All paths lead nowhere, follow the path with heart.
Follow the Path of Awareness
Follow the path to awareness.
You will notice it is not paved!
It is not aligned with floral scents.
It may have threatening obstacles on it.
Follow the path of awareness.
Let those go who choose to skip,
And frolic along with inducements.
Nothing will change the minds,
Of those who wish to find roses...
They did not grow.
Or suffer through their planting.
No one does this,
For something that they've done...
To be easily picked.
It's just common sense.
And so many live without any of it!
Follow the path of awareness.
And you will see...
How all of the pieces fit together!
Follow the Path
Follow the path of the elders,
The wise among us who think,
And why do you think
If you do not listen to the parents?
Their path is superb.
Thinking is the philosophy of the Youth
Who look towards the gates of happiness,
The gates that bid farewell
As many times there are people.
Think you are young and old, people,
So that love is again established.
- quotes about elders
- quotes about philosophy
- quotes about youth
- quotes about childhood
- quotes about wisdom
- quotes about happiness
- quotes about old age
- quotes about love
The Path To Rightousness
SOME FRIENDS WERE SEATED AT A BEER PARLOUR DRINKING BEER! ALL OF A SUDDEN A MAN WALKED IN AND SAID, MERRY MEN! A LIQUOR CONTEST IS ABOARD!
HOORAY! SHOUTED THE JOLLY FELLOWS! JUST THEN A PREACHER WALKED IN WITH HIS HOLY SCRIPTURES AND SHOUTED OUT FOR ALL TO HEAR, WIDE IS THE PATH THE LEADS TO DESTRUCTION! REPENT OF THY ALCHOHOLIC WAYS AND FOLLOW THE PATHS OF RIGHTOUSNESS!
JUST THEN A WELL KNOWN WHORE WALKED INTO THE PARLOUR AND ON SIGHTING THE PREACHER, SHE QUICKLY SEIZED HIM BY HIS BELT!
THE SURPRISED FELLOWS ALL CAME TOGETHER AND ENQUIRED OF HER, SAYING, WHAT BE THY PROBLEM THAT YOU TROUBLE THIS RIGHTOUS MAN? AND SHE REPLIED, HE HAS REFUSED TO PAY ME FOR MY SERVICES, THRICE I HAVE ALLOWED HIM MY PLEASURES ON CREDIT, BUT ALAS! TODAY HE MUST PAY!
THE STUNNED FELLOWS ALL BECAME SILENT AND WENT BACK TO THEIR BEER DRINKING!
What makes us tick?
What's this life all about?
When the going gets tough,
Do you quiver with doubt?
My life it has an order.
Everything has a place.
It's like a casual stroll.
But we think it's a race.
Had I hit that stop light.
Would I have met you?
I am right here, right now,
Because of all I've been through.
It has it's ups and it's downs
And it's ins and it's outs.
Sometimes it rains 'til it floods.
And we go through some droughts.
I'm in a special place now.
Where I've always longed to be.
I thought life was so wrong,
But now I have to agree.
Been there, done that.
I'd do it again.
To see where my path leads me
Leads me in the end.
It all comes together.
After it all falls apart.
A blank piece if canvas,
To a fine piece of art.
It's like an intricate puzzle,
And all the pieces, they fit
You won't see the big picture
If you give up and quit.
Embrace your life journey.
And all the paths you have gone.
All those paths they have lead you,
To the path that you're on.
The Girl With
it all, is standing by the coffee machine,
she is straightening her perfect hair
the girl with it all is checking her diary
& I'm nowhere near it
the girl with it all is fixing her make up,
It was fine just twenty minutes ago,
the girl with it all is tired of being asked out on dates,
the girl with it all wants more
But the girl with it all will grow up before long
and her looks may soon fade away
she can't rely on a grin & a wink
tomorrow will no doubt become today
The girl with it all is pushing a pram,
the girl with it all is on welfare
the girl with it all just about remembers
a previous life of devil may care
Pakizaah* as they call it for pure
I am very much sure
No such religion has existed
Where only purity is insisted
One1/10 of income for poor (for jyarat*) donation
Just deep feeling with relation,
I salute and admire great teaching
The only way open for reaching
What a way to observe fast in holy month?
To feel close in heart with nothing in mouth
Only prayers and good wishes for brethrens
For well being of others with all such concerns
I wish each and every word is followed
No ill wish is carried further or allowed
No religion teaches love lost game or hatred
Only peace at heart and silently to be lead
"Come to me I shall take care"
Leave everything and just pray for
I shall be there with you at every step
Such is the message for wrong doers as slap
I wish all the success for them in prayers
They are the real followers and conveyors
Follow the path with earnest and strong faith
I hope none can dare to threaten including death
*Pakizaah.. pure… *Zyarat.. donation
Looking Out The Window With A Blue Hat On
Oh she comes on like a fog
And then she goes out like a neurotic dog
So now Im sitting her thinking all day long
Looking out the window with a blue hat on
Find me an open grave
Just push me in
Then let me up to live again
So she bought a little book
And filled it up with names she never shook
So Im just one of them thinking all day long
Looking out the window with a blue hat on
Find me a sky high cliff
Just let me try
To jump right off maybe Ill fly
Looking out the window with the blue hat on
Find me an open grave
Just push me in
Then let me up to live again
Oh she comes on like a fog
The Hostess With The Mostes' On The Ball
I was born on a thousand acres of Oklahoma land
Nothing grew on the thousand acres for it was gravel and sand
One day father started digging in a field
Hoping to find some soil
He dug and he dug and what do you think?
