En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Jezreel

On Its Seizure By The English Under Allenby, September 1918

Did they catch as it were in a Vision at shut of the day-
When their cavalry smote through the ancient Esdraelon Plain,
And they crossed where the Tishbite stood forth in his enemy's way-
His gaunt mournful Shade as he bade the King haste off amain?

On war-men at this end of time-even on Englishmen's eyes-
Who slay with their arms of new might in that long-ago place,
Flashed he who drove furiously? . . . Ah, did the phantom arise
Of that queen, of that proud Tyrian woman who painted her face?

Faintly marked they the words 'Throw her down!' rise from Night
eerily,
Spectre-spots of the blood of her body on some rotten wall?
And the thin note of pity that came: 'A King's daughter is she,'
As they passed where she trodden was once by the chargers' footfall?

Could such be the hauntings of men of to-day, at the cease
Of pursuit, at the dusk-hour, ere slumber their senses could seal?
Enghosted seers, kings-one on horseback who asked 'Is it peace?'…
Yea, strange things and spectral may men have beheld in Jezreel!

September 24, 1918.

poem by Thomas Hardy
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I was born on September 27, 1918, the second of five children.

quote by Martin Ryle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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September Grass

Well, the suns not so hot in the sky today
And you know I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese are gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed
So Ill be king and youll be queen
Our kingdoms gonna be this little patch of green
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh the memory is like the sweetest pain
Yeah, I kissed the girl at a football game
I can still smell the sweat and the grass stains
We walked home together. I was never the same.
But that was a long time ago
And where is she now? I dont know
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh, september grass is the sweetest kind
It goes down easy like apple wine
Hope you dont mind if I pour you some
Made that much sweeter by the winter to come
Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know? thats you and me, baby
Were so small and the worlds so vast
We found each other down in the grass
Wont you lie down with me right here
September grass
Wont you lie down with me now
In this september grass
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
(repeat)
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down here now
In this september grass

song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fergus And The Druid

Fergus. This whole day have I followed in the rocks,
And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape,
First as a raven on whose ancient wings
Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed
A weasel moving on from stone to stone,
And now at last you wear a human shape,
A thin grey man half lost in gathering night.
Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?
Fergus. This would I Say, most wise of living souls:
Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me
When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,
And what to me was burden without end,
To him seemed easy, So I laid the crown
Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.
Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?
Fergus. A king and proud! and that is my despair.
I feast amid my people on the hill,
And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels
In the white border of the murmuring sea;
And still I feel the crown upon my head
Druid. What would you, Fergus?
Fergus. Be no more a king
But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.
Druid. Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks
And on these hands that may not lift the sword,
This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.
No woman's loved me, no man sought my help.
Fergus. A king is but a foolish labourer
Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.
Druid. Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;
Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
Fergus. I See my life go drifting like a river
From change to change; I have been many things --
A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light
Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,
An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,
A king sitting upon a chair of gold --
And all these things were wonderful and great;
But now I have grown nothing, knowing all.
Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow
Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!

poem by William Butler Yeats
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A Death Song

What cometh here from west to east awending?
And who are these, the marchers stern and slow?
We bear the message that the rich are sending
Aback to those who bade them wake and know.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

We asked them for a life of toilsome earning,
They bade us bide their leisure for our bread;
We craved to speak to tell our woeful learning;
We come back speechless, bearing back our dead.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

They will not learn; they have no ears to hearken.
They turn their faces from the eyes of fate;
Their gay-lit halls shut out the skies that darken.
But, lo! this dead man knocking at the gate.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

Here lies the sign that we shall break our prison;
Amidst the storm he won a prisoner's rest;
But in the cloudy dawn the sun arisen
Brings us our day of work to win the best.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.

poem by William Morris
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The Coming King

As the dusk of life is falling
And the sands of time run swift
As we approach the edge of glory
To Him our hands we lift

Hallelujah to the King of Kings
All glory to the Son
An angel in the distance sings
The battle it is won

Oh death where is thy victory
Oh grave where be thy sting
You are swallowed up and overcome
By Christ the Risen King

The desert sands are shifting
And the time is drawing nigh
The Bridegroom fast approaches
And His angels fill the sky

