En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Sonnet:

IT is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,'
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.--In everything we are sprung
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold

poem by William Wordsworth
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British Freedom

It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,'
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.-In every thing we are sprung
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

poem by William Wordsworth
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It is not to be Thought of

. It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood,"
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.--In every thing we are sprung
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

poem by William Wordsworth
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England iv

IT is not to be thought of that the flood
   Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
   Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flow'd, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,'
Roused though it be full often to a mood
   Which spurns the check of salutary bands,--
   That this most famous stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
   Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
   That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.--In everything we are sprung
   Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

poem by William Wordsworth
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Emancipation Hymn

Praise we the Lord! let songs resound
To earth’s remotest shore!
Songs of thanksgiving, songs of praise —
For we are slaves no more.

Praise we the Lord! His power hath rent
The chains that held us long!
His voice is mighty, as of old,
And still His arm is strong.

Praise we the Lord! His wrath arose,
His arm our fetters broke;
The tyrant dropped the lash, and we
To liberty awoke!

Praise we the Lord! let ho’y songs
Rise from these happy isles! —
O! let us not unworthy prove,
On whom His bounty smiles.

And cease we not the fight of faith
Till all mankind be free;
Till mercy o’er the earth shall flow,
As waters o’er the sea.

Then shall indeed Messiah’s reign
Through nil the world extend;
Then swords to ploughshares shall be turned,
And Heaven with earth shall blend.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Evil will perish,

Evil will perish,
Evil will perish,
The good will be seen by God,
All that man did on earth,
There is the remedy that will make that good occur,

Every mean's that we are alive,
I came to understand life's glory than miseries,
In all that is to be done,
Man is evil minded,
But with God's grace there is the living that will be fair with that Infinite,
I think,
That the evil will perish,
The love of God will let man see the glory coming,
From all the good,
Then evil will perish,
An everlasting covenant with God will not end but Increase.

poem by Maxpoet Beauty
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The Sands Of Time

From the beginning of this own world,
man has shed a million tears.
Tears for the pain they've had
in their lives and for all the
wasted years.
But the saddest tears that
ever fell, fell not from
just any man's eyes. But
they were shed by my Savior
and they stained The Sands Of Time.
And as the Father looked upon His
Son, He had to turn His face away.
And as Jesus hung upon that cross,
He gave His all for us that day.
And as the tears ran down His face,
as He cried, mixed with the blood
that flowed from His side. Oh what
a sacrifice of love and it stained
The Sands Of Time.
Oh yes it stained The Sands Of Time.
It stained The Sands Of Time.
The blood that was shed for a lost
and dying world, oh yes it stained
The Sands Of Time, of time.

song performed by by LeAnn Rimes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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America

NOR force nor fraud shall sunder us! O ye
Who north or south, on east or western land,
Native to noble sounds, say truth for truth,
Freedom for freedom, love for love, and God
For God; O ye who in eternal youth
Speak with a living and creative flood
This universal English, and do stand
Its breathing book; live worthy of that grand
Heroic utterance—parted, yet a whole,
Far yet unsever’d,—children brave and free
Of the great Mother-tongue, and ye shall be
Lords of an empire wide as Shakespeare’s soul,
Sublime as Milton’s immemorial theme,
And rich as Chaucer’s speech, and fair as Spenser’s dream.

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Ballade to Our Lady of Czestochowa

I

Lady and Queen and Mystery manifold
And very Regent of the untroubled sky,
Whom in a dream St. Hilda did behold
And heard a woodland music passing by:
You shall receive me when the clouds are high
With evening and the sheep attain the fold.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.

II

Steep are the seas and savaging and cold
In broken waters terrible to try;
And vast against the winter night the wold,
And harbourless for any sail to lie.
But you shall lead me to the lights, and I
Shall hymn you in a harbour story told.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.

III

Help of the half-defeated, House of gold,
Shrine of the Sword, and Tower of Ivory;
Splendour apart, supreme and aureoled,
The Battler's vision and the World's reply.
You shall restore me, O my last Ally,
To vengence and the glories of the bold.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.

Envoi

Prince of the degradations, bought and sold,
These verses, written in your crumbling sty,
Proclaim the faith that I have held and hold
And publish that in which I mean to die.

poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Good and Evil XXII

And one of the elders of the city said, "Speak to us of Good and Evil."

