As Lords Their Labourers' Hire Delay
As lords their labourers' hire delay,
Fate quits our toil with hopes to come,
Which, if far short of present pay,
Still, owns a debt and names a sum.
Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then,
Although a distant date be given;
Despair is treason towards man,
And blasphemy to Heaven.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Related quotes
You May Feel Despondent
You may feel despondent and wish you were dead
But don't quit on life's battle good days are ahead
Financially embarrassed at the present maybe
But your luck will change you'll know prosperity
Do not quit on life's battle though of hope you despair
And the going may be tough but you should hang in there
You may feel your chances of success are gone
But do not quit now when life's battle is on,
Buy a lotto ticket your luck may be in
And a huge first division jackpot you even may win
Of life you may despair but to hope you must cling
And who knows tomorrow good tidings may bring
Though down on your luck people like you not rare
Why quit life though your cross seems heavy to bear.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Present fair
Stygian waters can wait
before early becomes too late.
Love in our souls can cure
whatever is sorrowful and pure.
And if you reach out a hand
I 'll be told by a heaven's band.
Music plays inside my soul
counts my past and present role;
live it, says, it's not despair,
welcome to my present fair;
listen cause that isn't despair,
welcome to my present fair.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Upon Young Mr. Rogers, of Gloucestershire
Of gentle blood, his parents' only treasure,
Their lasting sorrow, and their vanished pleasure,
Adorned with features, virtues, wit, and grace,
A large provision for so short a race:
More moderate gifts might have prolonged his date,
Too early fitted for a better state:
But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay,
He leaped o'er age, and took the shortest way.
poem by John Dryden
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But Don't Despair
Despair, if you must –
But how's it going to pull you through?
Despair, when you trust
Naught since then there's naught to do.
Despair, should you thrust
Aside your pride, your self-esteem.
And so despair, if it's dust,
The only substance that you deem.
Despair, when a gust
Of slightly breeze can break your stance.
And do despair, when lust
Is your interpretation of romance.
But don't despair, if you can care
About the plight of any other being.
And you can focus on the help,
Support, and altruistic further actions
For the seeing. Be believing,
As despair will start receding
All around – simply since you found
A way to steer you clear
From this: the very cause of your despair!
So give to others; give them all a helping lift:
Despair, you'll find will disappear –
And that has got to be a well-deserved
And saintly gift!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Rain of despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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My Own Names
My names are fed to the choir,
The choristers will lose our space
For the instruction.
The names of our fore-fathers are inscribed
In our hearts, in those hearts is heat.
The pen is sold to the buyer of blasphemy,
He swears against the names I own.
My own job has a penny or two away
From becoming a solid command.
The commands are total and complete,
Fair and happening to the whole choir.
Names will sort out fancy and medicine.
poem by Naveed Akram
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An Apology To The Earl Of Orrery
Not Persia's Monarch could, unmov'd, survey
Those num'rous Hosts, which Time must sweep away:
He wept Misfortunes of a distant Date;
I mourn the Rigour of my instant Fate:
The dreaded Hour approaching fast I see,
When you, alas! will all be dead to me.
Then cease to wonder, if my Bosom rise,
And Tears, unbidden, rush into my Eyes;
'Tis thus, and only thus, a grateful Breast
Pours out those Thanks, which cannot be express'd:
For, O Hibernia! when I quit thy Coast,
Such Friends I leave, as few could ever boast.
poem by Mary Barber
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Sonnet III
Did I not weep for him that was in pain!
Was not my hand still open to distress!
When did my harden'd heart the weak oppress,
Or Misery tell her plaintive tale in vain!
Did ever crime this bleeding bosom stain,
Or injured sufferer claim unpaid redress!
Envy, or hate, or pride, my soul possess;
O wounded truth of broken laws complain!
Fate to my humble hopes one blessing gave,
And no new gift my grateful breast required;
"O Heaven! The object of my love but save!"
Was the sole boon my pious prayers desired:
Why then has angry Heaven, atone dire blow,
For ever laid my sorrowing head so low?
poem by Brooke Boothby
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From the Hymn of Empedocles
IS it so small a thing
To have enjoy'd the sun,
To have lived light in the spring,
To have loved, to have thought, to have done;
To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes;
That we must feign a bliss
Of doubtful future date,
And while we dream on this
Lose all our present state,
And relegate to worlds yet distant our repose?
Not much, I know, you prize
What pleasures may be had,
Who look on life with eyes
Estranged, like mine, and sad:
And yet the village churl feels the truth more than you;
Who 's loth to leave this life
Which to him little yields:
His hard-task'd sunburnt wife,
His often-labour'd fields;
The boors with whom he talk'd, the country spots he knew.
