God Scatters Beauty
God scatters beauty as he scatters flowers
O'er the wide earth, and tells us all are ours.
A hundred lights in every temple burn,
And at each shrine I bend my knee in turn.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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RADHAKRUSHNA Vavroovahna Patra
Vernal Breeze kisses Radhakrushna's temple daily;
Valentine's Day brings love in guys, girls gladly.
Various fragrant blossoms, flowers allure gaily;
Virgins entice boys on the temple shrine peacefully.
Very beautiful looks Kalia's temple on Earth;
Visitors, devotees, poets enjoy the beauty with mirth.
Vivid heavenly beauty of the temple attracts poets naturally;
Virtuous women, men pray Radhakrushna devotionally.
Veda's hymns reverberate on the shrine;
Vhagavana adorns the shrine with sun shine.
Vibration of devotional songs enchants the devotees;
Verses of poets provide peace, delight.
Veda's hymn vibrates in the environment;
Vibration of devotional songs brings merriment.
Vhagavana entices poets to the shrine cordially.
Various flowers fragrance enchants devotees mind gaily.
Valuable time passes singing Kalia's songs devotionally.
Vagabond boys become devotees on the shrine automatically.
Value of life dazzles in society beholding Kalia daily.
Vices of women, men evaporate singing his songs devotionally.
Valley of peace vibrates with Radhakrushna's songs miraculously;
Visiting spiritual shirne devotees derive peace gaily.
Valley's gods and goddesses attract devotees daily;
Valiant poets, devotees pray Kalia in vernal morn delightfully.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Where Is Your Love Of God?
On earth today some are still political
these people bend their knee to Caesar
these people still fight die for Caesar?
On earth today some are still materialistic
these people bend their knee to materialism
these people still fight to attain possessions?
On earth today some are still Christian
these people bend their knee to God
these people still live die for their God?
God gives the heart of those who love him no rest.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Splitter Splatter
Splitter splatter, splitter splatter
The rain tumbles, the rain scatters
Such a day for rubber boots
Such a day for a poncho suit
What a moment to kiss my fella
Under this polka dot umbrella
The muddy puddles, we straddle
Should have brought a wooden paddle
The rain's no more a pitter patter
The rain is now a splitter splatter
Splitter splatter, splitter splatter
The rain tumbles, the rain scatters
poem by Whitney Albright
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All Flowers In Time Bend Towards The Sun
my eyes are
a baptism
oh i am filth
and sing her
into my thoughts
oh phantom elusive thing oh,
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one,
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one, here is one... here is one
aah, ooh...
one that can never be known
either all drunk with the world at her feet
or sober with no place to go
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one,
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one, here is one... here is one
aah, ooh...
we could go (......)
we can travel round
fading farther from me
with your face in my window call
when will you weep for me
sweet willow
it's ok to be angry
but not to hurt me
your happiness, yes, yes, yes
darling, darling,
oooh...
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one,
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one, here is one... here is one
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Arrival
Across a thousand miles of sea, a hundred leagues of land,
Along a path I had not traced and could not understand,
I travelled fast and far for this, -- to take thee by the hand.
A pilgrim knowing not the shrine where he would bend his knee,
A mariner without a dream of what his port would be,
So fared I with a seeking heart until I came to thee.
O cooler than a grove of palm in some heat-weary place,
O fairer than an isle of calm after the wild sea race,
The quiet room adorned with flowers where first I saw thy face!
Then furl the sail, let fall the oar, forget the paths of foam!
The Power that made me wander far at last has brought me home
To thee, dear haven of my heart, and I no more will roam.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Good
The old man comes out on the hill
and looks down to recall earlier days
in the valley. He sees the stream shine,
the church stand, hears the litter of
children's voices. A chill in the flesh
tells him that death is not far off
now: it is the shadow under the great boughs
of life. His garden has herbs growing.
The kestrel goes by with fresh prey
in its claws. The wind scatters the scent
of wild beans. The tractor operates
on the earth's body. His grandson is there
ploughing; his young wife fetches him
cakes and tea and a dark smile. It is well.
poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas
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He who obtains has little. He who scatters has much.
