The Angel Of The Church
I.
Aye, strike with sacrilegious aim
The temple of the living God;
Hurl iron bolt and seething flame
Through aisles which holiest feet have trod;
Tear up the altar, spoil the tomb,
And, raging with demoniac ire,
Send down, in sudden crash of doom,
That grand, old, sky-sustaining spire.
II.
That spire, for full a hundred years,[1]
Hath been a people's point of sight;
That shrine hath warmed their souls to tears,
With strains well worthy Salem's height;
The sweet, clear music of its bells,
Made liquid soft in Southern air,
Still through the heart of memory swells,
And wakes the hopeful soul to prayer.
III.
Along the shores for many a mile,
Long ere they owned a beacon-mark,
It caught arid kept the Day-God's smile,
The guide for every wandering bark;[2]
Averting from our homes the scaith
Of fiery bolt, in storm-cloud driven,
The Pharos to the wandering faith,
It pointed every prayer to Heaven!
IV.
Well may ye, felons of the time,
Still loathing all that's pure and free,
Add this to many a thousand crime
'Gainst peace and sweet humanity:
Ye, who have wrapped our towns in flame,
Defiled our shrines, befouled our homes,
But fitly turn your murderous aim
Against Jehovah's ancient domes.
V.
Yet, though the grand old temple falls,
And downward sinks the lofty spire,
Our faith is stronger than our walls,
And soars above the storm and fire.
Ye shake no faith in souls made free
To tread the paths their fathers trod;
To fight and die for liberty,
Believing in the avenging God!
VI.
Think not, though long his anger stays,
His justice sleeps--His wrath is spent;
The arm of vengeance but delays,
To make more dread the punishment!
Each impious hand that lights the torch
Shall wither ere the bolt shall fall;
And the bright Angel of the Church,
With seraph shield avert the ball!
VII.
For still we deem, as taught of old,
That where the faith the altar builds,
God sends an angel from his fold,
Whose sleepless watch the temple shields,
And to his flock, with sweet accord,
Yields their fond choice, from THRONES and POWERS;
Thus, Michael, with his fiery sword
And golden shield, still champions ours!
VIII.
And he who smote the dragon down,
And chained him thousand years of time,
Need never fear the boa's frown,
Though loathsome in his spite and slime.
He, from the topmost height, surveys
And guards the shrines our fathers gave;
And we, who sleep beneath his gaze,
May well believe his power to save!
IX.
Yet, if it be that for our sin
Our angel's term of watch is o'er,
With proper prayer, true faith must win
The guardian watcher back once more I
Faith, brethren of the Church, and prayer--
In blood and sackcloth, if it need;
And still our spire shall rise in air,
Our temple, though our people bleed!
poem by William Gilmore Simms
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Ode--Shell the Old City! Shell!
I.
Shell the old city I shell!
Ye myrmidons of Hell;
Ye serve your master well,
With hellish arts!
Hurl down, with bolt and fire,
The grand old shrines, the spire;
But know, your demon ire
Subdues no hearts!
II.
There, we defy ye still,
With sworn and resolute will;
Courage ye cannot kill
While we have breath!
Stone walls your bolts may break,
But, ere our souls ye shake,
Of the whole land we'll make
One realm of death!
III.
Dear are our homes! our eyes
Weep at their sacrifice;
And, with each bolt that flies,
Each roof that falls,
The pang extorts the tear,
That things so precious, dear
To memory, love, and care,
Sink with our walls.
IV.
Trophies of ancient time,
When, with great souls, sublime,
Opposing force and crime,
Our fathers fought;
Relics of golden hours,
When, for our shrines and bowers,
Genius, with magic powers,
Her triumphs wrought!
V.
Each Sabbath-hallowed dome,
Each ancient family home,
The dear old southwest room,
All trellised round;
Where gay, bright summer vines,
Linked in fantastic twines
With the sun's blazing lines,
Rubied the ground!
VI.
Homes, sacred to the past,
Which bore the hostile blast,
Though Spain, France, Britain cast
Their shot and shell!
Tombs of the mighty dead,
That in our battles bled,
When on our infant head
These furies fell!
VII.
Halls which the foreign guest
Found of each charm possessed,
With cheer unstinted blessed,
And noblest grace;
Where, drawing to her side
The stranger, far and wide,
Frank courtesy took pride
To give him place!
VIII.
The shaded walks--the bowers
Where, through long summer hours,
Young Love first proved his powers
To win the prize;
Where every tree has heard
Some vows of love preferred,
And, with his leaves unstirred,
Watch'd lips and eyes.
IX.
Gardens of tropic blooms,
That, through the shaded rooms,
Sent Orient-winged perfumes
With dusk and dawn;
The grand old laurel, tall,
As sovereign over all,
And, from the porch and hall,
The verdant lawn.
X.
Oh! when we think of these
Old homes, ancestral trees;
Where, in the sun and breeze,
At morn and even,
Was to enjoy the play
Of hearts at holiday,
And find, in blooms of May,
Foretaste of Heaven!
XI.
Where, as we cast our eyes
On thing's of precious prize,
Trophies of good and wise,
Grand, noble, brave;
And think of these, so late
Sacred to soul and state,
Doomed, as the wreck of fate,
By fiend and slave!--
XII.
