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Live... From The Funeral Of God

Live from the funeral of God
Live from the funeral of God
This is the day you've awaited
Sponsored and celebrated
He has answered your prayers
Corpses have piled up with your riches
They have spilled over onto the Earth
We spit and wear our fear like masks
Everything is locked into form
(Interrupt the feed)
(It's closing in, its closing in) The skys so dark
(It's closing in, its closing in) The skys so dark
(It's closing in, its closing in) The skys so dark
(It's closing in, its closing in) The skys so dark
Are men no worse than demons?
Are armies not thirsty for bleed?
The desire of their hearts has been met
Eons and eons
Decades of liars
Drink with power atop the mountains of corpses
Their arms and legs fail and they crawl like serpents
To address those who are mourning
Live from the funeral of God
Of God
(It's closing in, its closing in) The skys so dark
(It's closing in, its closing in) The skys so dark
(It's closing in, its closing in) The skys so dark
(It's closing in, its closing in) The skys so dark
There is no reason to be afraid
Everything is under control
There is no reason to be afraid
Everything is under control
There is no reason to be afraid
Everything is under control
There is no reason to be afraid
Everything is under control
There is no reason to be afraid
Everything is under control
There is no reason to be afraid
Everything is under control

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Locked Doors And Slow Closing Walls

In the aftermath of truth.
And the leaving behind,
The debris of wasted time.
Will those minds still clinging on,
To hopes and dreams...
Of turning back the clock,
Block and find themselves trapped...
Behind their locked doors and slow closing walls,
With hearts pounding and feeling chased...
Each step they take in a space,
Where a pacing being done becomes limited?

Will those minds still clinging on,
To hopes and dreams...
Of turning back the clock,
Ever discover...
What time for them it is?

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Let's Live For A Day

i want to go home this weekend,
and dig a pit in the backyard.....
gather wood, and build a fire!

get the coffee pot going,
find something to throw in the pot
and on the spit.....

and just sit outside and enjoy
the cool autumn stillness....
come on over! bring what you've got....

and bring your books, your guitars....
bring your dogs, bring your neighbors...
dont care who you are, what color

or religion you are, or what your
philosophy is... as long as you're
open-minded and compassionate....

come on... lets sit and talk;
let's live for a day....
and enjoy the stillness!

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Dark Men

Melodramatic, screaming about the petty things.
Can't you see that is nothing.
Dark men live right next to you.
They don't want you to have an easy life.
Some so sick and demented want to stab you with a knife.
Other want to corrupt our children.
Yet more want all your money.
Are you realizing this isn't funny.
It sad that some don't comprehend the negative effect its having.
We are all to busy with self gratification.
Stroking our egos.
Who cares about that man next to you.
Well I do, and I want more from those so distracted, so surprised when their are extreme actions are taken.
Well if you wouldn't have let it go.
How could you not know.
Its black in the snow.
So obvious.
How can so many be so oblivious?
I guess its a human defect that we reject that their can be true evil.
Denial of those liable.
Fine so be it.
The truth you'll never achieve it.
I stand in the way of the dismay you try to create today.
A one man army against so many.
Its a harsh reality.

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Answered Prayers?

... my day continues

after stopping for a burger,
fries and a coke

I drive to the nearest bookstore
and purchase
three new books

in Chile
they are picking out bodies
out of earthquake rubble
the west coast and Hawaii braces
for a string of tsunamis

my day continues

in Afghanistan yesterday
seventeen died
in a car bombing spree

I walk across the parking lot
enter my car
share the rest my fries with my dog
rub his ears, kiss his head

my day continues

like a disinterested god
I go on with my day
as others die

the rest of the world
always goes on
with its day

and we expect answered prayers?

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Isaac Watts

Psalm 114

Miracles attending Israel's journey.

When Isr'el, freed from Pharaoh's hand,
Left the proud tyrant and his land,
The tribes with cheerful homage own
Their King, and Judah was his throne.

Across the deep their journey lay;
The deep divides to make them way;
Jordan beheld their march, and fled
With backward current to his head.

The mountains shook like frighted sheep,
Like lambs the little hillocks leap;
Not Sinai on her base could stand,
Conscious of sovereign power at hand.

What power could make the deep divide?
Make Jordan backward roll his tide?
Why did ye leap, ye little hills?
And whence the fright that Sinai feels?

Let every mountain, every flood,
Retire and know th' approaching God,
The King of Isr'el: see him here;
Tremble, thou earth, adore and fear.

He thunders, and all nature mourns;
The rock to standing pools he turns;
Flints spring with fountains at his word,
And fires and seas confess the Lord.

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

To a Child

Dear child! how radiant on thy mother's knee,
With merry-making eyes and jocund smiles,
Thou gazest at the painted tiles,
Whose figures grace,
With many a grotesque form and face.
The ancient chimney of thy nursery!
The lady with the gay macaw,
The dancing girl, the grave bashaw
With bearded lip and chin;
And, leaning idly o'er his gate,
Beneath the imperial fan of state,
The Chinese mandarin.

With what a look of proud command
Thou shakest in thy little hand
The coral rattle with its silver bells,
Making a merry tune!
Thousands of years in Indian seas
That coral grew, by slow degrees,
Until some deadly and wild monsoon
Dashed it on Coromandel's sand!
Those silver bells
Reposed of yore,
As shapeless ore,
Far down in the deep-sunken wells
Of darksome mines,
In some obscure and sunless place,
Beneath huge Chimborazo's base,
Or Potosi's o'erhanging pines
And thus for thee, O little child,
Through many a danger and escape,
The tall ships passed the stormy cape;
For thee in foreign lands remote,
Beneath a burning, tropic clime,
The Indian peasant, chasing the wild goat,
Himself as swift and wild,
In falling, clutched the frail arbute,
The fibres of whose shallow root,
Uplifted from the soil, betrayed
The silver veins beneath it laid,
The buried treasures of the miser, Time.

But, lo! thy door is left ajar!
Thou hearest footsteps from afar!
And, at the sound,
Thou turnest round
With quick and questioning eyes,
Like one, who, in a foreign land,
Beholds on every hand
Some source of wonder and surprise!
And, restlessly, impatiently,
Thou strivest, strugglest, to be free,
The four walls of thy nursery
Are now like prison walls to thee.
No more thy mother's smiles,
No more the painted tiles,
Delight thee, nor the playthings on the floor,
That won thy little, beating heart before;
Thou strugglest for the open door.

Through these once solitary halls
Thy pattering footstep falls.
The sound of thy merry voice
Makes the old walls
Jubilant, and they rejoice
With the joy of thy young heart,
O'er the light of whose gladness
No shadows of sadness
From the sombre background of memory start.

Once, ah, once, within these walls,
One whom memory oft recalls,
The Father of his Country, dwelt.
And yonder meadows broad and damp
The fires of the besieging camp
Encircled with a burning belt.
Up and down these echoing stairs,
Heavy with the weight of cares,
Sounded his majestic tread;
Yes, within this very room
Sat he in those hours of gloom,
Weary both in heart and head.

