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Context begins with other artists - seniors and mentors.

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Solicited With Other Voices

Those able and capable of making decisions,
Are already prepared to be blamed for them.
Since those who take positions,
To find hiding places as is their custom...
Always seem to make appearances,
To dispute those decisions that have been made.
With an advocating of protests...
Solicited with other voices raised,
So no one can detect which of those voices heard...
Stand out to be recognized by anyone,
To humiliate publicly and personally disgrace.

Although cookies shakened together in one package,
Eventually chip to have them all crumble.

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With All The Reading and Writing I Do

With all the reading and writing I do
With all the work of the mind and heart
There comes a time
It can be any time
There comes a time
When the Poem must enter-

The Poem?
The deeper feeling-
The Music of the soul-
What I most need to say inside
The Writing which somehow surpasses all the other
In its inner intensity in its deepest feeling –

I write a poem now
All my heart mind soul
Go into every word and phrase.

The Poem? The Poem?
For which I write to live
And which through writing
I most live in Writing-
The Poem that this is.

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Who Other Than He and His Has Anything Left

Strategically...
He leaves the world in shambles!
He who stares incompetence in the face.
And has no regrets for the consequences.

He sees himself selected to lead,
With divine footsteps.
He believes himself worthy to be a fool.
Used.

Sympathetic,
Few are not.
Many wish to see him beheaded.
Or either tarred and feathered.
Since he represents those who are Jim Crow minded.
And absent of common sense.

He's so low in the opinion polls...
His closest allies are those,
Trying to get him a ride to the space station.
To be his first stop on a 'goodwill mission'.
He has even made his own poppa cry.
And tears of joy they were not!

Strategically...
He leaves the world in shambles!
He who stares incompetence in the face.
And has no regrets for the consequences.
Nor is he apologetic for creating such a mess.
With the best of 'intelligence'
That a theft that has taken place can buy!

If he had some 'handsome-in-nity'!
And something going on besides failure...
He would have received 'some' respect!
By someone,
From somewhere.
There has to be at least one empathetic soul,
On the planet.

But look what he and they have done!
Who other than he and his has anything left?
And who is going to suggest erecting his library?
When he has already been read!

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When I came back to California in the early '60s I was hanging out with Jimmy Bowen, Phil Spector, and I wanted to be a record producer and work with other artists.

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With Age The Sick And Suffering Multiply

WITH AGE THE SICK AND SUFFERING MULTIPLY

With age the sick and suffering multiply
Also, the dead.

We carry with us
More and more sad stories
More and more pain
Of people lost.

We live in a world of prayer for them
And sadness at their not being here.

We do not grow old alone
But with all those we have cared for.

Life is not easy,
And we go on as we go on.

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With Their Devotion, Faith and Love

I have loved and laughed and cried.
And today I am so filled with joy,
To know...
I have loved and laughed and cried,
With those...
Who have touched my life,
With their greatest of gifts...
Sharing their lives with mine.

And today I am filled with joy,
To know...
Those who have gone on in their lives,
To teach,
To administer their wisom.
And minister from pulpits...
With the same love and commitment to inspire,
Others...
With their devotion, faith and love!

So blessed am I,
To experience the crossing of our paths.

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Envy Of Other Poets Greater And More Honored Than Me

ENVY OF OTHER POETS GREATER AND MORE HONORED THAN ME

Envy of other poets greater and more honored than me
Only shows how petty and foolish and unwisely ambitious I am-

Each is what he or she is,
And each is only one-
And no one is anyone else-
And better are many, and worse are many-

A poet should write his own lines
And mind his own business-
And take pleasure in the poetry of others
When it gives that.

A poet need not compare and measure himself
But rather simply be what he is.

Write the poems
Leave the honors and the praises to someone else.

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Seeds with wings, between earth and sky

Seeds with wings, between earth and sky
Fluttering, flying;
Seeds of a lily with blood-red core
Breathing of myrrh and of giroflore:
Where winds drop them there must they lie,
Living or dying.

