To A Young Friend, On His Arriving At Cambridge Wet, When No Rain Had Fallen There
If Gideon's fleece, which drenched with dew he found,
White moisture none refreshed the herbs around,
Might fitly represent the Church, endowed
With heavenly gifts to heathens not allowed;
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high,
Thy locks were wet when others' locks were dry.
Heaven grant us half the omen,--may we see
Not drought on others, but much dew on thee!
poem by William Cowper
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Related quotes
To a Prospective Cook
Curly locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be ours?
Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet weed the flowers,
But stand in the kitchen and cook a fine meal,
And ride every night in an automobile.
Curly Locks, Curly Locks, come to us soon!
Thou needest not to rise until mid-afternoon;
Thou mayest be Croatian, Armenian, or Greek;
Thy guerdon shall be what thy askest per week.
Curly Locks, Curly Locks, give us a chance!
Thou shalt not wash windows, nor iron my pants.
Oh, come to the cosiest of seven-room bowers,
Curly Locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be ours?
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Heaven found a way
Heaven found a way to make thee perfect one
That also came along with a Son
To put thee greatest love in side his heart
And held it strong to never part
To show a Lady were her Souls Heart could find
Thee closest thing of Heaven to bind
Thee strongest love of all
One could ever wish to have the chance to fall
In love complete souls mate of thee creator
Heaven found a way to finely save her
Sent his own garden angels to guide her way
To walk with her until thee day
Heavenly gifts placed in to her soul
To tell the world what first was told
So much faith placed in to ones heart
To heal thee world that falls apart
So with heavens strongest angels and gifts
Teachings and faith bring truth to all myths
Time slips closer to heavens final try
To heal the world that wants to die
Wings will flush and crush shadows sin
Awaken all life from with in
Heaven found a way
I as me in its entirety has the words to say
I walk with thee angels of heaven
And bring to all Thee Final day
To save the souls that heaven gave
And to shadows ending sin
For life to live once again!
I shall not fall i shall Win!
poem by Susan Covington
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Serenade
THOU moon, like a white Christus hanging
At the sky's cross-roads, I'll court thee not,
Though travellers bend up, and seek thy grace.
Let them go truckle with their gifts and singing,
I'll ask no favours of thy cocker face.
Moonlight's a viand sucked by the world's lovers,
Captains and peasants, all that are young and have luck.
They take the moon. Nobody asked them to.
Let the musicians lout to thee for favours;
Personally, I have other things to do.
poem by Kenneth Slessor
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The Three Kings Of Cologne
From out Cologne there came three kings
To worship Jesus Christ, their King.
To Him they sought fine herbs they brought,
And many a beauteous golden thing;
They brought their gifts to Bethlehem town,
And in that manger set them down.
Then spake the first king, and he said:
'O Child, most heavenly, bright, and fair!
I bring this crown to Bethlehem town
For Thee, and only Thee, to wear;
So give a heavenly crown to me
When I shall come at last to Thee!'
The second, then. 'I bring Thee here
This royal robe, O Child!' he cried;
'Of silk 'tis spun, and such an one
There is not in the world beside;
So in the day of doom requite
Me with a heavenly robe of white!'
The third king gave his gift, and quoth:
'Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,
And with these twain would I most fain
Anoint the body of my King;
So may their incense sometime rise
To plead for me in yonder skies!'
Thus spake the three kings of Cologne,
That gave their gifts, and went their way;
And now kneel I in prayer hard by
The cradle of the Child to-day;
Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bring
As offering unto Christ, my King.
Yet have I brought a gift the Child
May not despise, however small;
For here I lay my heart to-day,
And it is full of love to all.
Take Thou the poor but loyal thing,
My only tribute, Christ, my King!
poem by Eugene Field
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I have six locks on my door all in a row. When I go out, I lock every other one. I figure no matter how long somebody stands there picking the locks, they are always locking three.
quote by Elayne Boosler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To My Son
Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue
Bright as thy mother’s in their hue;
Those rosy lips, whose dimples play
And smile to steal the heart away,
Recall a scene of former joy,
And touch thy father’s heart, my Boy!