But what are these grave thoughts to thee?
Out, out! into the open air!
Thy only dream is liberty,
Thou carest little how or where.
I see thee eager at thy play,
Now shouting to the apples on the tree,
With cheeks as round and red as they;
And now among the yellow stalks,
Among the flowering shrubs and plants,
As restless as the bee.
Along the garden walks,
The tracks of thy small carriage-wheels I trace;
And see at every turn how they efface
Whole villages of sand-roofed tents,
That rise like golden domes
Above the cavernous and secret homes
Of wandering and nomadic tribes of ants.
Ah, cruel little Tamerlane,
Who, with thy dreadful reign,
Dost persecute and overwhelm
These hapless Troglodytes of thy realm!
What! tired already! with those suppliant looks,
And voice more beautiful than a poet's books,
Or murmuring sound of water as it flows.
Thou comest back to parley with repose;
This rustic seat in the old apple-tree,
With its o'erhanging golden canopy
Of leaves illuminate with autumnal hues,
And shining with the argent light of dews,
Shall for a season be our place of rest.
Beneath us, like an oriole's pendent nest,
From which the laughing birds have taken wing,
By thee abandoned, hangs thy vacant swing.
Dream-like the waters of the river gleam;
A sailless vessel drops adown the stream,
And like it, to a sea as wide and deep,
Thou driftest gently down the tides of sleep.

O child! O new-born denizen
Of life's great city! on thy head
The glory of the morn is shed,
Like a celestial benison!
Here at the portal thou dost stand,
And with thy little hand
Thou openest the mysterious gate
Into the future's undiscovered land.
I see its valves expand,
As at the touch of Fate!
Into those realms of love and hate,
Into that darkness blank and drear,
By some prophetic feeling taught,
I launch the bold, adventurous thought,
Freighted with hope and fear;
As upon subterranean streams,
In caverns unexplored and dark,
Men sometimes launch a fragile bark,
Laden with flickering fire,
And watch its swift-receding beams,
Until at length they disappear,
And in the distant dark expire.

By what astrology of fear or hope
Dare I to cast thy horoscope!
Like the new moon thy life appears;
A little strip of silver light,
And widening outward into night
The shadowy disk of future years;
And yet upon its outer rim,
A luminous circle, faint and dim,
And scarcely visible to us here,
Rounds and completes the perfect sphere;
A prophecy and intimation,
A pale and feeble adumbration,
Of the great world of light, that lies
Behind all human destinies.

Ah! if thy fate, with anguish fraught,
Should be to wet the dusty soil
With the hot tears and sweat of toil,--
To struggle with imperious thought,
Until the overburdened brain,
Weary with labor, faint with pain,
Like a jarred pendulum, retain
Only its motion, not its power,--
Remember, in that perilous hour,
When most afflicted and oppressed,
From labor there shall come forth rest.

And if a more auspicious fate
On thy advancing steps await
Still let it ever be thy pride
To linger by the laborer's side;
With words of sympathy or song
To cheer the dreary march along
Of the great army of the poor,
O'er desert sand, o'er dangerous moor.
Nor to thyself the task shall be
Without reward; for thou shalt learn
The wisdom early to discern
True beauty in utility;
As great Pythagoras of yore,
Standing beside the blacksmith's door,
And hearing the hammers, as they smote
The anvils with a different note,
Stole from the varying tones, that hung
Vibrant on every iron tongue,
The secret of the sounding wire.
And formed the seven-chorded lyre.

Enough! I will not play the Seer;
I will no longer strive to ope
The mystic volume, where appear
The herald Hope, forerunning Fear,
And Fear, the pursuivant of Hope.
Thy destiny remains untold;
For, like Acestes' shaft of old,
The swift thought kindles as it flies,
And burns to ashes in the skies.

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The Creation Of God's Universe

Before the gifts of space and time, before eternity,
The living God, awesome, sublime, chose how such things would be.
From power such as can't be known by any mortal man,
Came forth foundations strong as stone in God's triumphant plan.
The Universe was like a seed that grows into a tree,
And on God's grace was pleased to feed, expanding gracefully...
It prospered in the dark expanse, the void from whence it came,
As if arising from a trance, its brand new life to claim.
The planets and the stars and moons and gaseous clouds transformed.
Beyond the stars came soulful tunes and so God's heart was warmed.
Yet life awaited in the wings, as if the centrepiece,
Thus angels were God's underlings, with lives that never cease.
When planet Earth was realised, from thoughts God chose to share,
New life was made and crystalised, with wonders everywhere!
The lands and seas and skies above were blessed by God's embrace
And as God gazed from up above, He stared upon His face...
The ocean like a mirror showed the smile that He portrayed,
Amid the face of light that glowed with pride at all He'd made.
Then God made symbols of that smile when Adam first met Eve,
Yet chose to leave them for a while, their freewill to receive.
From that day on, sin entered in, but God shared prophecy!
A great redeemer would yet win... Christ did at Calvary!
The Big Bang was the hammerblow, the first nail to force down,
Which forced His holy blood to flow, more so than just His crown.
Yet God had promised to His Son, He'd raise Him from the dead!
And so, when death was truly done, God healed the blood He shed.
If God can do so much for Man, forgiving all our sins,
It's obvious He's got a plan, yet here all life begins...
What use is it to live and die as lost souls yet unsaved?
Reflect on this and ask God why in Christ our sins are waived.
The Universe, for all it's worth, can't praise God like we do!
That's why Lord Jesus came to Earth... To die for me and you...

Denis Martindale, copyright February 2011.

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Thank God Its Monday

Im gonna tell you what I reallly think about mondays
Cause they feel like saturdays
When you dont gotta go to work everyday is a holiday
I wake up when I want to do anything I wanna do
Cant wait for tuesday
I really dont like fridays I cant what I wanna do
Sold out at the movies cant eat at the restaurant
Everyone whants to party but the bars full of cigarette smoke
I think Ill stay home I think Ill wait for monday
I live a 5 day weekend I gotta a year long holiday
Thank God its moday
The only place I gotta be is at the show or on the first tee
Thank God for irony
Nevermind aggravation just gimme modulation gimme another key
Ill tell you why I like tuesdays, cause theyre kinda like chrismas
Cme to think about wednesdays, are a little hanakah
Tursdays thanksgiving Im talking about good living I think Ill give thanx
Thank God its moday

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Teachable For God

Being teachable in Gods eyes, shall lead believers to be wise,
From instruction, read and heard, in the Truths of Gods Word,
Gods instruction we must heed, truly the believer’s daily need,
From The Eternal Word of God, to be lived in this day we trod.

In His wisdom we learn how, to apply instruction here and now,
Knowledge from God, we receive, when His Truths, we believe,
Gaining skill, in how to live, from the Truths the Scriptures give,
Growing from our initial salvation, as we heed Gods revelation.

