And Is It Among Rude Untutored Dales
AND is it among rude untutored Dales,
There, and there only, that the heart is true?
And, rising to repel or to subdue,
Is it by rocks and woods that man prevails?
Ah no! though Nature's dread protection fails,
There is a bulwark in the soul. This knew
Iberian Burghers when the sword they drew
In Zaragoza, naked to the gales
Of fiercely-breathing war. The truth was felt
By Palafox, and many a brave compeer,
Like him of noble birth and noble mind;
By ladies, meek-eyed women without fear;
And wanderers of the street, to whom is dealt
The bread which without industry they find.
poem by William Wordsworth
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For The Man Who Fails
The world is a snob, and the man who wins
Is the chap for its money's worth:
And the lust for success causes half of the sins
That are cursing this brave old earth.
For it 's fine to go up, and the world's applause
Is sweet to the mortal ear;
But the man who fails in a noble cause
Is a hero that 's no less dear.
'T is true enough that the laurel crown
Twines but for the victor's brow;
For many a hero has lain him down
With naught but the cypress bough.
There are gallant men in the losing fight,
And as gallant deeds are done
As ever graced the captured height
Or the battle grandly won.
We sit at life's board with our nerves highstrung,
And we play for the stake of Fame,
And our odes are sung and our banners hung
For the man who wins the game.
But I have a song of another kind
Than breathes in these fame-wrought gales,--
An ode to the noble heart and mind
Of the gallant man who fails!
The man who is strong to fight his fight,
And whose will no front can daunt,
If the truth be truth and the right be right,
Is the man that the ages want.
Tho' he fail and die in grim defeat,
Yet he has not fled the strife,
And the house of Earth will seem more sweet
For the perfume of his life.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Truth Is Wealth
Truth is power, truth is true wealth,
Truth is unequalled ultimate strength,
Truth makes soul its own king
And makes the angels in heaven sing,
Truth is joy, truth is sunshine,
Truth is heart's pristine sheen.
Truth is true friend if we side with it,
And the deadliest foe while stand against it,
Truth strikes terror in law-breakers' heart
And shakes those hearts that go short of it,
For truth is all, truth is tall,
No noble soul ever refrains from its call.
Truth is might, truth is true light,
Truth is the path always is right.
poem by Pratheek Praveen
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Bless Me With Those Eyes!
'A thing of beauty is a joy for ever'
Words of Keats one can forget never
What is beauty - beauty is where
One can enjoy here and there, every where!
Grecian urn a beautiful piece
Niagara falls a beautiful place
Silver streaks of water brings us peace
Hills and dales sure nature's grace!
Does beauty lie in the objects seen
Or lie in the eyes of the seer keen?
Beauty seen in the scorching Sun
Beauty felt in the biting cold
Beauty heard in the melody of birds
Beauty smelt in the fragrance of rose
Beauty tasted in the bitterness of neem
Beauty found sure in every mean(s) !
'Beauty is truth and truth beauty
That is all what ye know on earth
And what all ye need to know'
Words of Wisdom
From votary of beauty
And a devotee of Almighty!
Creator of noble beauty
Harbinger of peace and piety
Bless me with those eyes and mind
Beauty in ugliness that they can find!
Beauty of the mind and beauty of the soul
Sure makes one the wholesome whole!
poem by Subbaraman N V
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On Pedigree. From Epicharmus
My mother! if thou love me, name no more
My noble birth! Sounding at every breath
My noble birth, thou kill'st me. Thither fly,
As to their only refuge, all from whom
Nature withholds all good besides; they boast
Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs
Of their forefathers, and, from age to age
Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race:
But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name,
Derived from no forefathers? Such a man
Lives not; for how could such be born at all?
And, if it chance that, native of a land
Far distant, or in infancy deprived
Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace
His origin, exist, why deem him sprung
From baser ancestry than theirs who can?
My mother! he whom nature at his birth
Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although
An Æthiop and a slave, is nobly born.
poem by William Cowper
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The Nature Of Love. (From The Italian)
To noble heart Love doth for shelter fly,
As seeks the bird the forest's leafy shade;
Love was not felt till noble heart beat high,
Nor before love the noble heart was made.
