The Peaks
In the night
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
And the peaks looked toward God alone.
'O Master that movest the wind with a finger,
Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
Grant that we may run swiftly across the world
To huddle in worship at Thy feet.'
In the morning
A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles,
And the little black cities were apparent.
'O Master that knowest the meaning of raindrops,
Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,
That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun.'
In the evening
The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights.
'O Master,
Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds,
Thou hast made us humble, idle futile peaks.
Thou only needest eternal patience;
We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord -
Humble, idle, futile peaks.'
In the night
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
And the peaks looked toward God alone.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Related quotes
In the night
In the night
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
And the peaks looked toward God alone.
"O Master that movest the wind with a finger,
Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
Grant that we may run swiftly across the world
To huddle in worship at Thy feet."
In the morning
A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles,
And the little black cities were apparent.
"O Master that knowest the meaning of raindrops,
Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,
That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun."
In the evening
The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights.
"O Master,
Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds,
Thou hast made us humble, idle futile peaks.
Thou only needest eternal patience;
We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord --
Humble, idle, futile peaks."
In the night
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
And the peaks looked toward God alone.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Futile
assimilate the night
they cut into your brain
they crack apart the skull
and stick the wires in
the computer releationship
a flame into the flesh
a cut into the brain
a cut runs in your face
you can't believe your head
you can't believe your eyes
nobody can escape
the futile assesment
the futile assesment
oh, futile
we're futile
futile
you're futile
futile religion
futile expression
your futile aggression
a futile obsession
oh, futile assasination
you'll faulter
your generation
your immoral futile assimilation
expressionation
annihilation
song performed by by Velvet Acid Christ
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life is supposed to be a series of peaks and valleys. The secret is to keep the valleys from becoming Grand Canyons.
quote by Bern Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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More Peaks to Find
I've seen those peaks pass,
As I climbed.
Looking back and feeling fantastic.
To breathe deep the fresh air.
And being aware of accomplishments,
Wished.
'I have done this! '
I can now say it.
I have dreamt that I could.
And did.
What has been desired in my heart...
Has been done.
But I can not rest.
I know my best,
Has not yet come.
I take a deeper breath.
Wasting no time to take more steps.
Continuing to climb I do.
With achieving on my mind!
And knowing there would be more peaks to climb!
More peaks to find and leave behind.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lord, You Are
Lord, You are my strength,
whenever I’m completely weak.
You are the spiritual delight
in Whom I only seek.
Lord, You are my morning light
that’s shining above the mountain peaks.
You are my hungering desire –
For each day of every week.
Lord, You are my vigilant Father
over earthly trials through which I eke.
Please keep me mindful of Your Word,
so my attitude remains... humble and meek.
poem by Joseph James Breunig 3rd
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That Is What A Kept Faith Does
After one has become accustomed,
To experience repeated attempts to reach peaks...
From cloud covered and mist strewn valleys,
Of course there is going to be some bragging...
When that brightness of a peak is reached.
Regardless of one's scars and bruised knees.
Or the pettiness of distant voices heard.
One's repeated attempts to reach peaks,
Develops a capability...
To even ignore pain.
That is what a kept faith does!
Especially if one is devoted and focused,
To accomplish heights,
That appear to beckon those who dare.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Helderberg Hill (Sestina)
You are the high hill with numerous peaks,
that in summer looks magnificent and cheery,
where I have climbed up to waterfalls, to heights,
where I got a view of sun, beach and sea,
felt as if in presence of God, with tranquillity
with your moods you remind me of a lady.
Once I wandered with a young lady
on a twisting trail among your high peaks
to find some inner peace, some tranquillity
and she was quite happy and rather cheery
gazing up at the blue sky, down at the sea
from both of those dazing heights.
Climbing up to the sheer heights
was like exploring the body of a lady
as if finding a secret kind of sea
with beautiful rising pointed peaks
and the experience was quite cheery,
suddenly leaving an own tranquillity.
My privacy is invaded by her tranquillity
as from far I still do watch her heights
and although feeling rather cheery
there is danger in this lovely lady
that beacons me with her high peaks
to look upon an endless open sea.
I long to gaze out upon the sea,
to be with her in tranquillity,
to wander among her peaks,
to again explore her heights
as if to visit a dear kind old lady
but I wonder if I will find her cheery?
But I must now continually stay cheery,
keep far away from the troubled sea,
avoid all of the dangerous heights
of live to be able to find tranquillity
but still the beautiful ageless lady
is luring me continually with her peaks.
How glimmering and cheery with ice her peaks
high above the sea, do glow from their heights,
she is without tranquillity, a chilly frozen lady.
poem by Gert Strydom
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As you go through life, you've got to see the valleys as well as the peaks.
quote by Neil Young
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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You go through life in a series of peaks and valleys.
quote by Gloria Grahame
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's been a career filled with very low valleys and some wonderful, high peaks.
quote by Pat Morita
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's been a career filled with very low valleys and some wonderful, high peaks.
quote by Pat Morita
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Waves
I saw a tiny God
Sitting
Under a bright blue umbrella
That had white tassels
And forked ribs of gold.
Below him His little world
Lay open to the sun.
The shadow of His hat
Lay upon a city.
