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The Smile Has Left Your Eyes

I saw you standing hand in hand
And now you come to me the solitary man
And I know what it is that made us live
Such ordinary lives
The where to go the who to see
No one could sympathize
The smile has left your eyes
The smile has left your eyes
And Ive become a rolling stone
I dont know where to go or what to call my own
But I can see that black horizon glooming
Ever close to view
Its over now its not my fault
See how this feels for you
The smile has left your eyes
The smile has left your eyes
But I never thought Id see you
Standing there with him
So dont come crawling back to me
Now its too late you realized
Now theres no one can sympathize
Now that the smile has left your eyes
Now its too late you realized
Now theres no one can sympathize
Now its too late you realized
Now that the smile has left your eyes

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Solitary Man

Sometimes I feel like a solitary man.
Under the night sky writing what I can.
No one else is moving or driving cars.
The world belongs to me under the stars.

While pondering in my solitude
Without a thought or plan,
Thoughts jump into the mind
Of this solitary man.

I don't know where they come from.
They are just my own surprise.
Sometimes I'd swear that they have come
Through a different set of eyes.

In prison I know that solitary
Can drive a person mad.
But in those I once sent there,
For the solitude they seem glad.

The Lord needed His solitude
For at one time forty days.
And again when in the garden,
Where for the souls of men He prayed.

So in my time of solitude
I also have time to pray.
It's when I feel the closest,
To Him in my night each day!

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Solitary Man

Written by: neil diamond
Melinda was mine
til the time
That I found her
Holding jim
Loving him
Then sue came along
Loved me strong
Thats what I thought
Me and sue
But that died too
Dont know that I will
But until I can find me
A girl wholl stay
And wont play games behind me
Ill be what I am
A solitary man
Solitary man
Ive had it to here
Bein where
Loves a small world
Part-time thing
Paper ring
I know its been done
Having one
Girl wholl love me
Right or wrong
Weak or strong
Dont know that I will
But until I can find me
The girl wholl stay
And wont play games behind me
Ill be what I am
A solitary man
Solitary man

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Solitary Man

Melinda was mine
til the time
That I found her
Holding jim
Loving him
Then sue came along
Loved me strong
Thats what I thought
Me and sue
But that died too
Dont know that I will
But until I can find me
A girl wholl stay
And wont play games behind me
Ill be what I am
A solitary man
Solitary man
Ive had it to here
Bein where
Loves a small world
Part-time thing
Paper ring
I know its been done
Having one
Girl who loves you
Right or wrong
Weak or strong
Dont know that I will
But until I can find me
The girl wholl stay
And wont play games behind me
Ill be what I am
A solitary man
Solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary
man

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For God’s Sake, Man Must Live As Per His Will

The environs and genes are there;
So is our freedom and free will;
God doesn’t allow temptations still
More than we ever can bear!

The natural laws are there;
The divine laws are known;
To keep them all, we must take care,
For the sake of our precious soul own!

What to do, ‘I am born this way, ’!
But ‘Must I live that way, ’ all days?
Our innate urges needn’t sway
Our mind, heart, body in life always.

The soul of man matters a lot;
No one can live as he/she dares;
Chastity is a virtue great
God expects from pure ‘earthen-wares’!

To live the hard way, seems quite odd;
How well you do decides reward;
The blemished soul can’t rejoin God;
Man must be cleansed to see the Lord!

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Emily Dickinson

I live with Him—I see His face

463

I live with HimI see His face—
I go no more away
For Visitor—or Sundown—
Death's single privacy

The Only One—forestalling Mine—
And that—by Right that He
Presents a Claim invisible—
No wedlock—granted Me

I live with HimI hear His Voice—
I stand alive—Today—
To witness to the Certainty
Of Immortality—

Taught Me—by Time—the lower Way—
Conviction—Every day—
That Life like Thisis stopless—
Be Judgment—what it may—

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Happy Birthday Robert Zimmerman

One of music's legends is Seventy One today
he was born Robert Allen Zimmerman
better known as Bob Dylan to the rest of us
a poet, a songwriter, actor, painter and a musician.
He's written some classic songs over the years
and he has inspired so many artists along the way
he started out writing and singing in the sixties
and he is still performing around the world today.
His voice is unique and it's one of a kind
you know it's Dylan by it's pitch and tone
singing Mr Tambourine Man, Blowin in the Wind,
The Times they are a Changin, and Like a Rolling Stone.
His music is a mixture of Folk, Rock, and the Blues,
but if you want some poetry then Dylan's your man
he's like Shakespeare with a guitar in his hand
and I bet if the Bard was alive today he'd be a big fan!

