There is an Eminence,--of these our hills
There is an Eminence,--of these our hills
The last that parleys with the setting sun;
We can behold it from our orchard-seat;
And, when at evening we pursue out walk
Along the public way, this Peak, so high
Above us, and so distant in its height,
Is visible; and often seems to send
Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts.
The meteors make of it a favourite haunt:
The star of Jove, so beautiful and large
In the mid heavens, is never half so fair
As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth
The loneliest place we have among the clouds.
And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved
With such communion, that no place on earth
Can ever be a solitude to me,
Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Dorothy's Response
There is an eminence amongst our hills.
There is a deep quiet in its height.
A man I love of lofty mind
Shares with that mount its quiet.
I admire the quiet.
I seem to require it,
Though it limpens his love for me.
If I wasn't so dotty
Instead of 'YOUR EMINENCE'
I'd have called it 'MOUNT DOROTHY'.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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She Is
She is the wakefulness of morning,
The rising of the sun
that shines for me.
She is the sleepiness of evening,
the setting of the sun that let's me see
that every day I live,
I live for her.
And every breath I take,
I take for her.
She is the star I see
high in the sky.
The only one I know
that can make me cry.
In every place I look,
I look for her.
And every face I see
becomes a blur.
And somehow
I feel that sun will shine
and everything she is
I'll know is mine.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Aged Patriarch
Of life's past woes, the fading trace
Hath given that aged patriarch's face
Expression, holy, deep, resign'd,
The calm sublimity of mind.
Years o'er his snowy head have pass'd,
And left him of his race the last;
Alone on earth, but yet his mien
Is bright with majesty serene;
And those high hopes, whose guiding star
Shines from eternal words afar,
Have with that light illumed his eye
Whose fount is immortality.
And o'er his features pour'd a ray
Of glory not to pass away,
He seems a being who hath known
Communion with his God alone.
On earth by nought but pity's tie,
Detain'd a moment from on high;
One to sublimer worlds allied,
One from all passions purified.
E'en now half-mingled with the sky,
And all prepared, oh! not to die,
But like the prophet, to aspire
To Heaven's triumphal car of fire.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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A New Star
There's a new star that shines in the sky
that wasn't there before.
The traveler went from here to there
and walked through heaven's door.
And God placed the star in your sight
so that you could see
that your loved one's shining down on you
through all eternity.
They do not hurt. They have no pain.
They're in a place of love.
And when their star shines for you
from the heavens up above
be at peace and then give thanks
that miracles await.
They came to your loved one as they left this life
and approached the Pearly Gate.
So when you think of them at night
search the night time sky.
The brightest star that's shining down
is where their love does lie.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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0082 The Myself Place
When you were a child, where was it? For there's always
some place: somewhere you go, when all you want
is just to be yourself - because
it's all too much, or not enough;
you've lost what matters most, or
not sure just what you're really looking for;
and so there's nothing else to do but go
to that friendliest place on earth, that's all your very own;
the myself place.
Street cafes, bars, can sometimes be that place:
the sun shines; relaxed, you watch the passing scene
with an assumed slight superiority
that goes with the seat price;
or alcohol soothes all in friendly gaze:
they're just the actors, extras in your play; so sit; enjoy;
smile at the world with goodwill, even love;
a few more visits, it can soon become
the myself place.
Porches, stoops, verandahs -
what a brilliant idea:
put it all aside; you've fed well, so now watch the play
from the best seat in the house:
you're there in lordly public stage box, if they want to stop and talk; and
backstage there's love enough to script your every dream: meanwhile,
the myself place.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Glory Of God
The earth is filled with the glory of God
As the waters cover the sea
He is the one who came and died for you
He is the one who has set you free
His glory covers all of the earth
And the heavens are full of His praise
His brightness is brighter than a thousand suns
So to Him our hands we must raise
He stands and measures all of the earth
And the perpetual hills bow down
The deep cries out and lifts its hands
To the King who now wears a crown
The sun and the moon stand still in their place
All the earth is hushed by your sight
And the heavens retreat and cover their face
For what was dark has now become light
Then I saw a new heaven, and behold a new earth
For all things had now passed away
For the Lord had come down and took His place
And this is what I heard Him say
I am the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End
Living waters flow freely from Me
Every tear I have come, to wipe away
And in my presence, forever, you will be!
poem by Frank McEleny
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If you walk with me on the promenade
If you walk with me on the promenade
and see the setting sun marvellous and red
while the night sparkles and the sun goes to bed
dipping behind the horizon,
it’s last journey of the day being made
the streets will probably be half empty
and the evening a serenade
while the cloak of the day is shed,
the last of its rays have fled
to sparkle at other places
and the traffic lights shines in jade
and maybe you will let me persuade you
to walk to a restaurant
or no words between us will need to be said
and the wind will brush through your hair,
the night will be expectant,
blessed with a loveliness and even if you are afraid
I will tell you that you look beautiful and fair.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Exultation
BEHOLD, I walked abroad at early morning,
The fields of June were bathed in dew and lustre,
The hills were clad with light as with a garment.
