The Day Of Days
Each eve earth falleth down the dark,
As though its hope were o’er;
Yet lurks the sun when day is done
Behind to-morrow’s door.
Grey grows the dawn while men-folk sleep,
Unseen spreads on the light,
Till the thrush sings to the coloured things,
And earth forgets the night.
No otherwise wends on our Hope:
E’en as a tale that’s told
Are fair lives lost, and all the cost
Of wise and true and bold.
We’ve toiled and failed; we spake the word;
None hearkened; dumb we lie;
Our Hope is dead, the seed we spread
Fell o’er the earth to die.
What’s this? For joy our hearts stand still,
And life is loved and dear,
The lost and found the Cause hath crowned,
The Day of Days is here.
poem by William Morris
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Related quotes
I Love The Word Hope
I love the word hope 'tis a great word it keeps reminding you when you are down
That in many ways you are lucky you are not the worst off in the town
Compared to some you are quite lucky and though you may not be one of the privileged few
There's hope and comfort in the thought that many are worse off than you.
I love the word hope it seems positive to hope for the good days ahead
For life for you is scarce worth living if the hope in your heart it is dead
To hope for a better tomorrow is the thing that keeps us keeping on
For you do not have much to live for if hope out of your life is gone.
I love the word hope it's uplifting for those who are feeling quite low
For as they say hope springs eternal and out of hope success can grow
And one can only see a dark future for one who is struggling to cope
If that person has lost the great gift the gift that we all know as hope.
I love the word hope it's a great gift those who have it in them have fight
They keep on going through the dark tunnel till finally they reach the light
And when you retain hope through your hard days you are telling the World I'm alive
For without it life on you much harder and you find it so hard to survive.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All For The Cause
Hear a word, a word in season,
for the day is drawing nigh,
When the Cause shall call upon us,
some to live, and some to die!
He that dies shall not die lonely,
many an one hath gone before;
He that lives shall bear no burden
heavier than the life they bore.
Nothing ancient is their story,
e’en but yesterday they bled,
Youngest they of earth’s beloved,
last of all the valiant dead.
E’en the tidings we are telling,
was the tale they had to tell,
E’en the hope that our hearts cherish,
was the hope for which they fell.
In the grave where tyrants thrust them,
lies their labour and their pain,
But undying from their sorrow
springeth up the hope again.
Mourn not therefore, nor lament it,
that the world outlives their life;
Voice and vision yet they give us,
making strong our hands for strife.
Some had name, and fame, and honour,
learn’d they were, and wise and strong;
Some were nameless, poor, unlettered,
weak in all but grief and wrong.
Named and nameless all live in us;
one and all they lead us yet
Every pain to count for nothing,
every sorrow to forget.
Hearken how they cry, “O happy,
happy ye that ye were born
In the sad slow night’s departing,
in the rising of the morn.
“Fair the crown the Cause hath for you,
well to die or well to live
Through the battle, through the tangle,
peace to gain or peace to give.”
Ah, it may be! Oft meseemeth,
in the days that yet shall be,
When no slave of gold abideth
’twixt the breadth of sea to sea,
Oft, when men and maids are merry,
ere the sunlight leaves the earth,
And they bless the day beloved,
all too short for all their mirth,
Some shall pause awhile and ponder
on the bitter days of old,
Ere the toil of strife and battle
overthrew the curse of gold;
Then ’twixt lips of loved and lover
solemn thoughts of us shall rise;
We who once were fools defeated,
then shall be the brave and wise.
There amidst the world new-builded
shall our earthly deeds abide,
Though our names be all forgotten,
and the tale of how we died.
Life or death then, who shall heed it,
what we gain or what we lose?
Fair flies life amid the struggle,
and the Cause for each shall choose.
Hear a word, a word in season,
for the day is drawing nigh,
When the Cause shall call upon us,
some to live, and some to die!
poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song II: Have No Thought for Tomorrow
Love is enough: have no thought for to-morrow
If ye lie down this even in rest from your pain,
Ye who have paid for your bliss with great sorrow:
For as it was once so it shall be again.
