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King Canute

KING CANUTE was weary hearted; he had reigned for years a score,
Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much and robbing more;
And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea-shore.

'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop walked the King with steps sedate,
Chamberlains and grooms came after, silversticks and goldsticks great,
Chaplains, aides-de-camp, and pages,—all the officers of state.

Sliding after like his shadow, pausing when he chose to pause,
If a frown his face contracted, straight the courtiers dropped their jaws;
If to laugh the king was minded, out they burst in loud hee-haws.

But that day a something vexed him, that was clear to old and young:
Thrice his Grace had yawned at table, when his favorite gleemen sung,
Once the Queen would have consoled him, but he bade her hold her tongue.

'Something ails my gracious master,' cried the Keeper of the Seal.
'Sure, my lord, it is the lampreys served to dinner, or the veal?'
'Psha!' exclaimed the angry monarch, 'Keeper, 'tis not that I feel.

''Tis the HEART, and not the dinner, fool, that doth my rest impair:
Can a king be great as I am, prithee, and yet know no care?
Oh, I'm sick, and tired, and weary.'—Some one cried, 'The King's arm-chair!'

Then towards the lackeys turning, quick my Lord the Keeper nodded,
Straight the King's great chair was brought him, by two footmen able-bodied;
Languidly he sank into it: it was comfortably wadded.

'Leading on my fierce companions,' cried he, 'over storm and brine,
I have fought and I have conquered! Where was glory like to mine?'
Loudly all the courtiers echoed: 'Where is glory like to thine?'

'What avail me all my kingdoms? Weary am I now and old;
Those fair sons I have begotten, long to see me dead and cold;
Would I were, and quiet buried, underneath the silent mould!

'Oh, remorse, the writhing serpent! at my bosom tears and bites;
Horrid, horrid things I look on, though I put out all the lights;
Ghosts of ghastly recollections troop about my bed at nights.

'Cities burning, convents blazing, red with sacrilegious fires;
Mothers weeping, virgins screaming vainly for their slaughtered sires.—'
Such a tender conscience,' cries the Bishop, 'every one admires.

'But for such unpleasant bygones, cease, my gracious lord, to search,
They're forgotten and forgiven by our Holy Mother Church;
Never, never does she leave her benefactors in the lurch.

'Look! the land is crowned with minsters, which your Grace's bounty raised;
Abbeys filled with holy men, where you and Heaven are daily praised:
YOU, my lord, to think of dying? on my conscience I'm amazed!'

'Nay, I feel,' replied King Canute, 'that my end is drawing near.'
'Don't say so,' exclaimed the courtiers (striving each to squeeze a tear).
'Sure your Grace is strong and lusty, and may live this fifty year.'

'Live these fifty years!' the Bishop roared, with actions made to suit.
'Are you mad, my good Lord Keeper, thus to speak of King Canute!
Men have lived a thousand years, and sure his Majesty will do't.

'Adam, Enoch, Lamech, Cainan, Mahaleel, Methusela,
Lived nine hundred years apiece, and mayn't the King as well as they?'
'Fervently,' exclaimed the Keeper, 'fervently I trust he may.'

'HE to die?' resumed the Bishop. He a mortal like to US?
Death was not for him intended, though communis omnibus:
Keeper, you are irreligious, for to talk and cavil thus.

'With his wondrous skill in healing ne'er a doctor can compete,
Loathsome lepers, if he touch them, start up clean upon their feet;
Surely he could raise the dead up, did his Highness think it meet.

'Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon the hill,
And, the while he slew the foemen, bid the silver moon stand still?
So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his sacred will.'

'Might I stay the sun above us, good sir Bishop?' Canute cried;
'Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenly ride?
If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can command the tide.

'Will the advancing waves obey me, Bishop, if I make the sign?'
Said the Bishop, bowing lowly, 'Land and sea, my lord, are thine.'
Canute turned towards the ocean—'Back!' he said, 'thou foaming brine.

'From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat;
Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master's seat:
Ocean, be thou still! I bid thee come not nearer to my feet!'

But the sullen ocean answered with a louder, deeper roar,
And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sounding on the shore;
Back the Keeper and the Bishop, back the king and courtiers bore.

And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human clay,
But alone to praise and worship That which earth and seas obey:
And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that day.
King Canute is dead and gone: Parasites exist alway.