And thou canst lisp a father’s name—
Ah, William, were thine own the same,—
No self-reproach—but, let me cease—
My care for thee shall purchase peace;
Thy mother’s shade shall smile in joy,
And pardon all the past, my Boy!
Her lowly grave the turf has prest,
And thou hast known a stranger’s breast;
Derision sneers upon thy birth,
And yields thee scarce a name on earth;
Yet shall not these one hope destroy,—
A Father’s heart is thine, my Boy!
Why, let the world unfeeling frown,
Must I fond Nature’s claims disown?
Ah, no—though moralists reprove,
I hail thee, dearest child of Love,
Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy—
A Father guards thy birth, my Boy!
Oh,’twill be sweet in thee to trace,
Ere Age has wrinkled o’er my face,
Ere half my glass of life is run,
At once a brother and a son;
And all my wane of years employ
In justice done to thee, my Boy!
Although so young thy heedless sire,
Youth will not damp parental fire;
And, wert thou still less dear to me,
While Helen’s form revives in thee,
The breast, which beat to former joy,
Will ne’er desert its pledge, my Boy!
poem by Byron (1807)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Locksmith At Heavens Gate
a man died in a car crash, and climbed
the stairs to heaven, and found he could'nt get in.
he said: i am a locksmith, and i could
make keys to all locks.
saint peter answered: yes, but here you have but just to knock.
in life you was a locksmith and forged many a key
but all the lives you hurt is something you did not see.
you took pride and boasted, that there
was not a door you could not open.
but here in heaven all your boasts go unheard
for in the LORD, you have not practiced his word.
you opened the hearts and souls of many a life
not caring if you hurt them, and the pain
they would go through.
when all you had to do was, was forge
the keys to the words of the LORD
and to practice what he preached.
but! you chose instead to be a common leach.
to cling on to man, and suck the blood
from their souls, then to laugh
as they went out of control.
you controlled their lives, for you said you had the keys
when you knew in your mind, with the LORD
it could never be.
you bragged that you had the keys
to all the locks around,
but! here in heaven, there's not one to be found.
so now i think it's time you turn yourself around.
descend these steps that you thought that
you could climb.
for you are condemned until the end of time.
for you are the devil in sheeps clothing
and thought that GOD would not see
the lives you destroyed
when you could have been set free.
poem by Louis Rams
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Hair
Take care of your locks,
Stress and clocks,
Can shed the locks,
When it drops,
There's no stops.
But you can regain
with Rogaine?
A head massage
and hair tonic
Get back visage
and look supersonic!
Six Locks
Six locks on my door!
Why not just two or three?
You really wanna know?
I’ll tell you so!
why that works so darn well for me
I put six locks
all in a row on my door
But I only lock
every other one, you see
Because while a burglar thinks
he’s pickin all six
He’s really
always lockin three
poem by David Whalen
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Curly Locks
_Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine,--
But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream._
Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
The throb of my heart is in every line,
And the pulse of a passion as airy and glad
In its musical beat as the little Prince had!
Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine!--
O I'll dapple thy hands with these kisses of mine
Till the pink of the nail of each finger shall be
As a little pet blush in full blossom for me.
But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
And thou shalt have fabric as fair as a dream,--
The red of my veins, and the white of my love,
And the gold of my joy for the braiding thereof.
And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream
From a service of silver, with jewels agleam,--
At thy feet will I bide, at thy beck will I rise,
And twinkle my soul in the night of thine eyes!
_Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine.--
But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream._
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Old Dispensation
O THOU, who, high in heaven,
To man hast given
This clouded earthly life
All storm and strife,
Blasted with ice and fire,
Love and desire,
Filled with dead faith, and love
That change is master of--
O Thou, who mightest have given
To all Thy heaven,
But who, instead, didst give
This life we live--
Who feedest with blood and tears
The hungry years--
I make one prayer to Thee,
O Great God! grant it me.
