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My dear child, you must believe in God despite what the clergy tells you.

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You Must Believe Me

(mayfield)
You must believe me
No matter what the people might say
You must believe me
Darling it just didnt happen that way
No, no it just didnt happen that way
You come home
With something on your mind
Tell me darling
Why are you crying
I said be serious
No time for fun
Youre tryin to tell me
Something that Ive done
The things you heard
Couldnt be denied
But before your opinion
Listen to my side
You must believe me
No matter what the people might say
You must believe me
Darling it just didnt happen that way
No, no it just didnt happen that way
Break
Oh oh
Oh oh
You come home
With something on your mind
Tell me darling
Why are you crying
I said be serious
No time for fun
Youre tryin to tell me
Something that Ive done
The things you heard
Couldnt be denied
But before your opinion
Listen to my side
You must believe me
No matter what the people might say
You must believe me
You must believe me
You must believe me

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Hello Dear Child

Hello dear child
You never mind
When you come to me
Come as fresh and free

Neither have you needed to worry
Nor to feel lonely and sorry
Just pray in a way you like
There is nothing that I may dislike

Why you need flower to offer?
When you are a beautiful flower
You are my special child
To have come in this beautiful world

Just close the eyes and remember
You are nice soul and member
Part of my universe and beautiful flower
Rain god has blessed you with divine shower

Better late than never
Start the day as new beginner
Everything will move on smoothly
Prayers are accepted and go now happily

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O you, dear trees, you have learned so much of beauty

O you, dear trees, you have learned so much of beauty,
You must have studied this only the ages long!
Men have thought of God and laughter and duty.
And of love. And of song.
But you, dear trees, from your birth to your hour of dying,
Have cared for this one way only of being wise.
Lovely, lovely, lovely, the sapling sighing.
Lovely the dead tree lies.

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God It Hurts so Much

I cried to god one day.
As I sat beneath the tree.
I was hoping he would answer me.
I cried lord I can not take this any more.
It hurts to much they'll get me in the end.
I waited for the answer but it didnt come.
I cried dear lord please my demons have won.
As the answer is on its way I heard someone say wait and see.

As I sat beneath the tree
I was hoping god would answer me.
He said my dear child you are protected as one of me.
But now you must flee.
Come back home with me.

As I was under the tree.
I put the final plans in to action.
Then god sent an angel to me.
And I flew back home.
God had answered me.

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Oh Dear Child...

Do not worry dear child
Have faith in what you have left to believe in
You have been deprived from all the goodness in you
Now you lie in nothing but an immortal sin
Your worries no longer exist
All the pain and agony that you’ve once suffered will never take place
Your cries have not been heard
It was the path of pain and sadness you had to chase
Your heart lied in hopelessness
Every hour and day
And now you live in despair
In loneliness and misery that will never be taken away
Your happiness was stolen for no reason at all
Never have you known the meaning of childhood
Never has anyone answered your desperate call
Working all day just to support your family
Was something you knew you had to do
Never have you felt the taste of freedom
You’ve always been someone else other than you
Have you ever asked yourself why?
Why everything turned out wrong?
Have you ever wondered, oh dear child?
Where you truly belong?
Many children out there are being trapped under abuse and war
No one really knows what happens behind these closed doors
If we look deeper into the world
We will discover what we never knew
Now imagine that that poor child was you
How would you feel?
What would you do?

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One Among So Many

. . . In a dark street she met and spoke to me,
Importuning, one wet and mild March night.
We walked and talked together. O her tale
Was very common; thousands know it all!
'Seduced'; a gentleman; a baby coming;
Parents that railed; London; the child born dead;
A seamstress then, one of some fifty girls
'Taken on' a few months at a dressmaker's
In the crush of the 'season' at ten shillings a week!
The fashionable people's dresses done,
And they flown off, these fifty extra girls
Sent — to the streets: that is, to work that gives
Scarcely enough to buy the decent clothes
Respectable employers all demand
Or speak dismissal. Well, well, well, we know!
And she — 'Why, I have gone on down and down,
And there's the gutter, look, that I shall die in!'
'My dear,' I say, 'where hope of all but that
Is gone, 'tis time, I think, life were gone too.'
She looks at me. 'That I should kill myself?'
'That you should kill yourself.' — 'That would be sin,
And God would punish me!' — 'And will not God
Punish for this?' She pauses; then whispers:
'No, no, He will forgive me, for He knows!'
I laughed aloud: 'And you,' she said, 'and you,
Who are so good, so noble' . . . 'Noble? Good?'
I laughed aloud, the great sob in my throat.
O my poor Darling, O my little lost Sheep
Of this vast flock that perishes alone
Out in the pitiless desert! — Yet she'd speak:
She'd ask me: she'd entreat: she'd demonstrate.
O I must not say that! I must believe!
Who made the sea, the leaves so green, the sky
So big and blue and pure above it all?
O my poor Darling, O my little lost Sheep,
Entreat no more and demonstrate no more;
For I believe there is a God, a God
Not in the heaven, the earth, or the waters; no,
But in the heart of Man, on the dear lips
Of angel Women, of heroic Men!
O hopeless Wanderer that would not stay,
('It is too late, I cannot rise again!')
O Saint of faith in love behind the veils,
('You must believe in God, for you are good!')
O Sister who made holy with your kiss,
Your kiss in that wet dark mild night of March,
There in the hideous infamous London streets,
My cheek, and made my soul a sacred place,
my poor Darling, O my little lost Sheep!

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Do You Believe In: Jesus Christ Or The Cosmic Christ?

