In The Garden
When they came for him in the garden, did they know?
When they came for him in the garden, did they know?
Did they know he was the son of god, did they know that he was lord?
Did they hear when he told peter, peter, put up your sword?
When they came for him in the garden, did they know?
When they came for him in the garden, did they know?
When he spoke to them in the city, did they hear?
When he spoke to them in the city, did they hear?
Nicodemus came at night so he wouldnt be seen by men
Saying, master, tell me why a man must be born again.
When he spoke to them in the city, did they hear?
When he spoke to them in the city, did they hear?
When he healed the blind and crippled, did they see?
When he healed the blind and crippled, did they see?
When he said, pick up your bed and walk, why must you criticize?
Same thing my father do, I can do likewise.
When he healed the blind and crippled, did they see?
When he healed the blind and crippled, did they see?
Did they speak out against him, did they dare?
Did they speak out against him, did they dare?
The multitude wanted to make him king, put a crown upon his head
Why did he slip away to a quiet place instead?
Did they speak out against him, did they dare?
Did they speak out against him, did they dare?
When he rose from the dead, did they believe?
When he rose from the dead, did they believe?
He said, all power is given to me in heaven and on earth.
Did they know right then and there what that power was worth?
When he rose from the dead, did they believe?
When he rose from the dead, did they believe?
When he rose from the dead, did they believe?
When he rose from the dead, did they believe?
He said, all power is given to me in heaven and on earth.
Did they know right then and there what that power was worth?
When he rose from the dead, did they believe?
When he rose from the dead, did they believe?
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Time Ended
The moon shined
as the blind saw
the autistic spoke
and the cripple ran
the dead rose
as time ended like a bloody rose
The fishes flew
Hinayana sangs
and the lions danced
the cows flew
as the ants grew
penguins got a nose
as time ended like a bloody rose
The trees walked
and the sky cracked
the stars fell
and the earth weeped
time stopped as the
wind no longer blows
time ended like a bloody rose
The roses bleed
and we were all dead
the blind told me he saw it
and the autistic explained it
the deaf ran to hear it
as the dead made an audience
Time Ended Like Bloody Rose
poem by Robert Roberts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Another Way
I lay in silence, dead. A woman came
And laid a rose upon my breast, and said,
'May God be merciful.' She spoke my name,
And added, 'It is strange to think him dead.
'He loved me well enough, but 't was his way
To speak it lightly.' Then, beneath her breath:
'Besides' -I knew what further she would say,
But then a footfall broke my dream of death.
To-day the words are mine. I lay the rose
Upon her breast, and speak her name, and deem
It strange indeed that she is dead. God knows
I had more pleasure in the other dream.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Death Rose
red is the color of death
the rose sits in a dead garden
a boy that has no idea whats coming
owns the garden outside of his house
he picks the lonely flower and
sits it next to his fish the next
two days the fish got flushed
the boys heart was borthing
him so he went to the emergency
room
his mother brought his rose to make him
feel better
within two hours the boy died of cancer the shape
of a rose
on his grave layed the red rose and the ntohing
but dead grass layed around it
poem by Chantel McCaskill
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Evil Blind
He spoke audibly
John the baptist heard Him
So did the multitude
He is alive
In my heart
He is alive
In heaven real
Speak Lord
Let us hear
Your voice again
Speak through thunder
Through lightening speak
With your voice
Make dead men rise
And with the wind
Your spirit felt
Come down again
On earth we plea
In your presence
Evil blind
Touch us
With your love sublime
Your strength
And power we seek
Keep us
Strong tower
Eternally
O King make Satan mute
Break his frame
His kingdom destitute
(12/3/09)
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Miracles of Christ
Miracles by The Lord were done, through the Power of His Son,
Miracles for all men could see; proving Christ’s Divine Authority.
Sent by God, the Son of Man, with the Father’s redemptive plan,
God’s plan to reach every nation, with God’s only True Salvation.
Christ turned water into wine, to show all His mission was Divine,
Making it His first opportunity, which to authenticate His Ministry.
Five thousand by Him were fed, with two fishes and some bread,
As everyone there was satisfied, without one hungry man denied.
A nobleman’s son, too was healed, by the Son’s power revealed,
And healed at a distance through, power available to me and you.
A man paralyzed was healed in full, by Christ, at Bethesda’s Pool,
This Christ did to the Jews dismay, for it was on the Sabbath day.