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf X. -- Raud The Strong

'All the old gods are dead,
All the wild warlocks fled;
But the White Christ lives and reigns,
And throughout my wide domains
His Gospel shall be spread!'
On the Evangelists
Thus swore King Olaf.

But still in dreams of the night
Beheld he the crimson light,
And heard the voice that defied
Him who was crucified,
And challenged him to the fight.
To Sigurd the Bishop
King Olaf confessed it.

And Sigurd the Bishop said,
'The old gods are not dead,
For the great Thor still reigns,
And among the Jarls and Thanes
The old witchcraft still is spread.'
Thus to King Olaf
Said Sigurd the Bishop.

'Far north in the Salten Fiord,
By rapine, fire, and sword,
Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong;
All the Godoe Isles belong
To him and his heathen horde.'
Thus went on speaking
Sigurd the Bishop.

'A warlock, a wizard is he,
And lord of the wind and the sea;
And whichever way he sails,
He has ever favoring gales,
By his craft in sorcery.'
Here the sign of the cross
Made devoutly King Olaf.

'With rites that we both abhor,
He worships Odin and Thor;
So it cannot yet be said,
That all the old gods are dead,
And the warlocks are no more,'
Flushing with anger
Said Sigurd the Bishop.

Then King Olaf cried aloud:
'I will talk with this mighty Raud,
And along the Salten Fiord
Preach the Gospel with my sword,
Or be brought back in my shroud!'
So northward from Drontheim
Sailed King Olaf!

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part. 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf VI. -- The Wraith Of Odin

The guests were loud, the ale was strong,
King Olaf feasted late and long;
The hoary Scalds together sang;
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

The door swung wide, with creak and din;
A blast of cold night-air came in,
And on the threshold shivering stood
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

The King exclaimed, 'O graybeard pale!
Come warm thee with this cup of ale.'
The foaming draught the old man quaffed,
The noisy guests looked on and laughed.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

Then spake the King: 'Be not afraid;
Sit here by me.' The guest obeyed,
And, seated at the table, told
Tales of the sea, and Sagas old.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

And ever, when the tale was o'er,
The King demanded yet one more;
Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said,
''T is late, O King, and time for bed.'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

The King retired; the stranger guest
Followed and entered with the rest;
The lights were out, the pages gone,
But still the garrulous guest spake on.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

As one who from a volume reads,
He spake of heroes and their deeds,
Of lands and cities he had seen,
And stormy gulfs that tossed between.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

Then from his lips in music rolled
The Havamal of Odin old,
With sounds mysterious as the roar
Of billows on a distant shore.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

'Do we not learn from runes and rhymes
Made by the gods in elder times,
And do not still the great Scalds teach
That silence better is than speech?'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

Smiling at this, the King replied,
'Thy lore is by thy tongue belied;
For never was I so enthralled
Either by Saga-man or Scald,'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

The Bishop said, 'Late hours we keep!
Night wanes, O King! 't is time for sleep!'
Then slept the King, and when he woke
The guest was gone, the morning broke.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

They found the doors securely barred,
They found the watch-dog in the yard,
There was no footprint in the grass,
And none had seen the stranger pass.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

King Olaf crossed himself and said:
'I know that Odin the Great is dead;
Sure is the triumph of our Faith,
The one-eyed stranger was his wraith.'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Fidele's Grassy Tomb

The Squire sat propped in a pillowed chair,
His eyes were alive and clear of care,
But well he knew that the hour was come
To bid good-bye to his ancient home.

He looked on garden, wood, and hill,
He looked on the lake, sunny and still:
The last of earth that his eyes could see
Was the island church of Orchardleigh.

The last that his heart could understand
Was the touch of the tongue that licked his hand:
'Bury the dog at my feet,' he said,
And his voice dropped, and the Squire was dead.

Now the dog was a hound of the Danish breed,
Staunch to love and strong at need:
He had dragged his master safe to shore
When the tide was ebbing at Elsinore.

From that day forth, as reason would,
He was named 'Fidele,' and made it good:
When the last of the mourners left the door
Fidele was dead on the chantry floor.

They buried him there at his master's feet,
And all that heard of it deemed it meet:
The story went the round for years,
Till it came at last to the Bishop's ears.

Bishop of Bath and Wells was he,
Lord of the lords of Orchardleigh;
And he wrote to the Parson the strongest screed
That Bishop may write or Parson read.

The sum of it was that a soulless hound
Was known to be buried in hallowed ground:
From scandal sore the Church to save
They must take the dog from his masters grave.

