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Imagination is but another name for super intelligence.

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O my love is another name for pain

O my love is another name for pain
It has taken control over my brain
It drives me crazy again and again!

She attracted me by wild temptation
She has broken my heart by deception
But she is still my infatuation!

Now it makes no difference where I am
As if I keep waiting in traffic jam
And I can see her with my brain's webcam!

Now her irresistible attraction
Has driven me into defamation
How can I get rid of this condition!

O my God knows I have done nothing wrong
But without her my nights and days seem long
Is she a human and I am King Kong!

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Just Another Name For Rock & Roll

Bill dees
Well you can act like a monkey, shake your hands do the limbo till you cant stand,
Well you can mash your potata, hippy hippy shake, but the beats still wild and your feet still ache
I say its just another name for rock and roll everybody, everybody sing
Its just another name for rock and roll, rock and roll
Well you can do the duck, walk your dog down the street, loop the loop to a swingin beat,
You can twist and shout and do the stomp, a chase a chicken on a pony romp ah but
Its just another name for rock and roll everybody, everybody sing,
Its just another name for rock and roll, rock and roll
Well they all try to shake it another way, but they rock, they roll just the same
They only call it by another name and I dont care what they say, woah,oh,oh
Down in the jungle where the tree tops are steep, they get the fever for a bongo beat,
They do the ubangie stomp, the safari hop, do the monkey until they drop
Ah but its just another name for rock and roll everybody,everybody sing
Its just another name for rock and roll, everybody,everybody sing
Its just another name for rock and roll everybody,everybody sing.......

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Another Name

The child is considered as another name for God
This was taught to us in school and clearly told
Take their words for granted as they are truly felt
The fragrance is not seen but always smelt

We have to bow and praise their innocence
We can pick message and its essence
What we need today is pure form of acceptance
If God is there, and if any, must be realized at once

They see everything pleasant around
The joy and happiness can always be found
They worry for nothing and make you smile
They speak broken words in their own style

You forget everything for that particular moment
You feel everything is in order and heavenly sent
No fear grips you and bothers as long as they are with you
The psychology favors such situation and it is true

To have child is really a blessing
You don’t have to run after it for tracing
Life remains totally changed with all round happiness
Peace and happiness is reflected on the face

See the cause in their smile
Try to understand them for a while
Nothing may trouble you even for a second
Child is really a true messenger with bond

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Book Fourteenth [conclusion]

In one of those excursions (may they ne'er
Fade from remembrance!) through the Northern tracts
Of Cambria ranging with a youthful friend,
I left Bethgelert's huts at couching-time,
And westward took my way, to see the sun
Rise, from the top of Snowdon. To the door
Of a rude cottage at the mountain's base
We came, and roused the shepherd who attends
The adventurous stranger's steps, a trusty guide;
Then, cheered by short refreshment, sallied forth.

It was a close, warm, breezeless summer night,
Wan, dull, and glaring, with a dripping fog
Low-hung and thick that covered all the sky;
But, undiscouraged, we began to climb
The mountain-side. The mist soon girt us round,
And, after ordinary travellers' talk
With our conductor, pensively we sank
Each into commerce with his private thoughts:
Thus did we breast the ascent, and by myself
Was nothing either seen or heard that checked
Those musings or diverted, save that once
The shepherd's lurcher, who, among the crags,
Had to his joy unearthed a hedgehog, teased
His coiled-up prey with barkings turbulent.
This small adventure, for even such it seemed
In that wild place and at the dead of night,
Being over and forgotten, on we wound
In silence as before. With forehead bent
Earthward, as if in opposition set
Against an enemy, I panted up
With eager pace, and no less eager thoughts.
Thus might we wear a midnight hour away,
Ascending at loose distance each from each,
And I, as chanced, the foremost of the band;
When at my feet the ground appeared to brighten,
And with a step or two seemed brighter still;
Nor was time given to ask or learn the cause,
For instantly a light upon the turf
Fell like a flash, and lo! as I looked up,
The Moon hung naked in a firmament
Of azure without cloud, and at my feet
Rested a silent sea of hoary mist.
A hundred hills their dusky backs upheaved
All over this still ocean; and beyond,
Far, far beyond, the solid vapours stretched,
In headlands, tongues, and promontory shapes,
Into the main Atlantic, that appeared
To dwindle, and give up his majesty,
Usurped upon far as the sight could reach.
Not so the ethereal vault; encroachment none
Was there, nor loss; only the inferior stars
Had disappeared, or shed a fainter light
In the clear presence of the full-orbed Moon,
Who, from her sovereign elevation, gazed
Upon the billowy ocean, as it lay
All meek and silent, save that through a rift--
Not distant from the shore whereon we stood,
A fixed, abysmal, gloomy, breathing-place--
Mounted the roar of waters, torrents, streams
Innumerable, roaring with one voice!
Heard over earth and sea, and, in that hour,
For so it seemed, felt by the starry heavens.