Oil, oil, oil
The money rolled in and I rolled out with a fortune piled so high
Washington was my destination
And now who am I?
I'm the chosen party giver
For the White House clientele
And they know that I deliver
What it takes to make 'em jell
And in Washington I'm known by one and all
As the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
They could go to Elsa Maxwell
When they had an axe to grind
They could always grind their axe well
At the parties she designed
Now the hatchet grinders all prefer to call
On the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
I've a great big bar and good caviar
Yes, the best that can be found
And a large amount in my bank account
When election time comes 'round
If you're feeling presidential
You can make it, yes, indeed
There are just three things essential
Let me tell you all you need
Is an ounce of wisdom and a pound of gall
And the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
An Ambassador has just reached the shore
He's a man of many loves
An important gent from the Orient
To be handled with kid gloves
He can come and let his hair down
Have the best time of his life
Even bring his new affair down
Introduce her as his wife
But she mustn't leave her panties in the hall
For the hostess who's the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
I've been highly complimented
And I thank you what is more
You'll be damned well represented
By your new ambassador
For my one ambition is to make them fall
For the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
In the handbag that I'll carry
There's a precious little note
To their highnesses from Harry
Introducing me he wrote:
"I'll appreciate a favor large or small
For the hostess with the mostes' on the ball"
There'll be no mistakes, I've got what it takes
To make friends across the sea
I'll make being smart an important part
Of my foreign policy
I'll cement our good relations
When I give my first affair
There'll be special invitations
To the Duke and Duchess there
Who's already written asking them to call
Not the priestess with the leastes'
But the hostess who's the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
Our Freedom Is An Individual
at the end of all those perorations
you enter your room passing by the mirror on the wall
at the side of your door
you pass slowly upon the image of yourself
finding your own view of the world
you must affirm that very basic principle
it is your life that you are going to live
and nobody else's life
it will just be once, there is no repetition then
of that error if that be
of that correctness, if it must be,
you look at your hands
you open it to see the lines of your palms
closely your eyes gaze upon
that choose you
you are after all
free and must follow the path that you see
there is no one else
The Lords Path
there is a choice that i must make
of which path that i should take.
i was shown the path that leads
to my death and destruction.
but! i must teach my fellow man
the life of a new construction.
the life of following the LORDS word
so it can be taught and heard.
seeing the path which ahead lies.
do i continue and give it a try?
is my faith strong enough
for this path is mighty tough.
so here i stand with choice in hand.
do i help my fellow man?
do i give up my life so that the
world could be free and follow this destiny?
or do i forget my fellow mans needs
of which my LORD had planted this seed.
this is the choice that HE has given to me.
to follow him so that other men could lead.
to lead mankind to the path of light
and be able to see all the LORDS might.
and now this question i propose to you
if you was me what would you do?
(we all know the choice he made, for our salvation)
The Path Through The Snow
BARE and sunshiny, bright and bleak,
Rounded cold as a dead maid's cheek,
Folded white as a sinner's shroud,
Or wandering angel's robes of cloud.--
Well I know, well I know
Over the fields the path through the snow.
Narrow and rough it lies between
Wastes where the wind sweeps, biting keen:
Every step of the slippery road
Marks where some weary foot has trod;
Who'll go, who'll go
After the rest on the path through the snow?
They who would tread it must walk alone,
Silent and steadfast--one by one:
Dearest to dearest can only say,
'My heart! I'll follow thee all the way,
As we go, as we go
Each after each on this path through the snow.'
It may be under that western haze
Lurks the omen of brighter days;
That each sentinel tree is quivering
Deep at its core with the sap of spring,
And while we go, while we go,
Green grass-blades pierce thro' the glittering snow.
It may be the unknown path will tend
Never to any earthly end,
Die with the dying day obscure,
And never lead to a human door:
That none know who did go
Patiently once on this path through the snow.
No matter, no matter! the path shines plain;
These pure snow-crystals will deaden pain;
Above, like stars in the deep blue dark,
Eyes that love us look down and mark.
Let us go, let us go,
Whither heaven leads in the path thro' the snow.
To C. Lloyd, On His Proposing To Domesticate With The Author
A mount, not wearisome and bare and steep,
But a green mountain variously up-piled
Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep
Or colored lichens with slow oozing weep;
Where cypress and the darker yew start wild;
And 'mid the summer torrent's gentle dash
Dance brightened the red clusters of the ash;
Beneath whose boughs, by stillest sounds beguiled,
Calm pensiveness might muse herself to sleep;
Till haply startled by some fleecy dam,
That rustling on the bushy cliff above
With melancholy bleat of anxious love
Made meek enquiry for her wand'ring lamb:
Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet to climb
E'en while the bosom ached with loneliness--
How heavenly sweet, if some dear friend should bless
Th' advent'rous toil, and up the path sublime
Now lead, now follow; the glad landscape round
Wide and more wide, increasing without bound!
O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark
The berries of the half up-rooted ash
Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash--
Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark,
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock;
In social silence now, and now t' unlock
The treasured heart; arm linked in friendly arm,
Save if the one, his muse's witching charm
Mutt'ring brow-bent, at unwatched distance lag;
Till high o'er-head his beck'ning friend appears,
And from the forehead of the topmost crag
Shouts eagerly; for haply there uprears
That shadowing pine its old romantic limbs
Which latest shall detain the enamoured sight
Seen from below, when eve the valley dims,
Tinged yellow with the rich departing light;
And haply, basoned in some unsunned cleft,
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears,
Sleeps unsheltered there, scarce wrinkled by the gale!
Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left,
Stretched on the crag, and shadowed by the pine,
And bending o'er the clear delicious fount,
Ah, dearest Charles! it were a lot divine
To cheat our noons in moralizing mood,
While west winds fanned our temples, toil-bedewed
Then downwards slope, oft-pausing, from the mount
To some low mansion in some woody dale,
Where, smiling with blue eye, domestic bliss
Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss!
Thus rudely versed in allegoric lore,
The hill of knowledge I essayed to trace;
That verd'rous hill with many a resting-place
And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour
To glad and fertilize the subject plains;
That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod,
And many a fancy-blest and holy sod
Where inspiration, his diviner strains
Low-murm'ring, lay; and starting from the rocks
Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks
Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age,
And mad oppression's thunder-clasping rage!
O meek retiring spirit! we will climb,
Cheering and cheered, this lovely hill sublime;
And from the stirring world uplifted high
(Whose noises faintly wafted on the wind
To quiet musings shall attune the mind,
And oft the melancholy theme supply),
There while the prospect thro' the gazing eye
Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul,
We'll laugh at wealth, and learn to laugh at fame,
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same,
As neighb'ring fountains image each the whole.
- quotes about melancholy
- quotes about divine
- quotes about diversity
- quotes about pain
- quotes about frost
- quotes about mountains
- quotes about colors
- quotes about sheep
lenexa Baptist Church = Trust In The Lord With All Your Heart & Soul
GOD DOESN’T KEEP SECRETS
We pray and pray when we should stop asking
And take the time to listen and say thank you.
Our motives of mind must stay righteous and clear
To overcome our transgressions and renew.
Think of young David as he faced Goliath
With nothing but a sling and five stones he chose.
He listened to God and ran forth to glory
Toppling the giant, for the vultures and crows.
When we fully surrender our trust to God
Our life will never remain the same
Our heart bows in obedient submission
And all that we are has divinity to blame.
THE POWER OF GOD’S WILL
God has the power to move Heaven and earth
If we just surrender and follow in His path.
By turning a deaf ear toward His commandments
We suffer punishment, desperation and wrath.
God never takes pleasure from the death of a sinner
Who has refused the splendor of His grace.
When we ignore Jesus as our Savior
Were lost to shame, despair and disgrace
Trust in the Lord to navigate your heart
And He will always be there to guide you.
Never question His power, love or deliverance
As you struggle to repent and renew.
Never be ashamed to get down on your knees
And pray for deliverance from sin.
As time closes doors, God opens others
And by the power of assurance we rise, again.
FAITH, LOVE AND DELIVERANCE
A wise man gives up what he can’t keep
To gain what he cannot lose.
All Through life we make our judgments
Praying for the right path to choose.
Believers feel God is a footstep away
With His love, forgiveness and power.
All we have to do is observe His word
And by divine intervention we flower.
Never be afraid to pray humbly to God
For His light to shine from your face.
The more we surrender and obey His will
The more we facilitate His Grace.
Life without faith, deliverance and love
Becomes a selfish person’s hell.
By severing our Lord without question
We stay happier, productive, and well.
The Lord is aware of all we commit
Our secrets, joys, evils and fears.
Loving us despite our repeated mistakes
And even more, when we cry out in tears.
WHAITING ON GOD
God can make life glorious and rewarding
When we continuously stay willing to wait.
He’s conscious of all and helps plan our purpose
When we trust Him without hesitation and debate.
David could have killed King Saul twice
But he was told by God to be patient and wait.
After ten years he was officially crowned King
For God was the master of his fortune and fate.
There’s something about waiting we just can’t stand
Though when we walk without God we fall.
When we patiently wait and trust His word
We’re blessed by His forgiveness and call.
Waiting on God means we honor His will
As we purify our motives and inspiration.
When we heed His word we obtain His best
Trusting our future to divine creation.
When we refuse to submit we’re overwhelmed by sin,
Fear, remorse, mistrust, selfishness and wrath.
As Christians we wait no matter how long
For God to reveal our purpose, destination and path.
God always knows what is best for us
And we must march to His will and power.
When we follow His commands we become as one
As His deliverance enables us to flower.
TRUST IN THE LORD WITH ALL YOUR HEART & SOUL
You will always have peace no mater your circumstance
When you trust in the Lord with all your heart and soul.
Why stay miserable, unhappy and lost
When the joys of goodness should be your goal?
The Lord’s hand is not short, it can save anyone
Sin is what separates you from His grace.
When you die without Christ you’re dead forever
Lost in the darkness of shame, despair and disgrace.
Remember God always keeps every promise
And you should trust Him to change your fate.
When you suffer from troubles, heartbreak and pain
Stay focused on His word before it’s too late.
The key to everlasting peace is your relationship with God
And His splendor surpasses all worldly understanding.
You will never know peace if you refuse to submit
Rendering life too dreadful, outrageous and demanding.
To keep from being doomed and blown off course.
Christ is your anchor in life’s storm filled sea.
When you’re tested by circumstance, He will override
Freeing you from trepidation to be blessed, by Thee.