And if you look with Spirit's eye
Your sure to see this sight
Of heavenly angels from on high
Who sing with all their might

All glory to the coming King
The Christ, the risen One
The Lamb of God, the prince of peace
Exalted Holy Son

Right now's the time to fill your lamp
The Masters on His way
Awake! Arise! Get on your knees
Now is the time to pray

The Remnant stand, with forehead marked
Oh Bridegroom take your bride
The time has come, the day is now
The door is open wide

Awake, arise the Bridegroom comes
All ties to this world, cut
For when He comes, He'll take His Bride
Then the door is tightly shut

poem by Frank McEleny
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Ancient Warrior

Theres no end - theres no beginning -
To the old mans story
Does he still remember me -
From lives gone by
Oh I see his spirit rising
Upon the back of time
Ive got nowhere to hide
Will he keep a place for me
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings
In his eyes an oceans burning
Swollen seat of tears
Troubled mind the beating
War drums in his ears
No one ever hears his warning
Am I the one he calls
When they tell me theyre afraid
Some say Ill be put away
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings
My blood will spill my blood
My blood will spill my blood
In the wisdom of the prophets
Never ending tale
Open up the eyes
Within your mind, he says
Crowned in his ancient glory
Theres a king within us all
Some will say its all in vain
That he doesnt have a name
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings

song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Of The Night Time World

Ken fowley, michael anthony, paul stanley, bob ezrin
Its so sad, livin at home
Far from the city and the midnight fun
Its so bad, goin to school
So far from me and the dirty things that we do
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream
Its so fine, lovin with ease
Far from the house and the family fights
Its so fine, bein with you
Bein with me makes everything alright
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream, alright
Its so sad, youre not content
Far from the music and the neon glow
Aint you glad we got the time
Far from our folks, theyll never ever know
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream
Im the king, Im the king, Im the king, Im the king
Im the king, Im the king, Im the king, Im the king
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream
Im the king of the night time world

song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Leaves Come Falling Down

I saw you standing with the wind and the rain in your face
And you were thinking bout the wisdom of the leaves and their grace
When the leaves come falling down
In september when the leaves, come falling down
And at night the moon is shining on a clear, cloudless sky
And when the evening shadows fall Ill be there by your side
When the leaves come falling down
In september when the leaves, come falling down
Follow me down, follow me down, follow me down
To the place beside the garden and the wall
Follow me down, follow me down
To the space before the twilight and the dawn
Oh, the last time I saw paris in the streets, in the rain
And as I walk along the boulevards with you, once again
And the leaves come falling down
In september, when the leaves come falling down
Follow me down, follow me down, follow me down
To the place between the garden and the wall
Follow me down, follow me down
To the space between the twilight and the dawn
And as Im looking at the colour of the leaves, in your hand
As were listening to chet baker on the beach, in the sand
When the leaves come falling down,
Woe in september, when the leaves come falling down
Oh when the leaves come falling down
Yeah in september when the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falling down
In september, when the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falling down in september, in the rain
When the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falting down in september, in the rain
When the leaves come falling down

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death

The awful seers of old who wrote, in words
Like drops of blood, great thoughts that through the night
Of ages burn, as eyes of lions light
Deep jungle-dusks; who smote with songs like swords
The soul of man on its most secret chords,
And made the heart of him a harp to smite--
Where are they? Where that old man lorn of sight,
The king of song among these laurelled lords?
But where are all the ancient singing-spheres
That burst through chaos like the summer's breath
Through ice-bound seas where never seaman steers?
Burnt out. Gone down. No star remembereth
These stars and seers well-silenced through the years--
The songless years of everlasting death.

poem by Victor James Daley
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Gray-Eyed King

Glory to you, inescapable pain!
The gray-eyed king died yesterday.

The autumn evening was sultry and red,
My husband returned and quietly said:

'You know, they brought him back from the hunt,
They found his corpse by the old oak tree.

I pity the queen. He was so young!..
In just one night her hair turned white.'

He found his pipe on the mantelpiece
And went out to his nighttime shift.

I'll go and wake my daughter now,
I'll look into her little gray eyes.

