Tree and Sky
Let my soul, a shining tree,
Silver branches lift towards thee,
Where on a hallowed winter’s night
The clear-eyed angels may alight.
And if there should be tempests in
My spirit, let them surge like din
Of noble melodies at war;
With fervour of such blades of triumph as are
Flashed in white orisons of saints who go
On shafts of glory to the ecstasies they know.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Related quotes
The First Day of Snow
Snow, is a luxury
In our tropical world
Snow is a fable
Never saw, never touched, never smell
The first day of snow drifting onto a winter wonderland
The first time I felt it, on my face, around me
Boundless joy, wonder, ecstasies
Unreal, beautiful, white
A winter wonderland of ecstasies
Just for me
Silvery icicles, hanging off branches golden like the autumn days fading into winter
Silvery, like fairy tales
Pond of frozen winter clear, ducks swimming chasing their own tails
In ecstasies, in wonder, like a fairytale unfold
Snow, is a luxury
Unreal, beautiful, unbelievably soft
Boundless wonder, boundless joy
A magical world of snowy white
God’s glorious creation
A winter wonderland,
Beautiful beyond measure
Man On The Silver Mountain
I'm a wheel, I'm a wheel
I can roll, I can feel
And you can't stop me turning
Cause I'm the sun, I'm the sun
I can move, I can run
But you'll never stop me burning
Come down with fire
Lift my spirit higher
Someone's screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the day, I'm the day
I can show you the way
And look, I'm right beside you
I'm the night, I'm the night
I'm the dark and the light
With eyes that see inside you
Come down with fire
Lift my spirit higher
Someone's screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the man on the silver mountain
Come down with fire
And lift my spirit higher
Someone's screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
Well, I can help you, you know I can
I'm the man on the silver mountain
I'm the man on the silver mountain
Just look at me and listen
I'm the man, the man, give you my hand
I'm the man on the silver mountain
Come down with fire
And lift your spirit higher
I'm the man on the mountain
The man on the silver mountain
I'm the night, the light
The black and the white
The man on the silver mountain
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man On The Silver Mountain
Im a wheel, Im a wheel
I can roll, I can feel
And you cant stop me turning
cause Im the sun, Im the sun
I can move, I can run
But youll never stop me burning
* come down with fire
Lift my spirit higher
Someones screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
Im the man on the silver mountain
Im the man on the silver mountain
Im the day, Im the day
I can show you the way
And look Im right beside you
Im the night, Im the night
Im the dark and the light
With eyes that see inside you
* x 2
Just look at me and listen
Im the man, the man, give you my hand
Come down with fire
Lift my spirit higher
Im the man on the silver mountain
Im the man on the silver mountain
Im the night the light
The black and the white
The man on the silver mountain
song performed by by Rainbow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beautiful River
And he showed me a pure River of Water of Life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the Throne of God and of the Lamb." -- Rev. xxii. 1
Shall we gather at the river
Where bright angel feet have trod;
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?
CHORUS.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
On the margin of the river,
Washing up its silver spray,
We will walk and worship ever,
All the happy, golden day.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
On the bosom of the river,
Where the Saviour-king we own,
We shall meet, and sorrow never
'Neath the glory of the throne. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
Ere we reach the shining river,
Lay we every burden down;
Grace our spirits will deliver,
And provide a robe and crown. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
At the smiling of the river,
Rippling with the Saviour's face,
Saints, whom death will never sever,
Lift their songs of saving grace. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
Soon we'll reach the shining river,
Soon our pilgrimage will cease,
Soon our happy hearts will quiver
With the melody of peace. Cho.
Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river --
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
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Father of light, and life, and love!
Father of light, and life, and love!
Thyself to us reveal;
As saints below, and saints above,
Thy sacred presence feel.
Not with the eye of mortal sense
By angels round the throne,
Or happy souls departed hence,
Art Thou in glory known.
No sun by day, no moon by night
For this our spirits need;
Who walk by faith, and not by sight,
They feel Thee nigh indeed.
Light in thy light the blind may see,
No more by sin estranged;
Light in the Lord, so let us be
Into thine image changed.
Since Thou Thyself dost still display
Unto the pure in heart,
O make us children of the day
To know Thee as Thou art.
For Thou art light and life and love;
And thy redeemed below
May see Thee as thy saints above,
And know Thee as they know.
poem by James Montgomery
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Preparatory Meditations - First Series: 29
(John. 20:17. My Father, and your Father, to my God, and your God)
My shattered fancy stole away from me
(Wits run a-wooling over Eden's park)
And in God's garden saw a golden tree,
Whose heart was all divine, and gold its bark.
Whose glorious limbs and fruitful branches strong
With saints and angels bright are richly hung.