One man blind, all of his life, by Christ Jesus was given his sight,
But some men blind spiritually, when they saw, would not believe.
When in the grave, a full four days, Lazarus, by Christ was raised,
Coming forth in grave clothes, from the dead, Christ’s friend rose.
Towards the boat from the shore, on the water they saw The Lord,
He was walking there on that lake, it was Christ, make no mistake.
The above miracles and more, were performed by Christ our Lord,
This so men would believe in Him, Christ, who heals us of our sin.
First rose
A heart of youthful year was yearning,
Crying out the pain; the burning
Tears would e’er remain until
An answer from the man would see them die.
A sympathetic mirror blessed her –
Softened up the curves, caressed her
Skin to help regain a calm –
Assuage a heaving breast and blushing eye.
And through a struggling mind, a chiming:
Someone at the door; the timing
Perfect and exquisite in the
Reconciliation of her woes.
She took the oak to make the parting,
‘Here! ’ a presentation startling.
Drawing deep through radiant lips, she
Kissed her very dream: a crimson rose.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Last Rose Of Summer
Throughout the soft and timeless days of august
til now the shadows begin to grow much longer
The sunsets fire has deepened blood red
I give you this, the last rose of summer
A token of my unyielding love
So when the winters mantle stills the earth
And all around seems dead and cold
This rose reminds you of a time when all was warm and living
Do not despair, mother nature simply rests
In sleep she has well earned
til one day not so very far from now
With the opening of the first rose buds I shall return
A token of my unyielding love
So that when winters mettle steals the earth
And all around seems dead and cold
This rose reminds you of a time when all was warm and living
The last rose of summer
The last rose of summer
In your long shadows
The last rose of summer
In the sunset
The last rose of summer
Take this rose that I give you
The last rose of summer
The last rose of summer
Dont worry about the winter
The last rose of summer
I shall return
The last rose of summer
The last rose of summer
(fade)
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Rose Intoxication!
Queen of flowers rose is always a fascination!
Rose is symbol of passionate love cheers mood!
Rose lady gives great pride to be with anywhere!
Special respect to rose never changes anywhere;
Red rose, pink rose and even blue rose are there
Occupying a pride of place none can have ever!
Bouquet of rose flowers elates anyone to dizziness!
A special gift indeed rose flowers makes to all!
A single rose is enough to make one grand to look
Instead of a big cluster of flowers of jasmine or lily!
Scent of rose remains fresh in mind wherever one is;
Such a unique flower rose how can anyone ignore
Whether it is in the garden or lies on a wayward side!
Now after seeing rose and read on rose I am intoxicated..!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White rose, red
Take my white rose
White rose, red
Love everlasting
Even when dead
Kiss my white rose
White rose, red
In which love flows
In what is said
Cry on my white rose
White rose, red
Always there to be with you
And comfort you when sad
Love my white rose
White rose, red
So I may forever be with you
Loving you with the symbol
White rose...
White rose stained blood red
(Xanxus)
poem by Giotto Vongola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Margaret's Bridal Eve
I
The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
And which of the handsome young men shall it be?
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:
There is a rose that's ready;
Come, point me your finger on him that you see:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O mother, my mother, it never can be:
There is a rose that's ready;
For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:
There is a rose that's ready;
And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
Tall Margaret wept bitterly:
There is a rose that's ready;
And as her parent bade did she:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O the handsome young man dropped down on his knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe's me!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
II
O mother, my mother, this thing I must say:
There is a rose in the garden;
Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay:
And the bird sings over the roses.
Now, folly, my daughter, for men are men:
There is a rose in the garden;
You marry them blindfold, I tell you again:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O mother, but when he kisses me!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, 'tis which shall sweetest be!
And the bird sings over the roses.
O mother, but when I awake in the morn!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, you are his, and the ring is worn:
And the bird sings over the roses.
Tall Margaret sighed and loosened a tress:
There is a rose in the garden;
Poor comfort she had of her comeliness
And the bird sings over the roses.
My mother will sink if this thing be said:
There is a rose in the garden;
That my first betrothed came thrice to my bed;
And the bird sings over the roses.
He died on my shoulder the third cold night:
There is a rose in the garden;
I dragged his body all through the moonlight:
And the bird sings over the roses.
But when I came by my father's door:
There is a rose in the garden;
I fell in a lump on the stiff dead floor:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O neither to heaven, nor yet to hell:
There is a rose in the garden;
Could I follow the lover I loved so well!