Some day when summer shows
Her leaf, her rose,
God, let Thy sinner lie
Under Thy sky,
And feel Thy sun's large grace
Upon his face;
Then grant him this, that he
May not believe in Thee!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Dispensation
O THOU, who, high in heaven,
To man hast given
This clouded earthly life
All storm and strife,
Blasted with ice and fire,
Love and desire,
Filled with dead faith, and love
That change is master of--
O Thou, who mightest have given
To all Thy heaven,
But who, instead, didst give
This life we live--
Who feedest with blood and tears
The hungry years--
I make one prayer to Thee,
O Great God! grant it me.
Some day when summer shows
Her leaf, her rose,
God, let Thy sinner lie
Under Thy sky,
And feel Thy sun's large grace
Upon his face;
Then grant him this, that he
May not believe in Thee!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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In Memoriam
Obiit 1854.
HEAVEN rest thee!
We shall go about today
In our festal garlands gay;
Whatsoever robes we wear
Not a trace of black be there.
Well, what matters? none is seen
On thy daisy covering green,
Or thy pure white pillow, hid
Underneath a cofin lid.
Heaven rest thee!
Heaven take thee!--
Ay, heaven only. Sleeps beneath
One who died a virgin death:
Died so slowly, day by day,
That it scarcely seemed decay,
Till this lonely churchyard kind
Opened,--and we left behind
Nothing but a little dust;--
Heaven is pitiful and just:
Heaven take thee!
Heaven keep thee:
Nevermore above the ground
Be one relic of thee found:
Lay the turf so smooth, we crave,
None would guess it was a grave,
Save for grass that greener grows,
Or for wind that gentlier blows
All the earth o'er, from this spot
Where thou wert--and thou art not.
Heaven keep thee!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The Band of Gideon
The band of Gideon roam the sky,
The howling wind is their war-cry,
The thunder roll is their trump's peal,
And the lightning flash their vengeful steel.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."
And men below rear temples high
And mock their God with reasons why,
And live in arrogance, sin and shame,
And rape their souls for the world's good name.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."
The band of Gideon roam the sky
And view the earth with baleful eye,
In holy wrath they scourge the land
With earth-quake, storm and burning brand.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."
The lightnings flash and the thunders roll,
And "Lord have mercy on my soul,"
Cry men as they fall on the stricken sod,
In agony searching for their God.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."
And men repent and then forget
That heavenly wrath they ever met,
The band of Gideon yet will come
And strike their tongues of blasphemy dumb.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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Among Those Killed in the Dawn Raid Was a Man Aged a Hundred
When the morning was waking over the war
He put on his clothes and stepped out and he died,
The locks yawned loose and a blast blew them wide,
He dropped where he loved on the burst pavement stone
And the funeral grains of the slaughtered floor.
Tell his street on its back he stopped a sun
And the craters of his eyes grew springshots and fire
When all the keys shot from the locks, and rang.
Dig no more for the chains of his grey-haired heart.
The heavenly ambulance drawn by a wound
Assembling waits for the spade's ring on the cage.
O keep his bones away from the common cart,
The morning is flying on the wings of his age
And a hundred storks perch on the sun's right hand.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Door To Door
All us angels wearing studs
Yeah, plastic mouth melts in the sun
Oo, running colors everyone
Cause were all in prison having fun
Oh, perfect pictures hang around
Well, delusions swing you up and down
Well fall out windows climb up trees
Im lookin for tranquillity
Hmm, got your, o locks and chains
Well, still gonna blow your brains out
Those locks and chains
No, nah, never felt like a dream like you before
(ahh,ahh, ahh, ahh)
Even knocking door to door
Oo yeah, I never felt like a dream like you before
(ahh,ahh, ahh, ahh)
Even knocking door to door
Oo, yeah you got your herds of people choosing arms
Gonna keep us all in mass alarm
Oh, murder movies make your day
Ah, ah, living in the usa
Cracked up people on the edge
They got no heroes got no bread
Oh, get the jitters get the shakes
Lookin like (? ) the final take
Ooh, well locks and chains
Gonna protect you
Well locks and chains
Dont feel no more
Never felt a dream like you before
(ahh,ahh, ahh, ahh)
Even knocking door to door
Oh, never felt a dream like you before
(ahh,ahh, ahh, ahh)
Even knocking door to door
Ha- shh, oo
Yeah locks and chains
Well gonna blow your brains out?