The inevitable pain,
Coursing through blood and brain,
Drives forth, like winter rain,
The bitter tear!
We cannot help but weep,
From depth of hearts that keep
The memories, dread and deep.
To vengeance dear!
XIII.
Aye, for each tear we shed,
There shall be torrents red,
Not from the eye-founts fed,
But from the veins!
Bloody shall be the sweat,
Fiends, felons, that shall yet
Pay retribution's debt,
In torture's pains!
XIV.
Our tears shall naught abate,
Of what we owe to hate--
To the avenging fate--
To earth and Heaven!
And, soon or late, the hour
Shall bring th' atoning power,
When, through the clouds that lower,
The storm-bolt's driven!
XV.
Shell the old city--shell!
But, with each rooftree's knell,
Vows deep of vengeance fell,
Fire soul and eye!
With every tear that falls
Above our stricken walls
Each heart more fiercely calls,
'Avenge, or die!'
poem by William Gilmore Simms
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Our rusted key
a soul that leaves legacy, builds for eternity, such
savory of dreams come once in a life time, a place
in our hearts, that unite the human bane of every
soul
it well be forever, the thirst of the sweet bladed sword,
to learn the ancient path, where thousands of prayer
and sacrifice to reach and to end, each journey to the
kingdom of the most high
as it rust, it shine its golden armor of faith, that shield the
agony of souls, never it is wasted nor gain, for in every
faith of our spirit brings every pieces in God's altar of
forgiveness
what makes it pure, when each heart gives its pollen
drops of crystal tears in God's stain of mercy, that in
every breath brings the coated soul of openness, to
receive his passionate love forever in our soul
a revealing God that, even in the deepest flame of fire,
he still with us, it will be the moment that God will never
leaves his promise of perfection of our soul, a time that
witness, that our God is a God forever
be rusted in faith, for in every exposure of your lives, it
breath goodness to our precious soul, and be a legacy
of every brethren of brethrens, that the key to reach our
destiny is to be taken freely in the face of the earth
rush yourselves, in the air that mold you, rust ourselves
to the breath that guide us, let our heart kindling our eternity
to the glory of God
poem by Antonio Liao
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Ode
I.
Our city by the sea,
As the rebel city known,
With a soul and spirit free
As the waves that make her zone,
Stands in wait for the fate
From the angry arm of hate;
But she nothing fears the terror of his blow;
She hath garrisoned her walls,
And for every son that falls,
She will spread a thousand palls
For-the foe!
II.
Old Moultrie at her gate,
Clad in arms and ancient fame.
Grimly watching, stands elate
To deliver bolt and flame!
Brave the band, at command,
To illumine sea and land
With a glory that shall honor days of yore;
And, as racers for their goals,
A thousand fiery souls,
While the drum of battle rolls,
Line the shore.
III.
Lo! rising at his side,
As if emulous to share
His old historic pride,
The vast form of Sumter there!
Girt by waves, which he braves
Though the equinoctial raves,
As the mountain braves the lightning on his steep;
And, like tigers crouching round,
Are the tribute forts that bound
All the consecrated ground,
By the deep!
IV.
It was calm, the April noon,
When, in iron-castled towers,
Our haughty foe came on,
With his aggregated powers;
All his might 'gainst the right,
Now embattled for the fight,
With Hell's hate and venom working in his heart;
A vast and dread array,
Glooming black upon the day,
Hell's passions all in play,
With Hell's art.
V.
But they trouble not the souls
Of our Carolina host,[1]
And the drum of battle rolls,
While each hero seeks his post;
Firm, though few, sworn to do,
Their old city full in view,
The brave city of their sires and their dead;
There each freeman had his brood,
All the dear ones of his blood,
And he knew they watching stood,
In their dread!
VI.
To the bare embattled height,
Then our gallant colonel sprung--
'Bid them welcome to the fight,'
Were the accents of his tongue--
'Music! band, pour out--grand--
The free song of Dixie Land!
Let it tell them we are joyful that they come!
Bid them welcome, drum and flute,
Nor be your cannon mute,
Give them chivalrous salute--
To their doom!'[2]
VII.
Out spoke an eager gun,
From the walls of Moultrie then;
And through clouds of sulph'rous dun,
Rose a shout of thousand men,
As the shot, hissing hot,
Goes in lightning to the spot--
Goes crashing wild through timber and through mail;
Then roared the storm from all,
Moultrie's ports and Sumter's wall--
Bursting bomb and driving ball--
Hell in hail!
VIII.
Full a hundred cannon roared
The dread welcome to the foe,
And his felon spirit cowered,
As he crouched beneath the blow!
As each side opened wide
To the iron and the tide,
He lost his faith in armor and in art;
And, with the loss of faith,
Came the dread of wounds and scath--
And the felon fear of death
Wrung his heart!
IX.
Quenched then his foul desires;
In his mortal pain and fear,
How feeble grew his fires,
How stayed his fell career!
How each keel, made to reel
'Neath our thunder, seems to kneel,
Their turrets staggering wildly, to and fro, blind and lame;
Ironsides and iron roof,
Held no longer bullet-proof,
Steal away, shrink aloof,
In their shame!