Easter is a time where we celebrate
the crucifixion of Jesus Christ
who is God Himself who died for our sins,
where we celebrate His resurrection
from death, where we proclaim
that through no other name,
no other person, there is salvation
from the penalty of sin
which the Bible explicitly states as death,

but at this very time there is an attack
on the Godhood of Jesus Christ,
where Afrikaans and English churches
in South Africa, churches throughout
the entire world,
are starting to follow the teachings
that Jesus was but a mere human being.

Where it is argued that God the Father
is guilty of child abuse,
in sending His Son to pay the penalty
for our sins instead of letting us
pay the price for them,
where Jesus Christ who is God Himself,
came down to this earth
to sacrifice His own life for us.

Further it is argued that Jesus Christ
was not resurrected from the grave,
that His body was eaten by dogs,
and that His disciples and apostles
lied about Him appearing to them,

it is argued that Jesus Christ
did not ascend to His Father in heaven
and some of the things
clearly stated in the holy Bible
is being seen as only myth
and thus men are saying
that Jesus Christ was only a man.

This poem is no attack on any church,
but as a follower of Jesus Christ
I see it as my duty
to proclaim Him and a relationship
with Him as the only way to salvation.

Behind the scenes Jesus Christ
who is God and who is
the Son of God, is being debased
to only a son of the gods
and slowly but surely lowered
to the position of only a prophet,

while ecumenism is spreading
to take hands, to find
a universal compatible christ
for all religions world wide
(by uniting Christian
and non-Christian religions)
and the way is opened
for the cosmic christ to appear,
who his believers clearly state
to be another person from Jesus Christ.

According to the Holy Bible
there are only two forces
interacting in this world
and the one is from God
and the other is from Satan
and as a believer
in the holy Bible only
as the word of God,
I choose to follow Jesus Christ
and God leaves a free choice
for whomever you decide to believe in.

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For God So Loved The World

For God so loved the world He gave
His one and only Son,
His Holy Child who was so brave
He did what must be done...
He gave His life, His final breath
That He might be our King...
Behold Jesus of Nazareth,
To us, He's everything!
The God who made the Universe
Can hear us, none ignored
And spare us from Man's sinful curse
By Jesus Christ, the Lord...
For who else died to rescue us,
So many years ago?
He blesses us and lives though us,
If we let His love flow...

God calls us from the Devil's rule,
So we are born again,
To cast away the inner fool
That taunts us now and then...
Forsaking feelings, Christians live,
Past doubts of every kind,
Deciding we can not forgive,
But God helps change our mind...
God's plans for us are Heaven-bound,
Not finished here on Earth,
Where every demon thought is found
And proved to hold no worth...
Did Jesus brave the Cross of Christ,
So we could all be rich?
The Lamb of God was sacrificed,
To grant Mankind God's bridge!

Saint Paul believed God had a plan,
He preached from house-to-house,
In service to his fellow man,
His children and his spouse...
When whipped like Jesus Christ before,
Saint Paul still carried on.
Awaiting miracles in store,
Until his life was gone...
The Church continues to this day,
Blessed by the words Paul wrote,
Because in faith, with much to say,
He shared God's antidote...
The poor, the weak, the frail, the sad,
The lost and lonely, too,
Have found by faith they can be glad
And so, dear friend, can you.

But gladness comes as but a gift,
Something we have not earned,
So as it comes, look up and lift
Your arms with hopes still yearned,
Then pray for others, if you would,
To grant them God's relief,
So that they, too, learn God is good
And turn from disbelief...
For God so loved the world He gave
His one and only Son,
His Holy Child who was so brave
He did what must be done...
He gave His life, His final breath
That He might be our King...
Behold Jesus of Nazareth,
To us, He's everything!

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The Birth of The War-God (Canto Second) - The Address To BRahma