Ye shall cry out for death as ye stretch forth in vain
Feeble hands to the hands that would help but they may not,
Cry out to deaf ears that would hear if they could;
Till again shall the change come, and words your lips say not
Your hearts make all plain in the best wise they would
And the world ye thought waning is glorious and good:
And no morning now mocks you and no nightfall is weary,
The plains are not empty of song and of deed:
The sea strayeth not, nor the mountains are dreary;
The wind is not helpless for any man's need,
Nor falleth the rain but for thistle and weed.
O surely this morning all sorrow is hidden,
All battle is hushed for this even at least;
And no one this noontide may hunger, unbidden
To the flowers and the singing and the joy of your feast
Where silent ye sit midst the world's tale increased.
Lo, the lovers unloved that draw nigh for your blessing!
For your tale makes the dreaming whereby yet they live
The dreams of the day with their hopes of redressing,
The dreams of the night with the kisses they give,
The dreams of the dawn wherein death and hope strive.
Ah, what shall we say then, but that earth threatened often
Shall live on for ever that such things may be,
That the dry seed shall quicken, the hard earth shall soften,
And the spring-bearing birds flutter north o'er the sea,
That earth's garden may bloom round my love's feet and me?
poem by William Morris
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What is hope.................
What hope means
Hope is bright shining light which keeps darkness at the bay
Hope is gentle cold breeze on a hot summer day
Hope is to remain positive when going gets tough
hope is seeking more when others think u had enough
What hope means
Hope is dreaming of tommorow
Hope is simmering under sorrow
Hope is sparkles when tears in our eyes
Hope is a beautiful thing & beutiful things never dies
What hope means
Hope is as light as a feather
Hope keeps all of us together
Hope is ubiquitous and free of cost
hope is the last thing ever lost.....
poem by Vineet Bansal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A New Hope
What does hope mean? ?
Hope is the bright shining light which keeps darkness at the bay
Hope is the gentle cold breeze on a hot summer day
Hope is to remain positive when it gets tough
hope is seeking more when others think of having enough
Hope is dreaming of tomorrow
Hope is simmering under sorrow
Hope is sparkles when tears in our eyes
Hope is a beautiful thing & beautiful things never dies
Hope is as light as a feather
Hope keeps all of us together
Hope is ubiquitous and free of cost
hope is the last thing ever lost.....
poem by Ultimate Cyan
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Zero Hour
A lost age of forgotten dreams
Reflections in a broken mirror
Hiding the images of hway might have been
Time stands still as the glass water shatters
Beneath the strain of humanity's dying voice
No hope, no fear, no choice
Lost hope, one fear, last chance
Welcome to zero hour
The gods look on, desperate to comprehend
The moment it all failed
Their tears fall to the earth
Polluted with humanity's sins
And they close their eyes
Their children have lost their way.
No hope, no fear, no choice
Lost hope, one fear, last chance
Welcome to zero hour
Time begins anew, the gods awaken
>From their sleep
And with it a new dream
Like the Phoenix we are reborn from the
Ashes of the past
The choice is ours, a new dawn, a new hope,
A new age
As we begin at zero hour.
song performed by by Quo Vadis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Easter Day, II
So in the sinful streets, abstracted and alone,
I with my secret self held communing of mine own.
So in the southern city spake the tongue
Of one that somewhat overwildly sung,
But in a later hour I sat and heard
Another voice that spake another graver word.
Weep not, it bade, whatever hath been said,
Though He be dead, He is not dead.
In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
Weep not beside His tomb,
Ye women unto whom
He was great comfort and yet greater grief;
Nor ye, ye faithful few that wont with Him to roam,
Seek sadly what for Him ye left, go hopeless to your home;
Nor ye despair, ye sharers yet to be of their belief;
Though He be dead, He is not dead,
Nor gone, though fled,
Not lost, though vanished;
Though He return not, though
He lies and moulders low;
In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
Sit if ye will, sit down upon the ground,
Yet not to weep and wail, but calmly look around.