X.
But our lightnings follow fast,
With a vengeance sharp and hot;
Our bolts are on the blast,
And they rive with shell and shot!
Huge the form which they warm
With the hot breath of the storm;
Dread the crash which follows as each Titan mass is struck--
They shiver as they fly,
While their leader, drifting nigh,
Sinks, choking with the cry--
'Keokuk!'
XI.
To the brave old city, joy!
For that the hostile race,
Commissioned to destroy,
Hath fled in sore disgrace!
That our sons, at their guns,
Have beat back the modern Huns--
Have maintained their household fanes and their fires;
And free from taint and scath,
Have kept the fame and faith
(And will keep, through blood and death)
Of their sires!
XII.
To the Lord of Hosts the glory,
For His the arm and might,
That have writ for us the story,
And have borne us through the fight!
His our shield in that field--
Voice that bade us never yield;
Oh! had he not been with us through the terrors of that day?
His strength hath made us strong,
Cheered the right and crushed the wrong,
To His temple let us throng--
PRAISE AND PRAY!
poem by William Gilmore Simms
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Anniversary hymn
[sung to tune: "All Saints New"]
Our fathers, in the years grown dim, reared slowly, wall by wall
A holy dwelling-place for Him, that filleth all in all.
They wrought His house of faith and prayer, the rainbow round the Throne,
A precious temple builded fair on Christ the Cornerstone.
The Angel of the Golden Reed hath found the measure strait'
He hears the Great Foundation plead for ampler wall and gate.
The living pillars of the Truth grown on from morn to morn,
And still the heresy of youth is age's creed outworn.
But steadfast is their inner shrine wrought of the heart's fine gold,
Its hunger and its thirst divine, with jewels manifold,
Red sard of pain, hope's emerald gleam, white peace, no glory missed
Of righteous life and saintly dream, Jasper to amethyst.
Spirit of Truth, forbid that we who now God's temple are
And keep the faith with minds more free, our father's fabric mar.
Better than thoughts the stars that search is self still sacrificed,
For only Love can build the church whose corner-stone is Christ.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Temple Of Love
With the fire from the fireworks up above me
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain at hand
You run for cover in the temple of love
You run for another, but still the same
For the wind will blow my name across this land
In the temple of love you hide together
Believing pain and fear outside
But someone near you rides the weather
And the tears he cried will rain on
Walls as wide as lovers' eyes
In the temple of love: shine like thunder
In the temple of love: cry like rain
In the temple of love: hear my calling
In the temple of love: hear my name
And the devil in a black dress watches over
My guardian angel walks away
Life is short and love is always over in the morning
Black wind come carry me far away
With the sunlight died and night above me
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain inside
You run for cover in the temple of love
You run for another, it's all the same
For the wind will blow and throw your walls aside
With the fire from the fireworks up above me
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain
You run for cover in the temple of love
I shine like thunder, cry like rain
And the temple of love grows old and strong
But the wind blows stronger, cold and long
And the temple of love will fall before this
Black wind calls my name to you no more
In the black sky thunder sweeping under
Ground and over water sounds of
Crying weeping will not save your
Faith for bricks and dreams for mortar
All your prayers must seem as nothing
Ninety-six below the wave when
Stone is dust and only air remains
In the temple of love: shine like thunder
In the temple of love: cry like rain
In the temple of love: hear the calling
And the temple of love is falling
Down
In the temple of love: shine like thunder
In the temple of love: cry like rain
In the temple of love: hear my calling
In the temple of love: hear my name
In the black sky thunder sweeping under
Ground and over water sounds of
Crying weeping will not save your
Faith for bricks and dreams for mortar
All your prayers must seem as nothing
Ninety-six below the wave when
Stone is dust and air remains the
Only haven you can trust, and the
Devil in a black dress watches over
My guardian angel walks away
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain
You run for cover in the temple of love
I shine like thunder, cry like rain
And the temple of love grows old and strong
But the wind blows stronger, cold and long
And the temple of love will fall before this
Black wind calls my name to you no more
In the temple of love you hide together
Believing pain and fear outside
But someone near you rides the weather
And the tears he cried will rain on
Walls as wide as lovers' eyes
In the temple of love: shine like thunder
In the temple of love: cry like rain
In the temple of love: hear the calling
And the temple of love is falling
Down
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Temple Of Love
With the fire from the fireworks up above me
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain at hand
You run for cover in the temple of love
You run for another, but still the same
For the wind will blow my name across this land
In the temple of love you hide together
Believing pain and fear outside
But someone near you rides the weather
And the tears he cried will rain on
Walls as wide as lovers eyes
In the temple of love: shine like thunder
In the temple of love: cry like rain
In the temple of love: hear my calling
In the temple of love: hear my name
And the devil in a black dress watches over
My guardian angel walks away
Life is short and love is always over in the morning
Black wind come carry me far away