Thou! Thou! my dear dear Lord, art this rich tree,
The tree of life within God's Paradise.
I am a withered twig, dried fit to be
A chat cast in Thy fire, writh off by vice.
Yet if Thy milk-white gracious hand will take me
And graft me in this golden stock, Thou'lt make me.
Thou'lt make me then its fruit, and branch to spring,
And though a nipping east wind blow, and all
Hell's nymphs with spite their dog's sticks therat ding
To dash the graft off, and its fruits to fall,
Yet I shall stand Thy graft, and fruits that are
Fruits of the tree of life Thy graft shall bear.
I being graft in Thee, there up do stand
In us relations all that mutual are.
I am Thy patient, pupil, servant, and
Thy sister, mother, dove, spouse, son, and heir.
Thou art my priest, physician, prophet, king,
Lord, brother, bridegroom, father, everything.
I being graft in Thee I am grafted here
Into Thy family, and kindred claim
To all in heaven, God, saints, and angels there.
I Thy relations my relations name.
Thy father's mine, Thy God my God, and I
With saints and angels draw affinity.
My Lord, what is it that Thou dost bestow?
The praise on this account fills up, and throngs
Eternity brimful, doth overflow
The heavens vast with rich angelic songs.
How should I blush? How tremble at this thing,
Not having yet my gam-ut learned to sing.
But, Lord, as burnished sunbeams forth out fly,
Let angel-shine forth in my life outflame,
That I may grace Thy graceful family
And not to Thy relations be a shame.
Make me Thy graft, be Thou my golden stock.
Thy glory then I'll make my fruits and crop.
poem by Edward Taylor
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Serenata
The night soaks itself
along the shore of the river
and in Lolita's breasts
the branches die of love.
The branches die of love.
Naked the night sings
above the bridges of March.
Lolita bathes her body
with salt water and roses.
The branches die of love.
The night of anise and silver
shines over the rooftops.
Silver of streams and mirrors
Anise of your white thighs.
The branches die of love.
poem by Federico García Lorca
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On This Last Night Of Winter
On this last night of winter
The memories that come to me
Are ones that I'll surely never forget
This winter of this year
You girls are young
But you're angels
Plain to the eye
Easy to see
But with shining qualities within
You all have been here with me this long winter
And it was truly long believe me
And as such
This will be a winter to remember
Even if it was truly long
Beyond compare
As the weather outside prepares for one final light snowstorm
I pray to the angels above
Keep these girls safe from harm's ways
I pray to the angels above
Guide these little girls safely
I pray to the angels above
Watch over them always
On this last night of winter
The candles have been lit
And been set all around
But yet, I can't help but show I'm crying
Even if I try to hold the tears in
But I can't
Some come to me my little girls
Hug me gently and gingerly
You all might look like orphans
And your lives maybe simple and ordinary
And we all know that this winter is almost over
But you all opened up my heart
And no one can take that away from you all
These precious moments you all give to me
poem by Justin Gildow
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Hark! The Herald Angels Sing
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory, glory to, glory to,
The new born King...
Glory, glory, glory, glory, glory...
Glory to the new born King
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born King
Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled
Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies
With angelic host proclaim, Christ is born in Bethlehem
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born King
Glory, glory, glory, (oh yeah) glory, glory
Glory to the new born King
Glory (glory) glory, (yeah) glory, glory...
Glory...
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory... Glory...
Hail! the heaven-born Prince of Peace; Hail the son of Righteousness
Light and life to all He brings, risen with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by, born that man, no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born...
[Ad Libs]
song performed by by Jessica Simpson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas Roses
White-faced Winter Roses,
O'er the grave I plant you
Where the dead reposes,
That a soul may haunt you,
And your ghostly whiteness
In the Winter gloom,
Seem some spirit-brightness
Shining from the tomb!
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Empty Hands
The root cause lies
in conscious
thought,
for I have distained
to return to you
with empty,
hands unworthy, yet
loyal true love.
Is the greatest gift
greater than all.
Your shining influence
fills the depths of night.
Amazing luminous
clear twinkling stars
invigorating the heavens.
I would give you
the feet of angels
to walk on,
angels’ wings
to ascend on,
their bodies beauty
to dwell on,
my love
to depend on.
If in divine eyes
aspired I to favour
falling on my knees
these gifts would I ask for thee.
In tribute to a spirit
that moves upon the breeze.
May light ever
shine upon your hair
upon the beauty
that you wear.
May sleep grace
your noble tender form
with full glory
to depths you were born.
May sleep’s gentle tendrils
clothe you in peace.
So you awake fresh
to clasp all light you seek.
My one my only
under the sun.
Golden rays shine
from seventh heaven.
For illuminated you
my dearest one.