But thou, because thou hear'st
Men scoff at Heaven and Fate;
Because the gods thou fear'st
Fail to make blest thy state,
Tremblest, and wilt not dare to trust the joys there are.
I say, Fear not! life still
Leaves human effort scope.
But, since life teems with ill,
Nurse no extravagant hope.
Because thou must not dream, thou need'st not then despair.
poem by Matthew Arnold
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Hymn For The Fair At Chicago
O GOD! in danger's darkest hour,
In battle's deadliest field,
Thy name has been our Nation's tower,
Thy truth her help and shield.
Our lips should fill the air with praise,
Nor pay the debt we owe,
So high above the songs we raise
The floods of mercy flow.
Yet Thou wilt hear the prayer we speak,
The song of praise we sing,--
Thy children, who thine altar seek
Their grateful gifts to bring.
Thine altar is the sufferer's bed,
The home of woe and pain,
The soldier's turfy pillow, red
With battle's crimson rain.
No smoke of burning stains the air,
No incense-clouds arise;
Thy peaceful servants, Lord, prepare
A bloodless sacrifice.
Lo! for our wounded brothers' need,
We bear the wine and oil;
For us they faint, for us they bleed,
For them our gracious toil!
O Father, bless the gifts we bring!
Cause Thou thy face to shine,
Till every nation owns her King,
And all the earth is thine.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Heaven Knows
Writers: leo sayer & alan tarney
Nowadays they want a soldier fighter
Not a preacher writer or a mystery man
Somebody told me that the futures brighter
Make tomorrow lighter put it in your hands
But I dont wanna cry anymore
Try anymore -- die anymore
Heaven knows Im impatient
I cant control these hands of fate
Heaven knows Im still waiting
Are they too soon or am I too late
Oh is that so
Only heaven knows
Well I wanna know
Tell me is that so
Only heaven knows
Heaven only knows
Here come the romeos the brave I told you sos
The travelling g.i. joes with come on lines
Here come the great defenders
Wh think they can befriend us
Why do we all pretend to know these guys
Well I dont wanna wait anymore
Be late anymore -- hate anymore
Heaven knows Im impatient
I cant control these hands of fate
Heaven knows Im still waiting
Are they too soon or am I too late
Oh is that so
Only heaven knows
Well I wanna know
Tell me is that so
Only heaven knows
Heaven only knows
What a strange design
Its a planet out of time
Someone tell me why
Is the world like that
Oh heaven knows
I said oh heaven knows
Heaven knows Im impatient
I cant control these hands of fate
Heaven knows Im still waiting
Are they too soon or am I too late
You resign yourself to a simple fate
To live your life by the sell by date
Haul yourself up the same old hill
Watch the world from your windowsill
We always want what we cant afford
So we listen out for the missing chord
The chord is there and its in your mind
So why do you make it so hard to find
song performed by by Leo Sayer
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Original Wrapper
The last shot should've killed me
Pour another drink
Let's drink to the last shot
And the blood on the dishes in the sink
Blood inside the coffee cup
Blood on the table top
When you quit, you quit
But you always wish
You knew it was your last shot
But when you quit, you quit
But you always wish
You knew it was your last shot
I shot blood at the fly on the wall
My heart almost stopped
Hardly there at all
I broke the mirror with my fall
With my fall - fall - fall
Fall - fall - fall
Gimme a double
Give yourself one too
Gimme a short beer
One for you too
And a toast to everything that doesn't move
That doesn't move
But when you quit, you quit
But you always wish
You knew it was your last shot
When you quit, you quit
But you always wish
You knew it was your last shot
Whiskey, bourbon, vodka and scotch
I don't care what it is you've got
I just want to know that it's my last shot
My last shot
I remember when I quit pretty good
See this here's where I chipped my tooth
I shot a vein in my neck and I coughed up a quaalude
On my last shot
My last shot
But when you quit, you quit
But you always wish
You knew it was your last shot
When you quit, you quit
But you always wish
You knew it was your last shot
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who quits does not win, he who wins does not quit.
The Definition Of Love
My Love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis for object strange and high:
It was begotten by despair
Upon Impossibility.
Magnanimous Despair alone.
Could show me so divine a thing,
Where feeble Hope could ne'r have flown
But vainly flapt its Tinsel Wing.
And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended Soul is fixt,
But Fate does Iron wedges drive,
And alwaies crouds it self betwixt.
For Fate with jealous Eye does see.
Two perfect Loves; nor lets them close:
Their union would her ruine be,
And her Tyrannick pow'r depose.
And therefore her Decrees of Steel
Us as the distant Poles have plac'd,
(Though Loves whole World on us doth wheel)
Not by themselves to be embrac'd.