To live wisely in a world of sin, believers need to use discipline,
Received knowledge of The Lord, as Truth must not be ignored,
But as believers in Jesus Christ, we must apply Truth to our life,
So as to walk in Godly Wisdom, living for His coming Kingdom.

Building a foundation to live by, must be anchored from on high,
As Gods knowledge we embrace, for living in this Age of Grace,
The fear of God, still is has part, in serving God with all our heart,
As Godly Wisdom, will truly begin, through a reverent fear of Him.

Our hearts with wisdom, God shall fill, when we submit to His Will,
Being led by His staff and rod, we’re filled with the Truths of God,
As believers listen and receive, to the Truths we know and believe,
Taught by His Holy Spirit within, we shall live a Godly Life for Him.

(Copyright ©07/2011)

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Eternal God And Loving Sustainer

Eternal Mighty God and Creator is our Loving Provider and Sustainer.
Everywhere on earth you can trod you find evidence of a Mighty God.
Mighty indeed with power from above and mightier is His Awesome Love.
God put to death His Only Seed, how can He not give us all we need?

Throughout your own life's pages you will find The Rock of All Ages.
He's there at every instance, for He spoke the world into existence.
He has always been Eternal God with Jesus and The Spirit at His side.
He gave us The Spirit to live inside to be our teacher and our guide.

Indeed God can be your provider and in eternally more ways than one.
First there's no way to deny it, He sent as a sacrifice His only Son.
God will provide all you need on earth to your death from your birth.
He provided us with new birth so we're not destroyed with the earth.

It is by Jesus, for whom all was made, that this earth is sustained.
The entire earth belongs to God, every spot where your foot may trod.
God gave you the breath of life and sustains you both day and night.
Not only you and I friend but the entire world from beginning to end.

To sustain you through Eternity God must first destroy your iniquity.
If Christ is not your desire, He'll preserve you in The Lake of Fire.
Sustained by God in a world of sin, imagine life as Eternity begins.
On the cross Christ set you free so He can sustain you in Eternity.

(Copyright ©03/2004)

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Trust In God

God in His Word is so clear; so why do will fill our hearts with fear?
Moving our thoughts into tomorrow; what may bring pain or sorrow,
While thinking about what may be, focusing on what we cannot see;
God is clear, we must understand, and live this present day at hand.

So much time in worry we spend, about what you can’t know friend,
Instead, to Gods Word we must go, to lean on Truths that we know,
To visit promises from The Lord, promises that at times go ignored,
Gods Promises that will uphold us, when in God, we place our trust.

For today can be a struggle in itself, so we rely on Scriptural Wealth,
A wealth of promises, to all of us, those who belong to Christ Jesus,
Whos surely a promise keeping God, this I say with an assuring nod,
All the promises that He must keep, are promises, which we can reap.

Through Gods Word, we can learn, God takes care of every concern,
And The Lord is faithful to uphold, the many promises that we’re told,
Providing strength, so we can face, all of the trials, all along our race,
In the present race that we call life, strengthened through Jesus Christ.

The Lord promises us His Peace, which from Christ, shall never cease,
With Gods peace and Gods care, just why would we fall into despair?
This is caused through worry in part, as our thoughts from God depart,
So why not depart from anxiety, to simply trust in The God of Eternity.

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More Time For God

When I give God more of my all, that fleshly choice, is rather small,
I need to more than simply agree, I need to give my God, all of me.
Everything that I think is mine, was granted to me by Gods design,
Granted by God, with the thought, that from my life fruit is wrought.

Even this very life, which I live, becomes a privilege for me to give,
My entire being back to God, to be used by Him, while on this sod,
To be employed, in a Heavenly way, while I live my life, day to day,
My choice becomes clear to me, as I look beyond towards Eternity.

But, while I’m still upon this earth, I stumble in matters of little worth,
My flesh isn’t always on my side, this when in Christ I want to abide,
Knowing that God uses all of us, to promote the Kingdom of Jesus,
Using a Believer’s available time, to point souls to a World Sublime.

Sometimes, with free time at hand, I neglect the things I understand,
Like, redeeming my time down here, while on this evil earthly sphere,
To point men to a Glorious Heaven, well beyond the religious leaven,
To Christ, this world’s only Door, to the place where time is no more.

The time which I use, I must spend, for a greater purpose, in the end;
Any wasted time cannot be ignored, when I desire to serve The Lord,
For all time for God is well spent, as God makes one’s heart content,
When one strives to serve The King, giving The Lord their everything.

(Copyright ©10/2009)

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In Laughter Live

Each one in turn tests life’s allotted cell,
base line from which wills strive to win wide world.
On each Chance, Time, crime's partners, cast fell spell
churn Fortune’s tides, rides so diversely swirled.

What if we seem to prosper for a spell,
do well from womb - too soon in tomb we’re curled,
and what came first, the chicken or its shell?
Oft, final ends surprise, by Time unfurled.

What hope of Heaven if there be no Hell?
We ask, “Could God exist? ” as swift we whirl
across bane bridge Coincidence pell-mell
haphazardly casts on life’s vain pain pearl.

Make every moment matter, dark expel,
in laughter live until death's tocsin knell.

7 May 1989 latest revision 15 May 2009

robi03_0252_robi03_0000 SXX_CDZ

for previous version see below

In Laughter Live

Each one of us has his allotted cell,
a base from which to conquer all the world.
On each do Chance and Time cast secret spell
on Fortune’s tide are all diversely swirled.

What if we seem to prosper for a spell,
do well from womb - too soon in tomb we’re curled,
and what came first, the chicken or its shell?
Oft, final ends surprise, by Time unfurled.

What hope of Heaven if there be no Hell?
We ask, « Does God exist? » as we are whirled
across the bridge Coincidence pell-mell,
haphazardly light throws light on life’s pearl.

Make every moment matter, dark expel,
in laughter live until the final knell!

7 May 1989

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Following God's Principles

When God's principals we obey, His Spirit helps us not to stray,
For believers, it is a must, that we practice obedience and trust,
Trusting God with all our heart; from His ways we will not depart,
Letting Wisdom have Her way, while we follow God, day by day.

We must work unto The Lord, a practice that's not to be ignored,
Working with Christ by our side; our Lord God above is glorified,
God is not mocked or deceived, knowing ways we've conceived,
As we will reap all we've sown, as all our ways by Him are known.

All believers must contemplate, the seven things, God does hate,
Living in our present world of sin, this as we strive to live for Him;
Haughty eyes coming from pride, an evil, we can't allow to reside,
As it caused Adam's race to fall; one's sin which is far from small.

For pride is Satan's choice leaven, which he uses to fuel all seven,
Beginning with the lying tongue, affecting all souls old and young;
Hands which shed innocent blood, while evil comes on as a flood,
Following that heart of a wicked man, as one devising an evil plan.

With feet that rush to evil ways, in our ever increasing darker days;
A false witness that breaths lies, another thing God does despise;
Also one who does sow discord, among the brothers of The Lord.
Of these seven God speaks of, it is an abomination to Him above.

