November Night
Across the wet november night
The church is bright with candlelight
And waiting evensong, (2x)
A single bell with plaintive strokes
Pleads louder than the stirring oaks
The leafless lanes along. (2x)
It calls the choirboys from their tea
And villagers, the two or three,
Damp down the kitchen fire (2x)
Let out the cat, and up the lane
Go paddling through the gentle rain
Of misty oxfordshire (2x)
On country morning sharp and clear
The penitent in faith draw near
And kneeling here below (2x)
Partake the heavenly banquet spread
Of sacramental wine and bread
And jesus presence know (2x)
And must that plaintive bell in vain
Plead loud along the dripping lane?
And must the building fall? (2x)
Not while we love the church and live
And of our charity will give
Our much, our more, our all (2x)
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Dinner Bell
Ive been leaving on my things
So in the morning when the morning bird sings
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket
til the dinner bell rings
Experimental dog*
Salivating dog
Good dog
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Ive been leaving on my things
So in the morning when the morning bird sings
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket
til the dinner bell rings
I dont want a pizza, I dont want a piece of (experimental dog)
Peanut brittle, I dont want a pear.
I dont want a bagel I dont want a bean I wouldnt like (salivating dog)
A bag of beef or a beer or a
Cup of chowder, corn, cake, or creamed cauliflower cause Im (good dog)
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Shoulder, bicep, elbow, arm
Forearm, thumb, wrist, knuckle, palm
Middle, pinky, index, ring
Dinner bell dinner bell ding
I dont know whether Id rather be having a bottle of vinegar (experimental dog)
I dont know whether Id rather be having an egg.
I dont know whether Id rather be having an order of bacon (salivating dog)
Or whether Id rather be having a basket of garlic bread.
I dont know whether Id rather be having some pie or (good dog)
Saving my appetite cause im
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Ive been leaving on my things (Ive been leaving on)
So in the morning when the morning bird sings (the morning)
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket (on my)
til the dinner bell does the bell thing
Dinner bell dinner bell do the bell thing
Im waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding ding ding
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding ding ding
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brogan's Lane
There's a crack in the city—down that sharp street
In couples, and armed, tramp rozzers on beat.
Like a joss, silhouetted across the pane,
A Chinese face watches down Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
A reeling moon blinks over Brogan’s Lane.
Flash Fred, when he dives on a red lot, sneaks thro’
To moscow the swag with a Polaky Jew.
Tho’ rooked by old Shylock, he needn’t complain,
The melting pot bubbles in Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
Rats pinch from their cobbers down Brogan’s Lane.
And Jenny, fresh down from the country, goes gay
And drives to the races and laughs at the play;
Till one morn, lying out in the cold and the rain,
A body is perished in Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
There’s only one turn to the long last lane.
With opium dens, sly cribs, bones and rags,
’Tis the haunt of thieves, wastrels, poor women and vags.
They booze to bring joy, they sin to numb pain,
But there’ll come a stretch at the end of the lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
The river and morgue shadow Brogan’s Lane.
poem by Louis Esson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When the bell tolls
At times when I hear
a church bell that tolls,
I know that there
is more to life
than just living.
On a Sunday
the bell tolls almost endlessly,
(like a alarm clock)
before the service begins.
At times when I hear
a church bell that tolls,
it rings for a funeral
and I am glad
that I’m alive.
At a wedding
the bell sings a joyful song
and everyone smiles at each other
and wait for the bride to appear.
In the dead of night
the bell tolls lonely
no one cares about
the time that it keeps,
as sleep creeps deeper
into everybody’s soul.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Church-Bell
As I was lying in my bed
I heard the church-bell ring;
Before one solemn word was said
A bird began to sing.
I heard a dog begin to bark
And a bold crowing cock;
The bell, between the cold and dark,
Tolled. It was five o'clock.