Some to the garden, some to the wall,
Fluttering, falling;
Some to the river, some to earth:
Those that reach the right soil get birth;
None of the rest have lived at all.—
Whose voice is calling:

'Here is soil for winged seeds that near,
Fluttering, fearing,
Where they shall root and burgeon and spread.
Lacking the heart-room the song lies dead:
Half is the song that reaches the ear,
Half is the hearing '?

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Calling With a Voice Heard and Understood

One age we must leave.
To aspire to another.
To let whatever is to take place,
Be done.
And we too...
Must be done with it,
To let it do what we need to have happen.

Rapid mixture churns the blend.
Spinning on an axis to outreaches of the Universe.
In light years unnoticed by those of us,
Traveling in and upon it!

One age we must leave.
Like the peeling or the hatching...
Or a birth that occurs from one's womb.

Some may have wishes to stop to perceive,
Reflections mirrored in perfection!
Detecting a defect.

Others are having their minds expanded...
Stretching a consciousness to a higher,
Connection.
Calling with a voice heard.
And understood.

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Morning

We are what we repeatedly do.
—Aristotle

You know how it is waking
from a dream certain you can fly
and that someone, long gone, returned

and you are filled with longing,
for a brief moment, to drive off
the road and feel nothing

or to see the loved one and feel
everything. Perhaps one morning,
taking brush to hair you'll wonder

how much of your life you've spent
at this task or signing your name
or rising in fog in near darkness

to ready for work. Day begins
with other people's needs first
and your thoughts disperse like breath.

In the in-between hour, the solitary hour,
before day begins all the world
gradually reappears car by car.


Anonymous submission.

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With A Failure Hailed And Assailed

They wanted to see him fail.
With a failure that would prevail.
And when they were done,
Their efforts had won.
With a failure hailed and assailed,
To belong and identified...
With each and everyone!

They wanted to see him fail.
With a failure that would prevail.
And when they were done,
Their efforts had won.
With a failure hailed and assailed,
To belong and identified...
With each,
And everyone that sung,
'Failure, failure...
Failure to us has come.'

~Your Highness?
I do not intend to be rude,
But...
Are You absolutely sure,
THIS is the planet...
You recommend to embark upon,
With 'our' teachings.~

*Oh YES.
Don't fret!
I am,
Indeed...
Absolutely sure of it! *

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With Wishes To Provoke and Defame

A history kept that has been embellished,
And exaggerated when told...
Eventually weakens a diminishing society,
By those who choose to battle to keep...
Comforts and customs unravelling,
From delusions fed to reveal an absence...
Of substance.

And depleted they are of an integrity...
That fears an unbeatable truth that pursues,
With brutal reality.

'You speak as if you are not part of this? '

I am just an observer.
Like many with abilities,
Depicted and ignored as insignificant.
And from where I stand...
There has been some benefit,
To being considered invisible.

Although, periodically, I am found to blame,
By those with wishes to provoke and defame...
Contibutions made but stolen by those who claim,
Them as their own.

Idiotic and dangerous are those unconscious actions taken!

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With My Finger Up And Raised

Tired of deceivers,
And the lies they leave...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

Tired of the thieves,
And corruption of beliefs...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

Tired of false faces that come.
Tired of those fixed smiles done.
Tired of the running by some...
Of those who say they care!

But not one woe I will do!

Tired of deceivers,
And the lies they leave...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

Tired of the thieves,
And corruption of beliefs...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

But not a single woe I will do.
And....
Not a woe I will do will prove...
With my finger up and raised!

Tired of the thieves,
And corruption of beliefs...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

Tired of deceivers,
And the lies they leave...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

But not a single woe I will do.
And....
Not a woe I will do will prove.
Or a showing I have had it,
With attitude.
And my finger up and raised!

But not a single woe I will do.
No.
Not a woe I will do will prove...
Or a showing I have had it,
With attitude.
And my finger up and raised!

With my finger up and raised!

'You don't need your finger up and raised.'

With my finger up and raised!

'You don't need your finger up and raised.'

With my finger up and raised!

