Feelings Of A Noble Biscayan At One Of Those Funerals
YET, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our Foes
With firmer soul, yet labour to regain
Our ancient freedom; else 'twere worse than vain
To gather round the bier these festal shows.
A garland fashioned of the pure white rose
Becomes not one whose father is a slave:
Oh, bear the infant covered to his grave!
These venerable mountains now enclose
A people sunk in apathy and fear.
If this endure, farewell, for us, all good!
The awful light of heavenly innocence
Will fail to illuminate the infant's bier;
And guilt and shame, from which is no defence,
Descend on all that issues from our blood.
poem by William Wordsworth
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In Due Observance Of An Ancient Rite
IN due observance of an ancient rite,
The rude Biscayans, when their children lie
Dead in the sinless time of infancy,
Attire the peaceful corse in vestments white;
And, in like sign of cloudless triumph bright,
They bind the unoffending creature's brows
With happy garlands of the pure white rose:
Then do a festal company unite
In choral song; and, while the uplifted cross
Of Jesus goes before, the child is borne
Uncovered to his grave: 'tis closed,--her loss
The Mother 'then' mourns, as she needs must mourn;
But soon, through Christian faith, is grief subdued;
And joy returns, to brighten fortitude.
poem by William Wordsworth
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The Death of Abraham Lincoln
Oh, slow to smit and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation's trust!
In sorrow by thy bier we stand,
Amid the awe that hushes all,
And speak the anguish of a land
That shook with horror at thy fall.
Thy task is done; the bond of free;
We bear thee to an honored grave,
Whose proudest monument shall be
The broken fetters of the slave.
Pure was thy life; its bloody close
Hath placed thee with the sons of light,
Among the noble host of those
Who perished in the cause of Right.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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The Death of Lincoln
Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation's trust!
In sorrow by thy bier we stand,
Amid the awe that hushes all,
And speak the anguish of a land
That shook with horror at thy fall.
Thy task is done; the bond of free;
We bear thee to an honored grave,
Whose proudest monument shall be
The broken fetters of the slave.
Pure was thy life; its bloody close
Hath placed thee with the sons of light,
Among the noble host of those
Who perished in the cause of Right.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Farewell! If Ever Fondest Prayer
Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word--Farewell!--Farewell!
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain
Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only know we loved in vain--
I only feel--Farewell!--Farewell!
Farewell To The Old Year, 1863
Farewell, old year, 'the bourne' is near,
'Whence traveller ne'er returneth'-
Passing away from time for aye,
Thy life-light faintly burneth.
Farewell, old year, dark shapes of fear,
Grim spectres pale and gory,
Flitting around, with moaning sound,
Tell us thy sad war story.
Farewell, old year, we do not fear
Republic or Imperial-
If war inclined, they both shall find
We're rather tough material.
Farewell, old year, thy past career
Hath given both gloom and gladness;
Thou gave us peace, but no decrease
In human crime and madness.
Farewell, old year, the pall and bier
Thou saw us oft attending,
And heard oft-times the merry chimes
Of birth and wedlock blending.
Farewell, old year, a voice we hear,
How solemnly it falleth-
'All flesh is grass,' prepare to pass,
Ere long the Master calleth!
Farewell, old year, thy knell we hear
Through Time's dark arches sounding;
Wrapt in thy shroud, a dense, dark cloud
Thy solemn bier surrounding.
Farewell, old year, we still have cheer,
Though tinged with doubt and sorrow,
We leave thy urn and gladly turn
To give new year good morrow.
poem by Janet Hamilton
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Happy Birthday to you.
Christmas mass at twelve,
To mark the birth of a kid,
When Mary bore her son,
Joseph was so gracious.
Took her son in his hand,
Wiped out the body fluid,
Cleaned Him, not bathed,
The arrival of a messiah untied.
Calves and the cows looked after Him,
Chirping birds and insects made the lullaby,
Mary, the mother, was too tired,
While the cute infant was taken care.
Let the baby boy has his good sleep,
He has a duty to do on his Father’s Instruction,
Let the infant feels the warmth of His mummy,
He needs to endure the shocking reality.
An infant who has been adored since young,
He has a crown and a cloak of white and red,
He stands on the globe with His kind look,
Happy Birthday to you., Jesus of Nazareth.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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In Memoriam A. H. H.: 54. Oh, yet we Trust that somehow Goo
Oh, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final end of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy'd,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;
That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
I shrivell'd in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.
Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last--far off--at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.
So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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On Another's Sorrow
Can I see another’s woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another’s grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow’s share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird’s grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear,
And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast;
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant’s tear;
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
He doth give His joy to all;
He becomes an infant small;
He becomes a man of woe;
He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.
O! He gives to us His joy
That our grief he may destroy;
Till our grief is fled & gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Innocence Is Affirmation Verification Of Light
Innocence is not an absence of legal guilt
Innocence is not freedom from specific wrongs
Innocence is a quality state of freedom from sins guilt
loss of innocence no integral part
of maturity necessary coming of age
awareness of world pain suffering evil
Innocence is not absence of normative experience
Innocence is not ignorance not knowing evil
Innocence is affirmation a naked sinless nature
Innocence is choice verification of brilliant divinity light
poem by Terence George Craddock
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American Poetry
A FRAGMENT,
(Written in her fifteenth year.)
Must every shore ring boldly to the voice
Of sweet poetic harmony, save this?
Rouse thee, America! for shame! for shame!
Gather thy infant bands, and rise to join
Thy glimmering taper to the holy flame:—
Such honour, if no other, may be thine.
Shall Gallia's children sing beneath the yoke?
Shall Ireland's harpstrings thrill, though all unstrung?.
And must America, her bondage broke,
Oppression's blood-stains from her garment wrung,
Must she be silent? — who may then rejoice?
If she be tuneless, Harmony, farewell!
Oh! shame, America! wild freedom's voice
Echoes, 'shame on thee,' from her wild-wood dell.
Shall conquered Greece still sing her glories past?
Shall humbled Italy in ruins smile?
And canst thou then —
poem by Lucretia Maria Davidson
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Silent Night
Instrumental
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from thy holy face,
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth.
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth.
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Sleep in heavenly peace...
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night
(arranged by reba mcentire)
(whats written in sentences and not verse at the beginning is what
Reba
Explains at the beginning, the rest is the song)
On christmas eve in 1818
A blizzard stranded the tiny village of ogledorf
Nestled in the austrian mountains
That same day the people of st. nicholas church found their organ
Broken
So the priest and organist began composing a song that could be sung
Without
An organ yet beautiful enough to express their christmas joy
All day and all night long they worked
And at midnight the gentle carol silent night was born
The pure clear tones echoed through the hills
And the world has been captured by the beauty of that simple song ever
Since.
Silent night
Holy night
All is calm
All is bright
Round yon virgin
Mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night
Holy night
Shepeards pray at the sight
Glory streams from heaven afar
Heavenly ? sing hallelujah
Christ the savior is born
Christ the savior is born
Silent night
Holy night
All is calm
And all is bright
Round yon virgin
Mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night
Holy night
Sleep in heavenly peace
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
round your virgin, mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night, holy night
Shepherds, quake at the sight
Glory streams from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing allehujah
Christ the savior is born
Christ the savior is born
Recitation
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
round yon virgin, mother and child
Holy infant so infant and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night
Silent night
Holy night
All is calm
All is bright
Round yon virgin
Mother and child
Holy infant so,
Tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night
Holy night
Son of god
Loves pure light
Radient beams from thy
Holy face
With the dawn of
Redeeming grace
Jesus lord at thy birth
Jesus lord at thy birth
Silent night
Holy night
Silent night
Holy night
All is calm
All is bright
Round yon virgin
Mother and child
Holy infant so,
Tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
song performed by by Wilson Phillips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Innocence of Infancy
With gentle words and gracious look,
The loving Saviour spoke and smiled;
When in His welcoming arms He took
A happy child, and blessed the child.
For childhood's earliest day begins
In the bright heaven of innocence,
Ere wand'ring thoughts or tempting sins
Seduce its erring footsteps thence.
Would that, as following years roll on,
Life's infant brightness might endure,
And leave us, when those years are gone,
Pure, as a happy child is pure!
O God! who veil'st the future o'er,
Through whose thick darkness none can see,
Protect, preserve, redeem, restore
The innocence of infancy.
poem by John Bowring
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Olney Hymn 20: Old Testament Gospel
Israel in ancient days
Not only had a view
Of Sinai in a blaze,
But learn'd the Gospel too;
The types and figures were a glass,
In which thy saw a Saviour's face.
The paschal sacrifice
And blood-besprinkled door,
Seen with enlighten'd eyes,
And once applied with power,
Would teach the need of other blood,
To reconcile an angry God.