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Even In Times When The Signs Are Vivid

Tricked by slick divisionists,
A people stripped of their identity...
Can not ascend from knees taught to bend,
While begging for forgiveness of sins committed.
After being shown how to recognize and submit to them.
They, them and disinterested others,
Are lost and afraid to live their lives.
Finding themselves trapped.
And eyes on others to despise.

Even in times when the signs are vivid,
They remain blind.
Too many accept and have been told to believe,
There is a dignity in suffering.
And a reward received,
For doing it.
By those who ensure they stay just where they are!
Subservient and dependent.
Abused to amuse and needy.

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Stereo

Written by gerry beckley and jimmy webb, 1984
Found on perspective.
Stereo
We hear both sides
We sympathize
We live our lives in stereo
The left and the right
The dark and the light
We wrestle with the balance
We change our tone
We leave our phone
And tape record our absence
In lovin memory
Stereo
Were livin it in stereo
We fix it so our love is high fidelity
Mix it so we never lose the melody
We try to equalize our lives in stereo
So on we go
From side to side
As we divide
A single life in stereo
The far and the wide
We override
The feedback from the others
The unkind phrase
We lock in phase
Were only really listening to the stereo
Stereo
Were livin it in stereo
We tune it till we have a perfect parody
Commune with such a fine-cut, crystal clarity
It seems to symbolize
Our lives in stereo
Oo (la, la, la, la, la, la), yeah, yeah, yeah
Oo (la, la, la, la, la, la), yeah, yeah, yeah
Oo (la, la, la, la-a)
Stereo
Stereo
We fix it so our love is high fidelity
Mix it so we never lose the melody
We try to equalize our lives in stereo
Stereo
Stereo
We fix it so our love is high fidelity
Mix it so we never lose the melody
We try to equalize our lives in stereo

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Lenexa Babtist Church

FAITH

Through faith, love, prayer and compliance we can succeed
Overcoming the demands and falsehoods of strife.
We must dedicate our deeds to love, honor and defend
Our faith, our family, country and values of life.

We must sing of God's power, love and forgiveness
How He is both Father of Heaven and Earth.
Broadcasting our need to submit to His will
So we may improve our attitude and worth.

Allow us to disciple whomever we can
So they may impact the hearts and minds of others.
Bless us with stories which inspire dedication
To bolster the faith of our sisters and brothers.

We don't have to be a pastor or priest, just Christian
To be chosen, "Mailman For The Lord."
He gives us verse which elevates and renews
Our tribute for blessings we could never afford.

GOD'S BLESSING OF LOVE

Where would we be without God's blessing of love
Lonely, miserable, desperate and sad.
Love provides purpose for both body and soul
And gives reason to be thankful and glad.

Love teaches trust, fear, honor and respect
For all we wish to retain and not lose.
The choices we make can last a lifetime
So we must stay cautious of what we choose.

Everyone needs love for its impact and fulfillment
No love breeds desperation, disappointment and tears.
As love transforms how we think, act and respond
We validate our feelings by our fears.

SEEKING GOD

God desires us to faithfully love and seek Him out
To pray and discover His Divine Will.
The wicked and the selfish never find God
For they depend on self to provide and fulfill.

'Those who diligently seek me will find me.'
For God is just and only does what's right.
He blesses us despite our sins of the past
As we seek His forgiveness by day or night.

God controls everything we love, need and desire
He cares too much to let us get away with sin.
We must live our lives in total submission
And by watching His works, we begin!