'You don't need your finger up and raised.'

With my finger up and raised!

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Forging with ink of Hope and Faith

the last things fish feel thirst; lay down the dry
grown in the middle of breathless gills, showing the
endless mercy of dying, whistle in the air as it
suffocate

the breezing fresh gallop the nostril of nudeness
of a living soul, waiting the smoothness of flow of a
waiting catching soul to survive, the lasting
remembrance of a wondering immortal being exist

the shore catches the wave, as the pebble, wrestling
the turmoil of water in the heavenly pure of struggle,
nay the living floating weeds capture the mingling
drift in the tiny bubble in the deep blue sea

last the passing scene of the memory of the past, all
comes in a freezing sky to stay as it says a golden bye
of what is a blooming flower in the stream of river
gone into the sea of wonderful sky

wait as it flew the dust has mock of faith in the
rainbow of hope that the day leaves as you return and
forward of what ever ink in the memory of your life,
for what ever plan lives in the wish of days in the sun

walk and gone, the vision is to stay always in the
journey with fun, just believe and never fade the faith
and hope that all wait for you to make you, as always
be apart with the great plan

know the air that breathe and learn that someday you
will be back in the touching hand with Faith that
only you is the One to make your birth goal be true

go and leave no trace, the footprints will find you there
to stay with God; in the sea shore of Hope all has to
leave and return..... with Faith

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Amidst The Noise And The Haste

amidst the noise of people coming and going
passing you by
(they want all the while to stay and have a talk with you
for whatever
but you ignored them as you are busy with other
preoccupying things and events and places and
ideas, you write and keep on writing still in your journal,
the poems on used pages, the vandalism on the walls and
the painted words on the fences
of the house where you live)

you ask, what is this sea of people doing here
around you making all this whirhpools and waves

trying to drown you? or put you in a breathless space?
or pull you down in the oceanfloor of meaninglessness?

you look at them, and you do not find any meaning to their
flow, their movements anywhere, they all seem to have no
specific directions like
dusts and water bubbles only to spread and burst

what then? do you allow yourself to be drowned in their noise
and haste and
waste?

look inside you, investigate the available evidence of your heart
find there the magical silence
the wisdom of your past
pick them one by one like colored stones in the beach
put them in a jar
and look carefully the pieces the stones of what you are

you are never like them you are in them but you can never be one
like them
you are unique, and free and always
the center of your own
created universe

be good, be kind and sing sweetly your strong silence
live, live the way you like to live
just be yourself and to moments of haste and noise
close your eyes shut your mouth
and stay peacefully in the home of your heart

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The Donkey and His Panniers

A Donkey, whose talent for burdens was wondrous,
So much that you'd swear he rejoic'd in a load,
One day had to jog under panniers so pond'rous,
That -- down the poor Donkey fell smack on the road!

His owners and drivers stood round in amaze --
What! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous Neddy,
So easy to drive, through the dirtiest ways,
For every description of job-work so ready!

One driver (whom Ned might have "hail'd" as a "brother")
Had just been proclaiming his Donkey's renown
For vigour, for spirit, for one thing or another --
When, lo, 'mid his praises, the Donkey came down!

But, how to upraise him? - one shouts, t'other whistles,
While Jenky, the Conjurer, wisest of all,
Declar'd that an "over-production of thistles" --
(Here Ned gave a stare) -- "was the cause of his fall."

Another wise Solomon cries, as he passes --
"There, let him alone, and the fit will soon cease;
The beast has been fighting with other jack-asses,
And this is his mode of "transition to peace"."

Some look'd at his hoofs, and with learned grimaces,
Pronounc'd that too long without shoes he had gone --
"Let the blacksmith provide him a sound metal basis
(The wise-acres said), and he's sure to jog on."

Meanwhile, the poor Neddy, in torture and fear,
Lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan;
And -- what was still dolefuller - lending an ear
To advisers, whose ears were a match for his own.

At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far
As to see others' folly, roar'd out, as he pass'd --
"Quick -- off with the panniers, all dolts as ye are,
Or, your prosperous Neddy will soon kick his last!"

