Life Of The Blessed
FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS PONCE DE LEON.
Region of life and light!
Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er!
Nor frost nor heat may blight
Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore,
Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore!
There without crook or sling,
Walks the good shepherd; blossoms white and red
Round his meek temples cling;
And to sweet pastures led,
His own loved flock beneath his eye is fed.
He guides, and near him they
Follow delighted, for he makes them go
Where dwells eternal May,
And heavenly roses blow,
Deathless, and gathered but again to grow.
He leads them to the height
Named of the infinite and long-sought Good,
And fountains of delight;
And where his feet have stood
Springs up, along the way, their tender food.
And when, in the mid skies,
The climbing sun has reached his highest bound,
Reposing as he lies,
With all his flock around,
He witches the still air with numerous sound.
From his sweet lute flow forth
Immortal harmonies, of power to still
All passions born of earth,
And draw the ardent will
Its destiny of goodness to fulfil.
Might but a little part,
A wandering breath of that high melody,
Descend into my heart,
And change it till it be
Transformed and swallowed up, oh love! in thee.
Ah! then my soul should know,
Beloved! where thou liest at noon of day,
And from this place of woe
Released, should take its way
To mingle with thy flock and never stray.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Hymn 67
Seeking the pastures of Christ the Shepherd.
SS 1:7.
Thou whom my soul admires above
All earthly joy and earthly love,
Tell me, dear Shepherd, let me know,
Where doth thy sweetest pasture grow?
Where is the shadow of that rock,
That from the sun defends thy flock?
Fain would I feed among thy sheep,
Among them rest, among them sleep.
Why should thy bride appear like one
That turns aside to paths unknown?
My constant feet would never rove,
Would never seek another love.
[The footsteps of thy flock I see;
Thy sweetest pastures here they be;
A wondrous feast thy love prepares,
Bought with thy wounds, and groans, and tears.
His dearest flesh he makes my food,
And bids me drink his richest blood:
Here to these hills my soul will come,
Till my Beloved lead me home.]
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: Lord Jesus Christ - the Good Shepherd
Christ Jesus Lord is Good Shepherd - the one,
Who is ready to sacrifice His life,
For sake of sheep He leads, and He is Son
Of God, Redeemer and saves all from strife!
Christ gave His life upon the cross for all,
And shed His blood as price for mankind's sins,
So that the penitent can hear God's call,
And enter heaven with pure soul and wins.
The Good Shepherd has other sheep to lead,
For they too heed His call and follow Him;
For all His sheep in flock one, need to feed,
Returning safely when the light turns dim!
Christ is the owner of the flock of sheep;
With Good Shepherd around, no wolves dare peep!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 28-04-2012
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Birthday Tribute
TO J. F. CLARKE
WHO is the shepherd sent to lead,
Through pastures green, the Master's sheep?
What guileless 'Israelite indeed'
The folded flock may watch and keep?
He who with manliest spirit joins
The heart of gentlest human mould,
With burning light and girded loins,
To guide the flock, or watch the fold;
True to all Truth the world denies,
Not tongue-tied for its gilded sin;
Not always right in all men's eyes,
But faithful to the light within;
Who asks no meed of earthly fame,
Who knows no earthly master's call,
Who hopes for man, through guilt and shame,
Still answering, 'God is over all';
Who makes another's grief his own,
Whose smile lends joy a double cheer;
Where lives the saint, if such be known?--
Speak softly,--such an one is here!
O faithful shepherd! thou hast borne
The heat and burden of the clay;
Yet, o'er thee, bright with beams unshorn,
The sun still shows thine onward way.
To thee our fragrant love we bring,
In buds that April half displays,
Sweet first-born angels of the spring,
Caught in their opening hymn of praise.
What though our faltering accents fail,
Our captives know their message well,
Our words unbreathed their lips exhale,
And sigh more love than ours can tell.
April 4, 1860.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Good Shepherd
SHEPHERD! who with thine amorous, sylvan song
Hast broken the slumber that encompassed me,
Who mad'st Thy crook from the accursed tree
On which Thy powerful arms were stretched so long!
Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains;
For Thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be;
I will obey Thy voice, and wait to see
Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains.
Hear, Shepherd Thou who for Thy flock art dying,
Oh, wash away these scarlet sins, for Thou
Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow.