GOD'S POET TOM ZART

The Lord can close doors no man can open
And open doors no man can close.
It's up to us to prove our heavenly worth
By our lifetime example of the path we chose.


Tom's 462 Poems Are Free To Share!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!

To Listen To Tom Zart's Poems Go To =
http: //new.pivtr.com/en/schedule/tom-zart/
www.bill crain.net/musicpage.htm
http: //www.veteranstodayforum.com/viewforum.php? f=38

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Daddy Rolling Stone

Girl you think youve had loving,
Girl you think youve had loving,
Girl you think youve had fun,
Girl you think youve had fun,
Girl you aint a seen nothin til I come along.
Girl you aint a seen nothin til I come along.
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy,
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy,
Yeah Im a daddy daddy Im daddy rolling stone.
Yeah Im a daddy daddy Im daddy rolling stone.
I got a friend named cody,
I got a friend named cody,
Hes got a girl named chris,
Hes got a girl named chris,
Im gonna steal that girl though hes twice my size,
Im gonna steal that girl though hes twice my size,
cause I know how to do it like this.
cause I know how to do it like this.
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy,
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy,
Yeah Im a daddy daddy Im daddy rolling stone,
Yeah Im a daddy daddy Im daddy rolling stone,
Im daddy rolling stone, Im daddy rolling stone,
Im daddy rolling stone, Im daddy rolling stone,
Daddy rolling stone, call me daddy rolling stone.
Daddy rolling stone, call me daddy rolling stone.
I said I got a friend named cody,
I said I got a friend named cody,
Hes got a girl named chris,
Hes got a girl named chris,
Im gonna steal that girl though hes twice my size,
Im gonna steal that girl though hes twice my size,
cause I know how to do it like this.
cause I know how to do it like this.
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy, daddy,
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy, daddy,
Im daddy rolling stone, Im daddy rolling stone,
Im daddy rolling stone, Im daddy rolling stone,
Just call me daddy rolling stone dear,
Just call me daddy rolling stone dear,
Long hair long nose, daddy rolling stone.
Long hair long nose, daddy rolling stone.

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Song To See You Through

Tom johnston
Sometimes I cant see past a day
I know Im growin tired and I feel it, yeah
And the song that I sing when the notes begin to ring
Its hard for my head to get into the melody, yeah
Day to day, I tell you
Day by day
I see faces all around me
When they start to smile
I just stop for a while
And I say baby let me love you
A small town store with an old wooden floor
The old man inside sellin dry goods
Has a smile on his face
Dont you know thats hard to replace
I bet hes gonna live to be a hundred, yeah
Day to day, I tell you
Day by day
I see faces all around me
When they start to smile
I just stop for a while
And I say baby let me love you
Summer is hot and the winter is cold
People all doin just what theyre told
Its too bad, its too sad
Thinkin for yourself is a hard thing to do
Well, dont you know theyre depending on you
To see them through, yeah
To see them through
Its the only thing you can do
You know you got to see them through
Shinin my light like a candle so bright
Show me the way to my future, yeah
With your hand on my face
Take me far from this place
Honey, Ill be the key to your heavenly door
Hear me, baby, calling to you now
Dont you know now baby, well, theyre countin on you
See me, baby, reachin for you
For you, reachin out for you, baby
Dont you see me reachin out for you
Hear me, baby, hear me callin to you
Dont you know, baby, that Im countin on you
To see me through

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Ben Jonson Entertains a Man from Stratford