The inexpressible auroral freshness,
The grave, immutable, aerial heavens,
The transient clouds above the quiet landscape,
The heavy odor of the passionate lilacs,
That hedged the road with sober-colored clusters,
All these o'ermastered me with subtle power,
And made my rural walk a royal progress,
Peopled my solitude with airy spirits,
Who hovered over me with joyous singing.
'Behold!' they sang, 'the glory of the morning.
Through every vein does not the summer tingle,
With vague desire and flush of expectation?
'To think how fair is life! set round with grandeur;
The eloquent sea beneath the voiceless heavens,
The shifting shows of every bounteous season;
'Rich skies, fantastic clouds, and herby meadows,
Gray rivers, prairies spread with regal flowers,
Grasses and grains and herds of browsing cattle:
'Great cities filled with breathing men and women,
Of whom the basest have their aspirations,
High impulses of courage or affection.
'And on this brave earth still those finer spirits,
Heroic Valor, admirable Friendship,
And Love itself, a very god among you.
'All these for thee, and thou evoked from nothing,
Born from blank darkness to this blaze of beauty,
Where is thy faith, and where are thy thanksgivings?'
The world is his who can behold it rightly,
Who hears the harmonies of unseen angels
Above the senseless outcry of the hour.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Standing Next To You
Take me to a better place.
One more honest.
One more pure.
One that puts me on top of the heavens.
Looking down upon everything and everyone.
Keep me from saving face.
Admitting a terrible mistake that I have made.
To everything and everyone.
Why it can't be a simple dream?
One that you can simply grab out and reach.
And the one standing next to you.
Please guide me to where it is we're suppose go.
Because I just don't know yet if I am going make it.
Take me to a better place.
One more honest.
One more pure.
One that puts me on top of the heavens.
Looking down upon everything and everyone.
Let the existence be true.
Please don't let it fall through.
With hope as my prayer.
Let it take wings.
In place I've never seen and probably will never be.
For a too large a distance divides.
An impenetrable barrier resides.
Only my voice survives.
It glides through a sequence of mazes.
Sometimes I think something gets lost in the translation.
But one way or another.
Take me to a better place.
One more honest.
One more pure.
One that puts me on top of the heavens.
Looking down upon everything and everyone.
Its not any ones fault and I don't blame any of you.
I'll do what is needed.
Not because I have to.
Or in anyway need to.
Without reluctance sometimes still choices are made.
Living among life without life.
The body breaths but does it move.
Take me to a better place.
One more honest.
One more pure.
One that puts me on top of the heavens.
Looking down upon everything and everyone.
Take me to a better place.
One more honest.
One more pure.
One that puts me on top of the heavens.
Looking down upon everything and everyone.
Because right now I'm without you.
Right Now, Right Now, I Am Without You.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Distant Ship
The sea-bird's wing, o'er ocean's breast
Shoots like a glancing star,
While the red radiance of the west
Spreads kindling fast and far;
And yet that splendour wins thee not,–
Thy still and thoughtful eye
Dwells but on one dark distant spot
Of all the main and sky.
Look round thee!–o'er the slumbering deep
A solemn glory broods;
A fire hath touch'd the beacon-steep,
And all the golden woods;
A thousand gorgeous clouds on high
Burn with the amber light!–
What spell, from that rich pageantry,
Chains down thy gazing sight?
A softening thought of human cares,
A feeling link'd to earth!
Is not yon speck a bark, which bears
The lov'd of many a hearth?
Oh! do not Hope, and Grief, and Fear,
Crowd her frail world even now,
And manhood's prayer and woman's tear,
Follow her venturous prow?
Bright are the floating clouds above,
The glittering seas below;
But we are bound by cords of love
To kindred weal and wo.
Therefore, amidst this wide array
Of glorious things and fair,
My soul is on that bark's lone way,–
For human hearts are there.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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In Hot Pursuit on Our Trail
When we made a fleeting visit to that highland,
in East Khasi Hills, Cherrapunji where perennial rainfall
keeps it the wettest place by both monsoonal winds.
The sky was blue with fleecy clouds
and in occasional slight drizzles we roamed happily.
We looked around lush green forests in the vales down
but no grassy stretch, the sheep found there to graze.
In parky weather, the pale-faced tribes live in small shelters.
We drove slowly to the border of Bangaladesh
and came back to the plateau in the evening.
Suddenly the Sun hid Himself somewhere above
and a frightening monstrous wave of darker clouds
was chasing behind our car like the tsunami - tidal waves.
The driver was in his highest speed but he stopped the car
when the rainy clouds shrouded the whole place.