By God’s Poet Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web
To Read Or Listen To Tom Zart’s Poems Go To =
http: //www.veteranstodayforum.com/viewforum.php? f=38
The Prelude. (book V )
WHEN Contemplation, like the night-calm felt
Through earth and sky, spreads widely, and sends deep
Into the soul its tranquillising power,
Even then I sometimes grieve for thee, O Man,
Earth's paramount Creature! not so much for woes
That thou endurest; heavy though that weight be,
Cloud-like it mounts, or touched with light divine
Doth melt away; but for those palms achieved
Through length of time, by patient exercise
Of study and hard thought; there, there, it is
That sadness finds its fuel. Hitherto,
In progress through this Verse, my mind hath looked
Upon the speaking face of earth and heaven
As her prime teacher, intercourse with man
Established by the sovereign Intellect,
Who through that bodily image hath diffused,
As might appear to the eye of fleeting time,
A deathless spirit. Thou also, man! hast wrought,
For commerce of thy nature with herself,
Things that aspire to unconquerable life;
And yet we feel--we cannot choose but feel--
That they must perish. Tremblings of the heart
It gives, to think that our immortal being
No more shall need such garments; and yet man,
As long as he shall be the child of earth,
Might almost "weep to have" what he may lose,
Nor be himself extinguished, but survive,
Abject, depressed, forlorn, disconsolate.
A thought is with me sometimes, and I say,--
Should the whole frame of earth by inward throes
Be wrenched, or fire come down from far to scorch
Her pleasant habitations, and dry up
Old Ocean, in his bed left singed and bare,
Yet would the living Presence still subsist
Victorious, and composure would ensue,
And kindlings like the morning--presage sure
Of day returning and of life revived.
But all the meditations of mankind,
Yea, all the adamantine holds of truth
By reason built, or passion, which itself
Is highest reason in a soul sublime;
The consecrated works of Bard and Sage,
Sensuous or intellectual, wrought by men,
Twin labourers and heirs of the same hopes;
Where would they be? Oh! why hath not the Mind
Some element to stamp her image on
In nature somewhat nearer to her own?
Why, gifted with such powers to send abroad
Her spirit, must it lodge in shrines so frail?
One day, when from my lips a like complaint
Had fallen in presence of a studious friend,
He with a smile made answer, that in truth
'Twas going far to seek disquietude;
But on the front of his reproof confessed
That he himself had oftentimes given way
To kindred hauntings. Whereupon I told,
That once in the stillness of a summer's noon,
While I was seated in a rocky cave
By the sea-side, perusing, so it chanced,
The famous history of the errant knight
Recorded by Cervantes, these same thoughts
Beset me, and to height unusual rose,
While listlessly I sate, and, having closed
The book, had turned my eyes toward the wide sea.
On poetry and geometric truth,
And their high privilege of lasting life,
From all internal injury exempt,
I mused; upon these chiefly: and at length,
My senses yielding to the sultry air,
Sleep seized me, and I passed into a dream.
I saw before me stretched a boundless plain
Of sandy wilderness, all black and void,
And as I looked around, distress and fear
Came creeping over me, when at my side,
Close at my side, an uncouth shape appeared
Upon a dromedary, mounted high.
He seemed an Arab of the Bedouin tribes:
A lance he bore, and underneath one arm
A stone, and in the opposite hand a shell
Of a surpassing brightness. At the sight
Much I rejoiced, not doubting but a guide
Was present, one who with unerring skill
Would through the desert lead me; and while yet
I looked and looked, self-questioned what this freight
Which the new-comer carried through the waste
Could mean, the Arab told me that the stone
(To give it in the language of the dream)
Was "Euclid's Elements," and "This," said he,
"Is something of more worth;" and at the word
Stretched forth the shell, so beautiful in shape,
In colour so resplendent, with command
That I should hold it to my ear. I did so,
And heard that instant in an unknown tongue,
Which yet I understood, articulate sounds,
A loud prophetic blast of harmony;
An Ode, in passion uttered, which foretold
Destruction to the children of the earth
By deluge, now at hand. No sooner ceased
The song, than the Arab with calm look declared
That all would come to pass of which the voice 0
Had given forewarning, and that he himself
Was going then to bury those two books:
The one that held acquaintance with the stars,
And wedded soul to soul in purest bond
Of reason, undisturbed by space or time;
The other that was a god, yea many gods,
Had voices more than all the winds, with power
To exhilarate the spirit, and to soothe,
Through every clime, the heart of human kind.
While this was uttering, strange as it may seem,
I wondered not, although I plainly saw
The one to be a stone, the other a shell;
Nor doubted once but that they both were books,
Having a perfect faith in all that passed.
Far stronger, now, grew the desire I felt
To cleave unto this man; but when I prayed
To share his enterprise, he hurried on
Reckless of me: I followed, not unseen,
For oftentimes he cast a backward look,
Grasping his twofold treasure.--Lance in rest,
He rode, I keeping pace with him; and now
He, to my fancy, had become the knight
Whose tale Cervantes tells; yet not the knight,
But was an Arab of the desert too;
Of these was neither, and was both at once.
His countenance, meanwhile, grew more disturbed;
And, looking backwards when he looked, mine eyes
Saw, over half the wilderness diffused,
A bed of glittering light: I asked the cause:
"It is," said he, "the waters of the deep
Gathering upon us;" quickening then the pace
Of the unwieldy creature he bestrode,
He left me: I called after him aloud;
He heeded not; but, with his twofold charge
Still in his grasp, before me, full in view,
Went hurrying o'er the illimitable waste,
With the fleet waters of a drowning world
In chase of him; whereat I waked in terror,
And saw the sea before me, and the book,
In which I had been reading, at my side.