And the bird sings over the roses.
III
The bridesmaids slept in their chambers apart:
There is a rose that's ready;
Tall Margaret walked with her thumping heart:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
The frill of her nightgown below the left breast:
There is a rose that's ready;
Had fall'n like a cloud of the moonlighted West:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
But where the West-cloud breaks to a star:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret's breast showed a winding scar:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O few are the brides with such a sign!
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I went mad the fault was mine:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
I must speak to him under this roof to-night:
There is a rose that's ready;
I shall burn to death if I speak in the light:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O my breast! I must strike you a bloodier wound:
There is a rose that's ready;
Than when I scored you red and swooned:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
I will stab my honour under his eye:
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I bleed to the death, I shall let out the lie:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O happy my bridesmaids! white sleep is with you!
There is a rose that's ready;
Had he chosen among you he might sleep too!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O happy my bridesmaids! your breasts are clean:
There is a rose that's ready;
You carry no mark of what has been!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
IV
An hour before the chilly beam:
Red rose and white in the garden;
The bridegroom started out of a dream:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He went to the door, and there espied:
Red rose and white in the garden;
The figure of his silent bride:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He went to the door, and let her in:
Red rose and white in the garden;
Whiter looked she than a child of sin:
And the bird sings over the roses.
She looked so white, she looked so sweet:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She looked so pure he fell at her feet:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He fell at her feet with love and awe:
Red rose and white in the garden;
A stainless body of light he saw:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O Margaret, say you are not of the dead!
Red rose and white in the garden;
My bride! by the angels at night are you led?
And the bird sings over the roses.
I am not led by the angels about:
Red rose and white in the garden;
But I have a devil within to let out:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O Margaret! my bride and saint!
Red rose and white in the garden;
There is on you no earthly taint:
And the bird sings over the roses.
I am no saint, and no bride can I be:
Red rose and while in the garden;
Until I have opened my bosom to thee:
And the bird sings over the roses.
To catch at her heart she laid one hand:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She told the tale where she did stand:
And the bird sings over the roses.
She stood before him pale and tall:
Red rose and white in the garden;
Her eyes between his, she told him all:
And the bird sings over the roses.
She saw how her body grow freckled and foul:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl:
And the bird sings over the roses.
With never a quiver her mouth did speak:
Red rose and white in the garden;
O when she had done she stood so meek!
And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom stamped and called her vile:
Red rose and white in the garden;
He did but waken a little smile:
And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom raged and called her foul:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He muttered a name full bitter and sore:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She fell in a lump on the still dead floor:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O great was the wonder, and loud the wail:
Red rose and white in the garden;
When through the household flew the tale:
And the bird sings over the roses.
The old grey mother she dressed the bier:
Red rose and white in the garden;
With a shivering chin and never a tear:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O had you but done as I bade you, my child!
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not have died and been reviled:
And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier:
Red rose and white in the garden;
He eyed the white girl thro' a dazzling tear:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O had you been false as the women who stray:
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not be now with the Angels of Day!
And the bird sings over the roses.
poem by George Meredith
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The Rose With Thorns
The rose with thorns
Beautiful passion red rose
But dangerous with thorns
Picked off the garden
By a bard on
Realize he was bleeding
Thought roughly about his feelings
About why the rose had thorns
Never again would he pick up the red rose with thorns
The rose only brought him pain
Thoe he did not go insane
By wanting to stomp on it
But he just forfeit on it
He just let the rose there on the ground
And the rose was hoping it would be found
So the bard on
Left the garden
Checked his finger with the thorn pulled it out
finger was bleeding and never looked back at the rose with the thorns
poem by Jose antonio Torres galeana
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I'm His Rose
I was a rose in a garden of many thorns,
Until the day that love was born.
His hand touched my heart, giving me hope,
He picked me up, untying the thorn rope.
I'm his rose whether he knows or not,
I'm his rose because he protects me,
I'm his rose because he set me free.
I'm his rose because he never opened his hand,
I'm his rose because he's the right man.
poem by Adnana Saric
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Rose, Rose(by Henrry Zhou)
Rose, Rose(by Henrry Zhou)
Rose, Rose
Love you, without words.
When I touch your waist,
Close to your lips.
Rose, Rose
Kisses are what you send to me.