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My Collard Green Romance

At one time...
One would have to beg grocers
To get collard greens in their stores.
Now the major food chains,
Have them propped up like kings and queens...
Among the lettuce, cabbage and corn!
They have obtained such notoriety today,
You have to have patience when someone
Grabs the last bundle.
And that person would not have admitted,
A leaf of a collard green bush in their neighborhood!
I saw these times coming.
'Cleo' didn't have the market on this!

When I finally can find Collard Greens...
Stocked like precious gems near the avacados.
I go to the suburbs.
Pig feet, chitlins', hamhocks, snouts and hoofs,
Are there!
Like it's a Negro Christmas going on!
Or...
Someone's been passing around my grandma's recipes!

When I cook my Collard Greens...
I season the water with dashes of salt, pepper
And garlic powder.
I slice one vadalia onion and a small potato.
I add three teaspoons of apple cider vinegar,
One teaspoon of lemon juice.
Two tablespoons of Olive Oil...virgin!
Cover and bring this crap to a boil.

Fill kitchen sink for the Collard Green bath.
This is where the true romance begins!
With baking powder, salt and celery seasoning...
Gently lift your Collard Greens and place them,
Stalk first into the warm and inviting water!
Rub each leaf between your hands under the water.
And while you are there...
Alone with your Collard Greens,
Glad you did not have to go to battle to get them.
You rinse them and begin to slice their leaves,
Grabbing them into a bunch...
And placing those cut leaves in a bowl.
When this task is done,
Put those greens in a pot that, hopefully...
Smells like an exotic preparation for royalty!

Turn down that boiled heat...under the pot!
To medium cook...
And let them do so for about 45mins to an hour.
Never rush cooking Collard Greens.

Oh...
When I want my Collard Greens,
To taste better than any on the scene!
I use baby smoked turkey butts.
In the boiled prepped water,
With the other sizzling seasons!
Any turkey butt will do...
But those baby butted turkeys,
Make gobbling up Collard Greens so delicious.

Enjoy!

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With A Kiss

Life begins with a smack on the ass
Followed by tears or a hardy laugh,
A celebration to a child entering into this world
Whether the recipient of this award be a boy or a girl.
As in this world when my child first arrived
I must admit, for his appearance I did cry,
But when he opened his eyes to this I must admit
I realized everything truly, begins with just a kiss.
And through my life as days did come
Sometimes so slow and many times on the run,
And in this life, be it that or be it this,
Everything truly, began with just a kiss.
There at the alter where I stood with my wife
Now my women she would be my life,
God made us one and that began it
Then everything for us, began with a kiss.
So as I entered and explored throughout my life
Entering with happiness and sometimes strife,
Sometimes my life, it is was either a hit or miss
But one thing again, everything began with just a kiss.

But then came along the sadden deaths
My heart was broken, and was full of regret,
I lost my father, and then my brother
And there left suffering, would be my mother.
And there where I stood I had only one reaction
Then to GOD and my soul, I made this one correction,
And around my bible I closed it with my fist
Everything I said, ends with just a kiss.
My reflection for life as it had changed
As washed away with the falling rain,
Hellos were farther, and goodbyes nearby
Less time for joy and yet more tears to cry.
Around my world It was a saddened place
Life was hurried and at a faster pace,
But one thing I understood, like a cheap magic trick
Everything in this life, ends with just a kiss.
As life comes at one, so fast and so furious
Some take it so easy and some do so serious,
Many take it simply and some take it with a risk
But one think for certain, everything ends with a kiss.

So as years will come and will past me by
I will look back with joy and wonders why,
As when a child is welcomed into this world
Or at a grave site, where a flag is unfurled.
In life's scheme there is either hellos or goodbyes
Along with the tears of joy, and or tears to cry,
And in this journey we understand the plan
We all try to grow to be the perfect woman or man.
But then comes sadness and then the sorrow
As we live for the day and never for tomorrow,
We welcome the plants in the summertime
As we say goodbye to the rain and hello to sunshine.
Life is though is always ending and or beginning
And souls of man are either rejecting or believing.
So when ones life is coming to the end
Will they remember in life where they have been.
But to myself I want to remember everyone in my life,
Whether they have came and or gone or still in my sight.
So now a solitary candle on my mantle I have lit,
As I have realize everything, either ends or begins with just a kiss.