Full often, taking from the world of sleep
This Arab phantom, which I thus beheld,
This semi-Quixote, I to him have given
A substance, fancied him a living man,
A gentle dweller in the desert, crazed
By love and feeling, and internal thought
Protracted among endless solitudes;
Have shaped him wandering upon this quest!
Nor have I pitied him; but rather felt
Reverence was due to a being thus employed;
And thought that, in the blind and awful lair
Of such a madness, reason did lie couched.
Enow there are on earth to take in charge
Their wives, their children, and their virgin loves,
Or whatsoever else the heart holds dear;
Enow to stir for these; yea, will I say,
Contemplating in soberness the approach
Of an event so dire, by signs in earth
Or heaven made manifest, that I could share
That maniac's fond anxiety, and go
Upon like errand. Oftentimes at least
Me hath such strong entrancement overcome,
When I have held a volume in my hand,
Poor earthly casket of immortal verse,
Shakespeare, or Milton, labourers divine!
Great and benign, indeed, must be the power
Of living nature, which could thus so long
Detain me from the best of other guides
And dearest helpers, left unthanked, unpraised,
Even in the time of lisping infancy;
And later down, in prattling childhood even,
While I was travelling back among those days,
How could I ever play an ingrate's part?
Once more should I have made those bowers resound,
By intermingling strains of thankfulness
With their own thoughtless melodies; at least
It might have well beseemed me to repeat
Some simply fashioned tale, to tell again,
In slender accents of sweet verse, some tale
That did bewitch me then, and soothes me now.
O Friend! O Poet! brother of my soul,
Think not that I could pass along untouched
By these remembrances. Yet wherefore speak?
Why call upon a few weak words to say
What is already written in the hearts
Of all that breathe?--what in the path of all
Drops daily from the tongue of every child,
Wherever man is found? The trickling tear
Upon the cheek of listening Infancy
Proclaims it, and the insuperable look
That drinks as if it never could be full.
That portion of my story I shall leave
There registered: whatever else of power
Or pleasure sown, or fostered thus, may be
Peculiar to myself, let that remain
Where still it works, though hidden from all search
Among the depths of time. Yet is it just
That here, in memory of all books which lay
Their sure foundations in the heart of man,
Whether by native prose, or numerous verse, 0
That in the name of all inspired souls--
From Homer the great Thunderer, from the voice
That roars along the bed of Jewish song,
And that more varied and elaborate,
Those trumpet-tones of harmony that shake
Our shores in England,--from those loftiest notes
Down to the low and wren-like warblings, made
For cottagers and spinners at the wheel,
And sun-burnt travellers resting their tired limbs,
Stretched under wayside hedge-rows, ballad tunes,
Food for the hungry ears of little ones,
And of old men who have survived their joys--
'Tis just that in behalf of these, the works,
And of the men that framed them, whether known
Or sleeping nameless in their scattered graves,
That I should here assert their rights, attest
Their honours, and should, once for all, pronounce
Their benediction; speak of them as Powers
For ever to be hallowed; only less,
For what we are and what we may become,
Than Nature's self, which is the breath of God,
Or His pure Word by miracle revealed.
Rarely and with reluctance would I stoop
To transitory themes; yet I rejoice,
And, by these thoughts admonished, will pour out
Thanks with uplifted heart, that I was reared
Safe from an evil which these days have laid
Upon the children of the land, a pest
That might have dried me up, body and soul.
This verse is dedicate to Nature's self,
And things that teach as Nature teaches: then,
Oh! where had been the Man, the Poet where,
Where had we been, we two, beloved Friend!
If in the season of unperilous choice,
In lieu of wandering, as we did, through vales
Rich with indigenous produce, open ground
Of Fancy, happy pastures ranged at will,
We had been followed, hourly watched, and noosed,
Each in his several melancholy walk
Stringed like a poor man's heifer at its feed,
Led through the lanes in forlorn servitude;
Or rather like a stalled ox debarred
From touch of growing grass, that may not taste
A flower till it have yielded up its sweets
A prelibation to the mower's scythe.
Behold the parent hen amid her brood,
Though fledged and feathered, and well pleased to part
And straggle from her presence, still a brood,
And she herself from the maternal bond
Still undischarged; yet doth she little more
Than move with them in tenderness and love,
A centre to the circle which they make;
And now and then, alike from need of theirs
And call of her own natural appetites,
She scratches, ransacks up the earth for food,
Which they partake at pleasure. Early died
My honoured Mother, she who was the heart
And hinge of all our learnings and our loves:
She left us destitute, and, as we might,
Trooping together. Little suits it me
To break upon the sabbath of her rest
With any thought that looks at others' blame;
Nor would I praise her but in perfect love.
Hence am I checked: but let me boldly say,
In gratitude, and for the sake of truth,
Unheard by her, that she, not falsely taught,
Fetching her goodness rather from times past,
Than shaping novelties for times to come,
Had no presumption, no such jealousy,
Nor did by habit of her thoughts mistrust
Our nature, but had virtual faith that He
Who fills the mother's breast with innocent milk,
Doth also for our nobler part provide,
Under His great correction and control,
As innocent instincts, and as innocent food;
Or draws, for minds that are left free to trust
In the simplicities of opening life,
Sweet honey out of spurned or dreaded weeds.