Whate’er befel,
Earth is not hell;
Now, too, as when it first began,
Life is yet life, and man is man.
For all that breathe beneath the heaven’s high cope,
Joy with grief mixes, with despondence hope.
Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief;
Or at least, faith unbelief.
Though dead, not dead;
Not gone, though fled;
Not lost, though vanished.
In the great gospel and true creed,
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Voice of Toil
I heard men saying, Leave hope and praying,
All days shall be as all have been;
To-day and to-morrow bring fear and sorrow,
The never-ending toil between.
When Earth was younger mid toil and hunger,
In hope we strove, and our hands were strong;
Then great men led us, with words they fed us,
And bade us right the earthly wrong.
Go read in story their deeds and glory,
Their names amidst the nameless dead;
Turn then from lying to us slow-dying
In that good world to which they led;
Where fast and faster our iron master,
The thing we made, for ever drives,
Bids us grind treasure and fashion pleasure
For other hopes and other lives.
Where home is a hovel and dull we grovel,
Forgetting that the world is fair;
Where no babe we cherish, lest its very soul perish;
Where mirth is crime, and love a snare.
Who now shall lead us, what God shall heed us
As we lie in the hell our hands have won?
For us are no rulers but fools and befoolers,
The great are fallen, the wise men gone.
I heard men saying, Leave tears and praying,
The sharp knife heedeth not the sheep;
Are we not stronger than the rich and the wronger,
When day breaks over dreams and sleep?
Come, shoulder to shoulder ere the world grows older!
Help lies in nought but thee and me;
Hope is before us, the long years that bore us
Bore leaders more than men may be.
Let dead hearts tarry and trade and marry,
And trembling nurse their dreams of mirth,
While we the living our lives are giving
To bring the bright new world to birth.
Come, shoulder to shoulder ere Earth grows older!
The Cause spreads over land and sea;
Now the world shaketh, and fear awaketh,
And joy at last for thee and me.
poem by William Morris
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The First Spring Day
THE sunshine died long ago,
Stifled out long ago,
And the waste of the world was grey,
And night was the best to know,
For night was to doze and forget the day,
To be warm and forgetting and still,
And need not the sun and know not the chill:
But oh, for the day that was darkened so!
Why gaze on a barren heaven,
Void and unchanging heaven,
On a barren earth in the grime,
And not a poor blossom given,
No thing that was thinking of sunshine time,
For a promise, a praise of the past?
And so one forgot the sunshine at last;
And sleep could avail, but what to have striven?
The sunshine wakes once anew,
Wakes and is born anew,
And the Age of the earth grows young,
And heaven has its youth for hue,
And hope is the tune of the spring-bird's tongue,
And the leaves in their prisons all hark,
And blossoms will know there is end of the dark:
One hour of the sun, and the spring-time grew!
The sunshine new on the earth,
Heaven to brighten the earth,
And the deathful dimness gone by,
The barren and winter dearth!
And to-day is the best till the next is nigh,
And to-night is to-morrow begun,
To-morrow, when blossoms remember the sun!
Dead hopes, are ye born with the blossoms birth?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Hope Was There
When the desperation hit
When people wept in the streets
When everyone felt abandoned
Hope stayed, even though fleeing was easier
When eyes filled with tears
When kids and families were torn apart
By that last frantic grasp
Hope tried
When all else gave up
When all else backed off
When people lost all they had
Hope flew
When they cried
When the world was shaken with agony and despair
When nothing seemed good
Hope worked
When those four planes crashed
When the buildings fell
When the lives were lost
Hope was there
Hope was only a tiny glimmer
Hope was still there
She ran to those who needed her
She worked to help
When all else failed
Hope didn't
She flew through us all
Letting us know we still had her
We just had to look hard enough
Hope remembers
Hope was there
poem by Nicole Pearson
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The candle of hope
Hope for the hopeless and hope for the lost.
No matter the price, whatever the cost.
Jesus had come and was willing to pay
being born as a babe that first Christmas day.
