The Force Of Prayer, Or, The Founding Of Bolton, A Tradition
'What is good for a bootless bene?'
With these dark words begins my Tale;
And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring
When Prayer is of no avail?
'What is good for a bootless bene?'
The Falconer to the Lady said;
And she made answer 'ENDLESS SORROW!'
For she knew that her Son was dead.
She knew it by the Falconer's words,
And from the look of the Falconer's eye;
And from the love which was in her soul
For her youthful Romilly.
--Young Romilly through Barden woods
Is ranging high and low;
And holds a greyhound in a leash,
To let slip upon buck or doe.
The pair have reached that fearful chasm,
How tempting to bestride!
For lordly Wharf is there pent in
With rocks on either side.
This striding-place is called THE STRID,
A name which it took of yore:
A thousand years hath it borne that name,
And shall a thousand more.
And hither is young Romilly come,
And what may now forbid
That he, perhaps for the hundredth time,
Shall bound across THE STRID?
He sprang in glee,--for what cared he
That the river was strong, and the rocks were steep?--
But the greyhound in the leash hung back,
And checked him in his leap.
The Boy is in the arms of Wharf,
And strangled by a merciless force;
For never more was young Romilly seen
Till he rose a lifeless corse.
Now there is stillness in the vale,
And long, unspeaking, sorrow:
Wharf shall be to pitying hearts
A name more sad than Yarrow.
If for a lover the Lady wept,
A solace she might borrow
From death, and from the passion of death;--
Old Wharf might heal her sorrow.
She weeps not for the wedding-day
Which was to be to-morrow:
Her hope was a further-looking hope,
And hers is a mother's sorrow.
He was a tree that stood alone,
And proudly did its branches wave;
And the root of this delightful tree
Was in her husband's grave!
Long, long in darkness did she sit,
And her first words were, 'Let there be
In Bolton, on the field of Wharf,
A stately Priory!'
The stately Priory was reared;
And Wharf, as he moved along,
To matins joined a mournful voice,
Nor failed at evensong.
And the Lady prayed in heaviness
That looked not for relief!
But slowly did her succour come,
And a patience to her grief.
Oh! there is never sorrow of heart
That shall lack a timely end,
If but to God we turn, and ask
Of Him to be our friend!
poem by William Wordsworth
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Related quotes
The Rover's Apology
Oh, gentlemen, listen, I pray;
Though I own that my heart has been ranging,
Of nature the laws I obey,
For nature is constantly changing.
The moon in her phases is found,
The time and the wind and the weather,
The months in succession come round,
And you don't find two Mondays together.
Consider the moral, I pray,
Nor bring a young fellow to sorrow,
Who loves this young lady to-day,
And loves that young lady to-morrow!
You cannot eat breakfast all day.
Nor is it the act of a sinner,
When breakfast is taken away,
To turn your attention to dinner;
And it's not in the range of belief
That you could hold him as a glutton,
Who, when he is tired of beef,
Determines to tackle the mutton.
But this I am ready to say,
If it will diminish their sorrow,
I'll marry this lady to-day,
And I'll marry that lady to-morrow!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Tears & Sorrow = Denver 2012
TEARS
Tears are the raindrops of the soul
And there's one for all who die.
They are the silent words of grief
As they fall free from the eye.
The shortest verse in the Bible
Is the one where Jesus wept
So, if you hold back tears, shed them
When your pain is too harsh to accept.
Tears are lovelier than a smile
When they come from those you love
As they seek relief from sadness
When you're summoned from above.
Tears are a love-mates humble gift
When it's time to say goodbye
Though the eyes are wet and swollen
With time and patience they dry.
SORROW
Sorrow is better than laughter
For by grieving, we're improved.
Blessed be all who morn
Till from sadness they're removed.
After death our souls shall fly
Perhaps from star to star
Reaching our destination
To find Heaven's gate ajar.
God made us able to cry
Sorrow teaches us to fear
Those days we're selfish and cruel
When life is so short and dear.
Time wipes tears from all faces
Whose hearts are tuned to sorrow.
Those that cry a thousand tears
Shall be blessed by tomorrow.
Every night before sleep I say thank you to Heaven
For the past day I was allowed to love you and serve.
And if I awake I say thank you once more
For God has blessed me far beyond what I deserve.
Arbor Amoris
I have a tree, a graft of Love,
That in my heart has taken root;
Sad are the buds and blooms thereof,
And bitter sorrow is its fruit;
Yet, since it was a tender shoot,
So greatly hath its shadow spread,
That underneath all joy is dead,
And all my pleasant days are flown,
Nor can I slay it, nor instead
Plant any tree, save this alone.