All of the seven we too must hate, for with God, there's no debate,
As God's principles we will learn, these are more than just concern,
But, are from the very heart of Him, God, Who saved us out of sin,
Saved to live anew in all of our life, all while we live in Jesus Christ.

(Copyright ©06/2012)

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Angels Sing As God Receives Michael Jackson

angels in myriads sing
as God Jesus receives
soul Michael Jackson’s
into eternity his heaven

in America when Michael Jackson promoted
conservation ‘Earth Song’ save peace themes
Michael was sin politically targeted slandered
then Salem witch hunt nationally discredited

We Are The World’ Michael's innocent vision
piano keys poverty black white bones slaughtered
Illuminati enraged plots vile character bite incision
Illuminati hates God love people earth save vision

We Are The World’ this our beautified earth save vision

We are the world We are the children....
Send them your heart So they'll know that someone cares...
As God has shown us by turning stone to bread
So we all must lend a helping hand”

Illuminati plots sows new world order dark enslavement seeds

Illuminati will do anything to destroy
innocent Michael’s legacy influence
executed killed to order not by martyr gun
interesting trying to trace where attacks

upon innocent Michael’s character originated
evidence indicates evil smear campaign of lies
a national priority by several cult organizations
mist mind demons sow hate agenda public arena

this world has slandered attacked and killed
peace makers for thousands of years continuous
when will peace have a chance reign glorious?
like a child enlightened minds promote pious

random fusing might simply bring into meaning
neutralization of different voices violence hating
Michael the two of us need live on earth no more
we spoke words peace love in air from God we bore

Earth Song’ by Michael Jackson carry us to heaven’s door

“What about sunrise?
What about rain?
What about all the things?
That you said we were to gain

What about killing fields?
Is there a time?
What about all the things
That you said was yours and mine?

Did you ever stop to notice
All the blood we've shared before?
Did you ever stop to notice
The crying earth the weeping shores? ...

What have we done to the world?
Look what we've done
What about all the peace
That you pledge your only son?

What about flowering fields?
Is there a time?
What about all the dreams
That you said was yours and mine?

Did you ever stop to notice
All the children dead from war?
Did you ever stop to notice
This crying earth this weeping shore? ...

Did you ever stop to notice
All the blood we've shared before?
Did you ever stop to notice
This crying earth this weeping shore? ”

Angels Sing As God Receives
Michael Jackson Heaven Home

First quotation extract fromWe Are The World’; and second quotation main lyrics fromEarth Song’; written by the inspired innocent mind of the late enlightened Michael Jackson.

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A Wife's Protest


Like a white snowdrop in the spring
From child to girl I grew,
And thought no thought, and heard no word
That was not pure and true.


And when I came to seventeen,
And life was fair and free,
A suitor, by my father's leave,
Was brought one day to me.


“Make me the happiest man on earth,”
He whispered soft and low.
My mother told me it was right
I was too young to know.


And then they twined my bridal wreath
And placed it on my brow.
It seems like fifty years ago —
And I am twenty now.


My star, that barely rose, is set;
My day of hope is done —
My woman's life of love and joy —
Ere it has scarce begun.


Hourly I die — I do not live
Though still so young and strong.
No dumb brute from his brother brutes
Endures such wanton wrong.


A smouldering shame consumes me now —
It poisons all my peace;
An inward torment of reproach
That never more will cease.


O how my spirit shrinks and sinks
Ere yet the light is gone!
What creeping terrors chill my blood
As each black night draws on!


I lay me down upon my bed,
A prisoner on the rack,
And suffer dumbly, as I must,
Till the kind day comes back.


Listening from heavy hour to hour
To hear the church- clock toll —
A guiltless prostitute in flesh,
A murderess in soul.


Those church- bells chimed the marriage chimes
When he was wed to me,
And they must knell a funeral knell
Ere I again am free.


I did not hate him then; in faith
I vowed the vow “I will;”
Were I his mate, and not his slave,
I could perform it still.


But, crushed in these relentless bonds
I blindly helped to tie,
With one way only for escape,
I pray that he may die.


O to possess myself once more,
Myself so stained and maimed!
O to make pure these shuddering limbs
That loveless lust has shamed!


But beauty cannot be restored
Where such a blight has been,
And all the rivers in the world
Can never wash me clean.


I go to church; I go to court;
No breath of scandal flaws
The lustre of my fair repute;
For I obey the laws.


My ragged sister of the street,
Marked for the world's disgrace,
Scarce dares to lift her sinful eyes
To the great lady's face.


She hides in shadows as I pass —
On me the sunbeams shine;
Yet, in the sight of God, her stain
May be less black than mine.


Maybe she gave her all for love,
And did not count the cost;
If so, her crown of womanhood
Was not ignobly lost.


Maybe she wears those wretched rags,
And starves from door to door,
To keep her body for her own
Since it may love no more.


If so, in spite of church and law,
She is more pure than I;
The latchet of those broken shoes
I am not fit to tie.


That hungry baby at her breast —
Sign of her fallen state —
Nature, who would but mock at mine,
Has made legitimate.


Poor little “love- child” — spurned and scorned,
Whom church and law disown,
Thou hadst thy birthright when the seed
Of thy small life was sown.


O Nature, give no child to me,
Whom Love must ne'er embrace!
Thou knowest I could not bear to look
On its reproachful face.

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Charles Kingsley

Christmas Day

How will it dawn, the coming Christmas Day?
A northern Christmas, such as painters love,
And kinsfolk, shaking hands but once a year,
And dames who tell old legends by the fire?
Red sun, blue sky, white snow, and pearled ice,
Keen ringing air, which sets the blood on fire,
And makes the old man merry with the young,
Through the short sunshine, through the longer night?
Or southern Christmas, dark and dank with mist,
And heavy with the scent of steaming leaves,
And rosebuds mouldering on the dripping porch;
One twilight, without rise or set of sun,
Till beetles drone along the hollow lane,
And round the leafless hawthorns, flitting bats
Hawk the pale moths of winter? Welcome then
At best, the flying gleam, the flying shower,
The rain-pools glittering on the long white roads,
And shadows sweeping on from down to down
Before the salt Atlantic gale: yet come
In whatsoever garb, or gay, or sad,
Come fair, come foul, 'twill still be Christmas Day.
How will it dawn, the coming Christmas Day?
To sailors lounging on the lonely deck
Beneath the rushing trade-wind? Or to him,
Who by some noisome harbour of the East,
Watches swart arms roll down the precious bales,
Spoils of the tropic forests; year by year
Amid the din of heathen voices, groaning
Himself half heathen? How to those-brave hearts!
Who toil with laden loins and sinking stride
Beside the bitter wells of treeless sands
Toward the peaks which flood the ancient Nile,
To free a tyrant's captives? How to those-
New patriarchs of the new-found underworld-
Who stand, like Jacob, on the virgin lawns,
And count their flocks' increase? To them that day
Shall dawn in glory, and solstitial blaze
Of full midsummer sun: to them that morn,
Gay flowers beneath their feet, gay birds aloft,
Shall tell of nought but summer: but to them,
Ere yet, unwarned by carol or by chime,
They spring into the saddle, thrills may come
From that great heart of Christendom which beats
Round all the worlds; and gracious thoughts of youth;
Of steadfast folk, who worship God at home;
Of wise words, learnt beside their mothers' knee;
Of innocent faces upturned once again
In awe and joy to listen to the tale
Of God made man, and in a manger laid-
May soften, purify, and raise the soul
From selfish cares, and growing lust of gain,
And phantoms of this dream which some call life,
Toward the eternal facts; for here or there,
Summer or winter, 'twill be Christmas Day.