This was her creed, and therefore she was pure
From anxious fear of error or mishap,
And evil, overweeningly so called;
Was not puffed up by false unnatural hopes,
Nor selfish with unnecessary cares,
Nor with impatience from the season asked
More than its timely produce; rather loved
The hours for what they are, than from regard
Glanced on their promises in restless pride.
Such was she--not from faculties more strong
Than others have, but from the times, perhaps,
And spot in which she lived, and through a grace
Of modest meekness, simple-mindedness,
A heart that found benignity and hope,
Being itself benign.
My drift I fear
Is scarcely obvious; but, that common sense
May try this modern system by its fruits,
Leave let me take to place before her sight
A specimen pourtrayed with faithful hand.
Full early trained to worship seemliness,
This model of a child is never known
To mix in quarrels; that were far beneath 0
Its dignity; with gifts he bubbles o'er
As generous as a fountain; selfishness
May not come near him, nor the little throng
Of flitting pleasures tempt him from his path;
The wandering beggars propagate his name,
Dumb creatures find him tender as a nun,
And natural or supernatural fear,
Unless it leap upon him in a dream,
Touches him not. To enhance the wonder, see
How arch his notices, how nice his sense
Of the ridiculous; not blind is he
To the broad follies of the licensed world,
Yet innocent himself withal, though shrewd,
And can read lectures upon innocence;
A miracle of scientific lore,
Ships he can guide across the pathless sea,
And tell you all their cunning; he can read
The inside of the earth, and spell the stars;
He knows the policies of foreign lands;
Can string you names of districts, cities, towns,
The whole world over, tight as beads of dew
Upon a gossamer thread; he sifts, he weighs;
All things are put to question; he must live
Knowing that he grows wiser every day
Or else not live at all, and seeing too
Each little drop of wisdom as it falls
Into the dimpling cistern of his heart:
For this unnatural growth the trainer blame,
Pity the tree.--Poor human vanity,
Wert thou extinguished, little would be left
Which he could truly love; but how escape?
For, ever as a thought of purer birth
Rises to lead him toward a better clime,
Some intermeddler still is on the watch
To drive him back, and pound him, like a stray,
Within the pinfold of his own conceit.
Meanwhile old grandame earth is grieved to find
The playthings, which her love designed for him,
Unthought of: in their woodland beds the flowers
Weep, and the river sides are all forlorn.
Oh! give us once again the wishing-cap
Of Fortunatus, and the invisible coat
Of Jack the Giant-killer, Robin Hood,
And Sabra in the forest with St. George!
The child, whose love is here, at least, doth reap
One precious gain, that he forgets himself.
These mighty workmen of our later age,
Who, with a broad highway, have overbridged
The froward chaos of futurity,
Tamed to their bidding; they who have the skill
To manage books, and things, and make them act
On infant minds as surely as the sun
Deals with a flower; the keepers of our time,
The guides and wardens of our faculties,
Sages who in their prescience would control
All accidents, and to the very road
Which they have fashioned would confine us down,
Like engines; when will their presumption learn,
That in the unreasoning progress of the world
A wiser spirit is at work for us,
A better eye than theirs, most prodigal
Of blessings, and most studious of our good,
Even in what seem our most unfruitful hours?
There was a Boy: ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!--many a time
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone
Beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake,
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm, and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls,
That they might answer him; and they would shout
Across the watery vale, and shout again,
Responsive to his call, with quivering peals,
And long halloos and screams, and echoes loud,
Redoubled and redoubled, concourse wild
Of jocund din; and, when a lengthened pause
Of silence came and baffled his best skill,
Then sometimes, in that silence while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice
Of mountain torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind,
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its woods, and that uncertain heaven, received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.
This Boy was taken from his mates, and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
Fair is the spot, most beautiful the vale
Where he was born; the grassy churchyard hangs
Upon a slope above the village school,
And through that churchyard when my way has led
On summer evenings, I believe that there
A long half hour together I have stood
Mute, looking at the grave in which he lies!
Even now appears before the mind's clear eye
That self-same village church; I see her sit
(The throned Lady whom erewhile we hailed) 0
On her green hill, forgetful of this Boy
Who slumbers at her feet,--forgetful, too,
Of all her silent neighbourhood of graves,
And listening only to the gladsome sounds
That, from the rural school ascending, play
Beneath her and about her. May she long
Behold a race of young ones like to those
With whom I herded!--(easily, indeed,
We might have fed upon a fatter soil
Of arts and letters--but be that forgiven)--
A race of real children; not too wise,
Too learned, or too good; but wanton, fresh,
And bandied up and down by love and hate;
Not unresentful where self-justified;
Fierce, moody, patient, venturous, modest, shy;
Mad at their sports like withered leaves in winds;
Though doing wrong and suffering, and full oft
Bending beneath our life's mysterious weight
Of pain, and doubt, and fear, yet yielding not
In happiness to the happiest upon earth.
Simplicity in habit, truth in speech,
Be these the daily strengtheners of their minds;
May books and Nature be their early joy!
And knowledge, rightly honoured with that name--
Knowledge not purchased by the loss of power!