Ah, yet, for long and long enough
My tears were rain about its root,
And though the fruit be harsh thereof,
I scarcely looked for better fruit
Than this, that carefully I put
In garner, for the bitter bread
Whereon my weary life is fed:
Ah, better were the soil unsown
That bears such growths; but Love instead
Will plant no tree, but this alone.
Ah, would that this new spring, whereof
The leaves and flowers flush into shoot,
I might have succour and aid of Love,
To prune these branches at the root,
That long have borne such bitter fruit,
And graft a new bough, comforted
With happy blossoms white and red;
So pleasure should for pain atone,
Nor Love slay this tree, nor instead
Plant any tree, but this alone.
L'ENVOY.
Princess, by whom my hope is fed,
My heart thee prays in lowlihead
To prune the ill boughs overgrown,
Nor slay Love's tree, nor plant instead
Another tree, save this alone.
poem by François Villon
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Bitter-Sweet Memories
Sorrow played its melodies,
sometimes slow, sometimes fast,
happiness coming and passing,
Sorrows never long-lasting.
Until a day, like no other day,
a heart-stopping blow
reduced me to tears of unending
flow.
Sorrow knew no boundaries,
endless tears brought no relief,
but flourished in their salted grief.
As time went by,
Sorrow wore a gentler face,
a blameless one I could embrace.
Sometimes slow and achingly sad,
sometimes fast, brimming with joy,
Sorrow plays its bitter-sweet memories
of long-ago.
poem by Elke Nigro
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Dear Sorrow, Death Awaits Your Acquaintance
The rain keeps Falling
And the Pain goes on
Your name I try calling
But the words just pass on by
The air
Bitter and cold
The shivers now suddenly unfold
I start to lose my breath
And once again see death
Face to Face we see
That life for me, isn't supposed to be
'She is Not important,
Shes lost in the shadows..
Drowning in grief and pain
There will be no tomorrow,
For she is all Sorrow'
'She is all sorrow'
There shall be no Tomorrow for Dear Sweet Sorrow.
Sorrow, Sorrow In the air
Death Has come so stay prepared.
poem by Sorrow Lynn
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Sorrow
With your long blonde hair and your eyes of blue
The only thing I ever got from you was sorrow
Sorrow
You acted funny trying to spend my money
Youre out there playing your high class games of sorrow
Sorrow
You never do what you know you oughta
Something tells me youre a devils daughter
Sorrow, sorrow
Ahhhh, oo, oooo
I tried to find her
cause I cant resist her (I tried to find her)
I never knew just how much I missed her
Sorrow
Sorrow
With your long blonde hair and your eyes of blue
The only thing I ever got from you was sorrow
Sorrow
Oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh, ho-ho
With your long blonde hair
I couldnt sleep last night
With your long blonde hair
Hu hu hu
Hu hu hu yeah
Hu hu hu
Hu hu hu yeah
Hu hu hu
Hu hu hu yeah
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come hither, child
Come hither, child--who gifted thee
With power to touch that string so well?
How darest thou rouse up thoughts in me,
Thoughts that I would--but cannot quell?
Nay, chide not, lady; long ago
I heard those notes in Ula's hall,
And had I known they'd waken woe
I'd weep their music to recall.
But thus it was: one festal night
When I was hardly six years old
I stole away from crowds and light
And sought a chamber dark and cold.
I had no one to love me there,
I knew no comrade and no friend;
And so I went to sorrow where
Heaven, only heaven saw me bend.
Loud blew the wind; 'twas sad to stay
From all that splendour barred away.
I imaged in the lonely room
A thousand forms of fearful gloom.
And with my wet eyes raised on high
I prayed to God that I might die.
Suddenly in that silence drear
A sound of music reached my ear,
And then a note, I hear it yet,
So full of soul, so deeply sweet,
I thought that Gabriel's self had come
To take me to thy father's home.
Three times it rose, that seraph strain,
Then died, nor breathed again;
But still the words and still the tone
Dwell round my heart when all alone.
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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A Heart Spring
One tear today, one love tomorrow
My heart springs from everyday sorrow.
A light blue, a scarlet red
into my soul those colors spread.
The hand of love me clench then said
‘Your sorrow is my love, my love your sorrow
to this I pledge and to this do wed'
Then my love cried with rain in my head
And declared to me that sorrow from joy must always borrow,
so one tear today can be one love tomorrow.
