them making moan,
And lo! we come at nightfall,
And bear them safely home."
O come, let us go and find them!
In the paths of death they roam.
At the close of the day 'twill be sweet to say:
"I have brought some lost one home."
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
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THE GALACTIC SPIRALS OF DEAD LEAVES...I of IV
October is a gregarious month;
all things seeking shelter.
Watching the tidal ebb of twilight
drawing its last breath of birds,
I know winter is approaching;
Reversing the spin of planets
like baseballs, having arced since spring,
Gravity is returning, condensing,
like clouds in my eyes.
Twilight leaves the extremities
as fingers, cold to the touch.
Mothers walk, clenching the air
children’s voices cannot rise up over
Then, like a snow-globe shaken,
The elements of summer are preserved, like Amber
in the crystal flakes of the first frost, falling....
poem by John Tansey
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A New Year's Morning Song
Thanksgiving and the voice of melody,
This new year's morning, call me from my sleep;
A new, sweet song is in my heart for Thee,
Thou faithful, tender Shepherd of the sheep;
Thou knowest where to find, and how to keep
The feeble feet that tremble where they stray, —
O'er the dark mountains — through the whelming deep —
Thy everlasting mercy makes its way.
The past is not so dark as once it seemed,
For there Thy footprints, now distinct, I see;
And seed in weakness sown, from death redeemed,
Is springing up, and bearing fruit in Thee.
Not all that hath been, Lord, henceforth shall be;
A low, sweet, cheering strain is in mine ear,
Thanksgiving, and the voice of melody,
Are leading in, from Heaven, a blest new year.
With voice subdued, my listening spirit sings,
As backward on the trodden path I gaze,
While ministering angels fold their wings,
To fill with lowly thoughts my song of praise.
The shadow of the past on future days,
Will make them clear to my instructed sight;
For the heart's knowledge of Thy sacred ways,
Even in its deepest, darkest shades, is light.
I am not stronger — yet I do not fear
The present pain, the conflict yet to be;
Experience is a kind voice in mine ear,
And all my failures bid me lean on Thee.
No future suffering can seem strange to me,
While in the hidden part I feel and know
The wisdom of a child at rest and free
In the tried love, whose judgment keeps him low.
Thanksgiving and the voice of melody!
O, to my tranquil heart how sweet the strain!
Father of mercies, it arose in Thee,
And to Thy bosom it returns again.
There let my grateful song, my soul, remain,
Calm in the risen Savior's tender care;
And welcome any trial, any pain,
That serves to keep thy faithful children there.
Thoughts of Thy love — and O, how great the sum!
Enduring grief, obtaining bliss for me;
The world, life, death, things present, things to come,
All swell a new year's opening melody.
Past, present, future, all things worship Thee;
And I, through all, with trembling joy behold,
While mountains fall, and treacherous visions flee,
Thy wandering sheep returning to the fold.
poem by Anna Laetitia Waring
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Prayer At Night
Lord, for the one who dies alone
This night without companion,
I cannot rest, I cannot sleep.
O shepherd of the piteous sheep
Run with Thy crook, and lift in haste
The poor head to Thy loving breast.
Oh slake his deadly thirst from streams
Of Paradise, and give him dreams
Of the mild weather, the green sward.
Bind up his bitter wounds, O Lord,
And give him comfort. Let him know
His Shepherd 'tis that loves him so.
Thou countest Thy flock: not one is lost
But Thou goest seeking, for Thou knowest
The poor things creep away to die
Where none shall find save Thou art nigh.
Thou tak'st them to Thy arms, Thy knees,
And Thy sick lambs have sweetest ease.
Now I shall close my eyes in sleep,
Nor fret since they are Thine to keep,
Oh, happy sheep, to have such care,
The poorest, Love's own prisoner,
Who comforts as his mother might,
Rocking him into sleep at night.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Sonnet: Good Shepherd’s Love
One sheep amongst the hundred, if gets lost,
The Good Shepherd begins to search for it,
Returning when ’tis found at any cost –
Lamb gets His shoulders upon which to sit!
God seeks and saves the lamb that’s gone astray!
He will not rest until lost one is found;
He leaves the ninety-nine behind that day;
He leads them on to newer grazing-ground.
What love, the Shepherd’s heart bears for His sheep!
He tends to every lamb with equal care;
Yet, some decide to take the plunge down steep,
And meet their death, despite His warnings bare.
The Good Shepherd will not forsake one sheep!
No wolves in sheep-skin dare to come or creep.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-7-2008
poem by John Celes
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Disappointments
A Disappointment can be, my friend, a detour by God unto a better end.
When things do not go as planned, you can sometimes see God’s Hand.
Friend, a small inconvenient delay, could be God preparing a better way.