Endless mythical dream
Every kiss seems to be
Rose, rose
Aren’t you the waves of the red wine
Of the first night in a wedding?
In your soft heart
slipped the lovers’ laughs and tears.
Love you, Rose
Light vortex, pink whorls
full of a garden I wish to plant Roses
Even waking to be a sad nightmare
Still I will hold you.
O, Rose, my dear Rose
poem by Henrry Zhou
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The Willow
On sweet young earth where the myrtle presses,
Long we lay, when the May was new;
The willow was winding the moon in her tresses,
The bud of the rose was told with dew.
And now on the brittle ground I'm lying,
Screaming to die with the dead year's dead;
The stem of the rose is black and drying,
The willow is tossing the wind from her head.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Spanish Harlem
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
A red rose up in Spanish Harlem
It is a special one, it's never seen the sun
It only comes out when the moon is on the run And all the stars are gleaming
It's growing in the street right up through the concrete
But soft and sweet and dreamin'
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
A red rose up in Spanish Harlem
With eyes as black as coal that look down in my soul
And starts a fire there and then I lose control I have to beg your pardon
I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows in my garden
I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows in my garden
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just One Rose...
that's a homework i need you to tell me if i should hand it to the teacher or not...(:
just one rose, a pretty rose...
just one rose for me with no coze...
just one rose pure and true...
just one rose for me is all i can do...
just one rose somewhere out there...
just one rose for me to care...
just one rose when dark days prevail...
just one rose when people only use petrail...
just one rose and all the time...
just one rosefor me is a crime...
poem by rose of death XxX
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My Baby and the Rose
A rose tree grew by the garden wall,
And its highest blossom was just as tall
As my baby's curly head;
A lovely, fragrant, perfect rose,-
But sweeter from head to dimpled toes,
Was the baby I fondly led.
Now summer is over and winter gone,
And the winds of March are whistling on
Where the rose its petals shed;
No trace of rose perfumed and rare,
No baby face as seraph fair,
My baby sweet is dead.
The summer sun will shine again,
And 'neath the pattering, warm June rain,
Again the rose will bloom,
And so beyond these lowering skies
My baby dear, with smiling eyes,
Shall peer through earthly gloom,
And guide me with her angel hand
Through Heaven's gates,-and with me stand
Away from worldly woes,-
Where Heaven's flowers, divinely sweet,
Soften the path for weary feet
With perfume of the rose.
poem by Ida McCormick
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An Ordinary Rose
I saw a rose, an ordinary rose
It struggled to be seen
In a garden overgrown
With harsh reality. I saw a rose, an ordinary rose
And this rose spoke to me,
Pleading for attention:
Is beauty not a need? I stopped to touch this ordinary rose
And it reached out to me,
Imparting its sweet fragrance
To my senses gratefully. I saw a man, an ordinary man
Who struggled to be seen,
His spirit languished on the streets
In dire neglect and need. I stopped to help this ordinary man
Who struggled to be seen,
And like the rose that bloomed with care
He too reached out to me. Fate placed these roses in our midst
So why should we complain?
Remember who created them
Who witnesses their pain. When next you meet that special rose
That struggles to be seen,
Remember, but for fate alone
That could be you or me.
poem by Devorah Seidenfeld
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Blind, Deaf, Dumb and Dead
Lord, I was blind and could not see
the full extent of Your love for me.
Lord, I was deaf and could not hear
the words of life You spoke so clear.
My heart was cold and unaware
of all the wounds You had to bear.
I was dead in trespasses and sin
when You came to earth my love to win.
Then my Lord You reached out to me
and touched my eyes and made me see.
Unstopped my ears to hear Your word
to hear what You were saying Lord.
You unloosed my tongue so I could speak
of the One Who came my soul to seek.
My heart renewed and began to beat
and in Christ alone I stood complete.
rose Peddle
'rose peddle'
as the rose flower is left on the table.
and is left in a vace of pure water.
as Jesus Christ was whiped, the rose would slowely shrivel up.
as they spat on Him the wrose peddles would fall one-by-one.
as the nails went inot Jesus hands and feet the sten broke and the thorns fell.
and when Jesus said 'it is finished'
the vace shatted and the pure water leacked into a small river.
and the rose was thrown away,
when Jesus rose again the rose was re-healed and the wace.
sitting back on the table where it died on.
this rose i speak of was touched by the Lords hand,
as Jesus was ressurected.
poem by Jordan Scown
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