Hope that's a certainty, hope that is sure.
Though the earth is shaken I am secure.
Trusting in Jesus and safe in His care.
Knowing THAT He's with me and always there.
Singing For The New Born
You're my life's treasure this day
So will ever be you all days
Like the fencing wind soothing
Saving all lives abound
Livening all lives so lovable..
May my hope come true
May my hope come true
You're my life's pleasure this day
So will ever be you all days
Like a blooming flower fragrant
Turning to a fruit yummy
Lovable much to all and whole..
May my hope come true
May my hope come true
You're my life's favour this day
So will ever be you all days
Like the new rains heavenly
Freshening the loam so lush
Lovely with lavish love adored..
May my hope come true
May my hope come true
You're my life's healer this day
So will ever be you all days
Like the handy salve treating
Healing the wounded well cured
Sought after much with needs..
May my hope come true
May my hope come true
You're my life's salvor this day
So will ever be you all days
Like a magician godly in a wink
Weeding the wild from peace field
Lovingly loving the whole world..
May my hope come true
May my hope come true
For The Forthcoming New Year-
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Hope is not Lost
When the desperation hit
When the people cried in the streets
When everything felt at loss
Hope stayed, even though fleaing would be easier
When the eyes were full of tears.
When kids and families were torn apart
By that last desperate grasp
Hope tried
When all else gave up
When all else backed off
When people lost all they had
Hope flew
When they cried
When the world was shocked with desperation and dispair
When nothing seemed good
Hope worked
When those four planes crashed
When the buildings fell
When the lives were lost
Hope was there
Hope was only a tiny glimmer
Hope was still there
She ran to those who needed her
She worked to help
When all else failed
Hope didn't
She flew through us all
Letting us know, we still had her
We just needed to look hard enough
Hope was there
Hope remembers
poem by Jessica Millsaps
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We’ve Faith To Hope
When peace on earth has blessed our ground
When innocent of sin
Then Christ God’s Lamb we’ve truly found
And Fire burns deep within
With peace God brings His love inside
Brings faith The Truth to learn
Brings hope to be the faithful bride
Of Christ who’ll soon return
Faith is the hope of that unseen
Of promises divine
That we one day as Heaven’s queen
May drink eternal wine
What hope has faith that’s placed in man?
What hope can such faith bring?
Is this not part of Satan’s plan?
To grieve our Lord and King
The word of God is all too plain
The past has shown quite clear
There’s nought to learn, there’s nought to gain
From man who’s wisdom’s here
We need to seek for higher things
We need to seek The Light
We need to seek the truth Christ sings
On pages black on white
Knowledge will come with wisdom’s dawn
Waiting at Jesus feet
We’ll drink His blood and be reborn
Through spiritual food we eat
By faith alone these things are done
Through faith we understand
That through our faith true life is won
Within God’s Promised Land
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Sonnet for a Grey Morning
Another grey morning, much like the last
and for tomorrow, more fog’s the forecast.
When days seem the same, life always seems cold.
Night flows to night, the sad world grows old
as clouds wrap my soul in still, fatal pall
but hearts must be silent, though bold blood calls
for death to cruel winter, and end to dark days,
fair spring to release enthralled golden rays.
But looking at you, I see in your eyes
the brilliance lost from blue summer's last sky
and when you smile, in your warm glow I feel
your love overwhelm me, new suns revealed.
Overcast, confined though the earth may be
with you in my day, spring’s born endlessly.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem Of Hope
Life is hope.
Hope of being happy in life.
Hope of being adjusting in life.
Hope of being able to achieve achievements in life.
Hope of being cared by some-one in life.
Hope of being loved by some-one in life.
Hope of being nice to every-one in life.
Hope of being responsible to loved-one in life.
Hope of light to see in darkness.
Hope of sunshine after the rain.
Hope of help in time of troubles.
Hope of wind in time of grief.
Hope of being alive to fulfill our duties.
Hope of joy to overcome sadness.
Hope of encouragement to overcome fear.