While impious Tárak in resistless might
Was troubling heaven and earth with wild affright,
To Brahmá's high abode, by Indra led,
The mournful deities for refuge fled.
As when the Day-God's loving beams awake
The lotus slumbering on the silver lake,
So Brahmá deigned his glorious face to show,
And poured sweet comfort on their looks of woe.
Then nearer came the suppliant Gods to pay
Honour to him whose face turns every way.
They bowed them low before the Lord of Speech,
And sought with truthful words his heart to reach:
'Glory to Thee! before the world was made,
One single form thy Majesty displayed.
Next Thou, to body forth the mystic Three,
Didst fill three Persons: Glory, Lord, to Thee!
Unborn and unbegotten! from thy hand
The fruitful seed rained down; at thy command
From that small germ o'er quickening waters thrown
All things that move not, all that move have grown.
Before thy triple form in awe they bow:
Maker, preserver, and destroyer, Thou!
Thou, when a longing urged thee to create,
Thy single form in twain didst separate.
The Sire, the Mother that made all things be
By their first union were but parts of Thee.
From them the life that fills this earthly frame,
And fruitful Nature, self-renewing, came.
Thou countest not thy time by mortals' light;
With Thee there is but one vast day and night.
When Brahmá slumbers fainting Nature dies,
When Brahmá wakens all again arise.
Creator of the world, and uncreate!
Endless! all things from Thee their end await.
Before the world wast Thou! each Lord shall fall
Before Thee, mightiest, highest, Lord of all.
Thy self-taught soul thine own deep spirit knows;
Made by thyself thy mighty form arose;
Into the same, when all things have their end,
Shall thy great self, absorbed in Thee, descend.
Lord, who may hope thy essence to declare?
Firm, yet as subtile as the yielding air:
Fixt, all-pervading; ponderous, yet light,
Patent to all, yet hidden from the sight.
Thine are the sacred hymns which mortals raise,
Commencing ever with the word of praise,
With three-toned chant the sacrifice to grace,
And win at last in heaven a blissful place.
They hail Thee Nature labouring to free
The Immortal Soul from low humanity;
Hail Thee the stranger Spirit, unimpressed,
Gazing on Nature from thy lofty rest.
Father of fathers, God of gods art thou,
Creator, highest, hearer of the vow!
Thou art the sacrifice, and Thou the priest,
Thou, he that eateth; Thou, the holy feast.
Thou art the knowledge which by Thee is taught,
The mighty thinker, and the highest thought!'
Pleased with their truthful praise, his favouring eye
He turned upon the dwellers in the sky,
While from four mouths his words in gentle flow
Come welling softly to assuage their woe:
'Welcome! glad welcome, Princes! ye who hold
Your lofty sovereignties ordained of old.
But why so mournful? what has dimmed your light?
Why shine your faces less divinely bright?
Like stars that pour forth weaker, paler gleams,
When the fair moon with brighter radiance beams.
O say, in vain doth mighty Indra bear
The thunderbolt of heaven, unused to spare?
Vritra, the furious fiend, 'twas strong to slay:
Why dull and blunted is that might to-day?
See, Varun's noose hangs idly on his arm,
Like some fell serpent quelled by magic charm.
Weak is Kuvera's hand, his arm no more
Wields the dread mace it once so proudly bore;
But like a tree whose boughs are lopped away,
It tells of piercing woe, and dire dismay.
In days of yore how Yama's sceptre shone!
Fled are its glories, all its terrors gone;
Despised and useless as a quenched brand,
All idly now it marks the yielding sand.
Fallen are the Lords of Light, ere now the gaze
Shrank from the coming of their fearful blaze;
So changed are they, the undazzled eye may see
Like pictured forms, each rayless deity.
Some baffling power has curbed the breezes' swell:
Vainly they chafe against the secret spell.
We know some barrier checks their wonted course,
When refluent waters seek again their source.
The Rudras too—fierce demigods who bear
The curved moon hanging from their twisted hair—
Tell by their looks of fear, and shame, and woe,
Of threats now silenced, of a mightier foe.
Glory and power, ye Gods, were yours of right:
Have ye now yielded to some stronger might,
Even as on earth a general law may be
Made powerless by a special text's decree?
Then say, my sons, why seek ye Brahmá's throne?
'Tis mine to frame the worlds, and yours to guard your own.'
Then Indra turned his thousand glorious eyes,
Glancing like lilies when the soft wind sighs,
And in the Gods' behalf, their mighty chief
Urged the Most Eloquent to tell their grief.
Then rose the heavenly Teacher, by whose side
Dim seemed the glories of the Thousand-eyed,
And with his hands outspread, to Brahmá spake,
Couched on his own dear flower, the daughter of the lake:
'O mighty Being! surely thou dost know
The unceasing fury of our ruthless foe;
For thou canst see the secret thoughts that lie
Deep in the heart, yet open to thine eye.
The vengeful Tárak, in resistless might,
Like some dire Comet, gleaming wild affright,
O'er all the worlds an evil influence sheds,
And, in thy favour strong, destruction spreads.
All bow before him: on his palace wall
The sun's first ray and parting splendour fall;
Ne'er could he waken with a lovelier glance
His own dear lotus from her nightly trance.
For him, proud fiend, the moon no waning knows,
But with unminished full-orbed lustre glows.
Too faint for him the crescent glory set
Amid the blaze of Śiva's coronet.
How fair his garden, where the obedient breeze
Dares steal no blossom from the slumbering trees!
The wild wind checks his blustering pinions there,
And gently whispering fans the balmy air;
While through the inverted year the seasons pour,
To win the demon's grace, their flowery store.
For him, the River-god beneath the stream,
Marks the young pearl increase its silver gleam,
Until, its beauty and its growth complete,
He bears the offering to his master's feet.
The Serpents, led by Vásuki, their king,
Across his nightly path their lustre fling;
Bright as a torch their flashing jewels blaze,
Nor wind, nor rain, can dim their dazzling rays.
E'en Indra, sovereign of the blissful skies,
To gain his love by flattering homage tries,
And sends him oft those flowers of wondrous hue
That on the heavenly tree in beauty grew.
Yet all these offerings brought from day to day,
This flattery, fail his ruthless hand to stay.
Earth, hell, and heaven, beneath his rage must groan,
Till force can hurl him from his evil throne.
Alas! where glowed the bright celestial bowers,
And gentle fair ones nursed the opening flowers,
Where heavenly trees a heavenly odour shed,
O'er a sad desert ruin reigns instead.
He roots up Meru's sacred peaks, where stray
The fiery coursers of the God of Day,
To form bright slopes, and glittering mounds of ease,
In the broad gardens of his palaces.
There, on his couch, the mighty lord is fanned
To sweetest slumber by a heavenly band;
Poor captive nymphs, who stand in anguish by,
dropp the big tear, and heave the ceaseless sigh.
And now have Indra's elephants defiled
The sparkling stream where heavenly Gangá smiled,
And her gold lotuses the fiend has taken
To deck his pools, and left her all forsaken.
The Gods of heaven no more delight to roam
O'er all the world, far from their glorious home.
They dread the demon's impious might, nor dare
Speed their bright chariots through the fields of air.
And when our worshippers in duty bring
The appointed victims for the offering,
He tears them from the flame with magic art,
While we all powerless watch with drooping heart.
He too has stolen from his master's side
The steed of heavenly race, great Indra's pride.
No more our hosts, so glorious once, withstand
The fierce dominion of the demon's hand,
As herbs of healing virtue fail to tame
The sickness raging through the infected frame.
Idly the discus hangs on Vishṇu's neck,
And our last hope is vain, that it would check
The haughty Tárak's might, and flash afar
Ruin and death—the thunderbolt of war.
E'en Indra's elephant has felt the might
Of his fierce monsters in the deadly fight,
Which spurn the dust in fury, and defy
The threatening clouds that sail along the sky.
Therefore, O Lord, we seek a chief, that he
May lead the hosts of heaven to victory,
Even as holy men who long to sever
The immortal spirit from its shell for ever,
Seek lovely Virtue's aid to free the soul
From earthly ties and action's base control.
Thus shall he save us: proudly will we go
Under his escort 'gainst the furious foe;
And Indra, conqueror in turn, shall bring
Fortune, dear captive, home with joy and triumphing.'
Sweet as the rains—the fresh'ning rains—that pour
On the parched earth when thunders cease to roar,
Were Brahmá's words: 'Gods, I have heard your grief;
Wait ye in patience: time will bring relief.
'Tis not for me, my children, to create
A chief to save you from your mournful fate.
Not by my hand the fiend must be destroyed,
For my kind favour has he once enjoyed;
And well ye know that e'en a poisonous tree
By him who planted it unharmed should be.
He sought it eagerly, and long ago
I gave my favour to your demon-foe,
And stayed his awful penance, that had hurled
Flames, death, and ruin o'er the subject world.
When that great warrior battles for his life,
O, who may conquer in the deadly strife,
Save one of Śiva's seed? He is the light,
Reigning supreme beyond the depths of night.
Nor I, nor Vishṇu, his full power may share,
Lo, where he dwells in solitude and prayer!
Go, seek the Hermit in the grove alone,
And to the God be Umá's beauty shown.
Perchance, the Mountain-child, with magnet's force,
May turn the iron from its steadfast course,
Bride of the mighty God; for only she
Can bear to Him as water bears to me.
Then from their love a mighty Child shall rise,
And lead to war the armies of the skies.
Freed by his hand, no more the heavenly maids
Shall twine their glittering hair in mournful braids.'
He spake, and vanished from their wondering sight;
And they sped homeward to their world of light.
But Indra, still on Brahmá's words intent,
To Káma's dwelling-place his footsteps bent.
Swiftly he came: the yearning of his will
Made Indra's lightning course more speedy still.
The Love-God, armed with flowers divinely sweet,
In lowly homage bowed before his feet.
Around his neck, where bright love-tokens clung,
Arched like a maiden's brow, his bow was hung,
And blooming Spring, his constant follower, bore
The mango twig, his weapon famed of yore.