Randy L. McClave

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The Hermit

Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a rev'rend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:
Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days,
Pray'r all his bus'ness, all his pleasure praise.

A life so sacred, such serene repose,
Seem'd heav'n itself, till one suggestion rose;
That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey,
This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway:
His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenor of his soul is lost.
So when a smooth expanse receives imprest
Calm nature's image on its wat'ry breast,
Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
And skies beneath with answering colours glow:
But if a stone the gentle scene divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry side,
And glimm'ring fragments of a broken sun,
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.

To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight,
To find if books, or swains, report it right,
(For yet by swains alone the world he knew,
Whose feet came wand'ring o'er the nightly dew,)
He quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore,
And fix'd the scallop in his hat before;
Then with the sun a rising journey went,
Sedate to think, and watching each event.

The morn was wasted in the pathless grass,
And long and lonesome was the wild to pass;
But when the southern sun had warm'd the day,
A youth came posting o'er a crossing way;
His raiment decent, his complexion fair,
And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair.
Then near approaching, "Father, hail!" he cried;
"And hail, my son," the rev'rend sire replied;
Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd,
And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road;
Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part,
While in their age they differ, join in heart
Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,
Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.

Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day
Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray;
Nature in silence bid the world repose;
When near the road a stately palace rose:
There by the moon through ranks of trees they pass,
Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass.
It chanc'd the noble master of the dome
Still made his house the wand'ring stranger's home;
Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise,
Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease.
The pair arrive: the liv'ried servants wait;
Their lord receives them at the pompous gate.
The table groans with costly piles of food,
And all is more than hospitably good.
Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown,
Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down.

At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day,
Along the wide canals the zephyrs play;
Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep,
And shake the neighb'ring wood to banish sleep.
Up rise the guests, obedient to the call:
An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall;
Rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd,
Which the kind master forc'd the guests to taste.
Then, pleas'd and thankful, from the porch they go;
And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe;
His cup was vanish'd; for in secret guise
The younger guest purloin'd the glitt'ring prize.

As one who spies a serpent in his way,
Glist'ning and basking in the summer ray,
Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near,
Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear;
So seem'd the sire; when far upon the road,
The shining spoil his wily partner show'd.
He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart,
And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part:
Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard,
That gen'rous actions meet a base reward.

While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds,
The changing skies hang out their sable clouds;
A sound in air presag'd approaching rain,
And beasts to covert scud across the plain.
Warn'd by the signs, the wand'ring pair retreat,
To seek for shelter at a neighb'ring seat.
'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground,
And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around;
Its owner's temper, tim'rous and severe,
Unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there.

As near the miser's heavy doors they drew,
Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew;
The nimble lightning mix'd with showers began,
And o'er their heads loud rolling thunders ran.
Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain,
Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain.
At length some pity warm'd the master's breast,
('Twas then his threshold first receiv'd a guest,)
Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care,
And half he welcomes in the shiv'ring pair;
One frugal faggot lights the naked walls,
And Nature's fervour through their limbs recalls:
Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine,
Each hardly granted, serv'd them both to dine;
And when the tempest first appear'd to cease,
A ready warning bid them part in peace.
With still remark the pond'ring hermit view'd
In one so rich, a life so poor and rude;
And why should such, within himself he cried,
Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside?
But what new marks of wonder soon took place
In every settling feature of his face,
When from his vest the young companion bore
That cup, the gen'rous landlord own'd before,
And paid profusely with the precious bowl,
The stinted kindness of this churlish soul!

But now the clouds in airy tumult fly;
The sun emerging opes an azure sky;
A fresher green the smelling leaves display,
And glitt'ring as they tremble, cheer the day:
The weather courts them from their poor retreat,
And the glad master bolts the wary gate.