Upon those blessed beams
your vibrant leaven
is on earth the promised
glimpse of heaven.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Jazzonia
Oh, silver tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
In a Harlem cabaret
Six long-headed jazzers play.
A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
Lifts high a dress of silken gold.
Oh, singing tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
Were Eve's eyes
In the first garden
Just a bit too bold?
Was Cleopatra gorgeous
In a gown of gold?
Oh, shining tree!
Oh, silver rivers of the soul!
In a whirling cabaret
Six long-headed jazzers play.
poem by Langston Hughes
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Psalm 34 part 1
God's care of the saints; or, Deliverance by prayer.
Lord, I will bless thee all my days,
Thy praise shall dwell upon my tongue
My soul shall glory in thy grace,
While saints rejoice to hear the song.
Come, magnify the Lord with me,
Come, let us all exalt his name;
I sought th' eternal God, and he
Has not exposed my hope to shame.
I told him all my secret grief,
My secret groaning reached his ears;
He gave my inward pains relief;
And calmed the tumult of my fears.
To him the poor lift up their eyes,
Their faces feel the heav'nly shine;
A beam of mercy from the skies
Fills them with light and joy divine.
His holy angels pitch their tents
Around the men that serve the Lord;
O fear and love him, all his saints,
Taste of his grace, and trust his word.
The wild young lions, pinched with pain
And hunger, roar through all the wood;
But none shall seek the Lord in vain,
Nor want supplies of real good.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Preparatory Meditations - Second Series: 143
(Canticles 6:10. Who is She that Looks Forth as the Morning,
Fair as the Moon, Clear as the Sun, Terrible as an Army with Banners)
Wonders amazed! Am I espoused to Thee?
My glorious Lord? What! Shall my bit of clay
Be made more bright than brightest angels be,
Look forth like as the morning every way?
And shall my lump of dirts wear such attire?
Rise up in heavenly ornaments thus, higher?
But still the wonders stand, shall I look like
The glorious morning that doth gild the sky
With golden beams that make all day grow light,
And view the world o'er with its golden eye?
And shall I rise like fair as the fair moon,
And bright as in the sun, that lights each room?
When we behold a piece of China clay
Formed up into a China dish complete,
All spiced o'er with gold sparks display
Their beauty all under a glass robe neat,
We gaze thereat, and wonder rise up will,
Wond'ring to see the Chinese art and skill.
How then should we and angels but admire
Thy skill and vessel Thou hast made bright thus
Out for to look like to the morning tire
That shineth out in all bright heavenly plush?
Whose golden beams all varnish o'er the skies
And gild our canopy in golden wise?
Wonders are nonplussed to behold Thy spouse
Look forth like to the morning whose sweet rays
Gild o'er our skies as with transparent boughs
Like orient gold of a celestial blaze.
Fair as the moon, bright as the sun, most clear,
Gilding with spiritual gold grace's bright sphere.
O blessed! Virgin spouse, shall thy sharp looks
Gild o'er the objects of thy shining eyes
Like fairest moon and brightest sun do th' fruits
Even as that make the morning shining rise?
The fairest moon in 'ts socket's candle-light
Unto the night and th' sun's day's candle bright.
Thy spouse's robes all made of spiritual silk
Of th' web wove in the heaven's bright loom indeed,
By the Holy Spirit's hand more white than milk
And fitted to attire thy soul that needs.
As th' morning bright's made of the sun's bright rays,
So th' Spirit's web thy soul's rich loom o'erlays.
Oh! Spouse adorned like the morning clear,
Chasing the night out from its hemisphere.
And like the fair face of the moon, whose cheer
Is very brave and like the bright sun 'pear,
Thus gloriously fitted in brightest story
Of grace espoused to be the king of glory.
And thus decked up methinks my ear attends
Kings', queens' and ladies' query, 'Who is this?
Enravished at her sight, how she out sends
Her looks like to the morning filled with bliss,
Fair as the moon, clear as the sun in 'ts costs
And terrible as is a bannered host?'
And all in grace's colors thus bedight,
That do transcend with glory's shine the sun
And moon for fairness and for glorious light,
As doth the sun a glowworm's shine outrun.
No wonder then and if the Bridesgroom say,
'Thou art all fair, my Love, Yea, everyway.'
May I a member be, my Lord, once made
Here of Thy spouse in truest sense, though it be
The meanest of all, a toe, or finger 'rayd,
I'st have enough bliss, espoused to Thee.
Then I in brightest glory ere 't be long
Will honor Thee singing that wedden song.
poem by Edward Taylor
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Partnership
Yes, you have it; I can see.
Beautiful?… Dear, look at me!
Look and let my shame confess
Triumph after weariness.
Beautiful? Ah, yes.