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Believe In God

Believe in God! In His might!
Ram, Allah or Jesus Christ!
As you like; as you trust!


When relatives desert
When friends forget
Still you have on your side
The Omnipotent
To listen to your plight
You yourself will see
His charity melt
Ablating your painful ailment
And filling your heart
With divine fulfillment

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My dear son, you are a man

My dear son, you are a man
Man is not beast and man is not God
And man can not change his nature
My dear man, your source of strength is sun
And sun is in the sky and sky is within you.
My dear son, your body is your chariot
And your chariot is taking you
Where you want to go no matter hell or heaven.
There is nothing like bad or good and
Hell or heaven my dear son
Hell is within you so also heaven.
My dear son, you are a man
Humanity is your identity
And that given to you when you born.

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A child stuck in time

To sleep
to toss and turn
hoping not to dream tonight
in the grips of horrible nighmares
wishing not to see your
face
I'M a child stuck in time
I'm a child bleeding and
crying on the floor after
your done with me
I'm a child wishing for
you to stop hurting me
I'm a child stuck in time
I'm a child that doesnt
laugh only cries and
jumps at any physical touch
I'm a child who only
dreams of your face
I'm a child who thinks every
man is like you good or bad
I'm a child who doesnt believe in God
I'm a child stuck in time

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We Believe In God

We believe in God
And we all need Jesus
'Cause life is hard
And it might not get easier
But don't be afraid
To know who you are
Don't be afraid to show it
If you believe in God
If you say you need Jesus
He'll be where you are
And he never will leave you
Sing to me now words that are true
So all in this place can know it...
We believe in God
And we all need Jesus
We believe in God
And we all need Jesus
We believe in God
And we all need Jesus
Sing to me now words that are true
So all in this place can know it...
We believe in God
And we all need Jesus
We believe in God
And we all need Jesus
We believe in God
And we all need Jesus

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My Dear Child

Come hither my dear child
It's late - The E'en has fallen

Hark now my dear child
Hie to bed - Thou should'st

Thee forgot thy keys again my dear child
Wait for thou - I must

Methinks that it's getting late my dear child
Perchance - Something has happened to her

Wherefore have thou forgotten thy keys my dear child
I sit here heavy - Awaiting your anon arrival

Wherefore have thou left aroint from me my dear child
I lie here and pray - That thee arrives safely

Doth thou not realise of your keys my dear child
Why art thou - Do this oft to me and leave me heavy

Hark she has arrived my dear child
Mark me - Thou would'st not do this again

Hark now my dear child
Hie to your bed - Aroint in your dreams

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Dear teacher, you are …

Dear teacher, you are …

the guiding light of knowledge in life
that dispels darkness of ignorance
the second parent who cares for me
in every want and makes me feel fitter

the star of hope and succor
that goads me do things always better
the visible demi-god who loves
to see me climb life's ladder's rungs with success

the role-model of virtues
and of etiquette
the example of a good human being
par excellence

the edifice of greatness
that turns monumental with time
the connoisseur of my thoughts,
dreams and desires

the friend most trustworthy
beloved and respectable
the trainer who ‘canes' me
with counsel of wordy discourse

the fountain of knowledge
that appeases my thirsty mind and heart
the spark of curiosity
that enflames my soul in search of truth

the best person next to my parents,
I have or ever had!
the unknown truth behind
my every success in life.