And he answered:

Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil.

For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst?

Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts, it drinks even of dead waters.

You are good when you are one with yourself.

Yet when you are not one with yourself you are not evil.

For a divided house is not a den of thieves; it is only a divided house.

And a ship without rudder may wander aimlessly among perilous isles yet sink not to the bottom.

You are good when you strive to give of yourself.

Yet you are not evil when you seek gain for yourself.

For when you strive for gain you are but a root that clings to the earth and sucks at her breast.

Surely the fruit cannot say to the root, "Be like me, ripe and full and ever giving of your abundance."

For to the fruit giving is a need, as receiving is a need to the root.

You are good when you are fully awake in your speech,

Yet you are not evil when you sleep while your tongue staggers without purpose.

And even stumbling speech may strengthen a weak tongue.

You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps.

Yet you are not evil when you go thither limping.

Even those who limp go not backward.

But you who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness.

You are good in countless ways, and you are not evil when you are not good,

You are only loitering and sluggard.

Pity that the stags cannot teach swiftness to the turtles.

In your longing for your giant self lies your goodness: and that longing is in all of you.

But in some of you that longing is a torrent rushing with might to the sea, carrying the secrets of the hillsides and the songs of the forest.

And in others it is a flat stream that loses itself in angles and bends and lingers before it reaches the shore.

But let not him who longs much say to him who longs little, "Wherefore are you slow and halting?"

For the truly good ask not the naked, "Where is your garment?" nor the houseless, "What has befallen your house?"

poem by Khalil Gibran
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Hagar

Untrodden, drear, and lone,
Stretched many a league away,
Beneath a burning, noonday sun,
The Syrian desert lay.

The scorching rays that beat
Upon that herbless plain,
The dazzling sands, with fiercer heat,
Reflected back again.

O'er that dry ocean strayed
No wandering breath of air,
No palm trees cast their cooling shade,
No water murmured there.

And thither, bowed with shame,
Spurned from her master's side,
The dark-browed child of Egypt came,
Her woe and shame to hide.

Drooping, and travel-worn,
The boy upon her hung;
Who, from his father's tent, that morn,
Like a gazelle had sprung.

His ebbing breath failed fast,
Glazed was his flashing eye;
And in that fearful, desert waste,
She laid him down to die.

But when, in wild despair,
She left him to his lot,
A voice that filled that breathless air,
Said, "Hagar, fear thou not."

Then o'er the hot sands flowed
A cooling, crystal stream,
And angels left their high abode,
And ministered to them.

Oft, when drear wastes surround
My faltering footsteps here,
I've thought, I too heard that blest sound
Of "Wanderer, do not fear."

And then, to light my path
On through the evil land,
Have the twin angels, Hope and Faith,
Walked with me, hand to hand.

poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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If Only More

If only more people could see, Jesus Christ, and be set free,
Of all that bondage they’re in; the dark chains caused by sin;
Or freed from bonds of religion, for that way causes derision,
As freedom is in Christ alone, declared to all from His Throne.

If only more will see His Truth, and by faith, avoid His reproof,
God’s Judgment on this world, that wrath His prophets herald,
Wrath only avoided through Christ, who, for men gave His life,
When He was God’s Sacrifice, to pay in full, sin’s eternal price.

If only more could understand, all The Truth on which we stand,
Truth not built on man’s theology, but, on the Blood of Calvary,
Blood that flowed from the Rock, not of earth but eternal stock,
The Rock not cut by human hands, on which one falls or stands.

If only more could see the need, to share Truths, which we read,
In God’s Holy, Eternal Word, Truth, many may have never heard,
And it’s the believer’s obligation, to point all to God’s Salvation,
Being sent by Christ to proclaim, Salvation in our Savior’s Name.

Then more would truly be free, not just now, but through Eternity,
When through Truth they believe, and eternal life they will receive,
Then, they’d understand by faith, God’s Salvation is all of Grace,
Then they could join in with us, to point the world to Christ Jesus.

(Copyright ©08/2010 Bob)

poem by Bob Gotti
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The Last Song of Sappho

SOUND on, thou dark unslumbering sea!
My dirge is in thy moan;
My spirit finds response in thee,
To its own ceaseless cry-'Alone, alone !'