Oh, wait! to Thee my weary soul is crying,
Wait for me: Yet why ask it, when I see,
With feet nailed to the cross, Thou'rt waiting still for me!
poem by Lope de Vega
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Good Shepherd (From The Spanish Of Lope De Vega)
Shepherd! who with thine amorous sylvan songs
Hast broken the slumber that encompassed me,
Who mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree,
On which thy powerful arms were stretched so long!
Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains;
For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be ;
I will obey thy voice, and wait to see
Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains.
Hear, Shepherd! thou who for thy flock art dying,
Oh, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou
Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow.
Oh, wait! to thee my weary soul is crying,
Wait for me! Yet why ask it, when I see,
With feet nailed to the cross, thou'rt waiting still for me?
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Laura (Mystery Of Reminiscence)
Who and what gave to me the wish to woo thee--
Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee?
Who made thy glances to my soul the link--
Who bade me burn thy very breath to drink--
My life in thine to sink?
As from the conqueror's unresisted glaive,
Flies, without strife subdued, the ready slave--
So, when to life's unguarded fort, I see
Thy gaze draw near and near triumphantly--
Yields not my soul to thee?
Why from its lord doth thus my soul depart?--
Is it because its native home thou art?
Or were they brothers in the days of yore,
Twin-bound both souls, and in the link they bore
Sigh to be bound once more?
Were once our beings blent and intertwining,
And therefore still my heart for thine is pining?
Knew we the light of some extinguished sun--
The joys remote of some bright realm undone,
Where once our souls were ONE?
Yes, it is so!--And thou wert bound to me
In the long-vanish'd Eld eternally!
In the dark troubled tablets which enroll
The Past--my Muse beheld this blessed scroll--
"One with thy love my soul!"
Oh yes, I learned in awe, when gazing there,
How once one bright inseparate life we were,
How once, one glorious essence as a God,
Unmeasured space our chainless footsteps trod--
All Nature our abode!
Round us, in waters of delight, forever
Voluptuous flowed the heavenly Nectar river;
We were the master of the seal of things,
And where the sunshine bathed Truth's mountain-springs
Quivered our glancing wings.
Weep for the godlike life we lost afar--
Weep!--thou and I its scattered fragments are;
And still the unconquered yearning we retain--
Sigh to restore the rapture and the reign,
And grow divine again.
And therefore came to me the wish to woo thee--
Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee;
This made thy glances to my soul the link--
This made me burn thy very breath to drink--
My life in thine to sink;
And therefore, as before the conqueror's glaive,
Flies, without strife subdued, the ready slave,
So, when to life's unguarded fort, I see
Thy gaze draw near and near triumphantly--
Yieldeth my soul to thee!
Therefore my soul doth from its lord depart,
Because, beloved, its native home thou art;
Because the twins recall the links they bore,
And soul with soul, in the sweet kiss of yore,
Meets and unites once more!
Thou, too--Ah, there thy gaze upon me dwells,
And thy young blush the tender answer tells;
Yes! with the dear relation still we thrill,
Both lives--though exiles from the homeward hill--
One life--all glowing still!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Psalm 23
The Lord, the Lord, my Shepherd is,
And so can never I
Taste misery:
He rests me in green pastures His:
By waters still and sweet,
He guides my feet.
He me revives; leads me the way
Which righteousness doth take,
For his name's sake:
Yea, though I should through valleys stray
Of death's dark shade, I will
No whit fear ill.
For Thou, dear Lord, Thou me besettest
Thy rod and thy staff be
To comfort me:
Before me Thou a table settest,
Even when foe's envious eye
Doth it espy.
Thou oilst my head, Thou fillest my cup;
Nay more, Thou endless good,
Shalt give me food.
To Thee, I say, ascended up,
Where Thou, the Lord of all,
Dost hold thy hall.
poem by Philip Sidney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Sweet Pastoral
Good Muse, rock me asleep
With some sweet harmony:
The weary eye is not to keep
Thy wary company.
Sweet Love, begone awhile,
Thou knowest my heaviness:
Beauty is born but to beguile
My heart of happiness.
See how my little flock,
That loved to feed on high,
Do headlong tumble down the rock,
And in the valley die.