When into air had partially dissolved
That vision, given to spirits of the night
And three chance human wanderers, in calm thought
Reflected, it appeared to me the type
Of a majestic intellect, its acts
And its possessions, what it has and craves,
What in itself it is, and would become.
There I beheld the emblem of a mind
That feeds upon infinity, that broods
Over the dark abyss, intent to hear
Its voices issuing forth to silent light
In one continuous stream; a mind sustained
By recognitions of transcendent power,
In sense conducting to ideal form,
In soul of more than mortal privilege.
One function, above all, of such a mind
Had Nature shadowed there, by putting forth,
'Mid circumstances awful and sublime,
That mutual domination which she loves
To exert upon the face of outward things,
So moulded, joined, abstracted, so endowed
With interchangeable supremacy,
That men, least sensitive, see, hear, perceive,
And cannot choose but feel. The power, which all
Acknowledge when thus moved, which Nature thus
To bodily sense exhibits, is the express
Resemblance of that glorious faculty
That higher minds bear with them as their own.
This is the very spirit in which they deal
With the whole compass of the universe:
They from their native selves can send abroad
Kindred mutations; for themselves create
A like existence; and, whene'er it dawns
Created for them, catch it, or are caught
By its inevitable mastery,
Like angels stopped upon the wing by sound
Of harmony from Heaven's remotest spheres.
Them the enduring and the transient both
Serve to exalt; they build up greatest things
From least suggestions; ever on the watch,
Willing to work and to be wrought upon,
They need not extraordinary calls
To rouse them; in a world of life they live,
By sensible impressions not enthralled,
But by their quickening impulse made more prompt
To hold fit converse with the spiritual world,
And with the generations of mankind
Spread over time, past, present, and to come,
Age after age, till Time shall be no more.
Such minds are truly from the Deity,
For they are Powers; and hence the highest bliss
That flesh can know is theirs--the consciousness
Of Whom they are, habitually infused
Through every image and through every thought,
And all affections by communion raised
From earth to heaven, from human to divine;
Hence endless occupation for the Soul,
Whether discursive or intuitive;
Hence cheerfulness for acts of daily life,
Emotions which best foresight need not fear,
Most worthy then of trust when most intense.
Hence, amid ills that vex and wrongs that crush
Our hearts--if here the words of Holy Writ
May with fit reverence be applied--that peace
Which passeth understanding, that repose
In moral judgments which from this pure source
Must come, or will by man be sought in vain.