So, ‘Happy teachers' Day! '
I wish you from my heart.
May you live long, healthy, wealthy
Until you finally depart!

Most respectfully and lovingly dedicated to
All my dear teachers from school to college,
Who make me a better individual all the time!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 05-09-2012

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We Must Believe

_'Lord, I believe: help Thou mine unbelief.'_


We must believe--
Being from birth endowed with love and trust--
Born unto loving;--and how simply just
That love--that faith!--even in the blossom-face
The babe drops dreamward in its resting-place,
Intuitively conscious of the sure
Awakening to rapture ever pure
And sweet and saintly as the mother's own,
Or the awed father's, as his arms are thrown
O'er wife and child, to round about them weave
And wind and bind them as one harvest-sheaf
Of love--to cleave to, and _forever_ cleave....
Lord, I believe:
Help Thou mine unbelief.

We must believe--
Impelled since infancy to seek some clear
Fulfillment, still withheld all seekers here;--
For never have we seen perfection nor
The glory we are ever seeking for:
But we _have_ seen--all mortal souls as one--
Have seen its _promise_, in the morning sun--
Its blest assurance, in the stars of night;--
The ever-dawning of the dark to light;--
The tears down-falling from all eyes that grieve--
The eyes uplifting from all deeps of grief,
Yearning for what at last we shall receive....
Lord, I believe:
Help Thou mine unbelief.

We must believe--
For still all unappeased our hunger goes,
From life's first waking, to its last repose:
The briefest life of any babe, or man
Outwearing even the allotted span,
Is each a life unfinished--incomplete:
For these, then, of th' outworn, or unworn feet
Denied one toddling step--O there must be
Some fair, green, flowery pathway endlessly
Winding through lands Elysian! Lord, receive
And lead each as Thine Own Child--even the Chief
Of us who didst Immortal life achieve....
Lord, I believe:
Help Thou mine unbelief.

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On the Sea

I.
My God, break not the breakers of the sea,
Nor command to the deep, 'Become dry'.
Until I thank Your mercies, and I thank
The waves of the sea and the wind of the west;
Let them propel me to the place of the yoke of Your love,
And bear far from me the Arab yoke.
And how shall my desires not find fulfillment,
Seeing as I trust in You, and You are pledged to me?

II.
Has the flood come again and made the world a waste
So that one cannot see the face of the dry land,
And no man is there and no beast and no bird?
Have they all come to an end and lain down in sorrow?
To see even a mountain or a marsh would be a rest for me,
And the desert itself would be sweet.
But I look on every side and there is nothing
But water and sky and ark,
And Leviathan causing the abyss to boil,
So that one considers the deep to be hoary,
And the heart of the sea conceals the ship
As though she were a stolen thing in the sea's hand.
As the sea rages, my soul is jubilant -
For my ship draws near to the sanctuary of her God.

III.
To You my soul turns in trust or fear,
It is to you that she always gives thanks and worship;
In You I rejoice on the day I wander forth and flee,
And You I thank in every flight and wandering. -
Indeed, when the ship, to bear me over, spreads out wings like the wings of a stork,
And when the deep groans and roars beneath me,
As though it had learned from my own entrails,
And makes the abyss to boil like a pot,
Indeed, turns the sea into a pot of burning ointment;
And when the ship from Kittim comes to the sea of the Philistines
And the Hittites come down to the stronghold;
And when creatures press upon the ship
And sea-monsters watch for food,
And there is a time of trouble as of one that brings forth her first child,
When children have approached their birth
But there is no strength to bring them forth.
And though I should lack for food and drink,
I take the sweetness of Your name into my mouth for sustenance;
And I have no care for worldly goods,
Nor for treasures nor for any perishables -
Even so far that I can leave behind [in Spain] her that went forth of my loins,
Sister of my soul - and she my only daughter -
And I can forget her son, though it pierces my heart,
And I have nothing left but his memory for a symbol -
Fruit of my loins, child of my delight -
Ah! How should Yehudah forget [my grandson] Yehudah?
But this is a light thing compared to Your love,
Since I may enter Your gates with thanksgiving,
And sojourn there, and count my heart
A burnt offering bound upon Your altar;
And may make my grave in Your land,
So that it be there a witness for me.

IV.
This is your wind, O perfumed west,
With spikenard and apple in his wings!
You come forth of the treasures of the spice traders -
You are not of the treasures of the wind.
You propel me on swallow's wings, and proclaim liberty for me;
Like pure myrrh from the bundle of spices you have selected.
How men must long for you, which for your sake
Ride over the crest of the sea on the back of a plank!
Stay not your hand from the ship
Either when day abides or in the cool breath of the night;
But beat out the deep, and tear the heart of the seas
And touch the holy mountains, and there will you rest.
Reprimand the east wind which tosses the sea into tempest
Until he makes its heart like a seething pot.
What shall the captive do, in the hand of God,
One moment held back, and one moment sent forth free?
Truly the secret of my quest is in the hand of the Highest,
Who formed the mountain heights and created the wind.

