The Proud Farmer
[In memory of E. S. Frazee, Rush County, Indiana]
Into the acres of the newborn state
He poured his strength, and plowed his ancient name,
And, when the traders followed him, he stood
Towering above their furtive souls and tame.
That brow without a stain, that fearless eye
Oft left the passing stranger wondering
To find such knighthood in the sprawling land,
To see a democrat well-nigh a king.
He lived with liberal hand, with guests from far,
With talk and joke and fellowship to spare, —
Watching the wide world's life from sun to sun,
Lining his walls with books from everywhere.
He read by night, he built his world by day.
The farm and house of God to him were one.
For forty years he preached and plowed and wrought —
A statesman in the fields, who bent to none.
His plowmen-neighbors were as lords to him.
His was an ironside, democratic pride.
He served a rigid Christ, but served him well —
And, for a lifetime, saved the countryside.
Here lie the dead, who gave the church their best
Under his fiery preaching of the word.
They sleep with him beneath the ragged grass...
The village withers, by his voice unstirred.
And tho' his tribe be scattered to the wind
From the Atlantic to the China sea,
Yet do they think of that bright lamp he burned
Of family worth and proud integrity.
And many a sturdy grandchild hears his name
In reverence spoken, till he feels akin
To all the lion-eyed who built the world —
And lion-dreams begin to burn within.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Grandma's Treasure Box
Each of us
when we reached 14
would make the Visit to
Grandmothers house
to see what was inside
her Treasure Box;
the Family Treasure Box
where each year
one of us
got to see
what she had
hidden there..
My Dad had been;
my older brother
had been
and now it was my turn
to see that part of
Family History.
No one who'd seen
could talk of it.
No one could reveal to anyone
what was in Grandma's secret box.
No one did.
No one would risk
Grandmother's upset.
She lived beneath
the 'L' in Chicago
refusing to move
and they built
the tracks
right over her house;
each time one passed
it rocked her house
like rolling thunder;
Varoom, clacky clack
another one
going by.
Stubborn was not the word
for Grandmother.
She still wrote letters
30 years later
to every Mayor
complaining about the
tracks and the trains
saying she wanted them torn down.
Every month a letter.
Grandmother never
gave up;
never forgot;
fierce in her loves
fierce about her neighborhood
fierce about things which displeasured her
fierce about family
fierce about everything.
I sat with her,
apron on:
she served me pie.
'Sonny' she said
now you at the age
where you need to
learn grown-up things.
Like your Dad and brother
your turn now come
to see what drives
this family;
our family heirloom so to speak.
You'll see now.
As you grow up
you hear people talking about it
but we are the only family that
has it in our treasure box.
Lot's want it
but we the only one's
that has it.
She walked me up her tiny
narrow stair case to the attic
my head spinning,
wondering what it could be.
What did we have in our family
that the whole world wanted?
The treasure box was small;
a faded gold color
with a hand-carved lid
covered by Grandma's
liver-spotted hand
which shook in the dim
light.
She shifted the box,
opening it with a tiny key
smiling faintly
her eyes moistening
as a sliver of sunlight
reflected into the opening box
and I could just begin to
see what was inside.
'There it is'
she said
'What is it? ' I said,
staring at a piece of cloth;
satin sheen
with a lace border.
'Every since your great
grandmother got
it has been the luck of this family
and so people's all over the
world hear about but
we the only one's who got it.
'What is it?
Your great great grandmother's;
cut from her mother's wedding dress
and from that day
this families' luck changed.
I looked at her eyes
looking for an answer there.
'Grandma what is it?
You heard of the Silver Lining'
Yes, I said.
Well this family has the only one.
It is the Silver Lining from your great, great,
grandmothers wedding dress.
Grandma had it
and she believed it had saved our family
all these years.
'I took it out when
your mother had her cancer
and she got better
and it took away her pain.
I took it out when your younger brother
had his accident, and he lived.
I took it out when your grandfather went to war
and he came home safe.
I take it out when ever this family needs things.
It is our Silver Lining.