Oh! who is he that hath his whole life long
Preserved, enlarged, this freedom in himself?
For this alone is genuine liberty:
Where is the favoured being who hath held
That course unchecked, unerring, and untired,
In one perpetual progress smooth and bright?--
A humbler destiny have we retraced,
And told of lapse and hesitating choice,
And backward wanderings along thorny ways:
Yet--compassed round by mountain solitudes,
Within whose solemn temple I received
My earliest visitations, careless then
Of what was given me; and which now I range,
A meditative, oft a suffering, man--
Do I declare--in accents which, from truth
Deriving cheerful confidence, shall blend
Their modulation with these vocal streams--
That, whatsoever falls my better mind,
Revolving with the accidents of life,
May have sustained, that, howsoe'er misled,
Never did I, in quest of right and wrong,
Tamper with conscience from a private aim;
Nor was in any public hope the dupe
Of selfish passions; nor did ever yield
Wilfully to mean cares or low pursuits,
But shrunk with apprehensive jealousy
From every combination which might aid
The tendency, too potent in itself,
Of use and custom to bow down the soul
Under a growing weight of vulgar sense,
And substitute a universe of death
For that which moves with light and life informed,
Actual, divine, and true. To fear and love,
To love as prime and chief, for there fear ends,
Be this ascribed; to early intercourse,
In presence of sublime or beautiful forms,
With the adverse principles of pain and joy--
Evil as one is rashly named by men
Who know not what they speak. By love subsists
All lasting grandeur, by pervading love;
That gone, we are as dust.--Behold the fields
In balmy spring-time full of rising flowers
And joyous creatures; see that pair, the lamb
And the lamb's mother, and their tender ways
Shall touch thee to the heart; thou callest this love,
And not inaptly so, for love it is,
Far as it carries thee. In some green bower
Rest, and be not alone, but have thou there
The One who is thy choice of all the world:
There linger, listening, gazing, with delight
Impassioned, but delight how pitiable!
Unless this love by a still higher love
Be hallowed, love that breathes not without awe;
Love that adores, but on the knees of prayer,
By heaven inspired; that frees from chains the soul,
Lifted, in union with the purest, best,
Of earth-born passions, on the wings of praise
Bearing a tribute to the Almighty's Throne.

This spiritual Love acts not nor can exist
Without Imagination, which, in truth,
Is but another name for absolute power
And clearest insight, amplitude of mind,
And Reason in her most exalted mood.
This faculty hath been the feeding source
Of our long labour: we have traced the stream
From the blind cavern whence is faintly heard
Its natal murmur; followed it to light
And open day; accompanied its course
Among the ways of Nature, for a time
Lost sight of it bewildered and engulphed;
Then given it greeting as it rose once more
In strength, reflecting from its placid breast
The works of man and face of human life;
And lastly, from its progress have we drawn
Faith in life endless, the sustaining thought
Of human Being, Eternity, and God.

Imagination having been our theme,
So also hath that intellectual Love,
For they are each in each, and cannot stand
Dividually.--Here must thou be, O Man!
Power to thyself; no Helper hast thou here;
Here keepest thou in singleness thy state:
No other can divide with thee this work:
No secondary hand can intervene
To fashion this ability; 'tis thine,
The prime and vital principle is thine
In the recesses of thy nature, far
From any reach of outward fellowship,
Else is not thine at all. But joy to him,
Oh, joy to him who here hath sown, hath laid
Here, the foundation of his future years!
For all that friendship, all that love can do,
All that a darling countenance can look
Or dear voice utter, to complete the man,
Perfect him, made imperfect in himself,
All shall be his: and he whose soul hath risen
Up to the height of feeling intellect
Shall want no humbler tenderness; his heart
Be tender as a nursing mother's heart;
Of female softness shall his life be full,
Of humble cares and delicate desires,
Mild interests and gentlest sympathies.