Yeah locks and chains
Cant feel no more
Never felt a dream like you before
(ahh, ahh, ahh, ahh)
Even knocking door to door
Uh well I never felt a dream like you before
(ahh, ahh, ahh, ahh)
Oo, even knocking door to door
Oh, livin in a dream is all the same
Ah, yeah livin in a dream is a-all the same
Oh never felt a dream like you before
(ahh, ahh, ahh, ahh)
Even knocking door to door (door)
Door to door
song performed by by Cars
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After The Fox
Who is the fox - I am the fox
Who are you - I am me
Who is me - Me is a thief
You'll bring your poor, poor mother grief
So after the fox, after the fox
Off to the hunt with chains and locks
So after the fox, after the fox
Someone is always chasing after the fox
Where is the gold - It's on the truck
Where's the truck - I won't tell
You must tell - Then I will lie
You'll make your poor, poor sister cry
So after the fox, after the fox
Off to the hunt with chains and locks
So after the fox, after the fox
Someone is always chasing after the fox
Why do you steal - So I'll be rich
Why not work - Work is hard
You'll be caught - I never fail
All little crooks wind up in jail - Not me not me
So after the fox, after the fox
Off to the hunt with chains and locks
So after the fox, after the fox
Someone is always chasing after the fox
After the fox
After the fox
After the fox
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bridal And The Burial
I saw thee young and beautiful,
I saw thee rich and gay,
In the first blush of womanhood,
Upon thy wedding-day;
The church-bells rang,
And the little children sang:
'Flowers, flowers, kis her feet;
Sweets to the sweet;
The winter's past, the rains are gone--
Bless'd is the bride whom the sun shines on.'
I saw thee poor and desolate,
I saw thee fade away,
In broken-hearted widowhood,
Before thy locks were grey;
The death-bell rang,
And the little children sang:
'Lilies, dress her winding-sheet;
Sweets to the sweet:
The summer's past, the sunshine gone;
Bless'd is the corpse which the rain rains on.'
poem by James Montgomery
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only Those With The Key
The gate has been locked,
To block access...
To those once accustomed,
To free entry and free reign.
And this has been suggested...
Maybe one's own finding,
Of a home on the range...
Suitable for the deer and the antelope,
To play.
And any mumbling heard is one's own
The gate has been locked,
To block out the physical.
And that which appears limited.
But one 'spirited' in mind,
Can choose to look over the gate.
Or through its cracks.
Or...
Sit to wonder why THIS gate attracts.
And gates with locks that block,
To stop what's coming in...
Seem to imprison those behind them,
Rarely to come out to test the locks.
And only those with the key,
Know what it is used for.
AND...
Its history to be known or not!
Since whoever has got the key,
Needs not to peek or have interest in the doing.
Only those with the key to the gate that locks,
To block in or not to block out...
Do not concern themselves with peeking.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Church—Door Should Still Stand Open
Church-doors should still stand open, night and day,
Open to all who come for praise or prayer,
Laden with gift of love or load of care,
Nimbused with gold, or flecked with locks of gray,
Mother, or snow-white bride, or pallid clay,
The blithe, the sad, the uncomely as the fair,
Each on his secret errand wending there,
Nor even the mighty and strong be turned away.
And so the poet's heart should ever be
Portal of joy and welcomer of woe,
That makes the deaf to hear, the blind to see,
Open confessional for high and low,
An unshut shrine where all may come and go,
And by their tears an enriched sanctuary.
poem by Alfred Austin
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