Well do I call to mind the very week
When I was first intrusted to the care
Of that sweet Valley; when its paths, its shores,
And brooks were like a dream of novelty
To my half-infant thoughts; that very week,
While I was roving up and down alone,
Seeking I knew not what, I chanced to cross
One of those open fields, which, shaped like ears,
Make green peninsulas on Esthwaite's Lake:
Twilight was coming on, yet through the gloom
Appeared distinctly on the opposite shore
A heap of garments, as if left by one
Who might have there been bathing. Long I watched,
But no one owned them; meanwhile the calm lake
Grew dark with all the shadows on its breast,
And, now and then, a fish up-leaping snapped
The breathless stillness. The succeeding day,
Those unclaimed garments telling a plain tale
Drew to the spot an anxious crowd; some looked
In passive expectation from the shore,
While from a boat others hung o'er the deep,
Sounding with grappling irons and long poles.
At last, the dead man, 'mid that beauteous scene
Of trees and hills and water, bolt upright
Rose, with his ghastly face, a spectre shape
Of terror; yet no soul-debasing fear,
Young as I was, a child not nine years old,
Possessed me, for my inner eye had seen
Such sights before, among the shining streams
Of faery land, the forest of romance.
Their spirit hallowed the sad spectacle
With decoration of ideal grace;
A dignity, a smoothness, like the works
Of Grecian art, and purest poesy.
A precious treasure had I long possessed,
A little yellow, canvas-covered book,
A slender abstract of the Arabian tales;
And, from companions in a new abode,
When first I learnt, that this dear prize of mine
Was but a block hewn from a mighty quarry--
That there were four large volumes, laden all
With kindred matter, 'twas to me, in truth,
A promise scarcely earthly. Instantly,
With one not richer than myself, I made
A covenant that each should lay aside
The moneys he possessed, and hoard up more,
Till our joint savings had amassed enough
To make this book our own. Through several months,
In spite of all temptation, we preserved
Religiously that vow; but firmness failed,
Nor were we ever masters of our wish.
And when thereafter to my father's house
The holidays returned me, there to find
That golden store of books which I had left,
What joy was mine! How often in the course
Of those glad respites, though a soft west wind
Ruffled the waters to the angler's wish,
For a whole day together, have I lain
Down by thy side, O Derwent! murmuring stream,
On the hot stones, and in the glaring sun,
And there have read, devouring as I read,
Defrauding the day's glory, desperate!
Till with a sudden bound of smart reproach,
Such as an idler deals with in his shame,
I to the sport betook myself again.
A gracious spirit o'er this earth presides,
And o'er the heart of man; invisibly
It comes, to works of unreproved delight,
And tendency benign, directing those
Who care not, know not, think not, what they do.
The tales that charm away the wakeful night
In Araby, romances; legends penned
For solace by dim light of monkish lamps;
Fictions, for ladies of their love, devised
By youthful squires; adventures endless, spun 0
By the dismantled warrior in old age,
Out of the bowels of those very schemes
In which his youth did first extravagate;
These spread like day, and something in the shape
Of these will live till man shall be no more.
Dumb yearnings, hidden appetites, are ours,
And 'they must' have their food. Our childhood sits,
Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne
That hath more power than all the elements.
I guess not what this tells of Being past,
Nor what it augurs of the life to come;
But so it is; and, in that dubious hour--
That twilight--when we first begin to see
This dawning earth, to recognise, expect,
And, in the long probation that ensues,
The time of trial, ere we learn to live
In reconcilement with our stinted powers;
To endure this state of meagre vassalage,
Unwilling to forego, confess, submit,
Uneasy and unsettled, yoke-fellows
To custom, mettlesome, and not yet tamed
And humbled down--oh! then we feel, we feel,
We know where we have friends. Ye dreamers, then,
Forgers of daring tales! we bless you then,
Impostors, drivellers, dotards, as the ape
Philosophy will call you: 'then' we feel
With what, and how great might ye are in league,
Who make our wish, our power, our thought a deed,
An empire, a possession,--ye whom time
And seasons serve; all Faculties to whom
Earth crouches, the elements are potter's clay,
Space like a heaven filled up with northern lights,
Here, nowhere, there, and everywhere at once.
Relinquishing this lofty eminence
For ground, though humbler, not the less a tract
Of the same isthmus, which our spirits cross
In progress from their native continent
To earth and human life, the Song might dwell
On that delightful time of growing youth,
When craving for the marvellous gives way
To strengthening love for things that we have seen;
When sober truth and steady sympathies,
Offered to notice by less daring pens,
Take firmer hold of us, and words themselves
Move us with conscious pleasure.
I am sad
At thought of rapture now for ever flown;
Almost to tears I sometimes could be sad
To think of, to read over, many a page,
Poems withal of name, which at that time
Did never fail to entrance me, and are now
Dead in my eyes, dead as a theatre
Fresh emptied of spectators. Twice five years
Or less I might have seen, when first my mind
With conscious pleasure opened to the charm
Of words in tuneful order, found them sweet
For their own 'sakes', a passion, and a power;
And phrases pleased me chosen for delight,
For pomp, or love. Oft, in the public roads
Yet unfrequented, while the morning light
Was yellowing the hill tops, I went abroad
With a dear friend, and for the better part
Of two delightful hours we strolled along
By the still borders of the misty lake,
Repeating favourite verses with one voice,
Or conning more, as happy as the birds
That round us chaunted. Well might we be glad,
Lifted above the ground by airy fancies,
More bright than madness or the dreams of wine;
And, though full oft the objects of our love
Were false, and in their splendour overwrought,
Yet was there surely then no vulgar power
Working within us,--nothing less, in truth,
Than that most noble attribute of man,
Though yet untutored and inordinate,
That wish for something loftier, more adorned,
Than is the common aspect, daily garb,
Of human life. What wonder, then, if sounds
Of exultation echoed through the groves!