Now you must never speak
or tell what is in the treasure box
or it will break the spell.
I never did to this day
Today I have the Treasure Box
waiting for my child
to have a chance to see.
Grandma's gone
leaving behind her Silver Lining
for the rest of us.
And on some days
I do take it out
when things look
like they might go bad.
Just for luck.
Everyone
is always
looking for a Silver Lining
and some luck.
All the Grandmothers
gave us ours.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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I Am The Lion
There was a flood and many poor men were killed.
And that is why our house is built on the top of a hill.
The plains are like a friend, why can't we live on them?
And if a flood should come, why can't we run?
I am the lion, bellowing out in the night.
We had a cow, I left it alone to graze.
And walked to the stream and when I returned, it was stolen away.
But now the cow is gone and we don't need a farm.
We have not one thing they
would steal away.
I am the lion bellowing out at the night.
I am the lion bellowing out at the night.
I am......the lion.
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Odysseus: In Memory Of Arthur Griffith
You had the prose of logic and of scorn,
And words to sledge an iron argument,
And yet you could draw down the outland birds
To perch beside the ravens of your thought
The dreams whereby a people challenges
Its dooms, its bounds. You were the one who knew
What sacred resistance is in men
That are almost broken; how, from resistance used,
A strength is born, a stormy, bright-eyed strength
Like Homer's Iris, messenger of the gods,
Coming before the ships the enemy
Has flung the fire upon. Our own, our native strength
You mustered up. But I will never say this,
Walking beside you, or looking on you,
With your strong brow, and chin was like a targe,
And eyes that were so kindly of us all.
And sorrow comes as on that August day,
With our ship cleaving through the seas for home,
And that news coming sparkling through the air,
That you were dead, and that we'd never see you
Looking upon the state that you had builded.
The news that came was like that weight of waters
Poured on our hopes! Our navies yet unbuilded,
Our city left inglorious on its site,
Our fields uncleared, and over
Our ancient house the ancient curse of war!
And could we pray, touching the island-homeland,
Other than this: 'Odysseus, you who laboured
So long upon the barren outer sea;
Odysseus, Odysseus, you who made
The plan that drove the wasters from the house,
And bent the bow that none could bend but you:
Be with us still:
Your memory be the watcher in our house,
Your memory be the flame upon our hills.
poem by Padraic Colum
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His True Church
I know many religious people, and one Church with no steeple,
A church that’s built with no walls, built on only believing souls,
Built upon an Eternal Foundation, that being our very Salvation,
Built upon The One Cornerstone, and that is Jesus Christ alone.
Many, who worship in a building, to Truth alone, are unyielding,
Building a church on tradition, God’s Truth, with man’s addition,
Added to the work finished by, Jesus Christ who reigns on high,
Ignoring His words “it is finished”, Grace by many is diminished.
Men making a way to Heaven, not by grace but religious leaven,
Building church in a human way, as they lead many souls astray,
As many souls weekly perch, in the pews of a manmade church,
Relying on their religious activity, to help them work into eternity.
“I will build my Church” He said, that was Christ, who is the Head,
Head of His True Church on earth, filled with souls, by New Birth,
All members being Born Again, into His Church, not one of men,
You’ll find, you no longer search, as a member of God’s Church.
Jesus is the Way, Truth and Life, as Head of the Church of Christ,
And each of us is a living stone, built through faith in Christ alone,
His Church He proceeds to build, to complete as His Father willed,
Leading the only True Church friend, as others shall see in the end.
Sleep
HERE is a house, so great, so wide
It will take in the whole world's pride.
Yet, when I looked, it seemed I saw
Only a vast room strewn with straw
That was threshed of moony gleams
And dew of branches and star beams.
Here cheek by cheek the drowsed souls lay
Still as leverets in the hay.
Merry it was to see in Sleep
How each soul had found his brother;
Here a king and there a sweep
Lay hand-fast and kissed each other,
There a queen that had been sad
Mothered in Sleep a shepherd lad,
And lovers saw the loved one's face
Star-like in a lonely place.