The bushes and the trees
That were so fresh and green,
Do all their dainty colour leese,
And not a leaf is seen.
The blackbird and the thrush,
That made the woods to ring,
With all the rest, are now at hush,
And not a note they sing.
Sweet Philomel, the bird
That hath the heavenly throat,
Doth now alas! not once afford
Recording of a note.
The flowers have had a frost,
Each herb hath lost her savour;
And Phyllida the fair hath lost
The comfort of her favour.
Now all these careful sights
So kill me in conceit,
That how to hope upon delights
It is but mere deceit.
And therefore, my sweet Muse,
Thou know'st what help is best;
Do now thy heavenly cunning use
To set my heart at rest;
And in a dream bewray
What fate shall be my friend;
Whether my life shall still decay,
Or when my sorrow end.
poem by Nicholas Breton
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
Hymn For The Class-Meeting
THOU Gracious Power, whose mercy lends
The light of home, the smile of friends,
Our gathered flock thine arms infold
As in the peaceful days of old.
Wilt thou not hear us while we raise,
In sweet accord of solemn praise,
The voices that have mingled long
In joyous flow of mirth and song?
For all the blessings life has brought,
For all its sorrowing hours have taught,
For all we mourn, for all we keep,
The hands we clasp, the loved that sleep;
The noontide sunshine of the past,
These brief, bright moments fading fast,
The stars that gild our darkening years,
The twilight ray from holier spheres;
We thank thee, Father! let thy grace
Our narrowing circle still embrace,
Thy mercy shed its heavenly store,
Thy peace be with us evermore!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I said to Love
my love,
my love for you
is like the land
beneath your feet
if you want a comparison
forever supporting you
in life, in death
i take the wind, the rain, storm
in my stride
for your cause
honouring you
with blooms, roses, irises, clovers
crocuses, flowers of delight
to cheer up your heart
fruits of all shapes and colours
to brighten up your day
my love,
my love for you
is like the land
till me, graze me
the land that never says die
forever propping you up
tall as the angsana
my love, my love
for you is
like the land
beneath your feet
that takes all humiliation
to make sure you stand erect
honoured above all
i may be low but my love
is above all, unconditional
this land that lies all below you
the real love hidden
deep in its core, soul
for you deeper than mom and son
thanks for calling mother earth
cos i know you belong to me
one day wherever you may run
inspired by
'I Said to Love'
I said to Love,
'It is not now as in old days
When men adored thee and thy ways
All else above;
Named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One
Who spread a heaven beneath the sun, '
I said to Love.
I said to him,
'We now know more of thee than then;
We were but weak in judgment when,
With hearts abrim,
We clamoured thee that thou would'st please
Inflict on us thine agonies, '
I said to him.
I said to Love,
'Thou art not young, thou art not fair,
No faery darts, no cherub air,
Nor swan, nor dove
Are thine; but features pitiless,
And iron daggers of distress, '
I said to Love.
'Depart then, Love! ...
- Man's race shall end, dost threaten thou?
The age to come the man of now
Know nothing of? -
We fear not such a threat from thee;
We are too old in apathy!
Mankind shall cease.-So let it be, '
I said to Love.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Aurobindo 176 Savitri Book 11
'Pass back into the Power from which thou cam'st.'
'Break into eternity thy mortal mould;
Melt, lightning, into thy invisible flame! '
'Clasp, Ocean, deep into thyself thy wave,
Happy for ever in the embosoming surge.
Grow one with the still passion of the depths.
Then shalt thou know the Lover and the Loved,
Leaving the limits dividing him and thee.'
'Receive him into boundless Savitri,
Lose thyself into infinite Satyavan.
O miracle, where thou beganst, there cease! ''
Oh, as much as she strives so much defied..
But already gone high, almost to His feet
Her persuasive perseverence perpetuates..
Debated with Death, now this godhead
Harken, how she answers...
' But Savitri answered to the radiant God:
'In vain thou temptst with solitary bliss
Two spirits saved out of a suffering world;
My soul and his indissolubly linked
In the one task for which our lives were born,
To raise the world to God in deathless Light,
To bring God down to the world on earth we came,
To change the earthly life to life divine.'