Moving today’s plan into tomorrow, could be saving you grief and sorrow.
Friend, God at times will intervene, to avoid a problem that can’t be seen.
Even though it doesn’t make sense, in God you can have full confidence.
For who had thought by killing Christ, man would enter into Eternal Life.
God’s ways are not ours friend, and God’s thoughts are higher than men.
Friend, God will never lead you astray, no matter what all men may say.
God knows the beginning and the end, and He’ll guide you safely friend.
And you my friend will never lose, when it’s Christ’s lead that you choose.
As Shepherd Christ guides His sheep, from day to day and week to week.
He guards His flock very carefully, from hidden dangers they can not see.
Christ will change your chosen path, and this to avoid any potential wrath.
He faithfully watches all His sheep, when they’re awake and when asleep.
And Christ lovingly cares for His fold, all of His sheep both young and old.
Even though we may choose a plan, God directs the steps of each man.
As The Shepherd He does His part, to guide and direct a wayward heart.
So when you are discouraged friend, remember you don’t know the end,
Or the next step on this journey, as Jesus guides you safely into Eternity.
(Copyright ©03/2005)
A Society of Grazing Sheep
The herd meanders, searching for the green
Pastures that hide past distant mountaintops.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
The herd looks down, ignoring what they've seen.
They're too busy chewing grass to stop.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
The herd wanders only to convene
In the pursuit of inhaling more crops.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
They don't yet realize that hungry eyes
Guide them—that wolves are hiding in disguise.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Intellectuals
Is it so hard for men to stand by themselves,
They must hang on Marx or Christ, or mere Progress?
Clearly it is hard. But these ought to be leaders . . .
Sheep leading sheep, 'The fold, the fold.
Night comes, and the wolves of doubt.' Clearly it is hard.
Yourself, if you had not encountered and loved
Our unkindly all but inhuman God,
Who is very beautiful and too secure to want worshippers,
And includes indeed the sheep with the wolves,
You too might have been looking about for a church.
He includes the flaming stars and pitiable flesh,
And what we call things and what we call nothing.
He is very beautiful. But when these lonely have travelled
Through long thoughts to redeeming despair,
They are tired and cover their eyes; they flock into fold.
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Entrust not your goats nor sheep to the unmarried Shepherd.
This Morning Bird
This morning bird likes to sing
She likes to hear the morning bells ring
This morning bell is nice and clear to me
This morning bird shows no sympathy
This morning bird is very calm
But not calm enough when it
Comes to cruelty and bombs
So be careful and be calm to this morning bird
Because her sounds are the best things u ever heard
poem by Va Rockeya Foy
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Sonnet: God's Warning to Shepherds!
‘My sheep lie scattered and not tended well.
I'll find new shepherds who will do this job;
To ones who failed their duty, ‘twill be hell;
From me, my sheep, no one can ever rob! '
‘Disaster to shepherds who don't take care
Of my loved sheep, who leave my pastures green;
I'll get new shepherds, fearless and will dare,
Preventing sheep, from getting lost from scene! '
‘In prophets, priests, now Godlessness prevails;
They do not preach to people what's God-say;
They tell own versions and their made-up tales,
Deluding people, leading sheep astray! '
‘So, prophesy what comes from Yahweh's mouth.'
The Lord declares, ‘Just speak the Gospel's truth! '
poem by John Celes
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The Shepherd
The shepherd goads his sheep by staff,
And leads them on to pastures green,
Instructing them to watch for wolves
That come in sheep-skin, in their midst!
The shepherd knows each sheep by name,
And calls them sweetly when they stray,
Or when they near the ledge atop
A valley deep or hill-side steep!
The sheep too know their shepherd's call,
And graze on meadows, keeping near;
They know he is their protector,
And will save them at any cost!
How safe it is when shepherd's near!
No sheep can ever lose its way;
The shepherd takes care of the flock,
But cannot bear to see one, lost!
Dedicated to Rev. Fr. Xavier Claudius, Parish Priest,
Holy Family Church, Perundurai, by his beloved parishioners
Copyright by Dr John Celes 31-05-2012
poem by John Celes
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My April Lady
When down the stair at morning
The sunbeams round her float,
Sweet rivulets of laughter
Are bubbling in her throat;
The gladness of her greeting
Is gold without alloy;
And in the morning sunlight
I think her name is Joy.
When in the evening twilight
The quiet book-room lies,
We read the sad old ballads,
While from her hidden eyes
The tears are falling, falling,
That give her heart relief;
And in the evening twilight,
I think her name is Grief.
My little April lady,
Of sunshine and of showers,
She weaves the old spring magic,
And breaks my heart in flowers!
But when her moods are ended,
She nestles like a dove;
Then, by the pain and rapture,
I know her name is Love.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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