You are a friend then, as I make it out,
Of our man Shakespeare, who alone of us
Will put an ass’s head in Fairyland
As he would add a shilling to more shillings,
All most harmonious,—and out of his
Miraculous inviolable increase
Fills Ilion, Rome, or any town you like
Of olden time with timeless Englishmen;
And I must wonder what you think of him
All you down there where your small Avon flows
By Stratford, and where you’re an Alderman.
Some, for a guess, would have him riding back
To be a farrier there, or say a dyer;
Or maybe one of your adept surveyors;
Or like enough the wizard of all tanners.
Not youno fear of that; for I discern
In you a kindling of the flame that saves—
The nimble element, the true caloric;
I see it, and was told of it, moreover,
By our discriminate friend himself, no other.
Had you been one of the sad average,
As he would have it,—meaning, as I take it,
The sinew and the solvent of our Island,
You’d not be buying beer for this Terpander’s
Approved and estimated friend Ben Jonson;
He’d never foist it as a part of his
Contingent entertainment of a townsman
While he goes off rehearsing, as he must,
If he shall ever be the Duke of Stratford.
And my words are no shadow on your town—
Far from it; for one town’s as like another
As all are unlike London. Oh, he knows it,—
And there’s the Stratford in him; he denies it,
And there’s the Shakespeare in him. So, God help him!
I tell him he needs Greek; but neither God
Nor Greek will help him. Nothing will help that man.
You see the fates have given him so much,
He must have all or perish,—or look out
Of London, where he sees too many lords.
They’re part of half what ails him: I suppose
There’s nothing fouler down among the demons
Than what it is he feels when he remembers
The dust and sweat and ointment of his calling
With his lords looking on and laughing at him.
King as he is, he can’t be king de facto,
And that’s as well, because he wouldn’t like it;
He’d frame a lower rating of men then
Than he has now; and after that would come
An abdication or an apoplexy.
He can’t be king, not even king of Stratford,—
Though half the world, if not the whole of it,
May crown him with a crown that fits no king
Save Lord Apollo’s homesick emissary:
Not there on Avon, or on any stream
Where Naiads and their white arms are no more,
Shall he find home again. It’s all too bad.
But there’s a comfort, for he’ll have that House—
The best you ever saw; and he’ll be there
Anon, as you’re an Alderman. Good God!
He makes me lie awake o’nights and laugh.

And you have known him from his origin,
You tell me; and a most uncommon urchin
He must have been to the few seeing ones—
A trifle terrifying, I dare say,
Discovering a world with his man’s eyes,
Quite as another lad might see some finches,
If he looked hard and had an eye for nature.
But this one had his eyes and their foretelling,
And he had you to fare with, and what else?
He must have had a father and a mother—
In fact I’ve heard him say soand a dog,
As a boy should, I venture; and the dog,
Most likely, was the only man who knew him.
A dog, for all I know, is what he needs
As much as anything right here to-day,
To counsel him about his disillusions,
Old aches, and parturitions of what’s coming,—
A dog of orders, an emeritus,
To wag his tail at him when he comes home,
And then to put his paws up on his knees
And say, “For God’s sake, what’s it all about?”

I don’t know whether he needs a dog or not
Or what he needs. I tell him he needs Greek;
I’ll talk of rules and Aristotle with him,
And if his tongue’s at home he’ll say to that,
I have your word that Aristotle knows,
And you mine that I don’t know Aristotle.”
He’s all at odds with all the unities,
And what’s yet worse, it doesn’t seem to matter;
He treads along through Time’s old wilderness
As if the tramp of all the centuries
Had left no roads—and there are none, for him;
He doesn’t see them, even with those eyes,—
And that’s a pity, or I say it is.
Accordingly we have him as we have him
Going his way, the way that he goes best,
A pleasant animal with no great noise
Or nonsense anywhere to set him off—
Save only divers and inclement devils
Have made of late his heart their dwelling place.
A flame half ready to fly out sometimes
At some annoyance may be fanned up in him,
But soon it falls, and when it falls goes out;
He knows how little room there is in there
For crude and futile animosities,
And how much for the joy of being whole,
And how much for long sorrow and old pain.
On our side there are some who may be given
To grow old wondering what he thinks of us
And some above us, who are, in his eyes,
Above himself,—and that’s quite right and English.
Yet here we smile, or disappoint the gods
Who made it so: the gods have always eyes
To see men scratch; and they see one down here
Who itches, manor-bitten to the bone,
Albeit he knows himself—yes, yes, he knows—
The lord of more than England and of more
Than all the seas of England in all time
Shall ever wash. D’ye wonder that I laugh?
He sees me, and he doesn’t seem to care;
And why the devil should he? I can’t tell you.