The Lamb, the Dove, set forth
His perfect innocence,
Whose blood of matchless worth
Whould be the soul's defence;
For he who can for sin atone,
Must have no failings of His own.
The scape-goat on his head
The people's trespass bore,
And to the desert led,
Was to be seen no more:
In him our surety seem'd to say,
'Behold, I bear your sins away.'
Dipt in his fellow's blood,
The living bird went free;
The type, well understood,
Express'd the sinner's plea;
Described a guilty soul enlarged,
And by a Saviour's death discharged.
Jesus, I love to trace,
Throughout the sacred page,
The footsteps of Thy grace,
The same in every age!
Oh, grant that I may faithful be
To clearer light vouchsafed to me!
poem by William Cowper
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Ballad IV
Farewell, my lady dear and dread,
Farewell, of all sovereign and queen,
Farewell, perfect and sacred head,
Farewell, who dost all honour mean,
Farewell, true heart, loyal and clean,
Farewell, best flower the world doth bear,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair !
Farewell, O wise, that no ill said,
Farewell, river that made life green,
Farewell, in whom fame harboured,
Farewell, voice that all ears could win,
Farewell, solace of all my teen,
Farewell, whose grace is wide as air,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair !
Farewell, soft look that through me sped,
Farewell, more fair than Helen queen,
Farewell, body and sweet soul wed,
Farewell, thou most gracious demesne,
Farewell, pole-star, joyous and keen,
Farewell, fountain of valour rare,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair !
Farewell, Princess of noblest mien,
Farewell, thou aweing smile serene,
Farewell, without fault, sin's despair,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair !
poem by Christine de Pizan
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An Embroidery
Rose Red's hair is brown as fur
and shines in firelight as she prepares
supper of honey and apples, curds and whey,
for the bear, and leaves it ready
on the hearth-stone.
Rose White's grey eyes
look into the dark forest.
Rose Red's cheeks are burning,
sign of her ardent, joyful
compassionate heart.
Rose White is pale,
turning away when she hears
the bear's paw on the latch.
When he enters, there is
frost on his fur,
he draws near to the fire
giving off sparks.
Rose Red catches the scent of the forest,
of mushrooms, of rosin.
Together Rose Red and Rose White
sing to the bear;
it is a cradle song, a loom song,
a song about marriage, about
a pilgrimage to the mountains
long ago.
Raised on an elbow,
the bear stretched on the hearth
nods and hums; soon he sighs
and puts down his head.
He sleeps; the Roses
bank the fire.
Sunk in the clouds of their feather bed
they prepare to dream.
Rose Red in a cave that smells of honey
dreams she is combing the fur of her cubs
with a golden comb.
Rose White is lying awake.
Rose White shall marry the bear's brother.
Shall he too
when the time is ripe,
step from the bear's hide?
Is that other, her bridegroom,
here in the room?
poem by Denise Levertov
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From The German Of Uhland
Three students once tarried over the Rhine,
And into Frau Wirthin's turned to dine.
'Say, hostess, have you good beer and wine?
And where is that pretty daughter of thine?'
'My beer and wine is fresh and clear.
My daughter lies on her funeral bier.'
They softly tipped into the room;
She lay there in the silent gloom.
The first the white cloth gently raised,
And tearfully upon her gazed.
'If thou wert alive, O, lovely maid,
My heart at thy feet would to-day be laid!'
The second covered her face again,
And turned away with grief and pain.
'Ah, thou upon thy snow-white bier!
And I have loved thee so many a year.'
The third drew back again the veil,
And kissed the lips so cold and pale.
'I've loved thee always, I love thee to-day,
And will love thee, yes, forever and aye!'
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Three Students
Three students once tarried over the Rhine,
And into Frau Wirthin's turned to dine.
'Say, hostess, have you good beer and wine?
And where is that pretty daughter of thine?'
'My beer and wine is fresh and clear.
My daughter lies on her funeral bier.'
They softly tipped into the room;
She lay there in the silent gloom.
The first the white cloth gently raised,
And tearfully upon her gazed.
'If thou wert alive, O, lovely maid,
My heart at thy feet would to-day be laid!'
The second covered her face again,
And turned away with grief and pain.
'Ah, thou upon thy snow-white bier!
And I have loved thee so many a year.'
The third drew back again the veil,
And kissed the lips so cold and pale.
'I've loved thee always, I love thee to-day,
And will love thee, yes, forever and aye!'
poem by Johann Ludwig Uhland
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