Child of my parents! Sister of my soul!
Thanks in sincerest verse have been elsewhere
Poured out for all the early tenderness
Which I from thee imbibed: and 'tis most true
That later seasons owed to thee no less;
For, spite of thy sweet influence and the touch
Of kindred hands that opened out the springs
Of genial thought in childhood, and in spite
Of all that unassisted I had marked
In life or nature of those charms minute
That win their way into the heart by stealth
(Still to the very going-out of youth)
I too exclusively esteemed 'that' love,
And sought 'that' beauty, which, as Milton sings,
Hath terror in it. Thou didst soften down
This over-sternness; but for thee, dear Friend!
My soul, too reckless of mild grace, had stood
In her original self too confident,
Retained too long a countenance severe;
A rock with torrents roaring, with the clouds
Familiar, and a favourite of the stars:
But thou didst plant its crevices with flowers,
Hang it with shrubs that twinkle in the breeze,
And teach the little birds to build their nests
And warble in its chambers. At a time
When Nature, destined to remain so long
Foremost in my affections, had fallen back
Into a second place, pleased to become
A handmaid to a nobler than herself,
When every day brought with it some new sense
Of exquisite regard for common things,
And all the earth was budding with these gifts
Of more refined humanity, thy breath,
Dear Sister! was a kind of gentler spring
That went before my steps. Thereafter came
One whom with thee friendship had early paired;
She came, no more a phantom to adorn
A moment, but an inmate of the heart,
And yet a spirit, there for me enshrined
To penetrate the lofty and the low;
Even as one essence of pervading light
Shines, in the brightest of ten thousand stars
And the meek worm that feeds her lonely lamp
Couched in the dewy grass.
With such a theme,
Coleridge! with this my argument, of thee
Shall I be silent? O capacious Soul!
Placed on this earth to love and understand,
And from thy presence shed the light of love,
Shall I be mute, ere thou be spoken of?
Thy kindred influence to my heart of hearts
Did also find its way. Thus fear relaxed
Her overweening grasp; thus thoughts and things
In the self-haunting spirit learned to take
More rational proportions; mystery,
The incumbent mystery of sense and soul,
Of life and death, time and eternity,
Admitted more habitually a mild
Interposition--a serene delight
In closelier gathering cares, such as become
A human creature, howsoe'er endowed,
Poet, or destined for a humbler name;
And so the deep enthusiastic joy,
The rapture of the hallelujah sent
From all that breathes and is, was chastened, stemmed
And balanced by pathetic truth, by trust
In hopeful reason, leaning on the stay
Of Providence; and in reverence for duty,
Here, if need be, struggling with storms, and there
Strewing in peace life's humblest ground with herbs,
At every season green, sweet at all hours.

And now, O Friend! this history is brought
To its appointed close: the discipline
And consummation of a Poet's mind,
In everything that stood most prominent,
Have faithfully been pictured; we have reached
The time (our guiding object from the first)
When we may, not presumptuously, I hope,
Suppose my powers so far confirmed, and such
My knowledge, as to make me capable
Of building up a Work that shall endure.
Yet much hath been omitted, as need was;
Of books how much! and even of the other wealth
That is collected among woods and fields,
Far more: for Nature's secondary grace
Hath hitherto been barely touched upon,
The charm more superficial that attends
Her works, as they present to Fancy's choice
Apt illustrations of the moral world,
Caught at a glance, or traced with curious pains.

Finally, and above all, O Friend! (I speak
With due regret) how much is overlooked
In human nature and her subtle ways,
As studied first in our own hearts, and then
In life among the passions of mankind,
Varying their composition and their hue,
Where'er we move, under the diverse shapes
That individual character presents
To an attentive eye. For progress meet,
Along this intricate and difficult path,
Whate'er was wanting, something had I gained,
As one of many schoolfellows compelled,
In hardy independence, to stand up
Amid conflicting interests, and the shock
Of various tempers; to endure and note
What was not understood, though known to be;
Among the mysteries of love and hate,
Honour and shame, looking to right and left,
Unchecked by innocence too delicate,
And moral notions too intolerant,
Sympathies too contracted. Hence, when called
To take a station among men, the step
Was easier, the transition more secure,
More profitable also; for, the mind
Learns from such timely exercise to keep
In wholesome separation the two natures,
The one that feels, the other that observes.