The church-bell tolled, and the bird sang,
A clear true voice he had;
The cock crew, and the church-bell rang,
I knew it had gone mad.
A hand reached down from the dark skies,
It took the bell-rope thong,
The bell cried "Look! Lift up your eyes!"
The clapper shook to song.
The iron clapper laughed aloud,
Like clashing wind and wave;
The bell cried out "Be strong and proud!"
Then, with a shout, "Be brave!"
The rumbling of the market-carts,
The pounding of men's feet
Were drowned in song; "Lift up your hearts!"
The song was loud and sweet.
Slow and slow the great bell swung,
It hung in the steeple mute;
And people tore its living tongue
Out by the very root.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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His True Church
I know many religious people, and one Church with no steeple,
A church that’s built with no walls, built on only believing souls,
Built upon an Eternal Foundation, that being our very Salvation,
Built upon The One Cornerstone, and that is Jesus Christ alone.
Many, who worship in a building, to Truth alone, are unyielding,
Building a church on tradition, God’s Truth, with man’s addition,
Added to the work finished by, Jesus Christ who reigns on high,
Ignoring His words “it is finished”, Grace by many is diminished.
Men making a way to Heaven, not by grace but religious leaven,
Building church in a human way, as they lead many souls astray,
As many souls weekly perch, in the pews of a manmade church,
Relying on their religious activity, to help them work into eternity.
“I will build my Church” He said, that was Christ, who is the Head,
Head of His True Church on earth, filled with souls, by New Birth,
All members being Born Again, into His Church, not one of men,
You’ll find, you no longer search, as a member of God’s Church.
Jesus is the Way, Truth and Life, as Head of the Church of Christ,
And each of us is a living stone, built through faith in Christ alone,
His Church He proceeds to build, to complete as His Father willed,
Leading the only True Church friend, as others shall see in the end.
The Walking Bell
A CHILD refused to go betimes
To church like other people;
He roam'd abroad, when rang the chimes
On Sundays from the steeple.
His mother said: "Loud rings the bell,
Its voice ne'er think of scorning;
Unless thou wilt behave thee well,
'Twill fetch thee without warning."
The child then thought: "High over head
The bell is safe suspended--"
So to the fields he straightway sped
As if 'twas school-time ended.
The bell now ceas'd as bell to ring,
Roused by the mother's twaddle;
But soon ensued a dreadful thing!--
The bell begins to waddle.
It waddles fast, though strange it seem;
The child, with trembling wonder,
Runs off, and flies, as in a dream;
The bell would draw him under.
He finds the proper time at last,
And straightway nimbly rushes
To church, to chapel, hastening fast
Through pastures, plains, and bushes.
Each Sunday and each feast as well,
His late disaster heeds he;
The moment that he bears the bell,
No other summons needs he.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Mystery of The Church
The Mystery of God’s True Church, is men and women upon this earth.
Men and women upon this earth, brought together through New Birth.
They are called out from the earth, by The Lord’s Spirit during this birth.
The members are called to a New Life, and it is found in Jesus Christ.
Christ said He’d build His Church; it is God’s institution upon the earth.
The Church includes every nation, of the earth that accepts Salvation.
God had started first with the Jew, and then Christ added me and you.
The Church was not created by man, but is part of God’s Eternal Plan.
The Church is of a heavenly origin, far above the influences of all sin.
It is The Lord’s sovereign creation, to spread the Gospel of Salvation.
For there is no earthly institution, that can offer God’s Eternal solution.
The Church is not a building friend, but of people with a heavenly end.
The Church has no earthly foundation; it is built on Christ’s exaltation.
The Church has only one mediator, which is Jesus Christ, her creator.
The gates of Hades will not prevail, although all Satan’s forces do rail.
For Christ gained for all the victory, securing for us a home in Eternity.
On the cross Jesus bled and died, so we could be His Heavenly Bride.
From that death He rose again; we enter His Church once Born Again.