With the sunlight died and night above me
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain inside
You run for cover in the temple of love
You run for another, its all the same
For the wind will blow and throw your walls aside
With the fire from the fireworks up above me
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain
You run for cover in the temple of love
I shine like thunder, cry like rain
And the temple of love grows old and strong
But the wind blows stronger, cold and long
And the temple of love will fall before this
Black wind calls my name to you no more
In the black sky thunder sweeping under
Ground and over water sounds of
Crying weeping will not save your
Faith for bricks and dreams for mortar
All your prayers must seem as nothing
Ninety-six below the wave when
Stone is dust and only air remains
In the temple of love: shine like thunder
In the temple of love: cry like rain
In the temple of love: hear the calling
And the temple of love is falling
Down
In the temple of love: shine like thunder
In the temple of love: cry like rain
In the temple of love: hear my calling
In the temple of love: hear my name
In the black sky thunder sweeping under
Ground and over water sounds of
Crying weeping will not save your
Faith for bricks and dreams for mortar
All your prayers must seem as nothing
Ninety-six below the wave when
Stone is dust and air remains the
Only haven you can trust, and the
Devil in a black dress watches over
My guardian angel walks away
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain
You run for cover in the temple of love
I shine like thunder, cry like rain
And the temple of love grows old and strong
But the wind blows stronger, cold and long
And the temple of love will fall before this
Black wind calls my name to you no more
In the temple of love you hide together
Believing pain and fear outside
But someone near you rides the weather
And the tears he cried will rain on
Walls as wide as lovers eyes
In the temple of love: shine like thunder
In the temple of love: cry like rain
In the temple of love: hear the calling
And the temple of love is falling
Down
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas Antiphones
I -- In Church
Thou whose birth on earth
Angels sang to men,
While thy stars made mirth,
Saviour, at thy birth,
This day born again;
As this night was bright
With thy cradle-ray,
Very light of light,
Turn the wild world's night
To thy perfect day.
God whose feet made sweet
Those wild ways they trod,
From thy fragrant feet
Staining field and street
With the blood of God;
God whose breast is rest
In the time of strife,
In thy secret breast
Sheltering souls opprest
From the heat of life;
God whose eyes are skies
Love-lit as with spheres
By the lights that rise
To thy watching eyes,
Orbed lights of tears;
God whose heart hath part
In all grief that is,
Was not man's the dart
That went through thine heart,
And the wound not his?
Where the pale souls wail,
Held in bonds of death,
Where all spirits quail,
Came thy Godhead pale
Still from human breath -
Pale from life and strife,
Wan with manhood, came
Forth of mortal life,
Pierced as with a knife,
Scarred as with a flame.
Thou the Word and Lord
In all time and space
Heard, beheld, adored,
With all ages poured
Forth before thy face,
Lord, what worth in earth
Drew thee down to die?
What therein was worth,
Lord, thy death and birth?
What beneath thy sky?
Light above all love
By thy love was lit,
And brought down the Dove
Feathered from above
With the wings of it.
From the height of night,
Was not thine the star
That led forth with might
By no worldly light
Wise men from afar?
Yet the wise men's eyes
Saw thee not more clear
Than they saw thee rise
Who in shepherd's guise
Drew as poor men near.
Yet thy poor endure,
And are with us yet;
Be thy name a sure
Refuge for thy poor
Whom men's eyes forget.
Thou whose ways we praised,
Clear alike and dark,
Keep our works and ways
This and all thy days
Safe inside thine ark.
Who shall keep thy sheep,
Lord, and lose not one?
Who save one shall keep,
Lest the shepherds sleep?
Who beside the Son?
From the grave-deep wave,
From the sword and flame,
Thou, even thou, shalt save
Souls of king and slave
Only by thy Name.
Light not born with morn
Or her fires above,
Jesus virgin-born,
Held of men in scorn,
Turn their scorn to love.
Thou whose face gives grace
As the sun's doth heat,
Let thy sunbright face
Lighten time and space
Here beneath thy feet.
Bid our peace increase,
Thou that madest morn;
Bid oppressions cease;
Bid the night be peace;
Bid the day be born.
II--OUTSIDE CHURCH
We whose days and ways
All the night makes dark,
What day shall we praise
Of these weary days
That our life-drops mark?
We whose mind is blind,
Fed with hope of nought;
Wastes of worn mankind,
Without heart or mind,
Without meat or thought;
We with strife of life
Worn till all life cease,
Want, a whetted knife,
Sharpening strife on strife,
How should we love peace?
Ye whose meat is sweet
And your wine-cup red,
Us beneath your feet
Hunger grinds as wheat,
Grinds to make you bread.
Ye whose night is bright
With soft rest and heat,
Clothed like day with light,
Us the naked night
Slays from street to street.
Hath your God no rod,
That ye tread so light?
Man on us as God,
God as man hath trod,
Trod us down with might.
We that one by one
Bleed from either's rod.
What for us hath done
Man beneath the sun,
What for us hath God?
We whose blood is food
Given your wealth to feed,
From the Christless rood
Red with no God's blood,
But with man's indeed;
How shall we that see
Nightlong overhead
Life, the flowerless tree,
Nailed whereon as we
Were our fathers dead -
We whose ear can hear,
Not whose tongue can name,
Famine, ignorance, fear,
Bleeding tear by tear
Year by year of shame,
Till the dry life die
Out of bloodless breast,
Out of beamless eye,
Out of mouths that cry
Till death feed with rest -
How shall we as ye,
Though ye bid us, pray?