Yet one word more of personal concern;--
Since I withdrew unwillingly from France,
I led an undomestic wanderer's life,
In London chiefly harboured, whence I roamed,
Tarrying at will in many a pleasant spot
Of rural England's cultivated vales
Or Cambrian solitudes. A youth--(he bore
The name of Calvert--it shall live, if words
Of mine can give it life,) in firm belief
That by endowments not from me withheld
Good might be furthered--in his last decay
By a bequest sufficient for my needs
Enabled me to pause for choice, and walk
At large and unrestrained, nor damped too soon
By mortal cares. Himself no Poet, yet
Far less a common follower of the world,
He deemed that my pursuits and labours lay
Apart from all that leads to wealth, or even
A necessary maintenance insures,
Without some hazard to the finer sense;
He cleared a passage for me, and the stream
Flowed in the bent of Nature.
Having now
Told what best merits mention, further pains
Our present purpose seems not to require,
And I have other tasks. Recall to mind
The mood in which this labour was begun,
O Friend! The termination of my course
Is nearer now, much nearer; yet even then,
In that distraction and intense desire,
I said unto the life which I had lived,
Where art thou? Hear I not a voice from thee
Which 'tis reproach to hear? Anon I rose
As if on wings, and saw beneath me stretched
Vast prospect of the world which I had been
And was; and hence this Song, which, like a lark,
I have protracted, in the unwearied heavens
Singing, and often with more plaintive voice
To earth attempered and her deep-drawn sighs,
Yet centring all in love, and in the end
All gratulant, if rightly understood.

Whether to me shall be allotted life,
And, with life, power to accomplish aught of worth,
That will be deemed no insufficient plea
For having given the story of myself,
Is all uncertain: but, beloved Friend!
When, looking back, thou seest, in clearer view
Than any liveliest sight of yesterday,
That summer, under whose indulgent skies,
Upon smooth Quantock's airy ridge we roved
Unchecked, or loitered 'mid her sylvan combs,
Thou in bewitching words, with happy heart,
Didst chaunt the vision of that Ancient Man,
The bright-eyed Mariner, and rueful woes
Didst utter of the Lady Christabel;
And I, associate with such labour, steeped
In soft forgetfulness the livelong hours,
Murmuring of him who, joyous hap, was found,
After the perils of his moonlight ride,
Near the loud waterfall; or her who sate
In misery near the miserable Thorn--
When thou dost to that summer turn thy thoughts,
And hast before thee all which then we were,
To thee, in memory of that happiness,
It will be known, by thee at least, my Friend!
Felt, that the history of a Poet's mind
Is labour not unworthy of regard;
To thee the work shall justify itself.

The last and later portions of this gift
Have been prepared, not with the buoyant spirits
That were our daily portion when we first
Together wantoned in wild Poesy,
But, under pressure of a private grief,
Keen and enduring, which the mind and heart,
That in this meditative history
Have been laid open, needs must make me feel
More deeply, yet enable me to bear
More firmly; and a comfort now hath risen
From hope that thou art near, and wilt be soon
Restored to us in renovated health;
When, after the first mingling of our tears,
'Mong other consolations, we may draw
Some pleasure from this offering of my love.

Oh! yet a few short years of useful life,
And all will be complete, thy race be run,
Thy monument of glory will be raised;
Then, though (too weak to tread the ways of truth)
This age fall back to old idolatry,
Though men return to servitude as fast
As the tide ebbs, to ignominy and shame,
By nations, sink together, we shall still
Find solace--knowing what we have learnt to know,
Rich in true happiness if allowed to be
Faithful alike in forwarding a day
Of firmer trust, joint labourers in the work
(Should Providence such grace to us vouchsafe)
Of their deliverance, surely yet to come.
Prophets of Nature, we to them will speak
A lasting inspiration, sanctified
By reason, blest by faith: what we have loved,
Others will love, and we will teach them how;
Instruct them how the mind of man becomes
A thousand times more beautiful than the earth
On which he dwells, above this frame of things
(Which, 'mid all revolution in the hopes
And fears of men, doth still remain unchanged)
In beauty exalted, as it is itself
Of quality and fabric more divine.

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Tryon Edwards

Mystery is but another name for ignorance; if we were omniscient, all would be perfectly plain!

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God is another name for human intelligence raised above all error and imperfection, and extended to all possible truth.