The Lord Jesus died in our stead, and of God’s Church He is the head.
Believers become the body unified, living new lives because He died.
The true Bride and body of Christ, is eagerly anticipating Eternal Life.
You enter in a sinner on the earth, to soon depart into Heaven’s mirth.
Into Eternal Bliss with Jesus Christ, and an endless joy of Eternal Life.
All the saints within God’s Church, from Christ only, get all their worth.
For they have been truly sanctified, under the blood of Christ who died.
By The Holy Spirit they are set apart, with a new mind and new heart.
And they are all of one single kind, as they all have The Savior’s mind.
The end of life is just a new start, to begin in Eternity when they depart.
Sex & The Church
Though the idea of compassion
Is said to be
The union of christ
And his bride, the christian
Its all very puzzling
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
All the great mystic religions
Put strong emphasis, on
Redeame this spiritual qualities
Of sex of sex
Chrstianity
Has been pretty modern
About sex
Of sex of sex of sex of sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
I think there is a union
Between the flesh and the spirit
Its sex and the church
Sex and the church
All religions mother
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Church of Wenslow Haze
The sea that batters the eastern coast
Has often subdued the land,
Five hundred years have seen the retreat
Of a mile of cliffs and sand,
When tides are low in the summertime
From beneath the distant swell,
The villagers lying abed at night
Hear the tolling of a bell.
The bell resounds up the village street
And rattles the cobblestones,
As the villagers close the shutters tight
And lock the doors of their homes,
They hear the thump of a wooden stump
As it echoes along the street,
The wooden leg of the mate, John Clegg
From Drake's Armada Fleet!
The thump is steady and purposeful
As it heads towards the sea,
Where the bell still rings for matins
As in 1563,
When priests were burned for popery
In the England of those days,
They used the little singing cakes
In the Church of Wenslow Haze!
John Clegg was a surly protestant
In the service of the Queen,
So the use of the cakes for massing bread -
He thought it was quite obscene!
The vicar had leant to the Roman Church,
The Reverend Walter Raise,
And Clegg had stood and harangued him there
In the Church of Wenslow Haze.
‘You'll bring your Popish habits here
At the risk of mortal pain,
I fought for the Queen Elizabeth
To see off the King of Spain,
If you don't revert to the massing bread
And the Book of Common Prayer,
I'll see to the piling of faggots
When they burn you in the square! '
But Walter Raise would never be stayed
By the threats of an ignorant tar,
He said: ‘I only answer to God
For the what and the where we are!
The form is not as important as
The salving of the soul,
You'd better look to your own before
The Devil takes you all! '
But Clegg had waited for matins, he
Returned with a burning brand,
Set fire to the ancient tapestries
The pews and the altar stand,
He raised his cutlass and brought it down
On the Romish vicar's head,
And he cursed the Church of Wenslow Haze
As the vicar lay there, dead!
The sea rose up in a sudden storm
And it swept across the land,
Engulfed the Church of Wenslow Haze
As if raised by God's own hand,
The land had tilted beneath the sea
And the church, it settled deep,
With the bodies of Clegg and Walter Raise
And the bell-tower, and the keep!
So now when the tide repents and drops
To a fathom, over the bell,
The toll rings out from the surly deep
Like a call to the fiends from hell,
And a stump sounds over the cobblestones
As Clegg, for his soul's sake pays,
He carries a burning fire brand
To the Church of Wenslow Haze.
29 July,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Funeral Bell
The funeral bell is ringing a reminder of our mortality
Farewelling a deceased soul one day 'twill ring for me
Ringing in the stillness of this cool Autumn day
Across the rural city in the morning damp and gray.
The funeral bell is pealing for one a last farewell
And few sounds sadder than the slow peals of the loud funeral bell
Above the streets and houses it echoes to the sky
For one bound for her or his last resting place the cemetery nearby.