Blest day, which aye reminds us, year by year,
What 'tis to be a man: to curb and spurn
The tyrant in us; that ignobler self
Which boasts, not loathes, its likeness to the brute,
And owns no good save ease, no ill save pain,
No purpose, save its share in that wild war
In which, through countless ages, living things
Compete in internecine greed.-Ah God!
Are we as creeping things, which have no Lord?
That we are brutes, great God, we know too well;
Apes daintier-featured; silly birds who flaunt
Their plumes unheeding of the fowler's step;
Spiders, who catch with paper, not with webs;
Tigers, who slay with cannon and sharp steel,
Instead of teeth and claws;-all these we are.
Are we no more than these, save in degree?
No more than these; and born but to compete-
To envy and devour, like beast or herb;
Mere fools of nature; puppets of strong lusts,
Taking the sword, to perish with the sword
Upon the universal battle-field,
Even as the things upon the moor outside?
The heath eats up green grass and delicate flowers,
The pine eats up the heath, the grub the pine,
The finch the grub, the hawk the silly finch;
And man, the mightiest of all beasts of prey,
Eats what he lists; the strong eat up the weak,
The many eat the few; great nations, small;
And he who cometh in the name of all-
He, greediest, triumphs by the greed of all;
And, armed by his own victims, eats up all:
While ever out of the eternal heavens
Looks patient down the great magnanimous God,
Who, Maker of all worlds, did sacrifice
All to Himself? Nay, but Himself to one;
Who taught mankind on that first Christmas Day,
What 'twas to be a man; to give, not take;
To serve, not rule; to nourish, not devour;
To help, not crush; if need, to die, not live.
O blessed day, which givest the eternal lie
To self, and sense, and all the brute within;
Oh, come to us, amid this war of life;
To hall and hovel, come; to all who toil
In senate, shop, or study; and to those
Who, sundered by the wastes of half a world,
Ill-warned, and sorely tempted, ever face
Nature's brute powers, and men unmanned to brutes-
Come to them, blest and blessing, Christmas Day.
Tell them once more the tale of Bethlehem;
The kneeling shepherds, and the Babe Divine:
And keep them men indeed, fair Christmas Day.

Eversley, 1868.

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The Death Of Conradin

No cloud to dim the splendour of the day
Which breaks o'er Naples and her lovely bay,
And lights that brilliant sea and magic shore
With every tint that charmed the great of yore-
The imperial ones of earth, who proudly bade
Their marble domes e'en Ocean's realm invade.

That race is gone - but glorious Nature here
Maintains unchanged her own sublime career,
And bids these regions of the sun display
Bright hues, surviving empires pass away.

The beam of heaven expands - its kindling smile
Reveals each charm of many a fairy isle,
Whose image floats, in softer colouring drest,
With all its rocks and vines, on Ocean's breast.
Misenum's cape hath caught the vivid ray,
On Roman streamers there no more to play;
Still, as of old, unalterably bright,
Lovely it sleeps on Posilippo's height,
With all Italia's sunshine to illume
The ilex canopy of Virgil's tomb.
Campania's plains rejoice in light, and spread
Their gay luxuriance o'er the mighty dead;
Fair glittering to thine own transparent skies,
Thy palaces, exulting Naples! rise:
While, far on high, Vesuvius rears his peak,
Furrowed and dark with many a lava streak.

Oh, ye bright shores of Circe and the Muse!
Rich with all Nature's and all fiction's hues;
Who shall explore your regions, and declare
The poet erred to paint Elysium there?
Call up his spirit, wanderer! bid him guide
Thy steps, those siren-haunted seas beside;
And all the scene a lovelier light shall wear,
What though his dust be scattered, and his urn
Long from its sanctuary of slumber torn,
Still dwell the beings of his verse around,
Hovering in beauty o'er the enchanted ground:
His lays are murmured in each breeze that roves
Soft o'er the sunny waves and orange-groves;
His memory's charm is spread o'er shore and sea,
The soul, the genius of Parthenope;
Shedding o'er myrtle shade and vine-clad hill
The purple radiance of Elysium still.

Yet that fair soil and calm resplendent sky
Have witnessed many a dark reality.
Oft o'er those bright blue seas the gale hath borne
The sighs of exiles never to return.
There with the whisper of Campania's gale
Hath mingled oft affection's funeral-wail,
Mourning for buried heroes - while to her
That glowing land was but her sepulchre.
And there, of old, the dread mysterious moan
Swelled from strange voices of no mortal tone
And that wild trumpet, whose unearthly note
Was heard, at midnight, o'er the hills to float
Around the spot where Agrippina died,
Denouncing vengeance on the matricide.

Passed are those ages - yet another crime,
Another woe, must stain the Elysian clime.
There stands a scaffold on the sunny shore -
It must be crimsoned ere the day is o'er!
There is a throne in regal pomp arrayed, -
A scene of death from thence must be surveyed.
Marked ye the rushing throngs? - each mien is pale,
Each hurried glance reveals a fearful tale:
But the deep workings of the indignant breast,
Wrath, hatred, pity, must be all suppressed;
The burning tear awhile must check its course,
The avenging thought concentrate all its force;
For tyranny is near, and will not brook
Aught but submission in each guarded look.

Girt with his fierce Provencals, and with mien
Austere in triumph, gazing on the scene,
And in his eye a keen suspicious glance
Of jealous pride and restless vigilance,
Behold the conqueror! Vainly in his face,
Of gentler feeling hope would seek a trace;
Cold, proud, severe, the spirit which hath lent
Its haughty stamp to each dark lineament;
And pleading mercy, in the sternness there,
May read at once her sentence - to despair!

But thou, fair boy! the beautiful, the brave,
Thus passing from the dungeon to the grave,
While all is yet around thee which can give
A charm to earth, and make it bless to live;
Thou on whose form hath swelt a mother's eye,
Till the deep love that not with thee shall die
Hath grown too full for utterance - Can it be?
And is this pomp of death prepared for

Young, royal Conradin! who shouldst have known
Of life as yet the sunny smile alone!
Oh! who can view thee, in the pride and bloom
Of youth, arrayed so richly for the tomb,
Nor feel, deep swelling in his inmost soul,
Emotions tyranny may ne'er control?
Bright victim! to Ambition's altar led,
Crowned with all flowers that heaven on earth can shed
Who, from the oppressor towering in his pride,
May hope for mercy - if to thee denied?
There is dead silence on the breathless throng,
Dead silence all the peopled shore along,
As on the captive moves - the only sound,
To break that calm so fearfully profound,
The low, sweet murmur of the rippling wave.
Soft as it glides, the smiling shore to lave;
While on that shore, his own fair heritage,
The youthful martyr to a tyrant's rage
Is passing to his fate: the eyes are dim
Which gaze, through tears that dare not flow, on him
He mounts the scaffold - doth his footstep fail?