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Suffering is but another name for the teaching of experience, which is the parent of instruction and the schoolmaster of life.

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Thomas Jefferson

Friendship is but another name for an alliance with the follies and the misfortunes of others. Our own share of miseries is sufficient: why enter then as volunteers into those of another?

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Morality, taken as apart from religion, is but another name for decency in sin. It is just that negative species of virtue which consists in not doing what is scandalously depraved and wicked. But there is no heart of holy principle in it, any more than there is in the grosser sin.

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Many What If’s And More

What if Cinderella wasn’t a princess
But the advertiser of a new flavored jellybean
What if Snow White wasn’t pretty
But the ugliest hag ever seen
What if soccer wasn’t a game
But a new kind of disease
What if an oven isn’t used for warming food
But to make them freeze
What if tom wasn’t a cartoon
But a new mechanical device
That help cats in catching mice
Get very quick and wise
What if Jerry wasn’t a mouse
But another name for cherry
What if a mountain wasn’t mountain
But a new kind of berry
What if shoes weren’t used on feet
But to help us see
What if I wasn’t myself
I wonder who’d write this instead of me!

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An Eastern Tale

Adressed To Mrs. S.C. Choate

A Persian lady we're informed-
This happened long, long years before
The Christian era ever dawned,
A thousand years, it may be more,
The date and narrative are so obscure,
I have to guess some things that should be sure.

I'm puzzled with this history,
And rue that I began the tale;
It seems a kind of mystery-
I'm very much afraid I'll fail,
For want of facts of the sensation kind:
I therefore dwell upon the few I find.

I like voluminous writing best,
That gives the facts dress'd up in style.
A handsome woman when she's dressed
Looks better than (repress that smile)
When she in plainer costume does appear;
The more it costs we know she is more

The story is a Grecian one,
The author's name I cannot tell;
Perhaps it was old Xenophon
Or Aristotle, I can't dwell
On trifles; perhaps Plutarch wrote the story:
At any rate its years have made it hoary.

The Greeks were famous in those days
In arts, in letters and in arms;
Quite plain and simple in their ways;
With their own hands they tilled their farms;
Some dressed the vine, some plow'd the ocean's wave;
Some wrote, were orators, or teachers grave.

They were Republicans, in fact;
The Persians might have called them 'black
Republicans;' they never lacked
The power to beat a foeman back.
Thermopylae, so famed in Grecian story
Is but another name for martial glory.

A busy hive to work or fight,
Like our New England bold and strong;
A little frantic for the right,
As sternly set against the wrong;
And when for right they drew the sword, we know,
Stopped not to count the number of the foe.

To me it is a painful sight
To see a nation great and good
Reduced to such a sorry plight,
And courtiers crawl where freemen stood,
And king and priests combine to seize the spoil,
While widows weep and beggar'd yeomen toil.

The philosophic mind might dwell
Upon this subject for an age:
The philanthropic heart might swell
Till tears as ink would wet the page;
The mystery, a myst'ry will remain-
The learning of the learned cannot explain.

The Persians were a gaudy race,
Much giv'n to dress and grand display;
I'm grieved to note this is the case
With other people at this day;
And folks are judged of from outside attractions,
Instead of from good sense and genteel actions.

The dame in question was a type
Of all her class; handsome and rich
And proud, of course, and flashing like
A starry constellation, which
She was, in fact a moving mass of light
From jewels which outshone the stars at night.

The tale is somewhat out of joint-
I'm not much given to complain;
'Tis in a most essential point
A blank; I've read it oft in vain
To find one syllable about her size,
The color of her hair, or of her eyes.

Or whether she was short or tall,
Or if she sung or play'd with grace,
If she wore hoops or waterfall
I cannot find a single trace
Of proof; and as I like to be precise,
My disappointment equals my surprise.

This Persian belle; (confound the belle)
Excuse me, please; I won't be rude;
She's in my way, so I can't tell
My tale, so much does she intrude;
I wish I knew her age, and whether she
Was single, married, or engaged to be.