But the Lamp that gave them light
Was lovelier than the dreams of night.
Angels watched lest any steal it,–
Christ's own heart, laid here to heal it.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cant Tame The Lion
In the midst of a dream I swear I saw you... standing there
In a sea of emotion with faithful devotion... you were there
In heat of the night under the street lights... once again
At the edge of the fire for the love of the jungle... again and again, oh yeah
They cant tame the lion
Cant tame the lion
They cant tame the lion
One night in detroit, yes I swear I saw you... standing there
In a summer of dreams down by the river... you were there
I remember... its all so clear
In the midst of a dream, yes I swear I say you... standing there
They cant tame the lion
Cant tame the lion
They cant tame the lion
In the midst of a dream I swear I saw you... standing there
In a sea of emotion with faithful devotion... you were there
I remember... its all so clear
In the embers of reckless years
In the midst of a dream I swear I saw you... standing there
They cant tame the lion
Cant tame the lion
They cant tame the lion
At the edge of the fire, for the love of the jungle
They cant tame the lion
Cant tame the lion
They cant tame the lion
song performed by by Journey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Thurgarton Church
To the memory of my father
At Thurgarton Church the sun
burns the winter clouds over
the gaunt Danish stone
and thatched reeds that cover
the barest chapel I know.
I could compare it with
the Norse longboats that bore
burning the body forth
in honour from the shore
of great fjords long ago.
The sky is red and cold
overhead, and three small
sturdy trees keep a hold
on the world and the stone wall
that encloses the dead below.
I enter and find I stand
in a great barn, bleak and bare.
Like ice the winter ghosts and
the white walls gleam and flare
and flame as the sun drops low.
And I see, then, that slowly
the December day has gone.
I stand in the silence, not wholly
believing I am alone.
Somehow I cannot go.
Then a small wind rose, and the trees
began to crackle and stir
and I watched the moon by degrees
ascend in the window till her
light cut a wing in the shadow.
I thought: the House of the Dead.
The dead moon inherits it.
And I seem in a sense to have died
as I rise from where I sit
and out into darkness go.
I know as I leave I shall pass
where Thurgarton’s dead lie
at those old stones in the grass
under the cold moon’s eye.
I see the old bones glow.
No, they do not sleep here
in the long holy night of
the serene soul, but keep here
a dark tenancy and the right of
rising up to go.
Here the owl and soul shriek with
the voice of the dead as they turn
on the polar spit and burn
without hope and seek with
out hope the holy home below.
Yet to them the mole and
mouse bring a wreath and a breath
of the flowering leaves of the soul, and
it is from the Tree of Death
the leaves of life grow.
The rain, the sometime summer
rain on a memory of roses
will fall lightly and come a-
mong them as it erases
summers so long ago.
And the voices of those
once so much loved will flitter
over the nettled rows
of graves, and the holly tree twitter
like friends they used to know.
And not far away the
icy and paralysed stream
has found it also, that day the
flesh became glass and a dream
with no where to go.
Haunting the December
fields their bitter lives
entreat us to remember
the lost spirit that grieves
over these fields like a scarecrow.
That grieves over all it ever
did and all, all not
done, that grieves over
its crosspurposed lot:
to know and not to know.
The masterless dog sits
outside the church door
with dereliction haunting its
heart that hankers for
the hand that loved it so.
Not in a small grave
outside the stone wall
will the love that it gave
ever be returned, not for all
time or tracks in the snow.
More mourned the death of the dog
than our bones ever shall
receive from the hand of god
this bone again, or all
that high hand could bestow.
As I stand by the porch
I believe that no one has heard
here in Thurgarton Church
a single veritable word
save the unspoken No.
The godfathered negative
that responds to our mistaken
incredulous and heartbroken
desire above all to live
as though things were not so.
Desire to live as though the
two-footed clay stood up
proud never to know the
tempests that rage in the cup
under a rainbow.
Desire above all to live
as though the soul was stone,
believing we cannot give
or love since we are alone
and always will be so.