While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought:
Wlth all the travel of uncertain thought;
His partner's acts without their cause appear,
'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here:
Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes,
Lost and confounded with the various shows.

Now night's dim shades again involve the sky,
Again the wanderers want a place to lie,
Again they search, and find a lodging nigh:
The soil improv'd around, the mansion neat,
And neither poorly low, nor idly great:
It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind,
Content, and not for praise, but virtue kind.

Hither the walkers turn with weary feet,
Then bless the mansion, and the master greet:
Their greeting fair bestow'd, with modest guise,
The courteous master hears, and thus replies:

"Without a vain, without a grudging heart,
To Him who gives us all, I yield a part;
From Him you come, for Him accept it here,
A frank and sober, more than costly cheer."
He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread,
Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed,
When the grave household round his hall repair,
Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with pray'r.

At length the world, renew'd by calm repose,
Was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose.
Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept
Near the clos'd cradle where an infant slept,
And writh'd his neck: the landlord's little pride,
O strange return! grew black, and gasp'd, and died!
Horrors of horrors! what! his only son!
How look'd our hermit when the fact was done?
Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part,
And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart.

Confus'd, and struck with silence at the deed,
He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed.
His steps the youth pursues: the country lay
Perplex'd with roads, a servant show'd the way:
A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er
Was nice to find; the servant trod before:
Long arms of oak an open bridge supplied,
And deep the waves beneath the bending glide.
The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin,
Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in;
Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head,
Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead.

Wild, sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes,
He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries,
"Detested wretch!"--but scarce his speech began,
When the strange partner seem'd no longer man:
His youthful face grew more serenely sweet;
His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet,
Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;
Celestial odours breathe through purpled air;
And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day,
Wide at his back their gradual plumes display.
The form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
And moves in all the majesty of light.

Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew,
Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do;
Surprise in secret chains his words suspends,
And in a calm his settling temper ends.
But silence here the beauteous angel broke,
(The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke).

"Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown,
In sweet memorial rise before the throne:
These charms, success in our bright region find,
And force an angel down, to calm thy mind;
For this, commission'd, I forsook the sky,
Nay, cease to kneel--thy fellow-servant I.

"Then know the truth of government divine,
And let these scruples be no longer thine.

"The Maker justly claims that world He made,
In this the right of Providence is laid;
Its sacred majesty through all depends
On using second means to work his ends:
'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye,
The Pow'r exerts his attributes on high,
Your actions uses, nor controls your will,
And bids the doubting sons of men be still.

"What strange events can strike with more surprise,
Than those which lately struck thy wond'ring eyes?
Yet taught by these, confess th' Almighty just,
And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust!

"The great vain man, who far'd on costly food,
Whose life was too luxurious to be good;
Who made his iv'ry stands with goblets shine,
And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine,
Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost,
And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.

"The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door
Ne'er mov'd in duty to the wand'ring poor;
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind
That Heav'n can bless, if mortals will be kind.
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,
And feels compassion touch his grateful soul.
Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead,
With heaping coals of fire upon its head;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,
And loose from dross, the silver runs below.

"Long had our pious friend in virtue trod,
But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God;
(Child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain,
And measur'd back his steps to earth again.
To what excesses had this dotage run!
But God, to save the father, took the son.
To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go,
(And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow).
The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Now owns in tears the punishment was just.

"But how had all his fortune felt a wrack,
Had that false servant sped in safety back!
This night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal,
And what a fund of charity would fail!

"Thus Heav'n instructs thy mind: this trial o'er,
Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more."

On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew,
The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew.
Thus look'd Elisha, when, to mount on high,
His master took the chariot of the sky;
The fiery pomp ascending left the view;
The prophet gaz'd, and wish'd to follow too.

The bending hermit here a prayer begun,
"Lord! as in heav'n, on earth thy will be done!"
Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place,
And pass'd a life of piety and peace.

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Compare your griefs with other men's and they will seem less.

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