The heir was far in a foreign land,
The Parson was wax to my Lord's command:
He sent for the Sexton and bade him make
A lonely grave by the shore of the lake.

The Sexton sat by the water's brink
Where he used to sit when he used to think:
He reasoned slow, but he reasoned it out,
And his argument left him free from doubt.

'A Bishop,' he said, 'is the top of his trade:
But there's others can give him a start with the spade:
Yon dog, he carried the Squire ashore,
And a Christian couldn't ha' done no more.

The grave was dug; the mason came
And carved on stone Fidele's name;
But the dog that the Sexton laid inside
Was a dog that never had lived or died.

So the Parson was praised,and the scandal stayed,
Till, a long time after, the church decayed,
And, laying the floor anew, they found
In the tomb of the Squire the bones of a hound.

As for the Bishop of Bath and Wells
No more of him the story tells;
Doubtless he lived as a Prelate and Prince,
And died and was buried a century since.

And whether his view was right or wrong
Has little to do with this my song;
Something we owe him, you must allow;
And perhaps he has changed his mind by now.

The Squire in the family chantry sleeps,
The marble still his memory keeps:
Remember, when the name you spell,
There rest Fidele's bones as well.

For the Sexton's grave you need not search,
'Tis a nameless mound by the island church:
An ignorant fellow, of humble lot---
But. he knew one thing that a Bishop did not.

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Ancient Warrior

Theres no end - theres no beginning -
To the old mans story
Does he still remember me -
From lives gone by
Oh I see his spirit rising
Upon the back of time
Ive got nowhere to hide
Will he keep a place for me
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings
In his eyes an oceans burning
Swollen seat of tears
Troubled mind the beating
War drums in his ears
No one ever hears his warning
Am I the one he calls
When they tell me theyre afraid
Some say Ill be put away
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings
My blood will spill my blood
My blood will spill my blood
In the wisdom of the prophets
Never ending tale
Open up the eyes
Within your mind, he says
Crowned in his ancient glory
Theres a king within us all
Some will say its all in vain
That he doesnt have a name
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings

song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New World Order

Broken down, feeling naked
Leaving me unfulfilled
Promising compromise
Championing mediocrity
Time and time again
What you said ain't what you mean
Even if all my bones are broken
I will drag myself back from the edge to
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King, God save the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
I reveal a deceiver
In the highest seat in the land
His idle hands the Devil's workshop
Generate more smoke than heat
Time and time again
What you said ain't what you mean
Even if all my bones are broken
I will drag myself back from the edge to
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King, God save the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
A new precedent in pain, a new precedent in pain
Mankind is blown to dust, mankind is blown to dust
An explosion of the Brain, an explosion of the
Brain
Spontaneously combust, spontaneously combust
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King

song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 99

Let the oceans roar
And the mountains fall down
Let the earth be moved
Let the King wear His crown

For the Lord is great
He brings glory to His name
The earth cries out
And the stars they do the same

For the Lord is established
He is great in all His ways
And His people are forgiven
And they praise Him all their days

A cloudy pillar by day
And a fire by night
A voice calls out from them
To rise up and fight

Rise up in forgiveness
And exalt the Lord your King
Rise up in justice
And stand behind His wing

For in the presence of the Lord
You learn to be still
To rise upon His wings
And ascend His holy hill

poem by Frank McEleny
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Psalm 21

Our king is the care of Heaven.

The king, O Lord, with songs of praise,
Shall in thy strength rejoice;
And, blest with thy salvation, raise
To heav'n his cheerful voice.

Thy sure defence through nations round
Has spread his glorious name;
And his successful actions crowned
With majesty and fame.

Then let the king on God alone
For timely aid rely;
His mercy shall support the throne,
And all our wants supply.

But, righteous Lord, his stubborn foes
Shall feel thy dreadful hand;
Thy vengeful arm shall find out those
That hate his mild command.

When thou against them dost engage,
Thy just but dreadful doom
Shall, like a fiery oven's rage,
Their hopes and them consume.