We remained there in a darker world and a heavy downpour
was giving us a tumultuous welcome with noisy claps.
Half an hour later, the road was visible.
No floods! No pools! Rain- water took to its heels
washing away the paltry soil to the slopes around.
Rains will be downswing in the end of September
but that day’s wonderful feast to us was from the Heavens!
--------------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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The Pit of Despair!
The pit of despair is a deep, dark lonely place,
In which the likes of evil people face.
A place of solitude, misery and misfortune,
To where the tainted hearts must go.
People like Christina, Dayton, Jerry and Nate should be,
While the devil makes them pay for their sins.
A deep, dark hole,
Where sinners pay a toll.
From the dark depths of the earth.
Despair comes to take the souls of dark hearted people.
The pit of despair is not a friendly place,
For once you are there you may never leave.
While you’re in despair you will know pain,
For you will be tortured for days end.
Despair is hard, damn near impossible to escape,
Especially for a child how has seen rape.
Some people have escaped and are happy,
While others have not and are miserable.
Down they plummet,
To the cold depths of the underworld,
Where they are being waited for.
When in despair,
You’re in place where no one wishes to be,
You’re in hell, a place of despair,
The Pit of Despair.
poem by Sara Tober
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You Rise From The Ashes To Become A Star
i see you rise from the ashes
to become a star
up there in the skies
you glitter
in the deep black night
you are glorious in your light
the distance between us
this separation
stone am i in this garden
star you are to the heavens
there is only silence
and up there you do not see me
you do not even remember perhaps
the significance of any stone
or dust
you were once just a dust
on a leaf
you once were but a patch of me
oh, i watch you tonight
oh, you glorious star in the heavens
you have been given a place with the gods and goddesses
but in a sense
i do not envy you
in truth i may have missed you
and i may have followed you
the ways and means that i have taught you
how to be a star how to be a shining glory
but i didn't
i like it here
i love it here in this little garden of earth
where i am but a stone
for these little ants where they are building a home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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355
i see you rise from the ashes
to become a star
up there in the skies
you glitter
in the deep black night
you are glorious in your light
the distance between us
this separation
stone am i in this garden
star you are to the heavens
there is only silence
and up there you do not see me
you do not even remember perhaps
the significance of any stone
or dust
you were once just a dust
on a leaf
you once were but a patch of me
oh, i watch you tonight
oh, you glorious star in the heavens
you have been given a place with the gods and goddesses
but in a sense
i do not envy you
in truth i may have missed you
and i may have followed you
the ways and means that i have taught you
how to be a star how to be a shining glory
but i didn't
i like it here
i love it here in this little garden of earth
where i am but a stone
for these little ants where they are building a home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Return To Atlantis
(Close your eyes, listen to my voice,
dream of me and see this place…)
Within this silence, you will awake,
open the window, look at the landscape,
watch the clouds peaceful slumber,
their snores, a deep rumbling thunder.
Seek the warm but distant glow,
because it will show you where to go,
for the special path you need to walk,
will make your journey seem short.
If you are to survive the storms wrath,
you must find and walk the right path,
and follow it deep under the sea,
then you know where you will be.
Everything I’ve said you’ve heard,
listening to each and every word,
as you have joined me in Atlantis,
the perfect place to receive a kiss.
poem by Dale Mullock
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The Visible Creation
The God of nature and of grace
In all His works appears;
His goodness through the earth we trace,
His grandeur in the spheres.
Behold this fair and fertile globe,
By Him in wisdom plann'd;
'Twas He who girded, like a robe,
The ocean round the land.
Life to the firmament your eye
Thither His path pursue;
His glory, boundless as the sky,
O'erwhelms the wond'ring view.
He bows the heavens - the mountains stand
A highway for their God;
He walks amidst the desert land,
'Tis Eden where He trod!
The forests in His strength rejoice;
Hark! on the evening breeze,
As once of old, the Lord God's voice,
Is heard among the trees.
Here on the hills He feeds His herds.
His flocks on yonder plains;
His praise is warbled by the birds;
Oh could we catch their strains!
Mount with the lark and bear our song
Up to the gates of light;
Or, with the nightingale prolong
Our numbers through the night!
In every stream His bounty flows,
Diffusing joy and wealth;
In every breeze His spirit blows
The breath of life and health.
His blessings fall in plenteous showers
Upon the lap of earth,
That teems with foliage, fruit, and flowers,
And rings with infant mirth.
If God hath made this world so fair,
Where sin and death abound,
How beautiful beyond compare
Will paradise be found!
poem by James Montgomery
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A Place Called Eden
There was a paradise that ruled long ago.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
More beautiful than the human eye can ever perceive;
untainted by humans,
this Place called Eden.
This Garden was eternal, life-giving,
as perfect as the Heavens brought to Earth.