V.
My desire for the living God has constrained me
To seek the place of the throne of my annointed -
Even so that it has not suffered me to kiss
The children of my house, my friends, and my brethren;
And that I do not weep for the orchard which I planted and watered,
Nor for my green shoots that prospered;
And that I abandoned Yehudah and Azariel,
My two beautiful choice flowers;
And Yitzhak, whom I counted as my child,
Fruit of the sun, best of the growth of my moons;
And that I have all but forgotten the house of prayer
In whose place of learning was my rest,
And that I forget the delights of my Sabbaths,
The beauty of my festivals, the glory of my Passovers,
And have given my glory unto others,
And renounced my praise unto graven images.
I have exchanged my abode for a shadow of shrubs,
And for a hedge in the thicket my strong bars;
My soul is satisfied with the chief spices,
And the scent of the thornbush I use now for perfume;
And I have ceased to walk with my face bending to the ground [in forced servility to other men]
But have set my paths in the heart of the seas -
With the ultimate goal that I may find the footstool of my God,
And be able to pour out my soul with my thoughts,
And stand at the threshold of His holy mount and set open
Towards the doors of Heaven's gates, my doors,
And suffer my spikenard to flower by the waters of the Jordan,
And put forth my shoots by Siloah.
The Lord is with me, how shall I fear or dread,
Since the angel of His mercy bears my weapons?
I shall praise His name while I still am alive,
And thank Him for eternity.

VI.
I say in the heart of the seas to the quaking heart,
Fearing greatly because they lift up their waves;
If you believe in God who made the sea,
And whose Name stands for eternity,
The sea shall not frighten you when its waves rise up,
For with you is One who has set a bound to the sea.
VII.
I cry out to God with a melting heart and knees that strike against each other,
While anguish is in all loins,
On a day when the oarsmen are astounded at the deep,
When even the pilots find not their hands.
How shall I be otherwise, since I, on a ship's deck,
Suspended between the waters and the heavens,
Am dancing and tossed about?
But this is merely a light thing,
If I may eventually hold a joyous dance in the midst of you, O Jerusalem!

VIII.
Call greeting unto daughters and relatives,
Peace to brothers and to sisters,
From the captive of hope who is possessed by the sea,
And has placed his spirit in the hand of the winds,
Thrust by the hand of the west into the hand of the east:
This one passes to lead on, and that one to thrust back.
Between him and death is but a step,
Yes, between them is merely the thickness of a plank;
Buried alive in a coffin of wood,
Upon no floor, with no four cubits of earth,
Nor even with less.
He sits - he cannot stand upon his feet,
He lies down - he cannot stretch them forth;
Sick and afraid because of the heathen
And because of the marauders and the winds.
The pilot and the mariner, and all their rabble -
They are the rulers and captains there.
Fame is not to the wise, nor yet favor to skilled men,
Save only to those that have skill to swim.
My face is troubled at this for a moment
(How should the innermost heart rejoice?),
Until I pour out my soul into the bosom of God,
Before the place of the Ark and the altars,
And bestow upon God, who bestows good things upon the unworthy,
The goodness of songs and praise.


translated by Nina Salaman

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The Birth of The War-God (Canto Third ) - The Death of Love