Doth his lip quiver? doth his cheek turn pale?
Oh! it may be forgiven him if a thought
Cling to that world, for him with beauty fraught,
To all the hopes that promised glory's meed,
And all the affections that with him shall bleed
If, in his life's young dayspring, while the rose
Of boyhood on his cheek yet freshly glows,
One human fear convulse his parting breath,
And shrink from all the bitterness of death!

But no! the spirit of his royal race
Sits brightly on his brow - that youthful face
Beams with heroic beauty, and his eye
Is eloquent with injured majesty.
He kneels - but not to man - his heart shall own
Such deep submission to his God alone!
And who can tell with what sustaining power
That God may visit him in fate's dread hour?
How the still voice, which answers every moan,
May speak of hope - when hope on earth is gone.

That solemn pause is o'er - the youth hath given
One glance of parting love to earth and heaven:
The sun rejoices in the unclouded sky,
Life all around him glows - and he must die!
Yet 'midst his people, undismayed, he throws
The gage of vengeance for a thousand woes;
Vengeance that, like their own volcano's fire,
May sleep suppressed a while - but not expire.
One softer image rises o'er his breast,
One fond regret, and all shall be at rest!
'Alas, for thee, my mother! who shall bear
To thy sad heart the tidings of despair,
When thy lost child is gone?' - that thought can thrill
His soul with pangs one moment more shall still.
The lifted axe is glittering in the sun -
It falls - the race of Conradin is run!
Yet, from the blood which flows that shore to stain,
A voice shall cry to heaven - and not in vain!
Gaze thou, triumphant from thy gorgeous throne,
In proud supremacy of guilt alone,
Charles of Anjou! - but that dread voice shall be
A fearful summoner e'en yet to thee!

The scene of death is closed - the throngs depart,
A deep stern lesson graved on every heart.
No pomp, no funeral rites, no streaming eyes,
High-minded boy! may grace thine obsequies.
Oh, vainly royal and beloved! thy grave,
Unsanctified, is bathed by Ocean's wave;
Marked by no stone, a rude, neglected spot,
Unhonoured, unadorned - but

For thy deep wrongs in tameless hearts shall live,
Now mutely suffering - never to forgive!

The sun fades from purple heavens away -
A bark hath anchored in the unruffled bay;
Thence on the beach descends a female form,
Her mien with hope and tearful transport warm;
But life hath left sad traces on her cheek,
And her soft eyes a chastened heart bespeak,
Inured to woes - yet what were all the past!

sank not feebly 'neath affliction's blast,
While one bright hope remained - who now shall tell
The uncrowned, the widowed, how her loved one fell?
To clasp her child, to ransom and to save,
The mother came - and she hath found his grave!
And by that grave, transfixed in speechless grief,
Whose deathlike trance denies a tear's relief,
Awhile she kneels - till roused at length to know,
To feel the might, the fulness of her woe,
On the still air a voice of anguish wild,
A mother's cry is heard - 'My Conradin! my child!'

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Some Ways Of Looking At A Black Mouse

[to the reader:
This is part of a series poem...this one
follows 'Instead of You Today One Black Mouse'
which should be read before this one for greater
context. There is a playing going on in both
poems which is not only about love had and lost,
a black mouse that shows up, as well as a dove,
the day before the lover returns permanently
to live in native country of India. There is
a Wallace Stevens' playing with notions of
poetry, meaning, and more, and a playing with
language and signs which shall hopefully lend
some jarring but enjoyable takes/slants/songs/

When you see the 'x's
in the poem, read
'times' as in the
math sign for multi-
plication. & of course
the = sign should
be read as 'equals']

keep saying/
writing 'mouth'
when I want to
speak of the
black 'mouse'
which seems to
have left soon
after it appeared
as you departed.

'Mouth' and
'black mouth',
open and shut.

The window,
the casings
fall, clatter
scattering the
dove brown
upon the space
between the
escape escaping
what is become
poise no

'Mouth', the
stronger, is.

Is blackness,
I think, insisting

its way past thinking
into mouth or ink

so it is that
lips which are

sometimes pink,
swollen, as if to

kiss, miss the dove
by a wink, and the

mouse is somewhere


passed to

other spaces

still I feel you,
you're here, big
ears, black fur
of Mind

still love, I moan
this morning saying
aloud before the
covers are kicked

he is gone,
hands x 4

he is gone,
feet x 4

he is gone,
lips x 4

he is gone,
heavy groin x 2

he is gone,
heavy groan x 2

the chimney flue
in a little
breeze from
loosens the ancient
ash from the caked

x countless

number and the
anxious hands, again,
against the grain

x 4

push one finger

x 1

into that ash

x 2 two names

plus 1 subtracted

from the empty

x 1

and another day
of counting



x seconds

of seconds is

begun begging

Love, yes,
backing in

the floor where we
lay our cluttered
clothes deposed

x at least 3

take me once
again one

x infinity

into your arms

x 2

and leave me when
you/we are done doing

x 0

a mere cypher flown
sheer up the flue
into the blue ash
which now the sky



(there is
only one

a dove flies
into some
of memory

or not

x 35 thousand

x plus the time it

takes for you to exit
shedding skins shells
(I am a shell)

x infinity into

the one drain in-
to ocean reflecting
the ash of what remains
of you on the beach
bathing soft Junes,
the organ grinder
smiles/sings 'te
amo, amor fati'
from the boardwalk
Coney cotton candy
disposed in gales
from breaking
waves, tumbles,
smears, speared
on the weathered

x planks from

many trees

x ants in the

roots lumber-
ing their end-
less burdens
black or red
carapaces as
if shining
sand or sugar

x grains untold

as hairs, their
bodies follicles
delicate, when
under the June
glass espied
magnified count-
less, collected,
caught upon the
webbed threads
of your large
soft towel with
the palm tree
sewn upon

that I have burned
in the old grate,
a first fire
long awaited

x 30 years since

the last,
undisturbed by
carbon dates

x all times

black mouth
yawns sun into
the window frame

yellow the
other flame

intended name
smears on the
glass an accidental
pane, Mind

x hands touching it

delicate as trespass
what is allowed lace
of vision

x want

= at last a sum

= a remorse felt



into soft




tur ns


said window

(and torsos)

said prints

views obscured

of nothing

in particular or

special, but

troubles, troubles

only of passing

birds enamored-of

(their lighter


are they

cloud and shadow,

merely the steep

sun declining ashen

into the Jersey side?