Lift it where the beams are bright;
Hold it where the western light,
Shining in above my bed,
Throws a glory on your head.
Now it is all said.
All there was for me to say
From the first until to-day.
Long denied and long deferred,
Now I say it in one word—
Now; and you have heard.
Life would have its way with us,
And I’ve called it glorious:
For I know the glory now
And I read it on your brow.
You have shown me how.
I can feel your cheeks all wet,
But your eyes will not forget:
In the frown you cannot hide
I can read where faith and pride
Are not satisfied.
But the word was, two should live:
Two should suffer—and forgive:
By the steep and weary way,
For the glory of the clay,
Two should have their day.
We have toiled and we have wept
For the gift the gods have kept:
Clashing and unreconciled
When we might as well have smiled,
We have played the child.
But the clashing is all past,
And the gift is yours at last.
Lift it—hold it high again!…
Did I doubt you now and then?
Well, we are not men.
Never mind; we know the way,—
And I do not need to stay.
Let us have it well confessed:
You to triumph, I to rest.
That will be the best.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Of Thee I Sing
From the island of manhattan to the coast of gold
From north to south, from east to west
You are the love, i love the best
You're the dreamboat in the sweetest story ever told
A dream i sought, both night and day
For years through all, the u.s.a.
The star i hitched my wagon to
Is very obviously you
Of thee i sing, baby
Summer, autumn, winter, spring, baby.
You're my silver lining,
You're my sky of blue
There's a lovelight shining
Just because of you.
Of thee i sing, baby,
You have got that certain thing, baby
Shining star and inspiration
Worthy of a mighty nation,
Of thee i sing.
Of thee i sing, baby,
You have got that certain thing, baby
Shining star and inspiration
Worthy of a mighty nation,
Of thee i sing.
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bright be the place of thy soul
I
Bright be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;
And our sorrow may cease to repine
When we know that thy God is with thee.
When we know that thy God is with thee.
Bright be the place of thy soul,
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
II
Light be the turf of thy tomb!
May its verdure like emeralds be!
There should not be the shadow of gloom,
In ought that reminds us of thee.
Young flow'rs and an evergreen tree,
May grow o'er the spot of thy rest.
But nor cypress nor Yew let us see,
For why should we mourn for the blest?
For why should we mourn for the blest?
Bright be the place of thy soul,
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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How Severe Is The Winter There
what a severe winter
wild..white...cold and frozen
my slum childhood is oozing
from the roofs and fringes
and from the frozen ice sticks
hanging down
how severe is the winter
let the children play snowball
make snow statues and snowman
and put a carrot in his nose
and hide and seek
and pray never get sick
let the sky be all blue
where all the birds and white gulls fly
smoothly..happı ly..singingly
let all the birds perch
on the branches of a big tree
in the greenery..peacefully
what a sea
clear anad clean and indigo
let life go
let her open her bosom as her name
to the white sails and undying living joys
what a tree
let it be ever green
yı elding fruı ts for all
what a world
let peace overhelm
where everybody find asylum and sanctuary
there
live happily and in harmony
poem by Metin Sahin
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Dance Figure
Dark-eyed,
O woman of my dreams,
Ivory sandalled,
There is none like thee among the dancers,
None with swift feet.
I have not found thee in the tents,
In the broken darkness.
I have not found thee at the well-head
Among the women with pitchers.
Thine arms are as a young sapling under the bark;
Thy face as a river with lights.
White as an almond are thy shoulders;
As new almonds stripped from the husk.
They guard thee not with eunuchs;
Not with bars of copper.
Gilt turquoise and silver are in the place of thy rest.
A brown robe, with threads of gold woven in
patterns, hast thou gathered about thee,
O Nathat-Ikanaie, 'Tree-at-the-river'.
As a rillet among the sedge are thy hands upon me;
Thy fingers a frosted stream.
Thy maidens are white like pebbles;
Their music about thee!
There is none like thee among the dancers;
None with swift feet.
poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hymn 37
Christ's intercession.
Lift up your eyes to th' heav'nly seats
Where your Redeemer stays;
Kind Intercessor, there he sits,
And loves, and pleads, and prays.
'Twas well, my soul, he died for thee,
And shed his vital blood;
Appeased stern justice on the tree,
And then arose to God.
Petitions now, and praise may rise,
And saints their off'rings bring;
The Priest, with his own sacrifice,
Presents them to the King.
[Let papists trust what names they please,
Their saints and angels boast;
We've no such advocates as these,
Nor pray to th' heav'nly host.]
Jesus alone shall bear my cries
Up to his Father's throne;
He, dearest Lord! perfumes my sighs,
And sweetens every groan.
[Ten thousand praises to the King,
"Hosannah in the highest!"
Ten thousand thanks our spirits bring
To God and to his Christ.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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