That heartbroken desire
to live as though no light
ever set the seas on fire
and no sun burned at night
or Mercy walked to and fro.
The proud flesh cries: I am not
caught up in the great cloud
of my unknowing. But that
proud flesh had endowed
us with the cloud we know.
To this the unspoken No
of the dead god responds
and then the whirlwinds blow
over all the things and beyond
and the dead mop and mow.
And there in the livid dust
and bones of death we search
until we find as we must
outside Thurgarton Church
only wild grasses blow.
I hear the old bone in me cry
and the dying spirit call:
I have forfeited all
and once and for all must die
and this is all that I know.
For now in a wild way we
know that justice is served
and that we die in the clay we
dread, desired, and deserved,
awaiting no Judgement Day.
poem by George Barker
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Jewel In The Savannah
Out of the mouth of the lion,
That which was spoken;
Out of the mouth of the tiger,
That which was written;
A lover of hospitality to write a muse.
A flame of fire! !
That which was read;
The King must surely dance naked.
All out of one,
One out of many,
The Queen must also dance naked.
Forty years in the wilderness,
I've been too long in the bush;
The Prince must dance naked.
Oil of gladness,
Hope of dreams;
Pay attention to yourself.
Of milk for babies,
Of meat for adults,
A voice spoke to her;
Hope of dreams,
Oil of gladness,
She got the name;
You are the jewel in the savannah.
Forty years in the wilderness,
Watch the mouth of the lion;
The Princess must also dance naked.
Like the Lion and the Tiger,
Like the King and the Queen,
Like the Prince and the Princess,
The jewel in the savannah is what you are.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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His Church Can Rise Up
Today The Church can rise above, through God’s power and His Love.
She can rise up to the task at hand, and for The Lord can take a stand.
My friend, even in the darkest nights, we can rise up to greater heights.
For we can rise up in Christ’s Victory, as we march forward to Eternity.
Jesus Christ will build His Church, and build it upon The Savior’s worth.
She’s not built upon an earthly frame, but built upon Her Savior’s Name.
Jesus Christ the very Cornerstone, guides His Church from His Throne.
For His Church, Jesus Christ alone, is her foundation and the capstone.
He’s the Groom and we’re the Bride, and His Church will not be denied.
He’s creating a Holy Priesthood friend, of whose service will never end.
We my friends are the living stones, bought and placed by Christ alone,
We’re being built into a spiritual house, by the Church’s Eternal Spouse.
Even though darkened forces rail, the gates of Hades shall not prevail.
Christ’s Victory we can proclaim, through the power of His Holy Name.
We need to rise up above the night, and lift up high Christ’s Holy Light.
We can rise above every situation, and point the world to His salvation.
Very soon The Church will surly rise, to meet The Savior up in the skies,
Dear friend Satan is the defeated foe, and this we need to let men know.
So we need to rise up and tell all men, that Satan is the one condemned,
And when they join The Church of Christ, they too shall gain Eternal Life.
(Copyright ©04/2006)
Were I A Lion King
Were I a lion king of the pride how proud a lion I'd be
To think that other lions for miles around are very scared of me
In the stillness of the African night I would roar aggressively
I would not be kind to other lions or in ways act neighbourly
Of the prey the lionesses did kill I would be first to eat
The other members of the pride would have to wait for their share of the meat
The male lion who has compassion will never rule a pride
Of any honour in his life by his attitude self denied
If I were a lion king of the pride the lionesses for me would kill the prey
But if's an obstacle that always does get in the way
Human beings need some aggression in life for to succeed
The timid like the timid lion are not destined to lead
Were I a lion king in the African night I'd give a mighty roar
That would be heard by other lions for two miles distant or more.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Dead Lion
Lion died
And dead lion
Came to me crying
Dead lion wanted to know
so many thing about life.
I am not here
To told about
Lion's history
Or geography of the area
Where lion was.