'If man lives bound by his humanity,
If he is tied for ever to his pain,
Let a greater being then arise from man,
The superhuman with the Eternal mate
And the Immortal shine through earthly forms.'
So much power in her to utter words authentic....
............My consciousness this moment,
O'Guru, I'm in awe....in invincible heights
Ineffable Thee embellishing poetic creation
My inquisitive apprehension, erring Thee may opine
May thereso, let Savitri in my self arise
Aroused thereso be knowledge and fortune
(An appreciation on Savitri-
Book Eleven: The Book of Everlasting Day
Canto One: The Eternal Day: The Soul's Choice
and the Supreme Consummation
Words within inverted commas are Aurobindo's)
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’, Rev. & Dear Father
Praise the day when you were born;
Thank the Lord for this great morn;
Sing good hymns and blow your horn;
Pray for parents for God’ altar, you now adorn!
God chose you from the rest of flock,
To be a Shepherd with a frock;
And guide all safely to the Rock,
That quenches thirst of souls that knock!
A priestly life’s closest to God!
You are one most beloved to the Lord;
Live your life as per His Word;
Fight satan with this divine sword!
The love of God will guide you through
The trials, travail that you woo;
The harvest work is tough to do,
But God will find more, when time’s due!
The shepherd runs, trudges and walks;
The Holy Spirit in him talks;
He gives the wisdom, power of staff;
Oh, let wolves come and hyenas laugh!
You have done well so far but still
More things will happen by God’s Will;
May grace of God, your soul afill,
And show the way in vale, uphill!
You have a flock to tend night/ day;
You have to put them in God’s way;
You have to tell what is God’s Say;
You have to sacrifice and pray!
Blessed is the man of God;
He speaks like Jesus, every word;
Like Christ Lord, he shepherds the herd;
All live with God in accord.
Your work can’t be extolled by word;
Your earthly life can be bit hard;
In heaven will be your reward;
This is to you my Birthday Card!
Fondly dedicated to Rev & Dear Father Xavier Claudius,
Parish Priest, ‘Holy Family Church’, Perundurai, Erode, Tamilnadu, India
On his birthday, by families and parishners
Copyright by Dr John Celes 27-10-2010
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Birthday
The love within my heart that dwells
Knows nought of days or hours;
I hear thee in the Christmas bells,
I feel thee in the vernal showers;
And thy breath is blent with the wandering scent
Of the summer fruits and flowers.
And yet this morn my blood is stirred
With more than wonted glow;
Thy absent voice is strangely heard,
Thy spells upon me stronger grow;
And my spirit sips from unseen lips
That can be but thine, I know.
For thou wast born upon this day,
When I was but a child,
Ere winter frosts were ta'en away,
Ere primroses peeped out and smiled;
Ere the snows were reft from the sheltering cleft,
And the winds were high and wild.
Thus early unto me wast thou
An earnest of the spring;
Of happy birds upon the bough,
And sweet trees blossoming;
Of all that is fair upon earth, in air,
And the streams that bound and sing.
I wonder what the world was like
Before thou didst appear-
Did young lambs skip o'er mound and dyke?
Did throstles warble loud and clear?
And were sea and sky as deep and high
As they are now thou art here?
It were a dreary world indeed
To me, wert thou away;
The night no tumults sweet would breed,
No tranquil dalliance the day;
And though earth should fling all that Fame can bring
At my feet, I would not stay.
So, though sore-severed still we be,
Here, helpful one, remain!
Through travels long a bourne to me,
A crowning joy 'mid crushing pain;
An abiding star when the storm-waves jar,
And a rainbow 'mid the rain.
And fear not, sweet, but love like ours
Will keep us ever young:
No prey to the corroding hours,
No feast for the malignant tongue,
But as firm and fond in the years beyond
As when first we clasped and clung.
Age cannot touch such charms as thine;
My heart defies the sun:
Both shall but glow yet more divine,
His course more oft as he may run:
Till we spurn the earth for that second birth,
When we twain shall be only one.
poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Loadstone
Eternal God! O Thou that only art
The sacred fountain of eternal light,
And blessed loadstone of my better part,
O Thou my heart's desire, my soul's delight!