But along came Man,
swept in with a storm,
hiding the sun.
A pummeling rain flattened the flowers
and lightning licked at trees, destroying
this Place called Eden.
The clouds finally parted.
The sun peaked out fearfully, looking down
at Man, who stood alone.
Who felt himself powerful.
Betrayal drowned the Garden.
Mad smiled at his feat:
He had taken over with sin,
this Place called Eden.
Man cursed himself,
Perfection was lost, Misery
had taken over Man as Nature
healed itself for its revenge on the Destroyer.
Man learned self-loathing
and the true power of
this Place called Eden.
Death came to Earth. It punished Man fiercer
than Nature had: any man close
to finding the lost Land
was taken from Earth,
and Man was never to find it again,
this Place called Eden.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Olney Hymn 26: On Opening A Place For Social Prayer
Jesus! where'er Thy people meet,
There they behold Thy mercy seat;
Where'er they seek Thee, Thou art found,
And every place is hallow'd ground.
For Thou, within no walls confined,
Inhabitest the humble mind;
Such ever bring Thee where they come
And going, take Thee to their home.
Dear Shepherd of Thy chosen few!
Thy former mercies here renew;
Her to our waiting hearts proclaim
The sweetness of Thy saving name.
Here may we prove the power of prayer,
To strengthen faith, and sweeten care;
To teach our faint desires to rise,
And bring all Heaven before our eyes.
Behold, at Thy commanding word
We stretch the curtain and the cord;
Come Thou, and fill this wider space,
And bless us with a large increase.
Lord, we are few, but Thou art near:
Nor short Thine arm, nor deaf Thine ear;
Oh rend the heavens, come quickly down,
And make a thousand hearts Thine own.
poem by William Cowper
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On Opening a Place for Social Prayer
Jesus! where'er Thy people meet,
There they behold Thy mercy seat;
Where'er they seek Thee, Thou art found,
And every place is hallow'd ground.
For Thou, within no walls confined,
Inhabitest the humble mind;
Such ever bring Thee where they come
And going, take Thee to their home.
Dear Shepherd of Thy chosen few!
Thy former mercies here renew;
Her to our waiting hearts proclaim
The sweetness of Thy saving name.
Here may we prove the power of prayer,
To strengthen faith, and sweeten care;
To teach our faint desires to rise,
And bring all Heaven before our eyes.
Behold, at Thy commanding word
We stretch the curtain and the cord;
Come Thou, and fill this wider space,
And bless us with a large increase.
Lord, we are few, but Thou art near:
Nor short Thine arm, nor deaf Thine ear;
Oh rend the heavens, come quickly down,
And make a thousand hearts Thine own.
poem by William Cowper
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Lines written in the Belief that the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead was called Ambarvalia
Swings the way still by hollow and hill,
And all the world's a song;
'She's far,' it sings me, 'but fair,' it rings me,
'Quiet,' it laughs, 'and strong!'
Oh! spite of the miles and years between us,
Spite of your chosen part,
I do remember; and I go
With laughter in my heart.
So above the little folk that know not,
Out of the white hill-town,
High up I clamber; and I remember;
And watch the day go down.
Gold is my heart, and the world's golden,
And one peak tipped with light;
And the air lies still about the hill
With the first fear of night;
Till mystery down the soundless valley
Thunders, and dark is here;
And the wind blows, and the light goes,
And the night is full of fear,
And I know, one night, on some far height,
In the tongue I never knew,
I yet shall hear the tidings clear
From them that were friends of you.
They'll call the news from hill to hill,
Dark and uncomforted,
Earth and sky and the winds; and I
Shall know that you are dead.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread;
For the kin of you will surely do
Their duty by the dead.
Their little dull greasy eyes will water;
They'll paw you, and gulp afresh.
They'll sniffle and weep, and their thoughts will creep
Like flies on the cold flesh.
They will put pence on your grey eyes,
Bind up your fallen chin,
And lay you straight, the fools that loved you
Because they were your kin.
They will praise all the bad about you,
And hush the good away,
And wonder how they'll do without you,
And then they'll go away.
But quieter than one sleeping,
And stranger than of old,
You will not stir for weeping,
You will not mind the cold;
But through the night the lips will laugh not,
The hands will be in place,
And at length the hair be lying still
About the quiet face.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
And dim and decorous mirth,
With ham and sherry, they'll meet to bury
The lordliest lass of earth.
The little dead hearts will tramp ungrieving
Behind lone-riding you,
The heart so high, the heart so living,
Heart that they never knew.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread,
Nor with smug breath tell lies of death
To the unanswering dead.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
The folk who loved you not
Will bury you, and go wondering
Back home. And you will rot.
But laughing and half-way up to heaven,
With wind and hill and star,
I yet shall keep, before I sleep,
Your Ambarvalia.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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