Dead lion
I found within
My house my country
Lion was enchanted
on the scene here
Even after death
That much I knew.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Built To Last
Somewhere out my doorway
Somewhere down my block
I can hear her heartbeat
In rhythm with my clock
I want her more than diamonds
I want her more than gold
I want her more than anything
Anyone could hold
We were built to last
On until forever
The world is changing fast
Oh, but our love is built to last
She has followed me down
Along some empty str eets
She has followed me where
The rain would fall in sheets
And I know Ive been changing
Changing like the wind
I was feeling burned out
I got tired of it
We were built to last
On until forever
The world is chan ging fast
Oh, but our love is built to last
Woah...
Woah...
So come to me my darling
Hold me while I sleep
I know you feel lost
But youre not in too deep
We were built to last
On until forever
The world is changing fast
Oh, but our love is built to last
Yeah our love was built to last
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Absence of Light
Aimlessly roaming all the day, desperately searching to find a way,
A way to make all things right, only to stumble back into the night.
Darkness invades all their sight, all because of an absence of light.
They begin stumbling along the way, even in the middle of the day.
Whether in the day or the night, friend, there’s only One True Light.
That Truth we continue to herald, Christ is The Light of The world.
All those who come into His Light, no longer stumble in the night.
Many refuse to come to His Light, because their deeds are not right.
Friend you can walk in the Light, whether it is the day or the night,
Just as Christ is in the Light, and we have fellowship in His Might.
Fellowship in The Living Word and a voice until all men have heard.
Let Christ’s Light fill your walk and The Living Word fill your talk.
You are a light set upon a hill and placed by Christ to do His will.
You are the light of the world, with the message of life to herald.
You are a preserving salt; to share the Truth we’ve been taught.
Sharing this one Eternal thought, life less Jesus comes to naught.
We have one urgent light to send, to all the darkness in the end.
The only way one finds this light, is at the cross of Jesus Christ.
If you remain in the dark my friend, Eternal Darkness is your end,
But, come into The Light of Christ, and you will gain Eternal Life.
Tasso And His Sister
She sat, where on each wind that sigh'd,
The citron's breath went by,
While the red gold of eventide
Burn'd in th' Italian sky.
Her bower was one where daylight's close
Full oft sweet laughter found,
As thence the voice of childhood rose
To the high vineyards round.
But still and thoughtful, at her knee,
Her children stood that hour,
Their bursts of song and dancing glee,
Hush'd as by words of power.
With bright, fix'd, wondering eyes, that gaz'd
Up to their mother's face,
With brows thro' parted ringlets rais'd,
They stood in silent grace.
While she–yet something o'er her look
Of mournfulness was spread–
Forth from a poet's magic book,
The glorious numbers read;
The proud undying lay, which pour'd
Its light on evil years;
His of the gifted pen and sword,
The triumph–and the tears.
She read of fair Erminia's flight,
Which Venice once might hear
Sung on her glittering seas at night,
By many a gondolier;
Of him she read, who broke the charm
That wrapt the myrtle grove;
Of Godfrey's deeds, of Tancred's arm,
That slew his Paynim love.
Young cheeks around that bright page glow'd,
Young holy hearts were stirr'd;
And the meek tears of woman flow'd
Fast o'er each burning word.
And sounds of breeze, and fount, and leaf,
Came sweet, each pause between;
When a strange voice of sudden grief
Burst on the gentle scene.
The mother turn'd–a way-worn man,
In pilgrim-garb, stood nigh,
Of stately mien, yet wild and wan,
Of proud yet mournful eye.
But drops which would not stay for pride,
From that dark eye gush'd free,
As pressing his pale brow, he cried,
'Forgotten! ev'n by thee!
'Am I so changed?–and yet we two
Oft hand in hand have play'd;–
This brow hath been all bath'd in dew,
From wreaths which thou hast made;
We have knelt down and said one prayer,
And sung one vesper strain;
My soul is dim with clouds of care–
Tell me those words again!
'Life hath been heavy on my head,
I come a stricken deer,
Bearing the heart, midst crowds that bled,
To bleed in stillness here.'–
She gaz'd–till thoughts that long had slept
Shook all her thrilling frame–
She fell upon his neck and wept,
Murmuring her brother's name.