While outside the rustling poplars say:
'Your king is no longer upon this earth…'

Another translation.
By Yevgeny Bonver:

The Grey-Eyed King

Hail! Hail to thee, o, immovable pain!
The young grey-eyed king had been yesterday slain.

This autumnal evening was stuffy and red.
My husband, returning, had quietly said,

'He'd left for his hunting; they carried him home;
They'd found him under the old oak's dome.

I pity the queen. He, so young, past away!...
During one night her black hair turned to grey.'

He found his pipe on a warm fire-place,
And quietly left for his usual race.

Now my daughter will wake up and rise --
Mother will look in her dear grey eyes...

And poplars by windows rustle as sing,
'Never again will you see your young king...'

poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Guenevere

I was a queen, and I have lost my crown;
A wife, and I have broken all my vows;
A lover, and I ruined him I loved: --
There is no other havoc left to do.

A little month ago I was a queen,
And mothers held their babies up to see
When I came riding out of Camelot.
The women smiled, and all the world smiled too.

And now, what woman's eyes would smile on me?
I still am beautiful, and yet what child
Would think of me as some high, heaven-sent thing,
An angel, clad in gold and miniver?

The world would run from me, and yet am I
No different from the queen they used to love.
If water, flowing silver over stones,
Is forded, and beneath the horses' feet
Grows turbid suddenly, it clears again,
And men will drink it with no thought of harm.
Yet I am branded for a single fault.

I was the flower amid a toiling world,
Where people smiled to see one happy thing,
And they were proud and glad to raise me high;
They only asked that I should be right fair,
A little kind, and gowned wondrously,
And surely it were little praise to me
If I had pleased them well throughout my life.

I was a queen, the daughter of a king.
The crown was never heavy on my head,
It was my right, and was a part of me.
The women thought me proud, the men were kind,
And bowed right gallantly to kiss my hand,
And watched me as I passed them calmly by,
Along the halls I shall not tread again.
What if, to-night, I should revisit them?
The warders at the gates, the kitchen-maids,
The very beggars would stand off from me,

And I, their queen, would climb the stairs alone,
Pass through the banquet-hall, a loathed thing,
And seek my chambers for a hiding-place,
And I should find them but a sepulchre,
The very rushes rotted on the floors,
The fire in ashes on the freezing hearth.

I was a queen, and he who loved me best
Made me a woman for a night and day,
And now I go unqueened forevermore.
A queen should never dream on summer eves,
When hovering spells are heavy in the dusk: --
I think no night was ever quite so still,
So smoothly lit with red along the west,
So deeply hushed with quiet through and through.
And strangely clear, and deeply dyed with light,
The trees stood straight against a paling sky,
With Venus burning lamp-like in the west.

I walked alone amid a thousand flowers,
That drooped their heads and drowsed beneath the dew,
And all my thoughts were quieted to sleep.
Behind me, on the walk, I heard a step --
I did not know my heart could tell his tread,
I did not know I loved him till that hour.
Within my breast I felt a wild, sick pain,
The garden reeled a little, I was weak,
And quick he came behind me, caught my arms,
That ached beneath his touch; and then I swayed,
My head fell backward and I saw his face.

All this grows bitter that was once so sweet,
And many mouths must drain the dregs of it.
But none will pity me, nor pity him
Whom Love so lashed, and with such cruel thongs.

poem by Sara Teasdale
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The Death of William Rufus

The Red King's gone a-hunting, in the woods his father made
For the tall red deer to wander through the thicket and the glade,
The King and Walter Tyrrel, Prince Henry and the rest
Are all gone out upon the sport the Red King loves the best.

Last night, when they were feasting in the royal banquet-hall,
De Breteuil told a dream he had, that evil would befall
If the King should go to-morrow to the hunting of the deer,
And while he spoke, the fiery face grew well-nigh pale to hear.

He drank until the fire came back, and all his heart was brave,
Then bade them keep such woman's tales to tell an English slave,
For he would hunt to-morrow, though a thousand dreams foretold
All the sorrow and the mischief De Breteuil's brain could hold.