glyphs &
Maxwell House
'Good To The Last Drop'
the familiar
cup for decades
tips &




x 0 suspends

o suspends trembling
reflected in the water
river made of the many

countless drops

x (again) infinity

x (surprised) my
father there
(momento mori)

opening the
can all blue with
the same cup tilted
spilling that dark
brown dropp imprinted

x (the

dove, to recall,
brown, shaped like
said drop, now
flown, or) finally
spilled into water,
river currents
downward, to bottom
pulled sort/sift
my father always
complaining of grift,
a weather man by trade,
a cloud man once a pilot
WW2 drifting often since/
enough into sky,
he turns
the silver opener
round and round
with effort, his
arthritic com-
plaints upon the
ridged silver top
of the can blue
with coffee
'course grind'
the better to drip
with within &
that satisfying
hiss of compacted
air hissing out
from within
compressed now
the smell
of coffee fresh
not yet brewed
in the kitchen

the twist of
the edge jagged
silver metal
carefully turned
with fingers to
break the remain-
ing stem of metal
holding the round
to can entire
unsealed now try
without spilling
the grounds

x at least 100 thousand

to guess having no
acumen with numbers
and math but father's
there in the cup tilted
over spilling into
o endlessly
it's seams, it seems
from river bank
into memory which
is, already
overheard redundantly
as river
and time,
this one
now recalled
to Mind, dad,

the cloud drift
and the flows
the tides beside
the city
both sides
is as ancient
as it always was
& is

as in the beginning
was darkness over deep
water & a word, any word
really would do it,
form something
out of deep, of
dark, of water
which shapes it-
self only by outer
in this case
a word
leading up to
this -

Palisades cliffs
above bridge tilt
toward, always,
currents, the river
flows north-
tides rare defy-
ing the moon
that other pull,
live the other
side of
the palm sewn
swaying adhered
to Mind

x 1

still, to pass the
time now

x 1

the sooty hand

x 1

over black
or word 'mouse'
allude perhaps
to river at
city's start
up from water

the silver bay
capped, remembering

x countless

ferries torn

and Tories be-
tween seas
vast to
the east

x duplicating

waves, stretches
the narrows,

the necks with
rocks strewn,

the lonely buoyless
depths their vespers


I am, unkindly,
left remembering
once was laughter

seeking out
between bodies
valleys eternally
shifting eluding

x 1


hand over 'mouse'

or 'mouth' conjured

x 1 more

of sentinel
bells against
each of each

x 2, the legs

x 4, the lips

x myriad ones gone

before, of murmurers

O lover

of thee

I adore

the arms

x no more

This, just to
reintroduce some

for we
were many day-ed

x merry

we merrily played
harming no one,
not even the
mouse unmoved

perhaps, watching
perhaps, still,
still, from beneath
the god you insisted
be excluded from
all our nakedness

x 1 too many breaths

exchanged, groped

x many ropes all our


father loves
with his cup
his pipe songs
of love
of love will
he dance between
the violent fasts
from love,
our mother, with,
fast around around
& around the danced
living room
phonograph brass
loud plays
where June
curtains sway
me and Mr. Miller

I stand behind
them the curtained
dancer entranced
entered into/
upon a mystery
how one could
be so, well,
swell, so
marvelous &
so cruel, (upon
one silver stem
hangs the metal
tin top jags
tears at
memory edge
opens facts


that there was love,
there was love after

I can see
it smell it
feel it there
dancing round
the living

one dropp Mr.
Maxwell holds,
hold on to &
upon goodness
brown pulled
from below down
& dark into deep
such this is
the riddle it is
all now become
since you
departed, love

since you
departed I shall
count backward by
3's then by 4's

door which once
embraced you now
never lets you


x brooms

or releases

x all the x's
here accounted
for, listed,
besos as kisses
scribbles, notes,
no matter
the black or
blue tide

of thee
O lover

slips out
ebbs black
back into lapis

lapses into what
self is

scored trans-
parent upon

faces which are
eyes which now
glaze with love/

beside the flue

glaze upon the

the black
mouse remains

is many,
a multitude
of petals

x 3

the jasmine
at last

at last/least
O return
soft Junes
the lips of
which are
pink, of
swollen, as if
to kiss

x memory

x Maxwell the

house the cup
O Mr. Miller
an O'Day serenade
plays close
...'Hi ho trailus
boot whip
boo boo daddy
floy floy'...

the late night
suppers of chops
the peeled onions
the laughter the
potatoes boil
& bubble in the
pot then
to dance
the butter in
the sizzle in
the cast iron

their vespers
now descant,
...'How high
the moon...

x 1 black 'mouth'

dish it has
all become
feast for
black 'mouth'

& mouse makes again

x 3 the antinomies

a string

of pearls


& thee O lover

bring all them

back, so many,

to me now

x Pennsylvania 6-500.

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The Morning Of The Day Appointed For A General Thanksgiving. January 18, 1816


HAIL, orient Conqueror of gloomy Night!
Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude
On hearts howe'er insensible or rude;
Whether thy punctual visitations smite
The haughty towers where monarchs dwell;
Or thou, impartial Sun, with presence bright
Cheer'st the low threshold of the peasant's cell!
Not unrejoiced I see thee climb the sky
In naked splendour, clear from mist or haze,
Or cloud approaching to divert the rays,
Which even in deepest winter testify
Thy power and majesty,
Dazzling the vision that presumes to gaze.
--Well does thine aspect usher in this Day;
As aptly suits therewith that modest pace
Submitted to the chains
That bind thee to the path which God ordains
That thou shalt trace,
Till, with the heavens and earth, thou pass away!
Nor less, the stillness of these frosty plains,
Their utter stillness, and the silent grace
Of yon ethereal summits white with snow,
(Whose tranquil pomp and spotless purity
Report of storms gone by
To us who tread below)
Do with the service of this Day accord.
--Divinest Object which the uplifted eye
Of mortal man is suffered to behold;
Thou, who upon those snow-clad Heights has poured
Meek lustre, nor forget'st the humble Vale;
Thou who dost warm Earth's universal mould,
And for thy bounty wert not unadored
By pious men of old;
Once more, heart-cheering Sun, I bid thee hail!
Bright be thy course to-day, let not this promise fail!


'Mid the deep quiet of this morning hour,
All nature seems to hear me while I speak,
By feelings urged that do not vainly seek
Apt language, ready as the tuneful notes
That stream in blithe succession from the throats
Of birds, in leafy bower,
Warbling a farewell to a vernal shower.
--There is a radiant though a short-lived flame,
That burns for Poets in the dawning east;
And oft my soul hath kindled at the same,
When the captivity of sleep had ceased;
But He who fixed immoveably the frame
Of the round world, and built, by laws as strong,
A solid refuge for distress--
The towers of righteousness;
He knows that from a holier altar came
The quickening spark of this day's sacrifice;
Knows that the source is nobler whence doth rise
The current of this matin song;
That deeper far it lies
Than aught dependent on the fickle skies.