Her brother's name!–and who was he,
The weary one, th' unknown,
That came, the bitter world to flee,
A stranger to his own?–
He was the bard of gifts divine
To sway the souls of men;
He of the song for Salem's shrine,
He of the sword and pen!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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‘holy Family Church House-warming, Perundurai, T.n.’
Excerpt from Dr John Celes’ Welcome Speech
(to be held on 05-02-2010)
The Shepherd comes to meet his flock,
And bless the church that’s newly built,
Wherein an older church had stood on rock –
A sacred ground of prayer for Catholics!
Let’s welcome him; let’s welcome him, ye sheep!
He brings with him his staff that protects us;
This is the time our hearts with joy must weep;
The anointing will give us greater bliss.
Let’s thank the Lord for giving us this house
Of prayer to worship the ‘King of kings’;
Let everyone take Jesus Christ as spouse,
And tread the road to heaven as earthlings.
The Church though small looks splendidly laid out;
It has been christened ‘Holy Family Church’;
Our parish is a small one without doubt,
Nevertheless, peeps in internet-search!
The flock is one led by our parish priest,
Father Claudius, a dynamic, young man!
Who works hard without mistakes in the least;
‘May God give him good health and long life-span! ’
Our heart-felt thanks to Bishop and all souls
Who gave the land for building the new Church;
Our hearty thanks to all who played new roles,
And doled the sums that can now help to preach.
God made it possible to build His house!
Let’s worship Him with masses, hymns and pray;
Let’s reach the world at the click of a mouse!
And preach the Word of God by night and day.
We thank You God for giving us this place,
And worship Jesus Christ, as a family;
Let sweat of foreheads reinforce this base,
And help to rear this provident LILY!
Dedicated to: The Most. Rev. Dr. Thomas Aquinas M.A., DCL.,
Bishop of Coimbatore diocese
Rev. Fr. Xavier Claudius, the Parish priest and
All parishners of ‘Holy Family Church, Perundurai, T.N., ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-11-2010
poem by John Celes
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Ace
By: jimmy buffett
1971
Hardly seems a long time
Just a minute of the day
But the man who stood beside me
More than gave himself away
The food stain on his spotted shirt
A gray beard on his face
A man composed of many names
So i just called him ace
Chorus:
But ace can't read and ace can't write
And he sleeps on a bench at night
A little man the world has left behind
He ain't bitter, he ain't sweet
Makes his living on the street
Never knowing what he's gonna find
Born in mississippi
Picking cotton as a child
Left soon for the city
Where he heard that life was wild
That was fifty years ago
When nothing's really strange
>from a poor dirt farm to dirty streets
Is really not much change
Chorus:
And ace can't read and ace can't write
And he sleeps on a bench at night
A little man the world has left behind
He ain't bitter, he ain't sweet
Makes his living on the street
Never knowing what he's gonna find
Go back to the country
No he really can't do that
Wasted years have left him
Nothing but an old straw hat
So he puts it on his head
And waves a last good-bye
No time left to turn around
And no time to ask why
Chorus:
Ace can't read and ace can't write
And he sleeps on a bench at night
A little man the world has left behind
He ain't bitter, he ain't sweet
Makes his living on the street
Never knowing what he's gonna find
And this old world has left poor ace behind
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Seven Golden Lamps***D
I. The CANDLESTICKS.
It is not so much to the light
as to the utensil or stand
for holding it that his attention is turned;
for the light of these lamps
is not from themselves,
or from any earthly source,
But from Him who is 'the light of the world,
' and who said to His disciples
as His representatives here,
'You are the light of the world.'
'Among whom you shine
as lights in the world' (Philippians 1: 15) ,
Says Paul, adding, 'holding forth the word of life.'
The individual saint is a 'light;
' a Church is a 'light holder' or 'lamp stand.
' The saint personally,
and the Church or body of saints,
is placed 'in the midst of a crooked
and perverse nation, ' and, like
'the word of prophecy' (2 Peter 1: 19) ,
'shines as a light in a dark place,
until the day dawn and the day-star arise.'