My heart sprang like the flowers in spring,
as her voice sang, that beautiful thing.
To sorrow, to love, to joy I sing…..
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Sisters, Joy And Sorrow
How to express that which
cannot be put into words
I could write how do I love thee
all day long and still not convey
how I feel about you
Yeats' wrote of Joy and Sorrow,
sisters, each ready to step in
and take their place at your side
How quickly one can go
from the heights of joy
to the depths of sorrow
I have been intimate with
both sisters and right now,
Sorrow is my mistress
How I wish for Joy
to return to my life
How I long for you my muse.
poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro
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Sorrow Under Mist
Mist -
Giving wispy vapour to the breath,
Cool calm to autumn afternoons,
A hovering air of mysticism
Over brooding lakes -
Was different here,
Affording company, closeness -
A caring arm around her shoulders.
In the eyes, a once-clear oceanic blue
Wavered under water -
Tears telling torrid truths
She couldn't face -
Like the glowering image in the mirror
You don't see in your mind's eye
Of compensation; delusion.
We see her sitting on the concrete steps
That led down to the dew-laden garden.
She's peering up, sensing her diffuse companion,
Refreshing in its chill; giving crispness
To the stealth of dulling evening.
But the bite of air couldn't lift the sorrow
Of pale youth in love,
Shouldered by a not-in-love and scoffing eye.
Rejection hurt;
Hurts -
Wrenches deep -
Emotion that we can't deny!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Sorrow Rain
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Come Hither, Child
Come hither, child; who gifted thee
With power to touch that string so well?
How darest thou rouse up thoughts in me,
Thoughts that I would--but cannot quell?
Nay, chide not, lady; long ago
I heard those notes in Elbe hall,
And had I known they'd waken woe
I'd weep their music to recall.
But thus it was: one festal night
When I was hardly six years old
I stole away from crowds and light
And sought a chamber dark and cold.
I had no one to love me there,
I knew no comrade and no friend;
And so I went to sorrow where
Heaven, only heaven saw me bend.
Loud blew the wind. 'Twas sad to stay
From all that splendour barred away.
I imaged in the lonely room
A thousand forms of fearful gloom.
And with my wet eyes raised on high
I prayed to God that I might die.
Suddenly in that silence drear
A sound of music reached my ear:
And then a note, I hear it yet,
So full of soul, so deeply sweet,
I thought that Gabriel's self had come
To take me to thy father's home.
Three times it rose, that seraph strain,
Then died, nor breathed again;
But still the words and still the tone
Dwell round my heart when all alone.
poem by Emily Brontë from The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë (1908)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Scavenging For Coal
At the back
of the coal wharf
you and Fay
picked up coal pieces
that fell through
the iron railings
and put them
in an old bag from home
Fay looked
at her blackened fingers
and said
if my daddy sees
these fingers
and finds out
what I've been doing
he'll spank me
for sure
you gazed at her
beside you
and said
you can wash your hands
at my place
she looked around
at the bombsite behind you
the evening sun
slowly going down
behind the railway bridge
and nearby buildings
what if someone sees you
she asked
picking up these pieces?
no one worries about this
all the kids do it
you replied
my daddy says
it is evil to steal
she said
you put a black piece
of coal in the bag
and lifted it
to feel the weight
that's enough
you said
too much
and I won't be able
to carry it
Fay stood up
and looked around
at the darkening sky
you held the bag
in one hand
and scanned
the area around you
let's go
you said
and so you both
walked away
from the coal wharf
into Meadow Row
by the public house
where piano music played
and down towards
the flats
where you lived
and after climbing
the concrete stairs
to your landing
you opened the door
and put the bag
by the indoor
coal bunker
and showed Fay
where to wash her hands
turning on
the cold water tap
you both washed
your hands
with the red
Life Buoy soap
her hands near yours
her wet flesh
touching yours
the black water
running away
and another adventure
and another day.
poem by Terry Collett
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Love and Tragedy
Yes, I have loved with love
that was more than love
more than love,
Drove myself mad with this love
with this love,
Hoping to catch a glimpse of my love
my love,
Just seeing was not enough for me
seeing my love
my love,
So I met her, my true love,
And so true it was.
Yes, I married this girl with joy
with joy,
The splendid sense of so much joy
so much joy,
And I felt so much,
My heart melt,
melt with all my joy,
my joy,
Going to sleep with her, my true joy,
And so true it was.