Yet send me back one other word,
Ye tones that never cease !
Oh ! let your secret caves be stirr'd,
And say, dark waters! will ye give me peace?

Away! my weary soul hath sought
In vain one echoing sigh,
One answer to consuming thought
In human hearts-and will the wave reply ?

Sound on, thou dark, unslumbering sea!
Sound in thy scorn and pride !
I ask not, alien world, from thee,
What my own kindred earth hath still denied.

And yet I loved that earth so well,
With all its lovely things!
-Was it for this the death-wind fell
On my rich lyre, and quench'd its living strings?

-Let them lie silent at my feet !
Since broken even as they,
The heart whose music made them sweet,
Hath pour'd on desert-sands its wealth away.

Yet glory's light hath touch'd my name,
The laurel-wreath is mine-
-With a lone heart, a weary frame-
O restless deep ! I come to make them thine !

Give to that crown, that burning crown,
Place in thy darkest hold!
Bury my anguish, my renown,
With hidden wrecks, lost gems, and wasted gold.

Thou sea-bird on the billow's crest,
Thou hast thy love, thy home;
They wait thee in the quiet nest,
And I, the unsought, unwatch'd-for-I too come!

I, with this winged nature fraught,
These visions wildly free,
This boundless love, this fiery thought-
Alone I come-oh ! give me peace, dark sea!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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The Darkest Hour

The world is truly a volatile place, much in need of protective grace,
The Grace of The Sovereign Lord, when His help below is implored.
Even when He’s not thought of, God moves, based upon His Love,
A Love which goes unparalleled, in opposing the evil forces of Hell.

The very forces plaguing the world, with all the darkest yet unfurled.
Yet all of the evil Satan may rail, against The Lord, shall not prevail,
God above shall protect His Own, through the Power of His Throne.
As Satan causes evil to flourish, wicked hearts involved, will perish.

All the terror we see upon earth, will in the end become much worse,
As Satan enters the heart of more, nations of men against our Lord.
The end shall come like a flood, as evil spills untold innocent blood,
As evil goes on without restraint, causing even the mightiest to faint.

When by God, The Spirit is taken; all of this earth shall be forsaken,
By the Light and Peace of God, left victim of Satan’s wrath and rod.
If this end time is not cut short, through the intervention of The Lord,
Satan would destroy all human life, through his dark, end time strife.

All this evil will be destroyed, when, The Lord of Glory returns again,
Ending all Satan’s wickedness, as it’s destroyed, by Righteousness,
The Righteousness of Christ alone, when He comes to save His own,
And bring in a Kingdom for all to see, will last throughout all Eternity.

(Copyright ©10/2007)

poem by Bob Gotti
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To Milton

MILTON! I think thy spirit hath passed away
From these white cliffs, and high-embattled towers;
This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of ours
Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey,
And the age changed unto a mimic play
Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours:
For all our pomp and pageantry and powers
We are but fit to delve the common clay,
Seeing this little isle on which we stand,
This England, this sea-lion of the sea,
By ignorant demagogues is held in fee,
Who love her not: Dear God! is this the land
Which bare a triple empire in her hand
When Cromwell spake the word Democracy!

poem by Oscar Wilde
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The Choice (The American Spirit Speaks)

To the Judge of Right and Wrong
With Whom fulfillment lies
Our purpose and our power belong,
Our faith and sacrifice.

Let Freedom's land rejoice!
Our ancient bonds are riven;
Once more to us the eternal choice
Of good or ill is given.

Not at a little cost,
Hardly by prayer or tears,
Shall we recover the road we lost
In the drugged and doubting years,

But after the fires and the wrath,
But after searching and pain,
His Mercy opens us a path
To live with ourselves again.

In the Gates of Death rejoice!
We see and hold the good-
Bear witness, Earth, we have made our choice
For Freedom's brotherhood.

Then praise the Lord Most High
Whose Strength hath saved us whole,
Who bade us choose that the Flesh should die
And not the living Soul!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Evil That Dwells Within

I see faces that walk past me, And a shadow that stands beside me, I see you and the evil sees me.

When I am alone the evil always calls to me, The evil whispers to me but only inside my head, The evil is always around me and influencing my hatred of others.