These are important facts to know,
I wonder how they slipped the pen
Of him who wrote the story, so
I wonder at the taste of men
Who wrote for future ages thus to spoil
A tale to save time, paper, ink or oil.

Our Persian lady, as I said,
Decked out in costly jewels rare,
A visit to a Grecian made-
A lady of great worth, and fair
To look upon, of great domestic merit
Which from a noble race she did inherit.

Puffed up with vanity and pride,
The Persian flashing like a gem,
Displayed her brilliants, glittering wide;
The Grecian coldly looked at them:
'Have you no jewelry at all, to wear?
Your dress and person look so poor and bare.'

She called her children to her side,
Seven stalwart sons of martial mien;
'These are my jewels,' she replied,
'I'm richer far than you, I ween:
These are the glory and the strength of Greece,
Which all the gems on earth would not increase,'

Let others shine in diamonds bright,
Or hoard their greenbacks, bonds or gold,
You have your jewels in your sight,
And hearing, like the matron old;
And should they still continue to increase,
You'll beat the model mother of old Greece.

Then hail Columbia, happy land!
While California yields her ore,
May you increase your jewel band,
By adding every year one more;
And when you're asked your jewels to display.
Point to your score of sons saying 'these are they.'

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Your name will not carry another meaning for me

Your name will not carry another meaning for me
like people see you in foreign countries,
as a place where people serve criminal kings
and even if they throw the South away and it becomes just Africa

with foreigners streaming in, I do not go out to hurt you,
even if we feel that we deserve a better country.
Your name will not carry another meaning for me
like people see you in foreign countries,

as a place where we have to ask God for help
in injustice, revolt and a loss of national dignity
where white people by force loose their own possessions
because I am born to you like my ancestors, my South Africa.
Your name will not carry another meaning for me.

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Another Name

When postponed, death had no meaning.
It was lying in ambush.
Journey was imperfect without
a termination.
Behind the dust was another desire.

Another thumb on the trigger
starts shooting through the bubble
of moon. Every bone springs
to jump for final galaxy
of hidden stars.

Striving was brutal. Being
was dying for life. Profits
of morality on sale. Fragrance
without house. A memory
now invites another name.

Daughter of next life
lives hundreds of years
in death. Becoming
becomes the fear!

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Just Another Name

these clouds around you break your fall
as you came crashing to the ground
did you learn anything at all
you climb back up to come back down

everybody knows your name
but they don't know who you are
but to them it's just the same
yeah you're just another name

she said fame will bring you down
at least that's what she used to say
then I handed her another crown
she said it would never be this way

everybody knows your name
but they don't know who you are
but to them it's just the same
yeah you're just another name
just another name

yesterday she was a little girl
pretending she was queen yeah
didn't know it'd change the world
didn't know what this should mean
which mask will you wear today
how about the one with the pretty smile
to you it's just another day
in a life you haven't lived in quite awhile

everybody knows your name
but they don't know who you are
but to them it's just a game
and I think it's gone too far
everybody knows your name
but they don't know who you are
you've got the most familiar face
but your just another name
just another name
just another name

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But Your Name....

who are we then to linger?
the pine needle bed turned brown.
the sky filled with emptiness,
where wings once sang in glory.
the mountain path deserted now,
footprints borne away by the wind.
as time exacts its heavy due,
leaving nothing as if a gift.

we who dared to speak of love,
who drank deeply with abandon.
who lit the candle as if it would last,
who dared the darkness to answer.
who kissed neath moonlit trees,
and danced till we were drunk.
who made love as if we owned the clock,
as if the leaves would never turn.

do you remember? lest we forget,
what was done, what was the cost!
when rivers flowed on summer's eve,
and the mockingbird naked prayed.
when wars were fought and lives were given,
and old women wept for they knew.
while the child slept in a dresser drawer,
and the dog bayed at the wind.

now passion curled in the stump of the tree,
the axe takes with head bowed low.
the trail of lovers sap gone dry,
on the bare belly of infinity.
the owl struck mute leaves the night,
with only the sound the wind betrays.
tis not god nor judgement but your name,
that pens damnation on salvation's breast!