For, images, and sentiments, and words,
And everything encountered or pursued
In that delicious world of poesy,
Kept holiday, a never-ending show,
With music, incense, festival, and flowers!
Here must we pause: this only let me add,
From heart-experience, and in humblest sense
Of modesty, that he, who in his youth
A daily wanderer among woods and fields
With living Nature hath been intimate,
Not only in that raw unpractised time
Is stirred to ecstasy, as others are,
By glittering verse; but further, doth receive,
In measure only dealt out to himself,
Knowledge and increase of enduring joy
From the great Nature that exists in works
Of mighty Poets. Visionary power
Attends the motions of the viewless winds,
Embodied in the mystery of words:
There, darkness makes abode, and all the host
Of shadowy things work endless changes,--there,
As in a mansion like their proper home, 0
Even forms and substances are circumfused
By that transparent veil with light divine,
And, through the turnings intricate of verse,
Present themselves as objects recognised,
In flashes, and with glory not their own.
I Am A Path With So Many Conduits
i am a path with so many conduits
so please do not follow me
every path leads to a hundred paths
and you shall be lost
but keep the faith and love
and soon you will find
the only way
leading to my heart
when you reach there
(do not use your mind)
you may see yourself grieving
i have long been taken away
and i have no words or substance
no flesh or even bones
use the skin of your fingertips
to feel the dust
see the stain and do not ever wash
what is there is there
i am the eye staring at you, drowsy
about the coming
of something that is yet to be known
you shall not understand
neither shall i.
Pave The Path
With every great finish
Paves the path for a great beginning
And we cannot help but follow this path
Until we see it to the end
Our bodies fatigue and sore
Thinking we can't go on much longer
But our mind keeps telling us no
It keeps telling us we are stronger
And as we reach the end
Our hearts give thanks to all who cheered
We reached our goal in triumph
And never let ourselves stay down
As the time goes by
The distance between us grows greater
But time is only a fleeting shadow
And no-one is gone forever
Sometime in the future we shall meet again
And be able to run as a team
To work hard and run while having fun
And persisting towards our dream
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 22. The path by which we twain did go
The path by which we twain did go,
Which led by tracts that pleased us well,
Thro' four sweet years arose and fell,
From flower to flower, from snow to snow:
And we with singing cheer'd the way,
And, crown'd with all the season lent,
From April on to April went,
And glad at heart from May to May:
But where the path we walk'd began
To slant the fifth autumnal slope,
As we descended following Hope,
There sat the Shadow fear'd of man;
Who broke our fair companionship,
And spread his mantle dark and cold,
And wrapt thee formless in the fold,
And dull'd the murmur on thy lip,
And bore thee where I could not see
Nor follow, tho' I walk in haste,
And think, that somewhere in the waste
The Shadow sits and waits for me.
End Of The Old Road
The day I stop loving you
Will be the saddest day
Of my now fragmented life!
This day I stop loving you
Will be also the happiest of all
Because you will die within me
And I will be reborn:
A new me without tears,
A new me without fears!
Old fun memories will die
And will be buried along with you
While fun moments will come alive
To enrich my new life full of hope!
Once my heart and tormented mind
Are finally reconciled,
I will happily again smile
When I find the one sweet and kind!
That day I will be blessed
By the Mighty One above
Who will show me the path
That faithfully I must follow!
The path that will lead me to you,
The only one on this Earth
That will give me a real love
For the rest of my life
And now, I must finish this poem
Before I run out of words!
There is no turning back from this unending path of mine
Serpentine and black it stands before my eyes
and back it will lead me once more
It's all i have as i stumble in and out of grace
I walk through the gardens of dying
And cross all the rivers deep and dark as the night
Searching for a reason why time would've passed us by
every step i take the less i know myself
Every vow i break on my way towards your heart
Countless times i've prayed for
But gods just laugh at my face
And this path remains
Leading me into solitude's arms
I see through the
darkness my way back home
The journey seems endless but i'll carry on
The shadows will rise and they will fall
night drowns in dawn
Amidst all tears there's a smile
That all angels greet with an envious song
One look into stranger's
eyes and i know where i belong
And the path goes on...
The Lake Shows All
Is it true what they’re whispering in the streets?
Is it true what they are saying?
Is it true about what’s going to happen?
Is that why all the children have stopped playing?
The rumours are the hero’s here
The one that’s going to save lives
They’re going to save everyone
Fathers, children and wives
We’re told to meet them in the forest
Near the sparkling lake
We’re told to go one by one
Nothing needed to take
Everyone’s queuing to see the hero
Everyone’s queuing today
Everyone’s excited for it]
Everyone wants their say
People are leaving now
People are amazed
This hero must really be good
Because everyone’s left all dazed
My turn has come it’s finally here
My turn to follow the path
My turn to question to this hero
Hope there’s jokes to make us laugh
I enter the clearing near the lake
There’s calmness all around
I enter this peaceful zone
Without making any sound
I look around for the hero
I look for a long, long while
I look around high and low
There’s nothing but a leafy pile
Edging closer to the lake
I see a sign ahead
Edging closer slowly forward
The sign itself read:
‘You’re here to se the hero
You’re here to meet him now
You want your problems solving
The hero is here today
The hero is standing close
The hero is very similar
With your eyes, ears and nose.
So yes my friend, you’ve guessed the end
So now you really see
That you can truly say to yourself
The hero lies within me.