The peewees in the town park distinctive in their call
And the magpie on a wattle pipe on this cool morning in the Fall
And for one who will not breathe again the eulogy is read
And the funeral bell is tolling in memory of the dead.
The funeral bell is ringing for one a last goodbye
And on the clock of our mortality the hours just seem to fly
Respect to the departed is all that we can pay
And for each and everyone of us a final night and day.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Searching For a Church?
After your long and weary search, have you found the perfect church?
A simple church ruled by men; the perfect church you can’t condemn.
Or do they all appear the same, just another building with His Name?
And once inside you’re not sure, if you feel the presence of The Lord.
There’s only one true Church of God, upon this earth that all men trod.
That is The Church of Jesus Christ, and bought by Jesus, with His life.
God’s Church has no denomination, for in Christ is only one Salvation.
His Church has no walls my friend; it has a beginning but has no end.
Christ’s Church began at Pentecost, not for the righteous, but the lost.
His Church is made of sinful men, whom by God were all condemned.
But redeemed with a special price, when His Son became a sacrifice.
Then dipped into a cleansing flood; sinners purified by Christ’s Blood.
Are you looking to men to find, God’s forgiveness and peace of mind?
My friend, are you truly not that sure, where you can go to be secure?
Christ’s first Church had no steeple, and was filled with humble people.
Humble people who gave their life, to reach the world for Jesus Christ.
If you’re still searching for a church, you should end your weary search.
The Church is men like you and me, saved by Christ’s work on Calvary.
Nothing’s been added to the cross, except sinners who once were lost,
Since, they’ve entered in The Door, and now belong to Christ The Lord.
(Copyright ©04/2006)
Hammer To Fall
Words and music by brian may
Here we stand or here we fall
History wont care at all
Make the bed light the light
Lady mercy wont be home tonight yeah
You dont waste no time at all
Dont hear the bell but you answer the call
It comes to you as to us all
Were just waiting
For the hammer to fall
Oh evry night and every day
A little piece of you is falling away
But lift your face the western way
Build your muscles as your body decays yeah
Toe your line and play their game yeah
Let the anaesthetic cover it all
Till one day they call your name
You know its time for the hammer to fall
Rich or poor or famous
For your truth its all the same (oh no oh no)
Lock your door the rain is pouring
Through your window pane (oh no)
Baby now your struggles all in vain
For we who grew up tall and proud
In the shadow of the mushroom cloud
Convinced our voices cant be heard
We just wanna scream it louder and louder louder
What the hell we fighting for?
Just surrender and it wont hurt at all
You just got time to say your prayers
While your waiting for the hammer to hammer to fall
Its gonna fall
Hammer..you know..hammer to fall
Waiting for the hammer to fall now baby
While youre waiting for the hammer to fall
Give it to me one more time
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After church
We collect the hymn books passing through the pew,
And look good, with grace to look for a little while,
Then we decide it’s time to leave the chosen few,
And take the journey for a mile with faded smile.
After church service benediction at last spring,
The welcome presence of another serenity fall,
We quickly part in heart from the praises we sing,
On roads converged, hardly a note we can recall.
We feel the food destined to eat, and the warm,
Taste climbs up for a pleasing trip into our lips,
Down the lane, leaving church feeding the brain,
With aromas tricks, temptation tried with many slips.
After church we forget home is another branch,
Lost in jest, caught in play, unseen eyes watching,
The rest of the day, and the eyes continue to watch,
Through the night and haunt the mind until morning.
poem by Gerry Legister
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Contrasting Sounds Of Sunday Morning
rain is pit pattering
on the roof
the wind is as gentle
as a whisper
of a new lover
when the rain stops
the footfalls pass by
the church bell rings
on a call to prayer
the sound of motorcycles
get louder towards the flea market
the cock crows and
jumps to the ground from a tree
here i am
writing another poem for you
it is the sound of silence again
words hugging like a friend's reunion
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Church Bell Rings Too Early
the church bell rings too early
the town's electrician
bald and ugly
poor and lonely
he was looking for his wife
who left with another man
taking with her
his only son
he could not eat breakfast
skipped his supper
and would not care for any lunch
and then the church bell tolled
for him
though not as early as he once did it
we shall always remember
grief, lament, the sound of the bell
too sonorous
to remember
lost affections, betrayal, death
and lack of
prayer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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November Love (My First Poem) (Two Versions)
Below, you will see two versions of my very first poem.