Lover's Gifts LIV: In the Beginning of Time
In the beginning of time, there rose from the churning of God's
dream two women. One is the dancer at the court of paradise, the
desired of men, she who laughs and plucks the minds of the wise
from their cold meditations and of fools from their emptiness; and
scatters them like seeds with careless hands in the extravagant
winds of March, in the flowering frenzy of May.
The other is the crowned queen of heaven, the mother, throned
on the fullness of golden autumn; she who in the harvest-time
brings straying hearts to the smile sweet as tears, the beauty deep
as the sea of silence, -brings them to the temple of the Unknown,
at the holy confluence of Life and Death.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Vava Akhandalamanee Vavroovahana Patra
Vava Ahandalamanee attracts devotees;
Very beautiful looks the temple, distributes delight.
Vagabond boys become devotees on the shrine;
Victorious become women, men drinking the nectar of God as wine.
Vernal breeze kisses God’s temple delightfully;
Virginal offer garlands of champaks reverentially.
Visitors enjoy the beauty of the shrine gleefully;
Vivid beauty of the temple allures distant devotees enthusiastically.
Vices of women, men evaporate chanting hymns before the altar;
Virtue of devotees enhances in the lap of Nature.
Vital thing of life is God’s Bliss;
Vhagavana Shiva (God) fulfills all innocent devotees’ wish.
Vaiskyas(business men) donate money for shrines development;
Various fragrance flowers delight devotees with enchantment.
Valor of devotees increases reciting God’s name peacefully;
Value of life dazzles in society distinctly.
Veda’s hymns reverberate in the environment;
Vibration of spiritual songs brings merriment.
Verses of poets echo, bring enchantment;
Vhagavana(God) attracts devotees to remain pleasant.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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He who has nothing to do, scatters and gathers.
Beyond The Temple ('78 Demo)
Beyond the temple
There lies a tomb with a king from long ago
A traveler from a distant planet
Ten thousand years or so
The legend tells of an agin' man
Whose city he built alone
Till the pirates of our western world
Tore it down stone by stone
The clouds are gettin' heavy
As he points unto the sky
But with the guidance of his finger
He let the lightning fly
So don't turn around, don't turn around
Lightning don't strike twice
Don't turn around, don't turn around
Death is a very high price
He gathered up his people
And he took them underground
To the caves of silvery water
Where they never could be found
The king came to the surface
Could not believe what he had found
The temple left in ruins
His city knocked to the ground
He went back to his people
Sad news he had to tell
The only justice for the king
Was to put these men in hell
So don't turn around, don't turn around
Lightning don't strike twice
Don't turn around, don't turn around
Death is a very high price
His face showing sorrow
His heart full of grief
His life's work in ruins
Destroyed by a thief
His people just sit around
His children just cry
The king's mind is all confused
Just wonderin' why
The temple split in half
And scattered through the desert
The dust had risen in the air
The race of people had to live in devastation
Why wasn't he even there?
Message from the gods to gather up his people
The kingdom couldn't lose them there
That's when all the gods and all are livin' peaceful
Just a galaxy away
The king rose up from underground
To light the darkened sky
Red lights, green lights, blue lights flashing
It seemed a mile high
As it lifted from the ground
And soared into the air
The king looked at what might have been
A world that needed care
A storm had risen quickly
Across the take of hope
Now there's no trace of the king
Just a memory carved in stone
So don't turn around, don't turn around
Lightning don't strike twice
Don't turn around, don't turn around
Death is a very high price
Don't turn around, don't turn around
Lightning don't strike twice
Don't turn around, don't turn around
Death is a very high price
song performed by by Def Leppard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shavara Shreekhetra Vavroovahana Patra
Shavara shreekhetra smiles at Koraput;
Serenity pervades with delight.
Sanctity attracts the devotee;
Solitude enhances gaiety.
Silence reigns in the temple shrine;
Shrine is a nectar to devotees as drunkards to wine.
Steps by steps devotees proceed delightfully;
Spectacle of the temple attracts devotees gaily.
Stream of love flows on the shrine;
Silently devotees drink the nectar as drunkard’s wine.
Sanctified shrine’s women after Deepa’s light on the altar;
Sandal’s fragrance enchants all creatures.
Sun beam Kisses the shrine delightfully;
Soul derives Eternal Peace gaily.