Reflect upon my soul, and touch my heart;
And then my heart shall prize no good above Thee,
And then my soul shall know Thee; knowing, love Thee;
And then my trembling thoughts shall never start
From thy commands, or swerve the least degree,
Or once presume to move, but as they move in Thee.
poem by Francis Quarles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On A Drop Of Dew
See how the Orient Dew,
Shed from the Bosom of the Morn
Into the blowing Roses,
Yet careless of its Mansion new;
For the clear Region where 'twas born
Round in its self incloses:
And in its little Globes Extent,
Frames as it can its native Element.
How it the purple flow'r does slight,
Scarce touching where it lyes,
But gazing back upon the Skies,
Shines with a mournful Light;
Like its own Tear,
Because so long divided from the Sphear.
Restless it roules and unsecure,
Trembling lest it grow impure:
Till the warm Sun pitty it's Pain,
And to the Skies exhale it back again.
So the Soul, that Drop, that Ray
Of the clear Fountain of Eternal Day,
Could it within the humane flow'r be seen,
Remembring still its former height,
Shuns the sweat leaves and blossoms green;
And, recollecting its own Light,
Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express
The greater Heaven in an Heaven less.
In how coy a Figure wound,
Every way it turns away:
So the World excluding round,
Yet receiving in the Day.
Dark beneath, but bright above:
Here disdaining, there in Love.
How loose and easie hence to go:
How girt and ready to ascend.
Moving but on a point below,
It all about does upwards bend.
Such did the Manna's sacred Dew destil;
White, and intire, though congeal'd and chill.
Congeal'd on Earth: but does, dissolving, run
Into the Glories of th' Almighty Sun.
poem by Andrew Marvell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stay Away and Go Away Pains!
stay away from me
all earthly
joys;
Evenly joy is mine.
Break tender ties and Knots;
Eternal joy is mine.
Dark and the wilderness,
Dove can fear and hide in its nest
Earth has no resting place than own heart,
God alone can bless;
Now bliss is mine. Tempting desires not in my mind
my soul sail away;
moral king Is mine.
Here would I ever stay;
infinite peace is mine.
Toys and things made of clay,
Born and soon worn out
Solid but for a few day,
Life melts and boils some day
only flow but can't burn,
Pass from my heart away;
Guardian is mine.
Farewell, ye dreams of day n night;
Humble Soul of mine.
Lost in this dawning
bright;
Source of all light is mine.
All that my soul has tried
Left but a dismal void;
Lord has satisfied;
Lord of lords is mine.
Farewell, mortal nature;
Eternal love is mine.
Welcome, eternal Truth;
Joy and smile is mine.
Welcome, O Loved and my Beloved, Welcome, sweet events of test,
Welcome, sweet nectar in my breast;
all that sweetness is mine.
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Corydon's Supplication To Phyllis
Sweet Phyllis, if a silly swain
May sue to thee for grace,
See not thy loving shepherd slain
With looking on thy face;
But think what power thou hast got
Upon my flock and me;
Thou seest they now regard me not,
But all do follow thee.
And if I have so far presumed,
With prying in thine eyes,
Yet let not comfort be consumed
That in thy pity lies;
But as thou art that Phyllis fair,
That fortune favour gives,
So let not love die in despair
That in thy favour lives.
The deer do browse upon the briar,
The birds do pick the cherries;
And will not Beauty grant Desire
One handful of her berries?
If it be so that thou hast sworn
That none shall look on thee,
Yet let me know thou dost not scorn
To cast a look on me.
But if thy beauty make thee proud,
Think then what is ordain'd;
The heavens have never yet allow'd
That love should be disdain'd.
Then lest the fates that favour love
Should curse thee for unkind,
Let me report for thy behoof,
The honour of thy mind;
Let Corydon with full consent
Set down what he hath seen,
That Phyllida with Love's content
Is sworn the shepherds' queen.
poem by Nicholas Breton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Evening Wind
Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day,
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow:
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,
Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!
Nor I alone--a thousand bosoms round
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,
Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.
Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,
Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse
The wide old wood from his majestic rest,
Summoning from the innumerable boughs
The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast:
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,
And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass.
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep:
And they who stand about the sick man's bed,
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains to allow
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.