Have we not conquered?--by the vengeful sword?
Ah no, by dint of Magnanimity;
That curbed the baser passions, and left free
A loyal band to follow their liege Lord
Clear-sighted Honour, and his staid Compeers,
Along a track of most unnatural years;
In execution of heroic deeds
Whose memory, spotless as the crystal beads
Of morning dew upon the untrodden meads,
Shall live enrolled above the starry spheres.
He, who in concert with an earthly string
Of Britain's acts would sing,
He with enraptured voice will tell
Of One whose spirit no reverse could quell;
Of One that 'mid the failing never failed--
Who paints how Britain struggled and prevailed
Shall represent her labouring with an eye
Of circumspect humanity;
Shall show her clothed with strength and skill,
All martial duties to fulfil;
Firm as a rock in stationary fight;
In motion rapid as the lightning's gleam;
Fierce as a flood-gate bursting at midnight
To rouse the wicked from their giddy dream--
Woe, woe to all that face her in the field!
Appalled she may not be, and cannot yield.


And thus is 'missed' the sole true glory
That can belong to human story!
At which they only shall arrive
Who through the abyss of weakness dive.
The very humblest are too proud of heart;
And one brief day is rightly set apart
For Him who lifteth up and layeth low;
For that Almighty God to whom we owe,
Say not that we have vanquished--but that we survive.


How dreadful the dominion of the impure!
Why should the Song be tardy to proclaim
That less than power unbounded could not tame
That soul of Evil--which, from hell let loose,
Had filled the astonished world with such abuse
As boundless patience only could endure?
--Wide-wasted regions--cities wrapt in flame--
Who sees, may lift a streaming eye
To Heaven;--who never saw, may heave a sigh;
But the foundation of our nature shakes,
And with an infinite pain the spirit aches,
When desolated countries, towns on fire,
Are but the avowed attire
Of warfare waged with desperate mind
Against the life of virtue in mankind;
Assaulting without ruth
The citadels of truth;
While the fair gardens of civility,
By ignorance defaced,
By violence laid waste,
Perish without reprieve for flower or tree!


A crouching purpose--a distracted will--
Opposed to hopes that battened upon scorn,
And to desires whose ever-waxing horn
Not all the light of earthly power could fill;
Opposed to dark, deep plots of patient skill,
And to celerities of lawless force;
Which, spurning God, had flung away remorse--
What could they gain but shadows of redress?
--So bad proceeded propagating worse;
And discipline was passion's dire excess.
Widens the fatal web, its lines extend,
And deadlier poisons in the chalice blend.
When will your trials teach you to be wise?
--O prostrate Lands, consult your agonies!


No more--the guilt is banished,
And, with the guilt, the shame is fled;
And, with the guilt and shame, the Woe hath vanished,
Shaking the dust and ashes from her head!
--No more--these lingerings of distress
Sully the limpid stream of thankfulness.
What robe can Gratitude employ
So seemly as the radiant vest of Joy?
What steps so suitable as those that move
In prompt obedience to spontaneous measures
Of glory, and felicity, and love,
Surrendering the whole heart to sacred pleasures?


O Britain! dearer far than life is dear,
If one there be
Of all thy progeny
Who can forget thy prowess, never more
Be that ungrateful Son allowed to hear
Thy green leaves rustle or thy torrents roar.
As springs the lion from his den,
As from a forest-brake
Upstarts a glistering snake,
The bold Arch-despot re-appeared;--again
Wide Europe heaves, impatient to be cast,
With all her armed Powers,
On that offensive soil, like waves upon a thousand shores.
The trumpet blew a universal blast!
But Thou art foremost in the field:--there stand:
Receive the triumph destined to thy hand!
All States have glorified themselves;--their claims
Are weighed by Providence, in balance even;
And now, in preference to the mightiest names,
To Thee the exterminating sword is given.
Dread mark of approbation, justly gained!
Exalted office, worthily sustained!


Preserve, O Lord! within our hearts
The memory of thy favour,
That else insensibly departs,
And loses its sweet savour!
Lodge it within us!--as the power of light
Lives inexhaustibly in precious gems,
Fixed on the front of Eastern diadems,
So shine our thankfulness for ever bright!
What offering, what transcendent monument
Shall our sincerity to Thee present?
--Not work of hands; but trophies that may reach
To highest Heaven--the labour of the Soul;
That builds, as thy unerring precepts teach,
Upon the internal conquests made by each,
Her hope of lasting glory for the whole.
Yet will not heaven disown nor earth gainsay
The outward service of this day;
Whether the worshippers entreat
Forgiveness from God's mercy-seat;
Or thanks and praises to His throne ascend
That He has brought our warfare to an end,
And that we need no second victory!--
Ha! what a ghastly sight for man to see;
And to the heavenly saints in peace who dwell,
For a brief moment, terrible;
But, to thy sovereign penetration, fair,
Before whom all things are, that were,
All judgments that have been, or e'er shall be;
Links in the chain of thy tranquillity!
Along the bosom of this favoured Nation,
Breathe Thou, this day, a vital undulation!
Let all who do this land inherit
Be conscious of thy moving spirit!
Oh, 'tis a goodly Ordinance,--the sight,
Though sprung from bleeding war, is one of pure delight;
Bless Thou the hour, or ere the hour arrive,
When a whole people shall kneel down in prayer,
And, at one moment, in one rapture, strive
With lip and heart to tell their gratitude
For thy protecting care,
Their solemn joy--praising the Eternal Lord
For tyranny subdued,
And for the sway of equity renewed,
For liberty confirmed, and peace restored!


But hark--the summons!--down the placid lake
Floats the soft cadence of the church-tower bells;
Bright shines the Sun, as if his beams would wake
The tender insects sleeping in their cells;
Bright shines the Sun--and not a breeze to shake
The drops that tip the melting icicles.
'O, enter now his temple gate!'
Inviting words--perchance already flung
(As the crowd press devoutly down the aisle
Of some old Minster's venerable pile)
From voices into zealous passion stung,
While the tubed engine feels the inspiring blast,
And has begun--its clouds of sound to cast
Forth towards empyreal Heaven,
As if the fretted roof were riven.
'Us', humbler ceremonies now await;
But in the bosom, with devout respect
The banner of our joy we will erect,
And strength of love our souls shall elevate:
For to a few collected in his name,
Their heavenly Father will incline an ear
Gracious to service hallowed by its aim;--
Awake! the majesty of God revere!
Go--and with foreheads meekly bowed
Present your prayers--go--and rejoice aloud--
The Holy One will hear!
And what, 'mid silence deep, with faith sincere,
Ye, in your low and undisturbed estate,
Shall simply feel and purely meditate--
Of warnings--from the unprecedented might,
Which, in our time, the impious have disclosed;
And of more arduous duties thence imposed
Upon the future advocates of right;
Of mysteries revealed,
And judgments unrepealed,
Of earthly revolution,
And final retribution,--
To his omniscience will appear
An offering not unworthy to find place,
On this high DAY of THANKS, before the
Throne of Grace!

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