The evil so frighting that others would flee from it but I find A new view of life with it, When good should envelope me the evil burns it away from me. I have no room for your pathetic lies and excuses this evil inside me is all I need.

It never judges only befriends me, I hate it but I wish to love it, With the evil that dwells within I can do anything and not fear anything or anyone, Speak my mind with decision I have not found my religion. God was never there but the evil that fills me.

I am angry and always seem to be, Only A few are selected to see the good in me, Others will have to deal with the evil that stands beside me, People judged to many times and now my mind is full of hatred, Burning my feelings and spitting on me.

I have never been bullied but people do it visually by glaring at me, Not my popular friends but the ones who don't know me, I hate you and wish to see you feel the evil within me, But I will not release it because it would make A scene.

When my time is right and Satan depicts and calls back the evil within me, Than I will be free. I am to young to live this way but feel I need to be to teach me a lesson, By doing it carefully. My friends Don't know the way I view things because I hide it like I have hid everything, I am close to them but still the evil seems to follow me.

Some days are worse when the evil influences everyone around me and they seem to turn it all on me, they can't contain my evil like I can contain it, The evil is powerful but not more powerful than me, But the evil can change my mood faster than a bullet can kill an enemy.

My mood changes and all I see is Red and Blasphemy, Go into a dark fit that is inside me, Brings up my anger and hatred that I feel towards others. Can't stop the anger from rising but it is all I can do to strive and fight the feelings inside me.

I gain control and the evil will never take hold, It follows me and is the shadow beside me.

poem by Connor Whyte
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The Thought I Cannot Complete

The thought I cannot complete,
This is the thought I cannot complete,
The thought of the life I lead,
The thought of the wonderful world I live in.

Thinking am I worth living in this precious world which we destroy for our survival,
Are we born to rule on this earth or are we born to serve on this earth.

Are we born to control the nature we cannot conserve, is this really the free world they claim to be, are we yet understanding the meaning of life.

This is the thought I cannot complete,
They say the brain is intellectual yet others believe money is power and so we claim to live in the free world we cannot afford.

I used to think religion is an individual belief though now I got caught in the world where i'm forced to believe even the fabricate religion yet I stand none credulous.

Does resurrection exist nor heaven and hell we told we will reach according to our good and evil deeds, or will I perish so the young soul shall be born,
This are the thoughts I cannot complete.

poem by Sefofane Shabalala
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Sonnet 12

XII. On the same.

I did but prompt the age to quit their cloggs
By the known rules of antient libertie,
When strait a barbarous noise environs me
Of Owles and Cuckoes, Asses, Apes and Doggs.
As when those Hinds that were transform'd to Froggs
Raild at Latona's twin-born progenie
Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee.
But this is got by casting Pearl to Hoggs;
That bawle for freedom in their senceless mood,
And still revolt when truth would set them free.
Licence they mean when they cry libertie;
For who loves that, must first be wise and good;
But from that mark how far they roave we see
For all this wast of wealth, and loss of blood.

poem by John Milton
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On the Same

I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,
When straight a barbarous noise environs me
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs;
As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs
Railed at Latona’s twin-born progeny,
Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee.
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs,
That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,
And still revolt when Truth would set them free.
Licence they mean when they cry Liberty;
For who loves that must first be wise and good:
But from that mark how far they rove we see,
For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.

poem by John Milton
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Welcome Me

Welcome me to your city of angels
Devil prophets still hold my hand
I walked your stillborn streets for hours
Ethnic echoes spitting out their trials
They tell me Ill be the first to praise the sun
The first to praise the moon
The first to hold the lone coyote
The last to set it free
Welcome me to a haven given
Its well received into my open arms
Oh I ran in my sleep through shaking tremors
I felt the splitting earth echoing in my ears
I feel it Ill be the first to praise the sun
The first to praise the moon
The first to hold the lone coyote
The last to set it free
Welcome me to your city of angels
Theres a devil monkey laying on our backs
Now tell me wheres the heart
Wheres the bullet for breaking
Whos gonna give me a weapon
A pacifying weapon
I need it Ill be the first to praise the sun
The first to praise the moon oh
The first to hold the lone coyote
The last to set it free
Ill be the first to praise the sun
I said I said welcome me
The first to praise the moon oh
The first to hold the lone coyote
The last to set it free
I said welcome me

song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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