Soon as the sun's broad flame
Was formed, so soon the clear light filled the air;
Yet was not till he came:
So love springs up in noble breasts, and there
Has its appointed space,
As heat in the bright flames finds its allotted place.
Kindles in noble heart the fire of love,
As hidden virtue in the precious stone:
This virtue comes not from the stars above,
Till round it the ennobling sun has shone;
But when his powerful blaze
Has drawn forth what was vile, the stars impart
Strange virtue in their rays;
And thus when Nature doth create the heart
Noble and pure and high,
Like virtue from the star, love comes from woman's eye.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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An English Peasant
To pomp and pageantry in nought allied,
A noble peasant, Isaac Ashford, died.
Noble he was, contemning all things mean,
His truth unquestion'd, and his soul serene:
Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid,
At no man's question Isaac look'd dismay'd;
Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace;
Truth, simple truth, was written in his face;
Yet while the serious thought his soul approved,
Cheerful he seem'd, and gentleness he loved:
To bliss domestic he his heart resign'd,
And, with the firmest, had the fondest mind:
Were others joyful, he looked smiling on,
And have allowance where he needed none;
Good he refused with future ill to buy,
Nor knew a joy that caused reflection's sigh;
A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast
No envy stung, no jealousy distressed;
(Bane of the poor! it wounds their weaker mind,
To miss one favour which their neighbours find):
Yet far was he from stoic pride removed;
He felt humanely, and he warmly loved:
I mark'd his action when his infant died,
And his old neighbour for offence was tried;
The still tears, stealing down that furrow'd cheek,
Spoke pity plainer than the tongue can speak.
If pride were his, 'twas not their vulgar pride,
Who, in their base contempt, the great deride:
Nor pride in learning, though my clerk agreed,
If fate should call him, Ashford might succeed;
Nor pride in rustic skill, although we know
None his superior, and his equals few;
But if that spirit in his soul had place,
It was the jealous pride that shuns disgrace;
A pride in honest fame, by virtue gain'd,
In sturdy boys to virtuous labours train'd;
Pride in the power that guards his country's coast,
And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast;
Pride, in a life that slander's tongue defied,
In fact, a noble passion, a misnamed pride.
I feel his absense in the hours of prayer,
And view his seat, and sigh for Isaac there;
I see no more those white locks thinly spread
Round the bald polish of that honour'd head;
No more that awful glance on playful wight,
Compell'd to kneel, and tremble at the sight,
To fold his fingers all in dread the while,
Till Master Ashford soften'd to a smile;
No more that meek and suppliant look in prayer,
Nor the pure faith, (to give it force,) are there;
But he is bless'd, and I lament no more,
A wise good man, contented to be poor.
poem by George Crabbe
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Calling Heaven
Words & music: michael w. smith and wayne kirkpatrick
Chorus:
Calling heaven
Seeking mercy
Tell me theres a place for these
What of the children who have never felt a love
Tender as the morning
Nursing the bruises
And the scars that never seem to go away
What of the babies who have never left the womb
Breathing in the lifeline
Angels in waiting
Gone before they could be given wings to fly
Chorus
What of the noble who are searching for the truth
With truest of intentions
And yet theyre jaded by
Hypocrisies behind cathedral walls
What of the humble and the meek that knew despair
And never got their moment
But sacrificed a life of comfort
So that others knew no pain
Chorus
What of the ones who call you lord
But play the field
With faithless indecision
Forgive us father for we truly
Do not know what we have done
Chorus
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be noble and able
Be able, being noble.
You can do something.
Be noble, being able.
You can do good things.
An able but not a noble
And a noble but not an able,
Are both unwanted elements,
Just like a soul-less body
Or a body-less soul.
13.07.2001, Pkd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Wading Birds
Cranes and Herons fly in the twilight sky
A loon idles at a riverbank,
Full Moon peeps like a new coin to illuminate the dark side of life
And the ferryman shouts; 'Nobody wants to cross the river.'
* That both I and you have had to travel and trudge through the long round is owing to our not discovering, not penetrating the four truths.What four?