When he stretched forth His hand
A lake became a dark tremble.
When he kicked up His foot
It became night in the mountain passes.
But thou art small!
There are gods far greater than thou.
They rise and fall,
The tumbling gods of the sea.
Can thy heart heave such sighs,
Such hollow savage cries,
Such windy breath,
Such groaning death?
And can thy arm enfold
The old,
The cold,
The changeless dreadful places
Where the herds
Of horned sea-monsters
And the screaming birds
Gather together?
From those silent men
That lie in the pen
Of our pearly prisons,
Canst thou hunt thy prey?
Like us canst thou stay
Awaiting thine hour,
And then rise like a tower
And crash and shatter?
There are neither trees nor bushes
In my country,
Said the tiny God.
But there are streams
And waterfalls
And mountain-peaks
Covered with lovely weed.
There are little shores and safe harbours,
Caves for cool and plains for sun and wind.
Lovely is the sound of the rivers,
Lovely the flashing brightness
Of the lovely peaks.
I am content.
But Thy kingdom is small,
Said the God of the Sea.
Thy kingdom shall fall;
I shall not let thee be.
Thou art proud!
With a loud
Pealing of laughter,
He rose and covered
The tiny God's land
With the tip of his hand,
With the curl of his fingers:
And after--
The tiny God
Began to cry
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Every season has its peaks and valleys. What you have to try to do is eliminate the Grand Canyon.
quote by Andy Van Slyke
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart Attack (a Sestina)
What angelic chorals sing?
These messengers of heaven
Whose words are none of earth
Rising like mists amid the mountains
Rolling down to pastoral valleys
Stirring my fragile heart
My sullen, throbbing heart
Mumbling, for it can't quite sing
Its beat more full of valleys
Than peaks toward heaven
I miss those tracings in the shape of mountains
Which anchor me to this earth
Sweet, sweet earth
How you fill my heart!
Your noble, snowy mountains
Rising proudly to sing
At the feet of heaven
I long to see your valleys
To lay again in flowered valleys
Smelling the rich, black earth
Of my own personal heaven
Heal you traitorous heart!
I long to shout, to sing
Echoing from the mountains
Where are my mountains?
My rolling valleys?
The monitor, its dirge to sing
Strengthening my tether to earth
Even as my woefully tired heart
Slips to heaven
To forestall heaven
I labor to move mountains
As a constellation of disks record my heart
Etching flat valleys
Confirming i am still of this earth
With only a beep to mournfully sing
Each lull-to heaven, then up from the valleys
Drawn back to mountains and earth
As I wait for my heart to once again sing
poem by John Christensen
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Lost Time
On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time.
But it is never lost, my lord.
Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.
Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts,
buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.
I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed
and imagined all work had ceased.
In the morning I woke up
and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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There are peaks and valleys in anything and that is especially true for the music business. It is very inconsistent. But if you are wise, you can let those downs really bring you to another level of your personality.
quote by Bryan White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Sheet Of Shroud
A vast amphitheatre
Of snow extends beyond the sight,
Peaks behind peaks stretch
To the skyline, only unsullied
Whiteness is visible, as if
Bodies of mountains and hills,
Have swathed themselves,
Into a huge sheet of shroud.
Silences overflow in the region,
The birds and animals
Of the summer, have migrated
To the warmer side of the globe,
Before the chilly winds
Have wrapped the valley.
No song of a nightingale
Or a cuckoo is heard;
Except swish of the wind,
When it passes through
A narrow gorge or rumbles
Of the tumbling icebergs,
When they break and go
Tumbling down and crash
With muffled grumbles
In the bottom, or seldom
Bilateral tut-tut, tut-tut
Of machine guns,
Pointed at the rival troops
By the soldiers in icy trenches,
Or a shriek when someone
Is killed on either side.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Humble People
Humble people
We both are
We are humble people
We are happy
We have someone that is watching out for us
Humble people
Are much happier than those who have too much
Humble people have little but they are happy
Humble people are rich in spirit
Humble people have more friends
Than those that are rich
We are not so materialistic either
Humble people
Like to enjoy other humble people also
That is the kind of people they mix with
Humble people don’t wear any expensive clothes
Humble people are good Christians
Humble people are hungry for the word of the Lord
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Those Secrets Kept and Untold By Disrespected Trees
I can not afford to look over my shoulder.
Or sit to allow age,
To slow the pace of steps I take.
Too much has to be expressed.
And my mind has long been satisfied,
By the distraction of entertaining temptations.
Clear are the peaks and valleys I've seen.
Now I live to learn about those secrets kept,
And untold by disrespected trees.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Mountain Like A Lion
Windsor Seep was dry and covered
with pine cones and dirt; on hands and knees
I could never have extracted water
there for my barren tongue to lap.
The saddle, with deer plentiful
as pests, huddles my tent and me;
where I saw the spinning stars
against the towering twin peaks.
My boots were wired to my feet,
kicked by rocks and prickly pear,
whose fruit I'd had to eat
for the juice bound by a thousand neddles there.
Then, another night.
The winds of autumn howled down the peaks
like javelinas,
yet the mountain itself was a lion,
Looking me between the eyes,
then pouncing.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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