Is eager gaze the sovereign of the skies
looked full on Káma with his thousand eyes:
E'en such a gaze as trembling suppliants bend,
When danger threatens, on a mighty friend.
Close by his side, where Indra bade him rest,
The Love-God sate, and thus his lord addressed:
'All-knowing Indra, deign, my Prince, to tell
Thy heart's desire in earth, or heaven, or hell:
Double the favour, mighty sovereign, thou
Hast thought on Káma, O, command him now:
Who angers thee by toiling for the prize,
By penance, prayer, or holy sacrifice?
What mortal being dost thou count thy foe?
Speak, I will tame him with my darts and bow.
Has some one feared the endless change of birth,
And sought the path that leads the soul from earth?
Slave to a glancing eye thy foe shall bow,
And own the witchery of a woman's brow;
E'en though the object of thine envious rage
Were taught high wisdom by the immortal sage,
With billowy passions will I whelm his soul,
Like rushing waves that spurn the bank's control.
Or has the ripe full beauty of a spouse,
Too fondly faithful to her bridal vows,
Ravished thy spirit from thee? Thine, all thine
Around thy neck her loving arms shall twine.
Has thy love, jealous of another's charms,
Spurned thee in wrath when flying to her arms?
I'll rack her yielding bosom with such pain,
Soon shall she be all love and warmth again,
And wildly fly in fevered haste to rest
Her aching heart close, close to thy dear breast.
Lay, Indra, lay thy threatening bolt aside:
My gentle darts shall tame the haughtiest pride,
And all that war with heaven and thee shall know
The magic influence of thy Káma's bow;
For woman's curling lip shall bow them down,
Fainting in terror at her threatening frown.
Flowers are my arms, mine only warrior Spring,
Yet in thy favour am I strong, great King.
What can their strength who draw the bow avail
Against my matchless power when I assail?
Strong is the Trident-bearing God, yet he,
The mighty Śiva, e'en, must yield to me.'
Then Indra answered with a dawning smile,
Resting his foot upon a stool the while:
'Dear God of Love, thou truly hast displayed
The power unrivalled of thy promised aid.
My hope is all in thee: my weapons are
The thunderbolt and thou, more mighty far.
But vain, all vain the bolt of heaven to fright
Those holy Saints whom penance arms aright.
Thy power exceeds all bound: thou, only thou,
All-conquering Deity, canst help me now!
Full well I know thy nature, and assign
This toil to thee, which needs a strength like thine:
As on that snake alone will Krishṇa rest,
That bears the earth upon his haughty crest.
Our task is well-nigh done: thy boasted dart
Has power to conquer even Śiva's heart.
Hear what the Gods, oppressed with woe, would fain
From mighty Śiva through thine aid obtain.
He may beget—and none in heaven but he—A
chief to lead our hosts to victory.
But all his mind with holiest lore is fraught,
Bent on the Godhead is his every thought.
Thy darts, O Love, alone can reach him now,
And lure his spirit from the hermit vow.
Go, seek Himálaya's Mountain-child, and aid
With all thy loveliest charms the lovely maid,
So may she please his fancy: only she
May wed with Śiva: such the fixt decree.
E'en now my bands of heavenly maids have spied
Fair Umá dwelling by the Hermit's side.
There by her father's bidding rests she still,
Sweet minister, upon the cold bleak hill.
Go, Káma, go! perform this great emprise,
And free from fear the Rulers of the Skies;
We need thy favour, as the new-sown grain
Calls for the influence of the gentle rain.
Go, Káma, go! thy flowery darts shall be
Crowned with success o'er this great deity.
Yea, and thy task is e'en already done,
For praise and glory are that instant won
When a bold heart dares manfully essay
The deed which others shrink from in dismay.
Gods are thy suppliants, Káma, and on thee
Depends the triple world's security.
No cruel deed will stain thy flowery bow:
With all thy gentlest, mightiest valour, go!
And now, Disturber of the spirit, see
Spring, thy beloved, will thy comrade be,
And gladly aid thee Śiva's heart to tame:
None bids the whispering Wind, and yet he fans the flame.'
He spake, and Káma bowed his bright head down,
And took his bidding like a flowery crown.
Above his wavy curls great Indra bent,
And fondly touched his soldier ere he went,
With that hard hand—but, O, how gentle now—
That fell so heavy on his elephant's brow.
Then for that snow-crowned hill he turned away,
Where all alone the heavenly Hermit lay.
His fearful Rati and his comrade Spring
Followed the guidance of Love's mighty king.
There will he battle in unwonted strife,
Return a conqueror or be reft of life.
How fair was Spring! To fill the heart with love,
And lure the Hermit from his thoughts above,
In that pure grove he grew so heavenly bright
That Káma's envy wakened at the sight.
Now the bright Day-God turned his burning ray
To where Kuvera holds his royal sway,
While the sad South in whispering breezes sighed
And mourned his absence like a tearful bride.
Then from its stem the red Aśoka threw
Full buds and flowerets of celestial hue,
Nor waited for the maiden's touch, the sweet
beloved pressure of her tinkling feet.
There grew Love's arrow, his dear mango spray,
Winged with young leaves to speed its airy way,
And at the call of Spring the wild bees came,
Grouping the syllables of Káma's name.
How sighed the spirit o'er that loveliest flower
That boasts no fragrance to enrich its dower!
For Nature, wisest mother, oft prefers
To part more fairly those good gifts of hers.
There from the tree Palása blossoms spread,
Curved like the crescent moon, their rosiest red,
With opening buds that looked as if young Spring
Had pressed his nails there in his dallying:
Sweet wanton Spring, to whose enchanting face
His flowery Tilaka gave fairer grace:
Who loves to tint his lip, the mango spray,
With the fresh colours of the early day,
And powder its fine red with many a bee
That sips the oozing nectar rapturously.
The cool gale speeding o'er the shady lawns
Shook down the sounding leaves, while startled fawns
Ran wildly at the viewless foe, all blind
With pollen wafted by the fragrant wind.
Sweet was the Köil's voice, his neck still red
With mango buds on which he late had fed:
Twas as the voice of Love to bid the dame
Spurn her cold pride, nor quench the gentle flame.
What though the heat has stained the tints that dyed
With marvellous bloom the heavenly minstrel's bride?
Neither her smile nor sunny glances fail:
Bright is her lip, although her check be pale
E'en the pure hermits owned the secret power
Of warm Spring coming in unwonted hour,
While Love's delightful witchery gently stole
With strong sweet influence o'er the saintly soul.
On came the Archer-God, and at his side
The timid Rati, his own darling bride,
While breathing nature showed how deep it felt,
At passion's glowing touch, the senses melt.
For there in eager love the wild bee dipp'd
In the dark flower-cup where his partner sipp'd.
Here in the shade the hart his horn declined,
And, while joy closed her eyes, caressed the hind.
There from her trunk the elephant had poured
A lily-scented stream to cool her lord,
While the fond love-bird by the silver flood
Gave to his mate the tasted lotus bud.
Full in his song the minstrel stayed to sip
The heavenlier nectar of his darling's lip.
Pure pearls of heat had late distained the dye,
But flowery wine was sparkling in her eye.
How the young creeper's beauty charmed the view,
Fair as the fairest maid, as playful too!