They are the noble truth of suffering, the noble truth of the origin of suffering, the noble truth of the cessation of suffering, and the noble truth of the way leading to the cessation of suffering. [The Buddha]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Marjorie’s Wooing
THE corn was yellow upon the cliffs,
The fluttering grass was green to see,
The waves were blue as the sky above,
And the sun it was shining merrily.
'Marjorie, Marjorie! do you love me,
Faithfully, truly as I love you?'
The little lass reddened, and whitened, and smiled,
And answered him with her clear eyes of blue.
'Marjorie, you are but gentle and young;
I am too old and too rough for you.'
The little lass, trustfully giving her hand,
Answered, 'I love you, faithful and true.'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, when shall we wed?'
'As soon as you will it,—to-morrow, to-day.'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, if you knew all,
Would you still say me the words that you say?'
'If I knew all?' said the little lass,
'I know you are Kenneth, the brave and strong;
I know that I love, and that you are good:
I will know it e'er, and have known it long.'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, if I should say
I fled from prison to come to you;
I stabbed a man all for jealous love;
I am not noble, nor good, nor true?'
'Kenneth, your eyes would belie your words,'
Boldly and bravely the lass replied.
'Why should God fill them with love and truth,
And your heart with cruelty, hate, and pride?'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, if I should say
That I loved many ere I loved you?'
'Ere you had seen me,' Marjorie said,
' How could you know I was loving and true?'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, if I should say
That I was outcast on land and on sea?'
'All the more reason,' the little maid said,
' Why you should ever be loved by me.'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, if I should say
That I was noble, and titled, and grand;
Lord of the woods, and the castle, and park,
Lord of the acres of corn o'er the land?'
Dropping a courtesy, the little lass said,
'Still should I love you and ever be true;
But if you found me too lowly and poor,
I should bid farewell and go die for you.'
'Marjorie, darling, I tell you then,
This is the truth, and the land is mine,
And the castle, the park, and the vessel far off,
And whatever is mine, is thine, dear, thine!'
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Shrine
There are men and women so noble of mind
So beautiful of heart, so pure is spiritual essence
They deserve praise and adulation but they don’t seek it
Nor do they advise it
Your true friends in this existence
Only want your happiness and wellbeing
Your ability to find and express love
The real teachers of the soul
Want you to discover your own potential goodness
Rather than making a shrine to theirs
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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And What Have You To Say?
I MIND the days when ladies fair
Helped on my overcoat,
And tucked the silken handkerchief
About my precious throat;
They used to see the poet’s soul
In every song I wrote.
They pleaded hard, but I had work
To do, and could not stay
I used to work the whole night through,
And what have you to say?
’Twas clever, handsome woman then,
And I their rising star;
I could not see they worshipped me,
Because I saw too far.
(’Tis well for one or two, I think,
That things are as they are.)
(I used to write for writing’s sake,
I used to write till day,
I loved my prose and poetry,
And what have you to say?)
I guess if one should meet me now
That she would gasp to think,
She ever knew a thing like me,
As down the street I slink,
And trembling cadge from some old pal
The tray-bit for a drink.
I used to drink with gentlemen
To pass an hour away:
I drink long beers in common bars,
And what have you to say?
But often, in the darkest night
(And ’tis a wondrous thing)—
When others see the devils dance,
I hear the angels sing,
And round the drunkard’s lonely bed
Heaven’s nurses whispering.
I wrote for Truth and Right alone,
I wrote from night till day;
I’ll find a drunken pauper grave,
And what have you to say?
Good night!
Good day!
My noble friends,
And what have you to say?
poem by Henry Lawson
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War Nurse
She was just another war nurse
She could strike a noble pose
Caring for our young boys when a bullet laid them low
She would hover over them and cry
And pull the cover over them when theyd die
She was just another lonesome lady, lover, sister of the gun
And though france would call her darling,
She was a nurse neath the rising sun
She knew no hells or heavens, or harbors or havens
She was every mother, sister, wife and lover
Whose love a soldier boy was savin
She believed in the birth of the broad sword
She was not a shielded one
Though france would call her darlin
She was nurse neath the rising sun
She was a soldiers shrapnel sweetheart, direct from the combat zone
She was a reincarnation o fthe virgin mary
She was the hooker down in san antone
And though her heart was somewhere in iceland
Commanding the dawn patrol
Blessed in this blood and stitched into these bones
The war nurse left her soul
Blessed in this blood and stitched into these bones
The war nurse left her soul
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voice Of The Noble
Let us heed to the voice of the noble
No matter however weak and feeble
Deserves to be carried all through the cable
Without keeping the message just on the table!