Though ye call, can we
Hear you call, or see,
Though ye show us day?
We whose name is shame,
We whose souls walk bare,
Shall we call the same
God as ye by name,
Teach our lips your prayer?
God, forgive and give,
For His sake who died?
Nay, for ours who live,
How shall we forgive
Thee, then, on our side?
We whose right to light
Heaven's high noon denies,
Whom the blind beams smite
That for you shine bright,
And but burn our eyes,
With what dreams of beams
Shall we build up day,
At what sourceless streams
Seek to drink in dreams
Ere they pass away?
In what street shall meet,
At what market-place,
Your feet and our feet,
With one goal to greet,
Having run one race?
What one hope shall ope
For us all as one
One same horoscope,
Where the soul sees hope
That outburns the sun?
At what shrine what wine,
At what board what bread,
Salt as blood or brine,
Shall we share in sign
How we poor were fed?
In what hour what power
Shall we pray for morn,
If your perfect hour,
When all day bears flower,
Not for us is born?
III--BEYOND CHURCH
Ye that weep in sleep,
Souls and bodies bound,
Ye that all night keep
Watch for change, and weep
That no change is found;
Ye that cry and die,
And the world goes on
Without ear or eye,
And the days go by
Till all days are gone;
Man shall do for you,
Men the sons of man,
What no God would do
That they sought unto
While the blind years ran.
Brotherhood of good,
Equal laws and rights,
Freedom, whose sweet food
Feeds the multitude
All their days and nights
With the bread full-fed
Of her body blest
And the soul's wine shed
From her table spread
Where the world is guest,
Mingling me and thee,
When like light of eyes
Flashed through thee and me
Truth shall make us free,
Liberty make wise;
These are they whom day
Follows and gives light
Whence they see to slay
Night, and burn away
All the seed of night.
What of thine and mine,
What of want and wealth,
When one faith is wine
For my heart and thine
And one draught is health?
For no sect elect
Is the soul's wine poured
And her table decked;
Whom should man reject
From man's common board?
Gods refuse and choose,
Grudge and sell and spare;
None shall man refuse,
None of all men lose,
None leave out of care.
No man's might of sight
Knows that hour before;
No man's hand hath might
To put back that light
For one hour the more.
Not though all men call,
Kneeling with void hands,
Shall they see light fall
Till it come for all
Tribes of men and lands.
No desire brings fire
Down from heaven by prayer,
Though man's vain desire
Hang faith's wind-struck lyre
Out in tuneless air.
One hath breath and saith
What the tune shall be -
Time, who puts his breath
Into life and death,
Into earth and sea.
To and fro years flow,
Fill their tides and ebb,
As his fingers go
Weaving to and fro
One unfinished web.
All the range of change
Hath its bounds therein,
All the lives that range
All the byways strange
Named of death or sin.
Star from far to star
Speaks, and white moons wake,
Watchful from afar
What the night's ways are
For the morning's sake.
Many names and flames
Pass and flash and fall,
Night-begotten names,
And the night reclaims,
As she bare them, all.
But the sun is one,
And the sun's name Right;
And when light is none
Saving of the sun,
All men shall have light.
All shall see and be
Parcel of the morn;
Ay, though blind were we,
None shall choose but see
When that day is born.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ode
I
Do ye quail but to hear, Carolinians,
The first foot-tramp of Tyranny's minions?
Have ye buckled on armor, and brandished the spear,
But to shrink with the trumpet's first peal on the ear?
Why your forts now embattled on headland and height,
Your sons all in armor, unless for the fight?
Did ye think the mere show of your guns on the wall,
And your shouts, would the souls of the heathen appal?
That his lusts and his appetites, greedy as Hell,
Led by Mammon and Moloch, would sink at a spell;--
Nor strive, with the tiger's own thirst, lest the flesh
Should be torn from his jaws, while yet bleeding afresh.
II.
For shame! To the breach, Carolinians!--
To the death for your sacred dominions!--
Homes, shrines, and your cities all reeking in flame,
Cry aloud to your souls, in their sorrow and shame;
Your greybeards, with necks in the halter--
Your virgins, defiled at the altar,--
In the loathsome embrace of the felon and slave,
Touch loathsomer far than the worm of the grave!
Ah! God! if you fail in this moment of gloom!
How base were the weakness, how horrid the doom!
With the fiends in your streets howling paeans,
And the Beast o'er another Orleans!
III.
Do ye quail, as on yon little islet
They have planted the feet that defile it?
Make its sands pure of taint, by the stroke of the sword,
And by torrents of blood in red sacrifice pour'd!
Doubts are Traitors, if once they persuade you to fear,
That the foe, in his foothold, is safe from your spear!
When the foot of pollution is set on your shores,
What sinew and soul should be stronger than yours?
By the fame--by the shame--of your sires,
Set on, though each freeman expires;
Better fall, grappling fast with the foe, to their graves,
Than groan in your fetters, the slaves of your slaves.
IV.
The voice of your loud exultation
Hath rung, like a trump, through the nation,
How loudly, how proudly, of deeds to be done,
The blood of the sire in the veins of the son!
