Related quotes: I'll not confer with Sorrow...

I'll Not Confer With Sorrow

I'll not confer with Sorrow
Till to-morrow;
But Joy shall have her way
This very day.

Ho, eglantine and cresses
For her tresses!--
Let Care, the beggar, wait
Outside the gate.

Tears if you will--but after
Mirth and laughter;
Then, folded hands on breast
And endless rest.

poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Related quotes

Song - Wait But A Little While

WAIT but a little while—
The bird will bring
A heart in tune for melodies
Unto the spring,
Till he who ’s in the cedar there
Is moved to trill a song so rare,
And pipe her fair.

Wait but a little while—
The bud will break;
The inner rose will open and glow
For summer’s sake;
Fond bees will lodge within her breast
Till she herself is plucked and prest
Where I would rest.

Wait but a little while—
The maid will grow
Gracious with lips and hands to thee,
With breast of snow.
To-day Love ’s mute, but time hath sown
A soul in her to match thine own,
Though yet ungrown.

poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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When a Merry Maiden Marries

When a merry maiden marries,
Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
Every sound becomes a song,
All is right and nothing's wrong!
From to-day and ever after
Let your tears be tears of laughter -
Every sigh that finds a vent
Be a sigh of sweet content!
When you marry merry maiden,
Then the air with love is laden;
Every flower is a rose,
Every goose becomes a swan,
Every kind of trouble goes
Where the last year's snows have gone;
Sunlight takes the place of shade
When you marry merry maid!

When a merry maiden marries
Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
Every sound becomes a song,
All is right, and nothing's wrong.
Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow,
Get ye gone until to-morrow;
Jealousies in grim array,
Ye are things of yesterday!
When you marry merry maiden,
Then the air with joy is laden;
All the corners of the earth
Ring with music sweetly played,
Worry is melodious mirth,
Grief is joy in masquerade;
Sullen night is laughing day -
All the year is merry May!

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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My Hands Are Folded

my hands are folded in supplication
I need your help, i need to relax
i need calm, rest, light, peace
courage, forgiveness

my hands are folded
i bow down to my only Saviour
my anchor of safety
my harbor of protection
my heaven of peace

my eyes look up to you
with confidence, with hope
i come as one sick
to his physician
as one poor and needy
to the Lord of heaven and earth

grant that i may see you
in all things
in good and ill health
in joy as in sorrow

grant me oh Lord
the grace to accept with patience
the monotony of daily tasks
to embrace with resignation
the fatigue and exhaustion
of days too long and too full
for my physical strength

grant me the ability to be relaxed
and be calm in the thought of your love
to find rest in the assurance
that you are with me
always and forever...Amen

poem by Meggie Gultiano
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To emma abbott

There--let thy hands be folded
Awhile in sleep's repose;
The patient hands that wearied not,
But earnestly and nobly wrought
In charity and faith;
And let thy dear eyes close--
The eyes that looked alway to God,
Nor quailed beneath the chastening rod
Of sorrow;
Fold thou thy hands and eyes
For just a little while,
And with a smile
Dream of the morrow.

And, O white voiceless flower,
The dream which thou shalt dream
Should be a glimpse of heavenly things,
For yonder like a seraph sings
The sweetness of a life
With faith alway its theme;
While speedeth from those realms above
The messenger of that dear love
That healeth sorrow.
So sleep a little while,
For thou shalt wake and sing
Before thy King
When cometh the morrow.

poem by Eugene Field
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What be I be Tomorrow?

What be I be Tomorrow?
By: Adam M. Snow

Nae be I a wonder sorrow.
What be I be tomorrow?
Nae be I a dreamer of dreams;
What of the world, but life it seems.
Heart-wrung tears of perpetual sorrow,
Bringing forth an endless morrow.
To speak, but have no voice;
To live, but not by choice;
To see, but have no sight;
To love and to fight.
In heart-wrung tears of sorrow,
What be I be tomorrow?

poem by Adam M. Snow
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Tears & Sorrow = Denver 2012

TEARS

Tears are the raindrops of the soul
And there's one for all who die.
They are the silent words of grief
As they fall free from the eye.

The shortest verse in the Bible
Is the one where Jesus wept
So, if you hold back tears, shed them
When your pain is too harsh to accept.

Tears are lovelier than a smile
When they come from those you love
As they seek relief from sadness
When you're summoned from above.

Tears are a love-mates humble gift
When it's time to say goodbye
Though the eyes are wet and swollen
With time and patience they dry.

SORROW

Sorrow is better than laughter
For by grieving, we're improved.
Blessed be all who morn
Till from sadness they're removed.

After death our souls shall fly
Perhaps from star to star
Reaching our destination
To find Heaven's gate ajar.