Yes, I watched this girl die with sorrow
my sorrow,
The fire that did it also ignited my sorrow
my sorrow,
And there was nothing to console this sorrow
this sorrow,
my sorrow,
Even still into tomorrow,
No cope in hope to borrow,
so I stayed in sorrow,
my sorrow,
Going to sleep without my love,
my true sorrow,
And so true it was.
Yes, I heard those gruesome tolls alone
just me alone,
I stood looking at her stone while alone
so alone,
Minding on what to do, now that I'm alone,
alone,
so alone,
Listening to the bells of malicious tones,
Those horrifying, loud drones,
Those dreadful, terrible moans,
Those agonizing, tumultuous groans,
Of so many people who are also alone
just like me alone,
No one left, no one here,
I was happy once, but now I hear
The toll of those bells alone
so alone,
And my joy and my love,
Is now so far above,
Leaving me here so alone
alone,
May I hope she rests in peace,
Even through my pain's increase of sorrow
At least until tomorrow,
Where I will still be alone, truly alone,
And so true it still is.
poem by Andy Greenwald
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Too Late
HOPE? What! hope !—you say there is hope for the long-lost one!
Hope! when the light is out; hope! when the oil is done;
Hope! No, no, good lady! no hope for me, at least;
No home for me but the clammy grave when life has ceased.
Hope! Well, there might have been hope had my mother lived; but, then,
5
God struck her dead, and I was left alone among men.
God knows how I loved her; and shall I never see her again?
Is there no glimpse of heaven for those who are doomed to pain?
Oh, cannot she come and kiss me? Oh, cannot she pray by my side,
As she did long ago on that terrible evening before she died?
10
If she prayed God would hear her, and perhaps—but no;
I'm too old a sinner for mercy—there is nothing for me but woe.
You say that I yet could be saved if I sorrowed for my sin;
That the Lord is at heaven's gate to take poor sinners in!
God knows that I hate my sin, but I feel that it cannot be;
15
I've so often forsaken Him, that He must have forsaken me.
Nay, don't offer a prayer for me, lady, it's only mocking at God:
Who knows but my tired heart still may rest beneath the sod?
For I always loved the sunny fields and the sweet, sweet flowers,
And longed to be pure once again like them, in my better hours.
20
But after I first had fallen the devil opened my eyes,
And I saw that the world knew my shame, and I hadn't the heart to rise;
So I gave up trying to be good, and sank down lower in sin,
Tho' the thought of poor dead mother made me always hate it within.
Oh, many's the night that I've wandered about thro' rain and snow,
25
Wandered about in the street, and didn't know where had to go;
And I've often crept to the river and looked at it, still and black,
And thought how every one spurned me—but something held me back.
I remember how once, when I stopped, half-dead, one rainy day,
To rest on his steps for a moment, the servants drove me away;
30
Drove me away like a dog from the door of the man for whom,
O God! I had given up all in this world and beyond the tomb.
But don't weep at my story, good lady; I'm not worth it living or dead!
Ha, ha! I'm not frightened of Death, nor the devils that dance round my bed:
There cannot be any hell deeper nor fuller of devils and strife
35
Than the hell that burns in my heart, and the fire that eats out life.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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The Beauti Of Sorrow
Beauti of sorrow
vast as the sea
eve of the morrow
inner expanse of me
conceptually multiplied
virtually personified
politically religified
perceptually cubified
Beatui of sorrow
vast as the sea
eve of the morrow
inner expanse of me
life is a beauty
living our prize
to share them our duty*
effects all our lives*
Beatui of sorrow
vast as the sea
eve of the morrow
inner expanse of me
running reel of thoughts
projection of the mind
independent performing plots
and a function to define
Beatui of sorrow
vast as the sea
eve of the morrow
inner expanse of me
many a different beauties
shine in a single sorrow
many a different evenings
raise a plethora of tomorrows
Beatui of sorrow
vast as the sea
eve of the morrow
inner expanse of me
contemplation of all thats left
the final mystery announced
a souls a speck of a black hole's death
so evil, and good renounce
Beatui of sorrow
vast as the sea
eve of the morrow
inner expanse of me
sorrow isn't knowing now
knowing hurts so much
hurt is hope that holds you down
ego is a common crutch
Beatui of sorrow
vast as the sea
eve of the morrow
inner expanse of me
*Changed Line From:
[to share it our duty-original-2.26.10]
[the purpose of our lives-original-2.26.10]
poem by Tim caffery
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Doing what we love
The things we love and learn about
With us will stay till we depart
Our best friend,
gives a helpful hand
to proudly stand
in joy or sorrow..