Old Moultrie and Sumter still keep at your gates,
And the foe in his foothold as patiently waits.
He asks, with a taunt, by your patience made bold,
If the hot spur of Percy grows suddenly cold--
Makes merry with boasts of your city his own,
And the Chivalry fled, ere his trumpet is blown;
Upon them, O sons of the mighty of yore,
And fatten the sands with their Sodomite gore!
V.
Where's the dastard that cowers and falters
In the sight of his hearthstones and altars?
With the faith of the free in the God of the brave,
Go forth; ye are mighty to conquer and save!
By the blue Heaven shining above ye,
By the pure-hearted thousands that love ye,
Ye are armed with a might to prevail in the fight,
And an aegis to shield and a weapon to smite!
Then fail not, and quail not; the foe shall prevail not:
With the faith and the will, ye shall conquer him still.
To the knife--with the knife, Carolinians,
For your homes, and your sacred dominions.
poem by William Gilmore Simms
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In My Soul
In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
where I kneel.
Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.
Is there not a region of love where the sovereignty is
illumined nothing,
where ecstasy gets poured into itself
and becomes
lost,
where the wing is fully alive
but has no mind or
body?
In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque,
a church
that dissolve, that
dissolve in
God.
poem by Rabia al Basri
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According to Mark
If I have lost faith it is because
Faith has been stolen from me;
I’ve been a mark, swindled and duped—
Not having squandered faith,
But having misplaced it.
Then, as I needed,
Faith seemed to grow.
I could not know how much I had
Until I had no more.
I long now to believe.
I long now to live
In an honest place
Where a modest silo stands
Taller than the tallest spire.
Not here, where evil casually
Steps over the abatis,
Changes everything
In an instant and forever,
And as response receives little more
Than a politely suppressed
Divine eructation.
No, I have not lost faith.
For I know precisely
Where I had it last,
To whom I gave it most willingly,
And where it now is not.
So I cannot say it is lost.
But still it is gone,
And I miss it terribly.
The Heartfelt Prayer, Answered
Though dwell with me, my love, you do not-
Still, dwell do you, in me-in my every thought;
Perchance not, my beloved, you are my reward-
The faith I hath shown in Him, He hath not ignored!
In prayer, I beseeched Him: 'Ask not do I, Lord, very much-
Need do I this: a life, lived, where I may feel an Angel's touch;
May She be always nearest me, always, beside me:
To duteously honor, protect, love and guide me! '
To which, He said unto me: 'Your faith hath surely been tested,
Yet, in your fidelity towards Me, never have you once rested;
My most beauteous and entrusted Angel, unto you, I do send,
To steadfastly watch over and guide you, this shan't ever end!
A love, you shall see, like none other-ne'er before, nor since-
This shall be a familiar love, one whose genesis is not hence;
In another time, and in another place-yet, that was but a prelude,
Not prime, nor sikerly, until learned were you from your disquiettude!
In My stead, She shall protect your fragile heart from any form of harm-
Beguile and amaze too-inspire you with awe, through Her charm!
She too hath been made to be prime for this new-found reconnoiter-
Many too hath made Her to be weary, for shame, did they exploit her!
Your charge: as She shall, you-protect, love and do guide Her-
Her noble Cavalier; Defer always, Her honor; Walk always beside Her!
For certain, your's is a love made of My benevolent making,
All love capable of offer, your's each, now for your fortuitous taking! '
As much import I place upon this, as the love upon which it was given;
So too shall I be the sole guardian of the gift for which I have striven-
None shall e' er come betwixt we two, nor cause our love, strife-
From the moment of our rendezvous, afresh-You have been my life!
Maurice Harris,29 November 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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Song!
A thousand million souls arise
Out of the cradle of to-day,
And, like a living storm, beneath the skies
Go thundering on their fatal way!
But ere to-morrow’s sun
His ancient round hath run,
That storm is past—and Where are they?
Is asked of Faith by pale Dismay:
“Where—where are they?”
And Faith—even Faith herself—hath not a word to say.
With her serene assurance thrown
Like moonlight into the Unknown
And all her clasping tendrils curled
About the steadfast pillars of the never-failing world,
To that wild question of Dismay
Yet hath she not a word to say,
And only lifts her patient eyes
Up from the earth’s change-trampled sod,
To fix them, out in the eternal skies,
On all she knoweth—God.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Tears Caressed By The Voice Of Angel
Still, held my throat in suspension
Tears caressed my eyes but did not fall,
The pure sublime intoxication fed my eardrums
With bristles frozen on my neck reaching tall.
The belief that this singing voice was heaven sent so sweet
Flowed thru clouds, Welsh valleys and waves of the sea,
The tone as pure as to I only, with magic sent to greet
Charlotte Church all thirteen years young on stage an angel star to be,
Commands silence as God’s disciples may enter her vocal cords
The symphony and choir envelope the music pure glove on hand,
Soft and wonderful her rendition of the prayer of our Lord
The audience in awe, on their feet for this scene so grand’
Tears caressed by the voice of an angel.
The 1999 first DVD of Charlotte Church
The voice of an Angel which I only heard
poem by Ken e Hall
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Sky With Hand
Faith...