Voice of the noble cry for peace
Peace, multiplied peace all with ease
Curse of the world should surely cease
Look at the world as one and not in pliable piece!
Voice of peace is sure the soul of wisdom
Choice of the world is to reach God's kingdom
Where love and peace is bound to rule
Where faith and truth is every one's tool!
Voice of the noble seeks the world of peace
Noise of the wicked breeds the world of war
Peace indeed is the nature's choice
Peace indeed is the right man's voice!
Birds and trees sing for peace
Cruel and the wicked stink with strife.
The senseless inflicts war on nature
Least worried about grace of future
Nature revolts with quakes and storms
Millions suffer in pain and grief!
Let us heed to the voice of the noble
No matter however weak and feeble!
poem by Subbaraman N V
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Noble life demands a noble architecture for noble uses of noble men. Lack of culture means what it has always meant: ignoble civilization and therefore imminent downfall.
quote by Frank Lloyd Wright
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Noble life demands a noble architecture for noble uses of noble men. Lack of culture means what it has always meant ignoble civilization and therefore imminent downfall.
quote by Frank Lloyd Wright
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truth of Heart...
Truth be told …
In this soul in this mind is this heart a shrine
Pictures of this life a true heart you will find
Look into this heart of mind speaks of this life
Held in hand a truth of love memories of a kind
Sending love of messages of this love of mind
True to heart impatiently waiting for each line
Oh this heart answers when upon sounds ring
Of this soul of heart listening to who it brings
Truth be known of this heart beats of this life
Heart to ear speaks this mind within those near
In and of favorites who will be the one endeared
A cell phone is your heart within which a truth lies
poem by Knights Dreams
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Birth Control Logic
Birth control is not anti-self-indulgence
not even depriving the
supreme gift of pleasure
Yes God allows people
to multiply on earth
Yet same God instructs
same people to subdue
and take control the multiplied population
Human needs need controllership
to take control is not merely
to control, to rule over populace.
to take control is taking control
the ultimate birth-making pleasure
to subdue perilous ballooning population
Birth control therefore is not
anti-self-indulgence
rather a noble submission
to the Creator who need no more
creation multiplacation
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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Soul Protection
Johnnys got a job
Spreading the cure
Self employed
Hes a one man crusade
We want to give you your soul protection
Something inside
Big mistake
Spread the word
To the new generation
We want to give you your soul protection
One more night
One more dream
One more time
One more scream
One more heart
One more name
One more chance
For your soul protection.
Johnnys got pride
Ill pay it all back
Now he calls it
the poetry of motion
We want to give you your soul protection
Listen to this
This is life
Listen to your heart
And youre living under clock law
We want to give you your soul protection
Hide your fear
Hide your shame
Hide your tears
And hide your pain
Hide your face
Hide your name
Hide your need
For your soul protection
Everybodys scared
Big glass house
Dont throw stones
At your soul protection
We want to give you your soul protection
Johnnys got faith
Prays to god
Mention love
And he calls it nostalgia
We want to give you your soul protection.
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Azure Eyed Angel
My azure eyed angel
With her I’m so vulnerable
And for once, I do not care
As long as she is near
My azure eyed angel
Never knew one so beautiful
And when she smiles, my heart, it drops
I pray this never stops
My azure eyed angel
I don’t know how she pierced my soul
Yet now she’s in, won’t ever leave
My faded memory
My azure eyed angel
My feelings, unmistakable
She’s taken from me, my sad heart
And gave it a new start
My azure eyed angel
Her mind is impenetrable
I wish she’d let me see inside
I want to see her cry
My azure eyed angel
It hurts to see her miserable
I want to hold her close to me
And gently hear her breathe
My azure eyed angel
Afraid to tell her how I’ve felt
Afraid of what could come of this
Afraid of finding bliss
poem by Ryan Holmes
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