They always have a say
in who we really are
help us to clearly see
and follow
much easily
through yesterday,
today,
tomorrow.
A lovely lady, taught me
these words during a bus ride:
'yorokobi ni tsuke
kanashimi ni tsuke
jibun o tsukutte kureru'
-in joy and sorrow self takes form
Thank you
poem by Elena Sandu
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George and Sarah Green
WHO weeps for strangers? Many wept
For George and Sarah Green;
Wept for that pair's unhappy fate,
Whose grave may here be seen.
By night, upon these stormy fells,
Did wife and husband roam;
Six little ones at home had left,
And could not find that home.
For 'any' dwelling-place of man
As vainly did they seek.
He perish'd; and a voice was heard--
The widow's lonely shriek.
Not many steps, and she was left
A body without life--
A few short steps were the chain that bound
The husband to the wife.
Now do those sternly-featured hills
Look gently on this grave;
And quiet now are the depths of air,
As a sea without a wave.
But deeper lies the heart of peace
In quiet more profound;
The heart of quietness is here
Within this churchyard bound.
And from all agony of mind
It keeps them safe, and far
From fear and grief, and from all need
Of sun or guiding star.
O darkness of the grave! how deep,
After that living night--
That last and dreary living one
Of sorrow and affright?
O sacred marriage-bed of death,
That keeps them side by side
In bond of peace, in bond of love,
That may not be untied!
poem by William Wordsworth
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Soildier Of My Heart
When ever l m so low
they is only one soilder
of my heart whom is always
there for me, that is my mother
truly you are my soldier of my heart...
Without you l m hopeless
you smile, poolishes my heart
and the love which you have for
us which is like
she is like my favouite book
of poetry maya angelou and madison parnell, like my source
of relief..her love washes all the
pain and sorrow in my heart..
Through the dark times and good
times you are always on my side
when ever l need you, you are
a special gift which is fragile
a gift which More worthy than
my Grand slam tittles, you are the soilder of my heart....
You are the only doctor
who can heal my wounds inside my heart, with your love and support.turn back mommy
and look at the foot prints
and how far we have come from
in this journey.
In 1994 tragedy, the tragedy
that almost claimed my life
but through the mercy of the
Almighty l made it, you were
there for me......a moment where
tragedy that was turned into
trumph, you are the best gift l
ever had which God bestowed me.
My soldier of my heart.
God bless my mother
the soilder of my heart
continue to bestow her many more rains to witness, the growth
and harvest&off spring of the
special seed you bestowed her.
The only soilder of my heart
who can stand for me during the
dark times and sorrow, a soldier
who gives me hope in this journey
without you l m nothing, l m hopeless, they is no worse death than the end of hope
Through darkness moments
in the journey, they is always a soilder who brings light in my
heart giving me solace..with out
you l m like a ship without a compass..
You always there for us to
make ends meet and to see us
happy! ! Oh lord here my cry God
bless my Mother, the only soldier
of my hear
poem by Donald Kuutsi
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the Cherry Blossoms
'the cherry blossoms'
swaying in the wind the cherry blossoms feel the nice eastern breeze giving them air too breathe, the tallest tree in the area is loved by a lovely young lady who visits the cherry blossms every day.
the sakura tree gave this lovely young lady a cherry blossom as the eastern breeze blows over the tree, flattered by the gift the lovely young lady went home and made a gift for the sakura tree.
the next day she brought the sakura tree a sipphire ring as a thank you gift the sakura tree was thankful to the lovely young lady. many years passed and the sakura tree was cut down and the lovely young lady was very sick and passed.
she was berried where the sakura tree use to stand.
on top of her tombstone was the saphire ring ingraved on the ring were 3 words
I Love You.
poem by Jordan Scown
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Erosive life go with the flow
In the poor visibility
the old Lighthouse stands.
Sun murmurs his usual prayer
'off for the day my dear'.
When the darkness peeps
a beggar tunes his ramshackle lute
and sings his monotonous song.
'where do they come from
and where do they go?
what do they bring
and what do they take away?
Affable dark skinny young woman
whose husband has abandoned her
sit on the wharf and pray anxiously
for her daily bread.
She heard the far away sailing ship dropped her anchor.
It seems that she is very uneasy with her agony
wait until the anchor heaves up quickly
and the kind sailors visit her cursed hut merrily.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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