Thus, Lord, thy wondrous power declare,
And thus exalt thy fame;
Whilst we glad songs of praise prepare
For thine almighty name.

poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 150

Praise the Lord of the morning
When the sun rises from its sleep
Praise the Lord for His excellent greatness
For His beauty makes me weep

Praise the Lord when the darkness falls
And the moon rises high above
Praise the Lord for His majestic glory
And His everlasting love

Praise the Lord in the winter
When the snow falls on the ground
Praise the Lord for His glorious presence
When we stand upon holy ground

Praise the Lord of the summer
When the days are warm and long
Praise the Lord for His magnificent splendor
And the saints shall sing a new song

Praise the Lord of the springtime
When the blossoms on the tree
Praise the Lord for His holiness
And for the Blood that set us free

Praise the Lord of the Autumn
When the leaves fall to the ground
Praise the Lord for His faithfulness
And that His grace abounds

Praise the Lord when your happy
And there's a smile upon your face
Praise the Lord for His mercy
And for His saving grace

Praise the Lord when you're in despair
And your pierced by a fiery dart
Praise the Lord for HIs loving kindness
That restores your broken heart

Praise the Lord with your last breath
As you lie upon your bed
Praise the Lord for His promises
To raise you from the dead

Praise the Lord for all eternity
As you gather around His throne
Praise the Lord for His incredible beauty
As you worship Him alone

Let trumpet, harp and timbrel praise
And dance before the King
Let all with breath praise the Lord
And with their voices sing

Hallelujah to the King of Kings
We worship and bow down
We sing to you forever more
And we will crown Him with many crowns

poem by Frank McEleny
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King Without A Crown

Welcome to the great republic
Guess I should show you round
Where once I was a king
And now I am a clown
The love that we once shared
Made a king of me
But now youre gone... but now youre gone
All I face is poverty
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned
But heaven dont boast - no heaven dont boast
The jewel - the pretty jewel I just pawned
Every cloud has a silver lining
Every dog has its day
Oh but I guess the sun stopped shining
On the day you went away
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Yes Im a king - king! king without a crown
Bathed in former glory
Deposed from my throne
How do I get to tell my story?
When all gets your answerphone...
But you aint home
With the love you gave
I felt like royalty
But now youre face to face - face to face
With one ex-member of the aristocracy
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Theres no need to feel down
Yeah just take a look around
Youll see a man whos just a man
Nothing more
A king without a crown

song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prince Yousuf And The Alcayde

A Moorish Ballad
IN Grenada reigned Mohammed,
Sixth who bore the name was he;
But the rightful king, Prince Yousuf,
Pined in long captivity:
Yousuf, brother to Mohammed.
Him the king had seized and sent
Prisoner to a Moorish castle,
Where ten years his life was spent.
Ill and feeble, now the usurper
Felt his death was hastening on,
And would fain bequeath his kingdom
And his title to his son.
Calling then a trusty servant,
He to him a letter gave —
'Take my fleetest horse, and hasten,
If my life you wish to save.
'Hie thee to the brave Alcayde
Of my castle by the sea;
To his hands give thou this letter,
And his physician bring to me.'
Then in haste his servant mounted,
And for many a league he rode,
Till he reached the court and castle
Where the captive prince abode.
There sat Yousuf and the Alcayde
In the castle, playing chess.
'What is this?'
the keeper muttered.
'Some bad tidings, as I guess.'
Pale he grew, and sat and trembled,
While his eye the letter scanned;
And his voice was choked and speechless,
As he dropped it from his hand.
'Now what ails thee?'
cried Prince Yousuf.
'Doth the king demand my head?'
'Read it!'
gasps the good Alcayde.
'Ah, my lord — would I were dead!'
Yousuf read: 'When this shall reach you,
Slay my brother, and his head
Straightway by the bearer send me;,,
So I may be sure he's dead.'
'So' — cried Yousuf. 'This I looked for.
Now let us play out our game.
I was losing — you were winning
When this ugly message came.'
All confused, the poor Alcayde
Played his knights and bishops wrong;
And the prince his moves corrected.
So in silence sat they long.
In his mind Prince Yousuf pondered,
'Why this hasty message send,
If my kind and thoughtful brother
Were not hastening to his end?
'Surely he is ill or dying.
And if I must lose my head,
My young nephew will succeed him
O'er Grenada in my stead.
'Though my keeper still is friendly,
I must gain some hours' delay.
He is poor: the king may bribe him.
He may change ere close of day.'
Then aloud — 'Come, good Alcayde —
One more game before I die.
And be sure you make no blunders —
I may beat you yet. I'll try.'
In his lonely life the keeper
Dearly loved his game of chess;
Therefore needs he little urging,
Though sad thoughts his soul oppress.
For an hour or two they battled,
And the Alcayde gained amain;
For the prince with restless glances
Gazed beyond the window-pane.
Still the chess-board lay between them;
And the Alcayde played his best;
Took no note of gliding hours,
Till the sunset fired the west.
Yet he gained not, for Prince Yousuf
With a sudden checkmate sprang
Unforeseen — and that same moment —
Hark — was that a bugle rang?
Through the western windows gazing
Far across the dusty plain,
Yousuf saw the flash of lances —
And the bugle rang again.
And two knights appeared advancing
Like two eagles on the wing.
Allah Akbar! From Grenada
Faces flushed with joy they bring.
The king is dead! Long live King Yousuf!
Long lost lord — our rightful king!