Hope of getting hope in life is hope.
poem by Neelapu Suresh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Season Of Hope Revised
This is the season of hope
That we are now living in
And there are so my hopes that we have for us
During this seson of hope
We hope to find love
We hope to have peace during this seseon of hope
We hope to be healthy during this season of hope
We hope that we can be happy in our homes during the season of Hope
And we should know that hope will never die for us
So that we must keep on hopping each day that we live our lives here On earth
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Season Of Hope
This is the season of hope
That we are now living in
And there are so my hopes that we have for us
During this seson of hope
We hope to find love
We hope to have peace during this seseon of hope
We hope to be healthy during this season of hope
We hope that we can be happy in our homes during the season of Hope
And we should know that hope will never die for us
So that we must keep on hopping each day that we live our lives here On earth
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Day Is Coming
Come hither lads and hearken,
for a tale there is to tell,
Of the wonderful days a-coming, when all
shall be better than well.
And the tale shall be told of a country,
a land in the midst of the sea,
And folk shall call it England
in the days that are going to be.
There more than one in a thousand
in the days that are yet to come,
Shall have some hope of the morrow,
some joy of the ancient home.
For then, laugh not, but listen,
to this strange tale of mine,
All folk that are in England
shall be better lodged than swine.
Then a man shall work and bethink him,
and rejoice in the deeds of his hand,
Nor yet come home in the even
too faint and weary to stand.
Men in that time a-coming
shall work and have no fear
For to-morrow’s lack of earning
and the hunger-wolf anear.
I tell you this for a wonder,
that no man then shall be glad
Of his fellow’s fall and mishap
to snatch at the work he had.
For that which the worker winneth
shall then be his indeed,
Nor shall half be reaped for nothing
by him that sowed no seed.
O strange new wonderful justice!
But for whom shall we gather the gain?
For ourselves and for each of our fellows,
and no hand shall labour in vain.
Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours,
and no more shall any man crave
For riches that serve for nothing
but to fetter a friend for a slave.
And what wealth then shall be left us
when none shall gather gold
To buy his friend in the market,
and pinch and pine the sold?
Nay, what save the lovely city,
and the little house on the hill,
And the wastes and the woodland beauty,
and the happy fields we till;
And the homes of ancient stories,
the tombs of the mighty dead;
And the wise men seeking out marvels,
and the poet’s teeming head;
And the painter’s hand of wonder;
and the marvellous fiddle-bow,
And the banded choirs of music:
all those that do and know.
For all these shall be ours and all men’s
nor shall any lack a share
Of the toil and the gain of living
in the days when the world grows fair.
Ah! such are the days that shall be!
But what are the deeds of to-day,
In the days of the years we dwell in,
that wear our lives away?
Why, then, and for what are we waiting?
There are three words to speak;
WE WILL IT, and what is the foeman
but the dream-strong wakened and weak?
O why and for what are we waiting?
while our brothers droop and die,
And on every wind of the heavens
a wasted life goes by.
How long shall they reproach us
where crowd on crowd they dwell,
Poor ghosts of the wicked city,
the gold-crushed hungry hell?
Through squalid life they laboured,
in sordid grief they died,
Those sons of a mighty mother,
those props of England’s pride.
They are gone; there is none can undo it,
nor save our souls from the curse;
But many a million cometh,
and shall they be better or worse?
It is we must answer and hasten,
and open wide the door
For the rich man’s hurrying terror,
and the slow-foot hope of the poor.
Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched,
and their unlearned discontent,
We must give it voice and wisdom
till the waiting-tide be spent.
Come, then, since all things call us,
the living and the dead,
And o’er the weltering tangle
a glimmering light is shed.
Come, then, let us cast off fooling,
and put by ease and rest,
For the Cause alone is worthy
till the good days bring the best.
Come, join in the only battle
wherein no man can fail,
Where whoso fadeth and dieth,
yet his deed shall still prevail.
Ah! come, cast off all fooling,
for this, at least, we know:
That the Dawn and the Day is coming,
and forth the Banners go.
poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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