Faith...
Is life...
Faith faith...
Is dream...
Faith faith
Is god...
Faith faith
Is love...
Faith faith
Is tommrow...
Faith faith
Is with win...
Faith faith
With all...
You are not
Faith full
You only loose
The life for your self
Another and another's...
win the world...
With faith to faith
Again and agian you
Run...
Sky with hand...
Thats for faith...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Have a Little Faith...
I asked God for the key to happiness
He said He never locked it!
That the day I started having faith in Him,
I shall find it.
God further said:
''Faith you have, the Sun shall rise;
Faith you have, the Moon shall glow;
Faith you have, the flowers shall bloom;
Faith you have, the wind shall blow;
Would you be happy in the moment next?
That you surely don't know!
In things out of control,
so much faith you always had
What made you think, my son,
that I could ever let you feel sad?
Have a little faith in me
and all will be well
Without faith,
there's no meaning in ringing your temple bell!
When you thought you were alone,
I was with you;
When you thought you lost it all,
I had instead saved you
When you cried, you lost an opportunity to be happy
When you tried, I kept the fruit ready.
I know you love me my son and so do I
Never lose your faith in me
for I will always be there by your side, till you die.''
(12.08.2011; New Delhi; India)
poem by Anshul Gupta
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The Creeds Of The Bells
How sweet the chime of the Sabbath bells!
Each one its creed in music tells
In tones that float upon the air
As soft as song, as sweet as prayer,
And I will put in simple rhyme
The language of the golden chime.
My happy heart with rapture swells
Responsive to the bells, sweet bells.
'Ye purifying waters swell!'
In mellow tones rang out a bell;
'Though faith alone in Christ can save,
Man must be plunged beneath the wave,
To show the world unfaltering faith
In what the Sacred Scripture saith;
Oh, well! ye rising water, swell!'
Pealed out the clear-toned Baptist bell.
'O, heed the ancient landmarks well!'
In solemn tones exclaimed a bell.
'No progress made by mortal man
Can change the just, eternal plan;
With God there can be nothing new;
Ignore the false, embrace the true,
While all is well! is well! is well!'
Pealed out the good old Dutch church bell.
'In deeds of love excel! excel!'
Chimed out from ivied towers a bell.
'This is the church not built on sands,
Emblem of one not built with hands;
Its forms and sacred rites revere -
Come worship here! come worship here!
Its rituals and faith excel!'
Chimed out the Episcopalian bell.
'No faith alone, but works as well,
Must test the soul!' said a soft bell.
'Come here and cast aside your load!
And work your way along the road
With faith in God and faith in man,
And hope in Christ, where hope began.
Do well! do well! do well! do well!'
Rang out the Unitarian bell.
'To all the truth we tell, we tell!'
Shouted in ecstacies, a bell.
'Come all ye weary wanders, see!
Our Lord has made salvation free!
Repent, believe, have faith, and then
Be saved! and praise the Lord! Amen!
Salvation’s free! we tell! we tell!'
Shouted the Methodistic bell.
'Farewell! farewell! base world, farewell!'
In touching tones exclaimed a bell.
'Life is a boon to mortals given,
To fit the soul for bliss in heaven.
Do not invoke the avenging rod.
Come here and learn the way to God.
Say to the world, ‘farewell! farewell!’'
Pealed forth the Presbyterian bell.
'In after life there is no hell!'
In raptures rang a cheerful bell.
'Look up to heaven this holy day,
When angels wait to lead the way.
There are no fires, no fiends to blight
The future life; be just and right.
No hell! No hell! No hell! No hell!'
Rang out the Universalist bell.
'The Pilgrim Fathers heeded well
My cheerful voice!' pealed forth a bell.
'No fetters here to clog the soul,
No arbitrary creed control
The free heart and progressive mind
That leave the dusty paths behind.
Speed well! speed well! speed well! speed well!'
Pealed forth the Independent bell.
'No pope, no pope, to doom to hell
The Protestant!' rang out a bell.
'Great Luther left his fiery zeal
Within the hearts that truly feel
What loyalty to God swill be
The faulty that makes men free,
No images where incense fell!'
Rang out old Martin Luther’s bell.
'Find rest! find rest! find rest! find rest!
Upon our Holy Mother’s breast,
From wearying strifes that never cease,
The mother church gives rest and pace.
Come, penitents, your sins confess
Where white-robed priests the faithful bless,
Where sacred Masses peal and swell!'
Deep tolled d the Roman Catholic bell.