So the Red King's gone a-hunting, for all that they could do,
And an arrow in the greenwood made De Breteuil's dream come true.
They said `twas Walter Tyrrel, and so it may have been,
But there's many walk the forest when the leaves are thick and
green.

There's many walk the forest, who would gladly see the sport,
When the King goes out a-hunting with the nobles of his court,
And when the nobles scatter, and the King is left alone,
There are thickets where an English slave might string his bow
unknown.

The forest laws are cruel, and the time is hard as steel
To English slaves, trod down and bruised beneath the Norman heel.
Like worms they writhe, but by-and-by the Norman heel may learn
There are worms that carry poison, and that are not slow to turn.

The lords came back, by one and two, from straying far apart,
And they found the Red King lying with an arrow in his heart.
Who should have done the deed, but him by whom it first was seen?
So they said `twas Walter Tyrrel, and so it may have been.

They cried upon Prince Henry, the brother of the King,
And he came up the greenwood, and rode into the ring.
He looked upon his brother's face, and then he turned away,
And galloped off to Winchester, where all the treasure lay.

`God strike me,' cried De Breteuil, `but brothers' blood is thin!
And why should ours be thicker that are neither kith nor kin?'
They spurred their horses in the flank, and swiftly thence they
passed,
But Walter Tyrrel lingered and forsook his liege the last.

They say it was enchantment, that fixed him to the scene,
To look upon his traitor's work, and so it may have been.
But presently he got to horse, and took the seaward way,
And all alone within the glade, in state the Red King lay.

Then a creaking cart came slowly, which a charcoal-burner drove.
He found the dead man lying, a ghastly treasure-trove;
He raised the corpse for charity, and on his wagon laid,
And so the Red King drove in state from out the forest glade.

His hair was like a yellow flame about the bloated face,
The blood had stained his tunic from the fatal arrow-place.
Not good to look upon was he, in life, nor yet when dead.
The driver of the cart drove on, and never turned his head.

When next the nobles throng at night the royal banquet-hall,
Another King will rule the feast, the drinking and the brawl,
While Walter Tyrrel walks alone upon the Norman shore,
And the Red King in the forest will chase the deer no more.

poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Enchanted Glen

The king sat on his lavish throne
and ruled his people all alone,
no queen at his side only an empty chair there.
His would be queen a princess fair
had run off with a tinker from across the square.
The crowd stood a gasp as the tinker
on his white charger rode passed
the princess fair clutched in his arms
smiling face filled with her charms.
They rode into the enchanted glen
and were never seen again.
Sometimes on cold and lonely nights
you can hear the king’s men galloping after them.
They too rode into the enchanted glen
and were never seen again.
All that is heard is their ghostly horses in flight
on cold and lonely nights.
No one rides into the glen no more
to discover the secrets it stores,
those who have tried
like the tinker, princess fair
and the king’s men
where never heard of again.
The enchanted glen remains quiet
with its secrets it will not tell
except the echo of ghostly hoof beats
on cold and lonely nights.

6 September 2009

poem by David Harris
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Yvytot

Where wail the waters in their flaw
A spectre wanders to and fro,
And evermore that ghostly shore
Bemoans the heir of Yvytot.

Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall,
The mists upon the waters fall,
Across the main float shadows twain
That do not heed the spectre's call.

The king his son of Yvytot
Stood once and saw the waters go
Boiling around with hissing sound
The sullen phantom rocks below.

And suddenly he saw a face
Lift from that black and seething place--
Lift up and gaze in mute amaze
And tenderly a little space,

A mighty cry of love made he--
No answering word to him gave she,
But looked, and then sunk back again
Into the dark and depthless sea.

And ever afterward that face,
That he beheld such little space,
Like wraith would rise within his eyes
And in his heart find biding place.

So oft from castle hall he crept
Where mid the rocks grim shadows slept,
And where the mist reached down and kissed
The waters as they wailed and wept.

The king it was of Yvytot
That vaunted, many years ago,
There was no coast his valiant host
Had not subdued with spear and bow.

For once to him the sea-king cried:
"In safety all thy ships shall ride
An thou but swear thy princely heir
Shall take my daughter to his bride.