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But The Best For You

Music : klaus meine
Lyrics: klaus meine
Let me tell you something
In the darkness of the room
Im leaning back against the wall
Try to walk on broken glass
A cut so deep just hurts so bad
I remember what you said
Tears were rollin down your face
And after alls been said and done
Youre a woman, Im a man
Could I turn back the time again
You must know by now
I wont let you down
Whatever comes along the way
Dont you agree that one thing is true
Im not the best, but the best for you
And I step outside the door (step outside the door)
Blinded by a million lights
In the valley of the fools (in the valley of the fools)
Another day went by so fast
What in the world will ever last
You must know by now
I wont let you down
Whatever comes along the way
Dont you agree that one thing is true
Im not the best, but the best for you
Theres nothin else that we have got
But our love is like a rock
Standing up against the tide
Theres nothin else that we have got
But our love is like a rock
Standing up against the tide
You must know by now
I wont let you down
Whatever comes along the way
Dont you agree that one thing is true
Im not the best, but the best for you
You must know by now
I wont let you down
Whatever comes along the way
Dont you agree that one thing is true
Im not the best, but the best for you
Dont you agree that one thing is true
Im not the best, but the best for you
Im not the best, but the best for you
Im not the best, but the best for you

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Pray But One Prayer For Us

Pray but one prayer for me ’twixt thy closed lips,
Think but one thought of me up in the stars.
The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,
Faint and grey ’twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars,
That are patiently waiting there for the dawn
Patient and colourless, though Heaven’s gold
Waits to float through them along with the sun.
Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,
The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold
The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dim;
Through the long twilight they pray for the dawn,
Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.
Speak but one word to me over the corn,
Over the tender, bow’d locks of the corn.

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To rise again

It is to rise again, not to end but just to begin
We are in beautiful world to live in
There can not be any end but just the beginning
As it may come and go like little spinning

It may make you nervous
It may look you very dangerous
Yet not let you down in any case
If you stand fast and face

Life is another name for struggle
It is not like passing in jungle
Where there is no restriction
To live here in hostile environment with friction

We can make it lovely and beautiful
Easy to remain with and very joyful
Trouble and problems can be bearable parts
One needs not to end life and depart

It is given a life time chance
It can be had only once
So we can utilize it either with smiling face
Or spend it uselessly after running mad race

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Many Faces Of Love

Love they call it but it get me confused.
To my mummy, it is called love,
The one for my babe affection yet it’s love
The one for my work, dedication yet love it is
Love just another name for caring for my baby
When engulfed by passion, love in action
They say my devotion to God is love for Him
My dear Love,
How many faces hath thou?
Like chameleon you change cloth
Yet you come in beautiful colours
All to you good attributes put,
You are gentle, caring, persevering and enduring
You make me feel so much an imperfect being.
But with you in me I feel so great
The world you make so worthy to live in
My heart you made a world of its own
A planet that houses so many loving people.
I can be in so many place same time
Cause with you I am every where
In the hearts of those that love me.
Love how great you are?

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The Lodestone

As needles point towards the pole,
When touched by the magnetic stone;
So faith in Jesus, gives the soul
A tendency before unknown.

'Till then, by blinded passions led,
In search of fancied good we range;
The paths of disappointment tread,
To nothing fixed, but love of change.

But when the Holy Ghost imparts
A knowledge of the Saviour's love;
Our wand'ring, weary, restless hearts,
Are fixed at once, no more to move.

Now a new principle takes place,
Which guides and animates the will;
This love, another name for grace,
Constrains to good, and bars from ill.

By love's sure light we soon perceive
Our noblest bliss, and proper end;
And gladly every idol leave,
To love and serve our Lord and Friend.

Thus borne along by faith and hope,
We feel the Saviour's words are true;
And I, if I be lifted up,
Will draw the sinner upward too.

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