poem by Christopher Pearse Cranch
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Jesus the King

On the hill of Calvary
Hung up on a tree,
Stripped bare for all to see-

Jesus, King of the Jews,
The carpenter of Galilee,
Dying for me and you.

The soldiers and priests
Shaking dust off their feet
While his followers few, did weep.

Hah, Jesus Christ the King! ?
Hear them in mockery sing
Great Caesar be our only King!

But though they reviled,
And though they mocked.
He cried, 'Father forgive; they know not.'

For he was the great I am,
A shining light, brighter than the sun's flame.
Almighty God robed in flesh, Son of Man.

Jesus, the one who will and has been,
The one who of all will one day be seen
The Creator of every living being.

Despite their mocking,
And though they denied him:
He was still their King.

Tis still the same today,
Whether you like it that way:
Jesus the King, here to stay.

You can defy him, in defiance raise,
But one day, him, everyone will praise.
You will praise, it's just about what place.

You can curse him, spurn his love.
Shake your fists at the sky above.
Nothing you do will be enough.

Because he made you, therefore your King.
Doesn't matter if you don't like him,
Won't ever change a thing.

He has been the King,
Is the King,
Will be the King,
Forever lives the King.
Lift your hands and sing,
Long live, Jesus the King!

The majority's voice will never change,
The endowment of he who came:
Jesus the King, forever the same

You can deny him,
Doesn't change a thing-
Jesus is still your King.

Has been the King, is the King, will be the King! Long live Jesus Christ the King! Lift your hands and sing, Long live, Jesus the King.

Story behind the poem:

This is one of my favorite verses in the Bible:

1Ti 6: 14-16 That thou keep this commandment without spot, unrebukeable, until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ: Which in his times he shall shew, who is the blessed and only Potentate, the King of kings, and Lord of lords; Who only hath immortality, dwelling in the light which no man can approach unto; whom no man hath seen, nor can see: to whom be honour and power everlasting. Amen.

Can you feel the awe rising? I can.

And an interesting tidbit:

Joh 19: 19-22 And Pilate wrote a title, and put it on the cross. And the writing was, JESUS OF NAZARETH THE KING OF THE JEWS.
This title then read many of the Jews: for the place where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the city: and it was written in Hebrew, and Greek, and Latin.
Then said the chief priests of the Jews to Pilate, Write not, The King of the Jews; but that he said, I am King of the Jews.
Pilate answered, What I have written I have written.

What I have written, I have written. What an epic statement! Jesus will forever be the KING of kings. Nothing will ever change it!

JESUS IS KING!

GZ

poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Psalm 148

Let the heavens cry out
Let the earth give a shout
Let all the Peoples of the earth not doubt
Our glorious King forever

Let the heavenly angels praise
To our King may every hand raise
May we worship Him all of our days
Our glorious King forever

Praise Him you sun so bright
Praise Him you moon through the night
All of His enemies take flight
From our glorious King forever

Praise Him you creatures of the sea
Praise Him that you swim so free
May our praises eternally be
Of our glorious King forever

Mountains and hills fall down
Stars in the sky make a glorious sound
All ye saints cast down your crowns
Before our glorious King forever

We will praise Him for His marvelous grace
We praise Him for His warm embrace
We praise Him in the holy place
Our glorious King forever

We exalt the King of Kings
Heavenly choirs of angels sings
Of the freedom that our Christ brings
Our glorious King forever

All our praise He does deserve
Let His glory cover all the earth
We shall bow down and worship and serve
Our glorious King forever

poem by Frank McEleny
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Psalm 24

Dwelling with God.

The earth for ever is the Lord's,
With Adam's num'rous race;
He raised its arches o'er the floods,
And built it on the seas.