"And lo, these winds that rove the sea
Unto our pact shall witness be,
And of the oath which binds us both
Shall be the judge 'twixt me and thee!"

Then swore the king of Yvytot
Unto the sea-king years ago,
And with great cheer for many a year
His ships went harrying to and fro.

Unto this mighty king his throne
Was born a prince, and one alone--
Fairer than he in form and blee
And knightly grace was never known.

But once he saw a maiden face
Lift from a haunted ocean place--
Lift up and gaze in mute amaze
And tenderly a little space.

Wroth was the king of Yvytot,
For that his son would never go
Sailing the sea, but liefer be
Where wailed the waters in their flow,

Where winds in clamorous anger swept,
Where to and fro grim shadows crept,
And where the mist reached down and kissed
The waters as they wailed and wept.

So sped the years, till came a day
The haughty king was old and gray,
And in his hold were spoils untold
That he had wrenched from Norroway.

Then once again the sea-king cried:
"Thy ships have harried far and wide;
My part is done--now let thy son
Require my daughter to his bride!"

Loud laughed the king of Yvytot,
And by his soul he bade him no--
"I heed no more what oath I swore,
For I was mad to bargain so!"

Then spake the sea-king in his wrath:
"Thy ships lie broken in my path!
Go now and wring thy hands, false king!
Nor ship nor heir thy kingdom hath!

"And thou shalt wander evermore
All up and down this ghostly shore,
And call in vain upon the twain
That keep what oath a dastard swore!"

The king his son of Yvytot
Stood even then where to and fro
The breakers swelled--and there beheld
A maiden face lift from below.

"Be thou or truth or dream," he cried,
"Or spirit of the restless tide,
It booteth not to me, God wot!
But I would have thee to my bride."

Then spake the maiden: "Come with me
Unto a palace in the sea,
For there my sire in kingly ire
Requires thy king his oath of thee!"

Gayly he fared him down the sands
And took the maiden's outstretched hands;
And so went they upon their way
To do the sea-king his commands.

The winds went riding to and fro
And scourged the waves that crouched below,
And bade them sing to a childless king
The bridal song of Yvytot.

So fell the curse upon that shore,
And hopeless wailing evermore
Was the righteous dole of the craven soul
That heeded not what oath he swore.

An hundred ships went down that day
All off the coast of Norroway,
And the ruthless sea made mighty glee
Over the spoil that drifting lay.

The winds went calling far and wide
To the dead that tossed in the mocking tide:
"Come forth, ye slaves! from your fleeting graves
And drink a health to your prince his bride!"

Where wail the waters in their flow
A spectre wanders to and fro,
But nevermore that ghostly shore
Shall claim the heir of Yvytot.

Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall,
The mists upon the waters fall,
Across the main flit shadows twain
That do not heed the spectre's call.

poem by Eugene Field
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The Two Soldiers

Just at the corner of the wall
We met - yes, he and I -
Who had not faced in camp or hall
Since we bade home good-bye,
And what once happened came back - all -
Out of those years gone by.

And that strange woman whom we knew
And loved - long dead and gone,
Whose poor half-perished residue,
Tombless and trod, lay yon!
But at this moment to our view
Rose like a phantom wan.

And in his fixed face I could see,
Lit by a lurid shine,
The drama re-enact which she
Had dyed incarnadine
For us, and more. And doubtless he
Beheld it too in mine.

A start, as at one slightly known,
And with an indifferent air
We passed, without a sign being shown
That, as it real were,
A memory-acted scene had thrown
Its tragic shadow there.

poem by Thomas Hardy
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Suffocated

Millie Allstruck suffocated
Her daughter. Millie held
The cushion down. Saw her
Daughter’s arms flap like
Some bird in a trap. Millie
Held her breath for as long
As she could, until the arms
Stopped flapping, until her
Bird was dead. She stood
There holding the cushion
In place waiting for sounds,
Any motion. Millie removed
The cushion, stood gaping,
Holding the cushion, breathing
In deep. Her daughter lay there
Staring into space, a sense of
Peace on her three year old face.
Millie had pushed out the cancer,
Put out the fire. She had her
Daughter back sans pains, sans
The creeping disease, sans
The long nights. She put down
The cushion, placed her daughter’s
Arms across her small chest, closed
The eyes, brushed the hair, thin
And fair. Millie Allstruck stood
And watched and saw sunlight
Touch her daughter’s head as if
The finger of God had touched
And took away. Better to have
Loved and lost than not loved at all,
Millie heard her mother once say.