Neatly attired, in manner plain,
A pilgrim see - no spot, no satin -
Slowly, with soft and measured tread,
In Quaker garb - no white, no red -
To passing friend I hear him say,
'Here worship thou, this is the way;
No churchly form, it is not well;
No bell - no bell - no bell - no bell.'
poem by Anonymous Americas
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My Shield Will I Lift Up
This week I began to think upon the concept of faith and how it relates to me and my struggle. Most theologians generally define “faith” as: a belief in something sight unseen. John Maxwell states there are 3 kinds of faith that relate to the Christian experience. They are: Faith in our God, Faith in each other and Faith in ourselves. Some of the elements of faith that I have to rely on daily are: That Jesus is the Son of God and sits at the right hand of the Father. That Jesus died for our sins; paying the cost, so we can have eternal life. That God is able to save us from each other; and ourselves. That he loves us and hears our cries(prayers) . After many years of ruining my life by trying to run it myself in my sinful, disobedient way, I finally put my faith in Jesus. As I now reflect back, I began to think of my faith like a heavy Roman shield. A strong, well made shield, one that is founded in belief in Jesus, has a good weight to it and is heavy to lift. It requires a good physical effort and is not easy to hoist up. It must be so, because it has to withstand the onslaught of arrows, flaming or not, that come to a believer daily. Some days I feel like I can’t lift my shield; like the burden is too much to bear. It is in those times when I take peace in the verse Psalm 7: 10. God SAVES the upright in heart! I have faith He will do that, every time I call and without fail.
Thank you God for your promises. May my faith in you increase daily
My Shield Will I Lift Up
a poem by Chris
The money-changer’s hand comes to snatch my coin
But my shield will I lift up.
The flaming arrows seek to destroy
But my shield is God Most High.
A rock was placed to watch me stumble
But my shield I throw aloft.
I keep my heart faithful and humble
For my shield is free from rot.
The valley is dark and the path is narrow
And my shield is my defense.
Thieves they come to seek my marrow
But my shield is quite immense.
When one step further is one too much
My shield blocks the fray.
When to my chest my faith I clutch
my shield knows the way.
So onward and upward to battle I come
Bringing my shield to peril’s door
Having no fear of my enemy’s drum
I hoist the shield once more.
poem by Chris Taylor
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In Memoriam — Nicol Drysdale Stenhouse
SHALL he, on whom the fair lord, Delphicus,
Turned gracious eyes and countenance of shine,
Be left to lie without a wreath from us,
To sleep without a flower upon his shrine?
Shall he, the son of that resplendent Muse,
Who gleams, high priestess of sweet scholarship,
Still slumber on, and every bard refuse
To touch a harp or move a tuneful lip?
No! let us speak, though feeble be our speech,
And let us sing, though faltering be our strain,
And haply echoes of the song may reach
And please the soul we cannot see again.
We sing the beautiful, the radiant life
That shone amongst us like the quiet moon,
A fine exception in this sphere of strife,
Whose time went by us like a hallowed tune.
Yon tomb, whereon the moonlit grasses sigh,
Hides from our view the shell of one whose days
Were set throughout to that grand harmony
Which fills all minor spirits with amaze.
This was the man whose dear, lost face appears
To rise betimes like some sweet evening dream,
And holy memories of faultless years,
And touching hours of quietness supreme.
He, having learned in full the golden rule,
Which guides great lives, stood fairly by the same,
Unruffled as the Oriental pool,
Before the bright, disturbing angel came.
In Learning’s halls he walked—a leading lord,
He trod the sacred temple’s inner floors;
But kindness beamed in every look and word
He gave the humblest Levite at the doors.
When scholars poor and bowed beneath the ban,
Which clings as fire, were like to faint and fall,
This was the gentle, good Samaritan,
Who stopped and held a helping hand to all.
No term that savoured of unfriendliness,
No censure through those pure lips ever passed;
He saw the erring spirit’s keen distress,
And hoped for it, long-suffering to the last.
Moreover, in these days when Faith grows faint,
And Heaven seems blurred by speculation wild,
He, blameless as a mediaeval saint,
Had all the trust which sanctifies a child.
But now he sleeps, and as the years go by,
We’ll often pause above his sacred dust,
And think how grand a thing it is to die
The noble death which deifies the just.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Keep The Faith
keep the faith, that's all you've got to do
keep the faith, it all depends on you.
your faith in GOD above will be bestowed with his love.
he will lead you down that dark and lonely road,
and into the light, and bless you with all that's right.
he sees and listens to every word and deed
and helps you with all your needs.
he is there when your heart and spirit is broken.
and in the bible these words were spoken.
help yourself, and i will help you
and these words are so very true.
we can not expect prayer alone to do it all.
we must all rise to the occassion,
before we reach the point of devastation.
keep the faith is all he asks
it is not much of a task.
he guides us and strengthens us
in our hours of need,
and may even cut us
but we will never bleed.
the LORD had more cuts on him
then we care to count
but he did not falter, nor did he shout.
he took the pain, because of the faith
in his heart,
and passed it on from the very start.
this is the faith that we must seek
and strengthen it to its highest peak.
KEEP THE FAITH
poem by Louis Rams
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Sonnet: True Faith
Yes, faith can lift a mountain from its base!
Yes, faith can turn a river off its course;
Yes, faith can win an impossible race!
Yes, faith can calm a lion as he roars!
Sure, faith can do impossible a thing!
Sure, faith can hold a marriage till the end!
Sure, faith can well a happy ending bring!
Sure, faith can truly iron bars too bend!
True faith can make a friendship very strong!
True faith unites two lovers tie the knot!
True faith can make miles look like one furlong!
True faith can win a war although ill-fought!
None can afford to lose faith since their birth,
And faith in God is what we need on earth.
poem by John Celes
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