Israel, for ages, was the world's
only light—a light confined within
narrow boundaries—not diffused
over earth, nor set upon a hill.
Of this the one seven-branched
candlestick in the tabernacle
and temple was the symbol.
That lamp stand was doubly
shut in—first, by the outer curtain,
or wall of the house; and, secondly,
by the inner curtain, or wall of the holy place.
But these curtains have been
torn in pieces, these walls thrown down;
and now that lamp stands in uncurtained,
unhidden splendor, shining out over all the world.
Take the lamp as meaning,
in the first place, CHRIST Himself,
the light of Israel, and of the world.
This is true. He was 'a light to enlighten
the Gentiles; ' 'His life was the light of men.
' Take it again as meaning ISRAEL,
who was so long earth's only light.
This is true; for Israel, when her
exclusive privileges passed away,
gave forth her light around.
Take it as meaning the CHURCH,
or Churches, or saints of God.
This is also true—they shine out
as lights over all the world—not over
Israel's valleys and hills alone,
or her cities and villages,
but over all earth's wide expanse,
over all kindred's, and nations,
and tongues, and peoples.
Christ is the world's light;
the church is the world's light;
each saint is the light of the circle
where he dwells and where he moves.
15. January 2008
poem by Mary Wismer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gatherings By God
Soon God shall gather His Bride, all Believers, for who Christ died,
Greeting His Church in the clouds, gathered with Heavenly Crowds,
When Jesus Christ returns again, to receive all who are Born Again,
When gathered to begin Eternal Life, with their Savior, Jesus Christ.
Then God will gather all, not some, of the nations, up to Jerusalem,
Where all nations we see His Hand, against all who parted His Land.
When final judgment shall be poured, upon all nations, by The Lord,
And so all nations will understand, to Israel, belongs The Holy Land.
God shall then regather tiny Israel, as His prophesies He does fulfill,
Gathering His elect out of every nation, with Christ as their salvation,
For in God’s Palm they are engraved, so all of Israel shall be saved.
Gathered and placed by God’s Hand, back into The Promised Land.
Then God will gather all nations as one, under Jesus Christ, His Son,
The Reign of Christ will never cease, as He brings everlasting peace,
Not just to some, but to all the world, as God’s Kingdom is unfurled,
To every tribe, tongue and nation, that accepts, Messiah’s Salvation.
Today the choice belongs to you, whether you’re a Gentile or a Jew,
For all will be gathered by The Lord, God’s Word cannot be ignored;
Be gathered for judgment to death, before or after your final breath,
Or be gathered unto Jesus Christ, to enter with Him into Eternal Life.
(Copyright ©07/2010)
The Goose Fish
On the long shore, lit by the moon
To show them properly alone,
Two lovers suddenly embraced
So that their shadows were as one.
The ordinary night was graced
For them by the swift tide of blood
That silently they took at flood,
And for a little time they prized
Themselves emparadised.
Then, as if shaken by stage-fright
Beneath the hard moon's bony light,
They stood together on the sand
Embarrassed in each other's sight
But still conspiring hand in hand,
Until they saw, there underfoot,
As though the world had found them out,
The goose fish turning up, though dead,
His hugely grinning head.
There in the china light he lay,
Most ancient and corrupt and grey.
They hesitated at his smile,
Wondering what it seemed to say
To lovers who a little while
Before had thought to understand,
By violence upon the sand,
The only way that could be known
To make a world their own.
It was a wide and moony grin
Together peaceful and obscene;
They knew not what he would express,
So finished a comedian
He might mean failure or success,
But took it for an emblem of
Their sudden, new and guilty love
To be observed by, when they kissed,
That rigid optimist.
So he became their patriarch,
Dreadfully mild in the half-dark.
His throat that the sand seemed to choke,
His picket teeth, these left their mark
But never did explain the joke
That so amused him, lying there
While the moon went down to disappear
Along the still and tilted track
That bears the zodiac.
poem by Howard Nemerov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Walls
Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.
Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.
Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.
Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.
Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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