Unless the giddy Heaven fall,
And Earth some new Convulsion tear;
And, us to joyn, the World should all
Be cramp'd into a Planisphere.
As Lines so Loves Oblique may well
Themselves in every Angle greet:
But ours so truly Paralel,
Though infinite can never meet.
Therefore the Love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debarrs,
Is the Conjunction of the Mind,
And Opposition of the Stars.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Book Of Contemplation - Five Things
WHAT makes time short to me?
Activity!
What makes it long and spiritless?
'Tis idleness!
What brings us to debt?
To delay and forget!
What makes us succeed?
Decision with speed
How to fame to ascend?
Oneself to defend!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Writing Is Never A Race
writing is never a race
no one minds who wins and loses
a true writer does not mind if there are laurels on his mind.
one writes because there is something inside you that blooms
and wilts and dies and grows
some seeds without names yet
some leaves serrated and veins protruding like pathways
to your sorrows and pains and joys and bliss
comets carrying their own tails, stars exploding in their own energies,
suns keeping themselves at the centers of their universes,
snakes molting on their seasons, cocoons turning into butterflies.
writing is a round ring without an end
no one quits, no one can, and if you say you quit,
you only quit for a day, for tomorrow when you wake up
your hands start to miss the keys again
your tongue filled with words, your heart filled with emotions
and there is no one in your house who can listen.
writing is such a bad neighbor. It is aloof and never thinks what others
think of him. It is self-sustaining and survives and thrives on its own.
Like the light of the sun, it never fails to shine. I mean, this inspiration to write.
It does not quit. It does not quench itself with all the waters of this world.
It is this insatiability that takes us all here.
It is this human nature with its incomplete divinity that keeps us writing.
it is this boat that sails towards infinity that keeps me always waiting.
I write because I am.
Quit and you lose the essence of your being.
I am telling you, when you quit, you accept the judgment of death.
The penalty is banishment.
I heard. Total annihilation.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXXII
EXHORTING HER TO PATIENCE
Why do we fret at the inconstancy
Of our frail hearts, which cannot always love?
Time rushes onward, and we mortals move
Like waifs upon a river, neither free
To halt nor hurry. Sweet, if destiny
Throws us together for an hour, a day,
In the back--water of this quiet bay,
Let us rejoice. Before us lies the sea,
Where we must all be lost in spite of love.
We dare not stop to question. Happiness
Lies in our hand unsought, a treasure trove.
Time has short patience of man's vain distress;
And fate grows angry at too long delay;
And floods rise fast, and we are swept away.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Imitation of The Olden Poets
Time is a taper waning fast!
Use it, man, well whilst it doth last:
Lest burning downwards it consume away,
Before thou hast commenced the labour of the day.
Time is a pardon of a goodly soil!
Plenty shall crown thine honest toil:
But if uncultivated, rankest weeds
Shall choke the efforts of the rising seeds.
Time is a leasehold of uncertain date!
Granted to thee by everlasting fate.
Neglect not thou, ere thy short term expire,
To save thy soul from ever-burning fire.
poem by Edward Lear
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If you have a lot of short-term debt, it means that all of that money can be demanded in a very short period of time. Technically, short-term debt means money that's coming due within a year. Typically, it means money that's coming due within 30 to 90 days.
quote by Jeffrey Sachs
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Despair Of The Early Morning
DESPAIR OF THE EARLY MORNING
Despair of the early morning
Despair of the darkness
Despair of the Despair
Despair of Old Age
Despair of the road closed
Despair of nothing to do
Despair of nowhere to go
Despair of endless errands
Despair of money running out
Despair of the message of Despair
One transmits to those one loves.
Despair that has to be resisted
Despair that the light of the day
Will help me overcome
Despair I will pray my way out of
Despair I will in the course of the day
Sometime overcome.
Not the great Despair
The unending Despair
The final Despair.
The small Despair of who I am and where I am now.
The Despair that still can be resisted,
By the writing of a few awkward lines
Early in the morning.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Human Frailty
Weak and irresolute is man;
The purpose of to-day,
Woven with pains into his plan,
To-morrow rends away.
The bow well bent, and smart the spring,
Vice seems already slain;
But passion rudely snaps the string,
And it revives again.
Some foe to his upright intent
Finds out his weaker part;
Virtue engages his assent,
But Pleasure wins his heart.
‘Tis here the folly of the wise
Through all his art we view;
And, while his tongue the charge denies,
His conscience owns it true.
Bound on a voyage of awful length
And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,
Man vainly trusts his own.
But oars alone can ne’er prevail
To reach the distant coast;
The breath of Heaven must swell the sail,
Or all the toil is lost.
poem by William Cowper
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