Here some bright blossoms, lovelier than the rest,
In full round beauty matched her swelling breast.
Here in a thin bright line, some delicate spray,
Red as her lip, ravished the soul away.
And then how loving, and how close they clung
To the tall trees that fondly o'er them hung!
Bright, heavenly wantons poured the witching strain,
Quiring for Śiva's ear, but all in vain.
No charmer's spell may check the firm control
Won by the holy o'er the impassioned soul.
The Hermit's servant hasted to the door:
In his left hand a branch of gold he bore.
He touched his lip for silence: 'Peace! be still!
Nor mar the quiet of this holy hill.'
He spake: no dweller of the forest stirred,
No wild bee murmured, hushed was every bird.
Still and unmoved, as in a picture stood
All life that breathed within the waving wood.
As some great monarch when he goes to war
Shuns the fierce aspect of a baleful star,
So Káma hid him from the Hermit's eye,
And sought a path that led unnoticed by,
Where tangled flowers and clustering trailers spread
Their grateful canopy o'er Śiva's head.
Bent on his hardy enterprise, with awe
The Three-eyed Lord—great Penitent—he saw.
There sate the God beneath a pine-tree's shade,
Where on a mound a tiger's skin was laid.
Absorbed in holiest thought, erect and still,
The Hermit rested on the gentle hill.
His shoulders drooping down, each foot was bent
Beneath the body of the Penitent.
With open palms the hands were firmly pressed,
As though a lotus lay upon his breast.
A double rosary in each ear, behind
With wreathing serpents were his locks entwined.
His coat of hide shone blacker to the view
Against his neck of brightly beaming blue.
How wild the look, how terrible the frown
Of his dark eyebrows bending sternly down!
How fiercely glared his eyes' unmoving blaze
Fixed in devotion's meditating gaze:
Calm as a full cloud resting on a hill,
A waveless lake when every breeze is still,
Like a torch burning in a sheltered spot,
So still was he, unmoving, breathing not.
So full the stream of marvellous glory poured
from the bright forehead of that mighty Lord,
Pale seemed the crescent moon upon his head,
And slenderer than a slender lotus thread.
At all the body's nine-fold gates of sense
He had barred in the pure Intelligence,
To ponder on the Soul which sages call
Eternal Spirit, highest, over all.
How sad was Káma at the awful sight,
How failed his courage in a swoon of fright!
As near and nearer to the God he came
Whom wildest thought could never hope to tame,
Unconsciously his hands, in fear and woe,
Dropped the sweet arrows and his flowery bow.
But Umá came with all her maiden throng,
And Káma's fainting heart again was strong;
Bright flowers of spring, in every lovely hue,
Around the lady's form rare beauty threw.
Some clasped her neck like strings of purest pearls,
Some shot their glory through her wavy curls.
Bending her graceful head as half-oppressed
With swelling charms even too richly blest,
Fancy might deem that beautiful young maiden
Some slender tree with its sweet flowers o'erladen.
From time to time her gentle hand replaced
The flowery girdle slipping from her waist:
It seemed that Love could find no place more fair,
So hung his newest, dearest bowstring there.
A greedy bee kept hovering round to sip
The fragrant nectar of her blooming lip.
She closed her eyes in terror of the thief,
And beat him from her with a lotus leaf.
The angry curl of Rati's lip confessed
The shade of envy that stole o'er her breast.
Through Káma's soul fresh hope and courage flew,
As that sweet vision blessed his eager view.
So bright, so fair, so winning soft was she,
Who could not conquer in such company?
Now Umá came, fair maid, his destined bride,
With timid steps approaching Śiva's side.
In contemplation will he brood no more,
He sees the Godhead, and his task is o'er.
He breathes, he moves, the earth begins to rock,
The Snake, her bearer, trembling at the shock.
Due homage then his own dear servant paid,
And told him of the coming of the maid.
He learnt his Master's pleasure by the nod,
And led Himálaya's daughter to the God.
Before his feet her young companions spread
Fresh leaves and blossoms as they bowed the head,
While Umá stooped so low, that from her hair
Dropped the bright flower that starred the midnight there.
To him whose ensign bears the bull she bent,
Till each spray fell, her ear's rich ornament.
'Sweet maid,' cried Śiva, 'surely thou shalt be
Blessed with a husband who loves none but thee!'
Her fear was banished, and her hope was high:
A God had spoken, and Gods cannot lie.
Rash as some giddy moth that wooes the flame,
Love seized the moment, and prepared to aim.
Close by the daughter of the Mountain-King,
He looked on Śiva, and he eyed his string.
While with her radiant hand fair Umá gave
A rosary, of the lotuses that lave
Their beauties in the heavenly Gangá's wave,
And the great Three-Eyed God was fain to take
The offering for the well-loved suppliant's sake,
On his bright bow Love placed the unerring dart,
The soft beguiler of the stricken heart.
Like the Moon's influence on the sea at rest,
Came passion stealing o'er the Hermit's breast,
While on the maiden's lip that mocked the dye
Of ripe red fruit, he bent his melting eye.
And oh! how showed the lady's love for him,
The heaving bosom, and each quivering limb!
Like young Kadambas, when the leaf-buds swell,
At the warm touch of Spring they love so well.
But still, with downcast eyes, she sought the ground,
And durst not turn their burning glances round.
Then with strong effort, Śiva lulled to rest,
The storm of passion in his troubled breast,
And seeks, with angry eyes that round him roll,
Whence came the tempest o'er his tranquil soul.
He looked, and saw the bold young archer stand,
His bow bent ready in his skilful hand,
Drawn towards the eye; his shoulder well depressed,
And the left foot thrown forward as a rest.
Then was the Hermit-God to madness lashed,
Then from his eye red flames of fury flashed.
So changed the beauty of that glorious brow,
Scarce could the gaze support its terror now.
Hark! heavenly voices sighing through the air:
'Be calm, great Śiva, O be calm and spare!'
Alas! that angry eye's resistless flashes
Have scorched the gentle King of Love to ashes!
But Rati saw not, for she swooned away;
Senseless and breathless on the earth she lay;
Sleep while thou mayst, unconscious lady, sleep!
Soon wilt thou rise to sigh and wake to weep.
E'en as the red bolt rives the leafy bough,
So Śiva smote the hinderer of his vow;
Then fled with all his train to some lone place
Far from the witchery of a female face.
Sad was Himaláya's daughter: grief and shame
O'er the young spirit of the maiden came:
Grief—for she loved, and all her love was vain;
Shame—she was spurned before her youthful train.
She turned away, with fear and woe oppressed,
To hide her sorrow on her father's breast;
Then, in the fond arms of her pitying sire,
Closed her sad eyes for fear of Śiva's ire.
Still in his grasp the weary maiden lay,
While he sped swiftly on his homeward way.
Thus have I seen the elephant stoop to drink,
And lift a lily from the fountain's brink.
Thus, when he rears his mighty head on high,
Across his tusks I've seen that lily lie.

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You must believe in God in spite of what the clergy say.

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You must believe in God, in spite of what the clergy say.

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