poem by Terry Collett
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I'm a Kings Daughter

I'm a Kings daughter
I'm a Kings daughter
I'm a Kings daughter
I

am one of the redeemed children of the King
why can't all the children come together under one name
to feed the hungry and suffering at home first
and abroad?
as children of the exquisitely Perfect King Of Kings
we should, if we can why don't we?
I'm a Kings child, one of many...

poem by Sylvia Loven Carter
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King Without A Crown

Welcome to the great republic
Guess I should show you round
Where once I was a king
And now I am a clown
The love that we once shared
Made a king of me
But now youre gone... but now youre gone
All I face is poverty
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned
But heaven dont boast - no heaven dont boast
The jewel - the pretty jewel I just pawned
Every cloud has a silver lining
Every dog has its day
Oh but I guess the sun stopped shining
On the day you went away
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Yes Im a king - king! king without a crown
Bathed in former glory
Deposed from my throne
How do I get to tell my story?
When all gets your answerphone...
But you aint home
With the love you gave
I felt like royalty
But now youre face to face - face to face
With one ex-member of the aristocracy
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Theres no need to feel down
Yeah just take a look around
Youll see a man whos just a man
Nothing more
A king without a crown

song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The King (II)

And now a son has come again
To keep the peace or strike the blow,
And have a long, great, glorious reign,
Through calm or tempest, weal or woe.
And strange things set me wondering –
As man and youth, we knew him here,
The one the only British King,
To see his Southern Hemisphere.

‘Midst pealing bells and cannons’ din
The countless thousands cheer and strive
To catch one glance of their new King
And queenly Mary, his fair bride;
‘Til on their knees, within the Fane,
The Royal couple meekly kneel,
The Great God’s clemency to claim,
And pray Him for their people’s weal.

And so I see, in vision clear,
The long reign of this noble line,
How on and on, from year to year
The star of peace shall brighter shine,
How men and nations, without fear
Shall hope and labour, strive and sing:
“The day of liberty is here!
The King is Dead! Long Live the King”

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Precious Purpose Of Prayer

Think not that prayers aren't heard above,
God has a heart of gold...
And He has heard the King of Love,
The day Christ's Blood ran cold...
Through Christ alone, God's mercy flows
In Christian hearts like mine...
Who sense the debt each sinner owes
To Him who is divine...

At night, before His hour came,
The Son of God bled fast,
When fears beset His mortal frame
And He stood there aghast...
He prayed beyond His fragile thoughts,
Now humbled, on His knees...
This King of Kings, this Lord of Lords,
This Christ, the Prince of Peace...

As servant of the Lord Most High,
He sought His destiny!
Was He to live, was He to die?
If death, then Calvary!
No easy death, no great escape,
No mercy from His foes...
His body whipped, bent out of shape,
Such truths God only knows...

The choice was plain, no turning back.
By faith, He went ahead...
To face a future, oh, so black,
That He was good as dead...
With firm resolve, He now stood tall,
Because He understood...
Obedient to His Father's call,
So brave, so bold, so good...

Thus Judas kissed the Son of Man
With Christ betrayed that day,
Who prophesied God had a plan
To take Man's sins away!
Thus Jesus went from place to place
For men to choose His fate...
For rogues to beat His precious face
And scoff and celebrate...

But Christ faced more than fists and whips,
As Calvary drew near...
To leave behind His Blood that drips
And mingles with each tear...
For there, the precious Saviour prayed,
Forgiveness to implore,
Of God, who watched such things dismayed
And wept for Him for sure...

Think not that prayers aren't heard above,
God has a heart of gold...
And He has heard the King of Love,
The day Christ's Blood ran cold...
Through Christ alone, God's mercy flows
In Christian hearts like mine...
Who sense the debt each sinner owes
To Him who is divine...

Denis Martindale, copyright, December 2010.

poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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