Its important to understand that the first version of the poem
is exactly as I wrote it at 6: 15 to 6: 30 PM on November 2nd
1970. I made no changes to it. It is also important to know
that this was, in fact, my first ever attempt to write a poem
of any kind whatsoever. The second version is modified from
the first because I wanted to demonstrate how a few simple
word changes can convert a rather average poem of some
quality into a poem of great quality and structure.
In early November the air is clear
With many sounds of lovers near.
Not as the April birds that sing
Nor as the Sunday church bells ring.
But rather to the rhythm of rain,
The hearts of lovers beat again.
For it's not true love that blooms in spring
Nor is it of love that birds do sing.
Rather of that love soon gone
And never seems to carry on.
That April love that all partake,
But very few ever make.
It's all year long this false love swells
Till in November true love dwells.
In November the air is clear
With many sounds of lovers near.
Not as the April birds that sing
Nor as the Sunday church bells ring.
Rather to the rhythm of rain,
The hearts of lovers beat again.
It's not true love that blooms in spring.
Nor is it love, that birds will sing.
But rather of that love soon gone
Which never seems to carry on.
That April love that all partake
And very few will ever make.
It's all year long this false love swells
Till in November, true love dwells.
I have removed the voting option on this poem
and placed it in my Hall Of Fame, due to its
history described above and its usefulness as
an example to the readers.
poem by Greenwolfe 1962
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Elmer Karr
What but the love of God could have softened
And made forgiving the people of Spoon River
Toward me who wronged the bed of Thomas Merritt
And murdered him beside?
Oh, loving hearts that took me in again
When I returned from fourteen years in prison!
Oh, helping hands that in the church received me,
And heard with tears my penitent confession,
Who took the sacrament of bread and wine!
Repent, ye living ones, and rest with Jesus.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Jingle Bell Rock
Jingle bell
Jingle bell
Jingle Bell Rock
Jingle bell swing
And jingle bell's ring
Snowing and blowing
Up bushels of fun
Now the jingle hop has begun
Jingle bell
Jingle bell
Jingle Bell Rock
Jingle bells chime
In jingle bell time
Dancing and prancing
In jingle bell square
In the frosty air
What a bright time
It's the right time
To rock the night away
Jingle bell time
It's a swell time
To go riding in a one horse sleigh
Giddy-up jingle horse
Pick up your feet
Jingle around the clock
Mix and mingle
In a jingling beat
That's the Jingle Bell Rock
Jingle Bell Rock
Jingle Bell Rock
Oh yeah
Jingle Bell Rock
Jingle Bell Rock
Oh yeah
song performed by by Hilary Duff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How sick the plaintive violin
how sick the plaintive violin
even more so when long long-drawn
its drawl how plaintive is, how sick:
even when less slow it is drawn
the plaintive notes still flow, still sick
and in the night, the long dark night
still plays the plaintive violin.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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November Rain
November rain washed away my guilt
November rain washed away my pain
November rain - so tired I felt
November rain was not just any rain
Long I longed with deep torment
For so long my body waited
November rain, , , , Oh, sweet friend
November rain- slowly I faded.
November rain- I cried within
Steady and slowly, it kept on pouring
November rain, watered my skin
And deep inside, I heard my roaring.
November rain, it refused to quit
November rain kept on pouring
And alone outside, in the streets I wept-
dripping... dripping and falling.
poem by Amy Phillip
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