Spring plays in the Shrine enthusiastically;
Saintly devotees chant Jagannath’s hymns gaily.
Sky is transparent, blue, beautiful;
Sanctum sanctorium endowed with flowers is mirthful.
Smile of devotees is a Brook of Purity;
Sisters and Brothers chant God’s hymns with gaiety.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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He that scatters thorns, let him not go barefoot.
The Hour Of Prayer
Child, amidst the flowers at play,
While the red light fades away;
Mother, with thine earnest eye,
Ever following silently;
Father, by the breeze of eve,
Call'd thy harvest-work to leave -
Pray: ere yet the dark hours be,
Lift the heart, and bend the knee!
Traveller, in the stranger's land,
Far from thine own household band;
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from this world gone;
Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell;
Sailor, on the dark'ning sea-
Lift the heart, and bend the knee!
Warrior, that from battle won,
Breathest now at set of sun;
Woman, o'er the lowly slain,
Weeping on his burial plain:
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie,
Heaven's first star alike ye see-
Lift the heart, and bend the knee!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Our Blessings
Sitting to-day in the sunshine,
That touched me with fingers of love,
I thought of the manifold blessings
God scatters on earth, from above;
And they seemed, as I numbered them over,
Far more than we merit, or need,
And all that we lack is the angels
To make earth a heaven indeed.
The winter brings long, pleasant evenings,
The spring brings a promise of flowers
That summer breathes to fruition,
And autumn brings glad, golden hours.
The woodlands re-echo with music,
The moonbeams ensilver the sea;
There is sunlight and beauty about us,
And the world is as fair as can be.
But mortals are always complaining,
Each one thinks his own a sad lot;
And forgetting the good things about him,
Goes mourning for those he has not.
Instead of the star-spangled heavens,
We look on the dust at our feet;
We drain out the cup that is bitter,
Forgetting the one that is sweet.
We mourn o'er the thorn in the flower,
Forgetting its odour and bloom;
We pass by a garden of blossoms,
To weep o'er the dust of the tomb.
There are blessings unnumbered about us, -
Like the leaves of the forest they grow;
And the fault is our own - not the Giver's -
That we have not an Eden below.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Shrine
For them we have builded a temple
To stand as a visible sign.
For them we have builded a temple,
And set in its great heart a shrine.
Ere the dull years shall tarnish their story,
While the spirit bides close to us yet,
We have set up a shrine to their glory,
Lest men should forget.
We have raised upa visible temple,
Hewn from impermanent stone;
And the spirit shall dwell in the temple;
Yet not in the temple alone.
Lest the spirit of that great oblation,
Eternal, transcending all pride,
Dwell, too, in the heart of their nation,
In vain they have died.
For a holier place has enshrined them
From treacherous time's swift decay:
A temple more hallowed has held them
Inviolate unto today.
But the friends of their friends, too, shall perish,
The seed of their seed shall grow old,
While for ever the flame that these cherish
A nation must hold.
So soon do their feet grow aweary
Of treading where glory had birth,
So soon do their souls grow aweary
Of transient things of the earth.
And they go to the great consummating,
The goal of their pilgrimage won,
To triumphant battalions awaiting
They drift one by one.
When the last tired veteran totters
From this, fame's unstable abode;
When the last tired footfall has echoed
And died in the dust of the road;
Tho' they boast down the years of his story,
If the spirit he left us shall fail
No shrine may envision that glory
No temple avail.
We have builded a visible temple;
We have set us a tangible sign
For a symbol of that truer temple,
A mark of that holier shrine;
And nought of war's long tarnished story
Dwells there, not of pride nor of pain,
But all that remains of their glory
Who died not in vain.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Temple Lass
Look at her! vision internal
Amidst the flood of lights providential
Sitting so simple before the temple
Doesn't tremble but capable
Stringing up the flowers essential
Without struggling like a professional
To sell to you only retail
For the deity in the temple...
Her eyes with pupils muted winkle
Revealing so much potential
Herself nurturing her own life, a testimonial
My visit to the temple
Is now habitual
To see that lass little
Visionless still visualising with vigil
Her earnings and savings a brave sentinel!
Greet her courageous spirit with flowers cordial
Despite her impairment is she hopeful
Raise her up to bloom and blossom lifeful
poem by Indira Renganathan
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