But who among the sons of men
May visit thine abode?
He that has hands from mischief clean,
Whose heart is right with God.

This is the man may rise and take
The blessings of his grace;
This is the lot of those that seek
The God of Jacob's face.

Now let our souls' immortal powers
To meet the Lord prepare,
Lift up their everlasting doors,
The King of glory's near.

The King of glory! who can tell
The wonders of his might?
He rules the nations; but to dwell
With saints is his delight.

poem by Isaac Watts
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His Line In The Sand (Fun Poem 133)

For Sara Feilder
Who suggested the first line.

The stiff backed man
drew his line in the sand
to hold back the encroaching tide.
He failed just like King Canute
and got his feet all wet.
He then looked at the sea angrily and said.
"You were supposed to stop at my line,
not go beyond it and soak my feet."
The sea replied with a stronger wave
that washed up over his shoes to his knees.
With that, the stiff backed man
made his retreat further back up the shore
well out of reach of the sea.
The moral of this story,
the sea and tide waits on no man
and if you do not want to get wet feet
stand back well out of its way.

30 July 2012

poem by David Harris
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Piel Ballad (For the King of Piel)

king of piel, lord of ale
hear the cryer wail
be crowned this day upon piel isle
let the knights set sail
proclaim his glory
to the sea, and to the furness lands
his castle fires burn again
upon fine foudreys sands.
his jesters play, his legions march
the crowds they all do cheer
the king and queen have come at last
and with them cometh beer
come daughters come sons to the coronation
to the crowning of the king of piel
come one come all come everyone
for the legends of him are real
tis true for sure what ye have heard
in tale of folk and lore
bout strange crown and kingship passed
on down from days of yore.
bout knights and lords
and maidens fair and pirates of the sea
bout how the queen with own hands pulls
a pint for me and thee
come with thine eyes and see for sure
the glory of this place
and take a seat at courtly table
to seek my masters grace.
come young come old as stories be told
of the exploits of the king of piel
come meek come bold come to the fold
for a taste of the island feel
there is upon this peacful isle
so many things to see
and if i were to tell you all
what pleasure would it be
to walk around its shore thyself
and feel of its strange force
to touch its sand with your bare feet
and smell the air of course
feel the sense of wonder
felt by many more
for a thousand years passed
and a thousand years more
let me now unveil a tale
of some history of this spot
a wicked little narrative
with a twisted little plot
only a small portion
of the story have i got
but i hope that you will like it
erm, a lot.
to island over yonder
the one with lines so smooth
did lambert simnel wander
his falsehoods so to prove
he landed with two thousand men
who came from o'er t'sea
and with glory in his childish head
claimed King he was to be
not so dear souls for by his death
he had so lowly fell
and all of his accomplices
were despatched thus to hell
the spit he turned for king so kind
to spare his tender head
and lived as servant all his life
til death became his bed
but left behind on the island
was something rather strange
the legend of the King of piel
and who to take his place
of course the people wondered
and argued for a cause
but the choice was so obvious
the landlord, of course
who better but to keep the peace
than one who selleth ale
who better met to rule with grace
and sometimes even style
so there in passed the kingship
and so on over time
it got wrote down in stories
and sometimes even rhyme
so now bow down, pay homage to
the noble king, crowned anew
banners raise, trumpets sound
come all come all, its
his round!

poem by Graham Eccles
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Glory

Great is the Lord,God Almighty
Great is the Lordon high
the train of His robe fills the temple
and we cry out highest praise
Glory to the risen King
Glory to the son
Glorious son
lift up your heads open the doors
let the King of glory come in
and forever be our God
Holy is the Lord,God Almighty
Hloy is the Lord on High
let all the earth bow before You
and crown You Lord of all

song performed by by Hillsong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fact, And An Imagination, Or, Canute And Alfred, On The Seashore