God made us able to cry
Sorrow teaches us to fear
Those days we're selfish and cruel
When life is so short and dear.

Time wipes tears from all faces
Whose hearts are tuned to sorrow.
Those that cry a thousand tears
Shall be blessed by tomorrow.

Every night before sleep I say thank you to Heaven
For the past day I was allowed to love you and serve.
And if I awake I say thank you once more
For God has blessed me far beyond what I deserve.

poem by Tom Zart
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At Even

Hush ye! Hush ye! My babe is sleeping.
Hush, ye winds, that are full of sorrow!
Hush, ye rains, from your weary weeping!
Give him slumber until to-morrow.

Hush ye, yet! In the years hereafter,
Surely sorrow is all his reaping;
Tears shall be in the place of laughter,
Give him peace for a while in sleeping.

Hush ye, hush! he is weak and ailing:
Send his mother his share of weeping.
Hush ye, winds, from your endless wailing;
Hush ye, hush ye, my babe is sleeping!

poem by Frederic Manning
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Woe is Me

Woe is Me
By: Adam M. Snow

The dawning of an ageless night,
Starts with fear of love's delight,
Calling upon a vespertine heart,
Who doesn't say, would soon fall apart.
Broken tears now laid to rest,
My sorrow tears knows what's best.
My ghost shows pity for the lost,
With final dreams the only cost.

Lest I forget the endless sorrow,
Coming close, the forsaken morrow,
Melancholy of my one desire,
Burning sensationally like a fire,
Waking from a lonely slumber,
No dream should I encumber.
My destiny awaits my fate,
Feeling no love, only hate.
My ghost awaits the world to see,
One thing on my mind, 'Woe is me.'

poem by Adam M. Snow
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To-Morrow

When you’re suffering hard for your sins, old man,
When you wake to trouble and sleep ill—
Oh, this is the clack of the middle class,
‘Win back the respect of the people!’
You are weak, you’re a fool, or a drunken brute
When you’re deep in trouble and sorrow;
But walk down the street in a decent suit,
And their hats will be off to-morrow! Old Chap—
And their hats will be off to-morrow!
They cant and they cackle—‘Redeem the Past!’
Who never had past worth redeeming:
Your soul seems dead, but you’ll find at last
That somewhere your soul lay dreaming.
You may stagger down-hill in a beer-stained coat,
You may loaf, you may cadge and borrow—
But walk down the street with a ten-pound note
And their hats will be off to-morrow! Old Man—
Yes, their hats will be off to-morrow!

But stick to it, man! for your old self’s sake,
Though to brood on the past is human;
Hold up for the sake of the mate who was true,
And the sake of the Other Woman.
And as for the rest, you may take off your hat
And banish all signs of sorrow;
You may take their hands, but in spite of that,
Can they win your respect to-morrow? Old Man—
Can they win your respect to-morrow?

poem by Henry Lawson
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To-Morrow (From The Spanish Of Lope De Vega)

Lord, what am I, that with unceasing care
Thou did'st seek after me, that Thou did'st wait
Wet with unhealthy dews before my gate,
And pass the gloomy nights of winter there?
Oh, strange delusion, that I did not greet
Thy blest approach, and oh, to heaven how lost
If my ingratitude's unkindly frost
Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon Thy feet.
How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
'Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
How He persists to knock and wait for thee!'
And oh, how often to that Voice of sorrow,
'Tomorrow we will open,' I replied,
And when the morrow came I answered still 'Tomorrow.'

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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In Fates Hands

in my sorrow
i wait for the morrow
in the hands of fate
through silence i wait

to God i plea
that i could see
that girl again
to be her man

the rain still falls
to her i call
fate begins to speak
he calls me weak

my hope is lost
my soul's the cost
here i lie
and here i'll die...

poem by Sam Cole
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A Whirling Wind Uplifts a Leaf

A whirling wind uplifts a leaf
Brings childish laughter midst my grief
And though my sorrow tears at me
There’s also room for Lana’s glee.

Some said, “Don’t take her to the grave”
Why force the young to be so brave
When faced with fate? She seems okay
As long as leaves and winds will play.

And then Grandmother looks our way
I see the wrinkles, grief, and gray
But see the twinkle in her eyes
As she sees Lana’s fingers rise

To catch that leaf that seems to fly
Into my daughter’s hands; I sigh
Her laughter sounds; what can I do
Then I hear Grandpa laughing, too.

My laughing Lana played her part
For I heard Grandma’s “Bless her heart.”
And knew in mine that more than I
My daughter knew when not to cry

Yes, tears will come on future days
When we remember Grandpa’s ways
But not today—let sorrow wait
While Grandpa’s life we celebrate.

poem by Mac Wilkey
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