Go--but the circle of eternal change,
Which is the life of nature, shall restore,
With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more;
Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange,
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore;
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Dr. Sherlock, On His Practical Discourse Concerning Death
Forgive the muse who, in unhallow'd strains,
The saint one moment from his God detains;
For sure whate'er you do, where'er you are,
'Tis all but one good work, one constant prayer.
Forgive her; and entreat that God to whom
Thy favour'd vows with kind acceptance come,
To raise her notes to that sublime degree
Which suits a song of piety and thee.
Wondrous good man! whose labours may repel
The force of sin, may stop the rage of hell;
Thou, like the Baptist, from thy God was sent,
The crying voice to bid the world repent.
Thee youth shall study, and no more engage
Their flattering wishes for uncertain age,
No more with fruitless care and cheated strife
Chase fleeting pleasure through this maze of life;
Finding the wretched all they there can have
But present food, and but a future grave;
Each, great as Philip's victor son, shall view
This abject world, and weeping ask a new.
Decrepit age shall read thee, and confess
Thy labours can assuage where med'cines cease;
Shall bless thy words, their wounded soul's relief,
The drops that sweeten their last dregs of life:
Shall look to heaven, and laugh at all beneath,
Own riches gather'd trouble, fame a breath,
And life an ill whose only cure is death.
Thy even thoughts with so much plainness flow,
Their sense untutor'd infancy may know;
Yet to such height is all that plainness wrought,
Wit may admire, and letter'd pride be taught.
Easy in words thy style, in sense sublime,
On its blest steps each age and sex may rise;
'Tis like the ladder in the Patriarch's dream,
Its foot on earth, its height above the skies.
Diffused its virtue, boundless is its power;
'Tis public health, and universal cure:
Of heavenly manna 'tis a second feast,
A nation's food, and all to every taste.
To its last height mad Britain's guilt was rear'd,
And various death for various crimes she fear'd:
With your kind work her drooping hopes revive;
You bid her read, repent, adore, and live,
You wrest the bolt from Heaven's avenging hand,
Stop ready death, and save a sinking land.
O! save us still; still bless us with thy stay:
O! want thy heaven till we have learn'd the way:
Refuse to leave thy destined charge too soon,
And for the church's good defer thy own.
O! live, and let thy works urge our belief;
Live to explain thy doctrine by thy life;
Till future infancy, baptized by thee,
Grow ripe in years, and old in piety;
Till christians yet unborn be taught to die.
Then in full age and hoary holiness
Retire, great teacher, to thy promised bliss;
Untouch'd thy tomb, uninjured be thy dust,
As thy own fame among the future just,
Till in last sounds, the dreadful trumpet speaks;
Till judgement calls, and quicken'd nature wakes;
Till through the utmost earth and deepest sea
Our scatter'd atoms find their destined way,
In haste to clothe their kindred souls again,
Perfect our state, and build immortal man:
Then fearless thou, who well sustain'dst the fight,
To paths of joy and tracks of endless light,
Lead up all those who heard thee and believed;
'Midst thy own flock, great shepherd, be received
And glad all heaven with millions thou hast saved.
poem by Matthew Prior
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Special Pleading
Time, hurry my Love to me:
Haste, haste! Lov'st not good company?
Here's but a heart-break sandy waste
'Twixt Now and Then. Why, killing haste
Were best, dear Time, for thee, for thee!
Oh, would that I might divine
Thy name beyond the zodiac sign
Wherefrom our times-to-come descend.
He called thee `Sometime'. Change it, friend:
`Now-time' sounds so much more fine!
Sweet Sometime, fly fast to me:
Poor Now-time sits in the Lonesome-tree
And broods as gray as any dove,
And calls, `When wilt thou come, O Love?'
And pleads across the waste to thee.
Good Moment, that giv'st him me,
Wast ever in love? Maybe, maybe
Thou'lt be this heavenly velvet time
When Day and Night as rhyme and rhyme
Set lip to lip dusk-modestly;
Or haply some noon afar,
-- O life's top bud, mixt rose and star,
How ever can thine utmost sweet
Be star-consummate, rose-complete,
Till thy rich reds full opened are?
Well, be it dusk-time or noon-time,
I ask but one small boon, Time:
Come thou in night, come thou in day,
I care not, I care not: have thine own way,
But only, but only, come soon, Time.
poem by Sidney Lanier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!