THE Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair,
Mustering a face of haughty sovereignty,
To aid a covert purpose, cried--'O ye
Approaching Waters of the deep, that share
With this green isle my fortunes, come not where
Your Master's throne is set.'--Deaf was the Sea;
Her waves rolled on, respecting his decree
Less than they heed a breath of wanton air.
--Then Canute, rising from the invaded throne,
Said to his servile Courtiers,--'Poor the reach,
The undisguised extent, of mortal sway!
He only is a King, and he alone
Deserves the name (this truth the billows preach)
Whose everlasting laws, sea, earth, and heaven, obey.'
This just reproof the prosperous Dane
Drew, from the influx of the main,
For some whose rugged northern mouths would strain
At oriental flattery;
And Canute (fact more worthy to be known)
From that time forth did for his brows disown
The ostentatious symbol of a crown;
Esteeming earthly royalty
Contemptible as vain.
Now hear what one of elder days,
Rich theme of England's fondest praise,
Her darling Alfred, 'might' have spoken;
To cheer the remnant of his host
When he was driven from coast to coast,
Distressed and harassed, but with mind unbroken:
'My faithful followers, lo! the tide is spent
That rose, and steadily advanced to fill
The shores and channels, working Nature's will
Among the mazy streams that backward went,
And in the sluggish pools where ships are pent:
And now, his task performed, the flood stands still,
At the green base of many an inland hill,
In placid beauty and sublime content!
Such the repose that sage and hero find;
Such measured rest the sedulous and good
Of humbler name; whose souls do, like the flood
Of Ocean, press right on; or gently wind,
Neither to be diverted nor withstood,
Until they reach the bounds by Heaven assigned.'

poem by William Wordsworth
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Psalm 89

The covenant made with Christ; or, The true David.

For ever shall my song record
The truth and mercy of the Lord;
Mercy and truth for ever stand,
Like heav'n, established by his hand.

Thus to his Son he sware, and said,
"With thee my cov'nant first is made;
In thee shall dying sinners live,
Glory and grace are thine to give.

"Be thou my Prophet, thou my Priest;
Thy children shall be ever blest;
Thou art my chosen King: thy throne
Shall stand eternal like my own.

"There's none of all my sons above
So much my image or my love;
Celestial powers thy subjects are:
Then what can earth to thee compare?

"David, my servant, whom I chose
To guard my flock, to crush my foes,
And raised him to the Jewish throne,
Was but a shadow of my Son."

Now let the church rejoice and sing
Jesus, her Savior and her King;
Angels his heav'nly wonders show,
And saints declare his works below.

poem by Isaac Watts
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Christmas Hymn

O CHRIST, born on the holy day,
I have no gift to give my King;
No flowers grow by my weary way;
I have no birthday song to sing.

How can I sing Thy name and praise,
Who never saw Thy face divine;
Who walk in darkness all my days,
And see no Eastern stars a-shine?

Yet, when their Christmas gifts they bring,
How can I leave Thy praise unsung?
How stay from homage to the King,
And hold a silent, grudging tongue?

Lord, I found many a song to sing,
And many a humble hymn of praise
For Thy great Miracle of Spring,
The wonder of the waxing days.

When I beheld Thy days and years,
Did I not sing Thy pleasant earth?
The moons of love, the years of tears,
The mysteries of death and birth?

Have I not sung with all my soul
While soul and song were mine to yield,
Thy lightning crown, Thy cloud-control,
The dewy clover of Thy field?

Have I not loved Thy birds and beasts,
Thy streams and woods, Thy sun and shade;
Have I not made me holy feasts
Of all the beauty Thou hast made?

What though my tear-tired eyes, alas!
Won never grace Thy face to see?
I heard Thy footstep on the grass,
Thy voice in every wind-blown tree.

No music now I make or win,
Yet, Lord, remember I have been
The lover of Thy world, wherein
I found nought common or unclean.

Grown old and blind, I sing no more,
Thy saints in heaven sing sweet and strong,
Yet take the songs I made of yore
For echoes to Thy birthday song.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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King Of Trees

He was the king of trees
Keeper of the leaves
A deep green God of young
Love stained memory
We used to meet by him
Far from the hustling town
I loved you
Now theyve come to cut you down
..down
He was the guardian of days
We held the same
Beneath the shade he gave
Shelter from the rain
Oh lord how its empty now
With nothing save the breeze
Now theyve come to burn the leaves
Dont burn the leaves
And if my mind breaks up
In all so many ways
I know the meaning of
The words I love you
And if my body falls inside
An early grave
The forest and the evergreens
Are coming to take me back
So slowly as I roll
Down the track
The forest and the evergreens
Are coming to take me back
The forest and the evergreens
Are coming to take me back
Please take me back
He was the king of trees
Keeper of the glades
The way he enchanted my life
Makes me so amazed
We used to meet by him
Many years ago
I love you
Now theyve come to lay the road
Dont lay the road

song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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