I’ll meet him out alone of a bright Sunday,
Trim, rather spruce, and quite the gentleman.
What ho, my lord!” say I. He doesn’t hear me;
Wherefore I have to pause and look at him.
He’s not enormous, but one looks at him.
A little on the round if you insist,
For now, God save the mark, he’s growing old;
He’s five and forty, and to hear him talk
These days you’d call him eighty; then you’d add
More years to that. He’s old enough to be
The father of a world, and so he is.
“Ben, you’re a scholar, what’s the time of day?”
Says he; and there shines out of him again
An aged light that has no age or station—
The mystery that’s his—a mischievous
Half-mad serenity that laughs at fame
For being won so easy, and at friends
Who laugh at him for what he wants the most,
And for his dukedom down in Warwickshire;—
By which you see we’re all a little jealous.…
Poor Greene! I fear the color of his name
Was even as that of his ascending soul;
And he was one where there are many others,—
Some scrivening to the end against their fate,
Their puppets all in ink and all to die there;
And some with hands that once would shade an eye
That scanned Euripides and Æschylus
Will reach by this time for a pot-house mop
To slush their first and last of royalties.
Poor devils! and they all play to his hand;
For so it was in Athens and old Rome.
But that’s not here or there; I’ve wandered off.
Greene does it, or I’m careful. Where’s that boy?

Yes, he’ll go back to Stratford. And we’ll miss him?
Dear sir, there’ll be no London here without him.
We’ll all be riding, one of these fine days,
Down there to see himand his wife won’t like us;
And then we’ll think of what he never said
Of women—which, if taken all in all
With what he did say, would buy many horses.
Though nowadays he’s not so much for women:
So few of them,” he says, “are worth the guessing.”
But there’s a worm at work when he says that,
And while he says it one feels in the air
A deal of circumambient hocus-pocus.
They’ve had him dancing till his toes were tender,
And he can feel ’em now, come chilly rains.
There’s no long cry for going into it,
However, and we don’t know much about it.
But you in Stratford, like most here in London,
Have more now in the Sonnets than you paid for;
He’s put one there with all her poison on,
To make a singing fiction of a shadow
That’s in his life a fact, and always will be.
But she’s no care of ours, though Time, I fear,
Will have a more reverberant ado
About her than about another one
Who seems to have decoyed him, married him,
And sent him scuttling on his way to London,—
With much already learned, and more to learn,
And more to follow. Lord! how I see him now,
Pretending, maybe trying, to be like us.
Whatever he may have meant, we never had him;
He failed us, or escaped, or what you will,—
And there was that about him (God knows what,—
We’d flayed another had he tried it on us)
That made as many of us as had wits
More fond of all his easy distances
Than one another’s noise and clap-your-shoulder.
But think you not, my friend, he’d never talk!
Talk? He was eldritch at it; and we listened—
Thereby acquiring much we knew before
About ourselves, and hitherto had held
Irrelevant, or not prime to the purpose.
And there were some, of course, and there be now,
Disordered and reduced amazedly
To resignation by the mystic seal
Of young finality the gods had laid
On everything that made him a young demon;
And one or two shot looks at him already
As he had been their executioner;
And once or twice he was, not knowing it,—
Or knowing, being sorry for poor clay
And saying nothing.… Yet, for all his engines,
You’ll meet a thousand of an afternoon
Who strut and sun themselves and see around ’em
A world made out of more that has a reason
Than his, I swear, that he sees here to-day;
Though he may scarcely give a Fool an exit
But we mark how he sees in everything
A law that, given we flout it once too often,
Brings fire and iron down on our naked heads.
To me it looks as if the power that made him,
For fear of giving all things to one creature,
Left out the first,—faith, innocence, illusion,
Whatever ’tis that keeps us out o’ Bedlam,—
And thereby, for his too consuming vision,
Empowered him out of nature; though to see him,
You’d never guess what’s going on inside him.
He’ll break out some day like a keg of ale
With too much independent frenzy in it;
And all for cellaring what he knows won’t keep,
And what he’d best forget—but that he can’t.
You’ll have it, and have more than I’m foretelling;
And there’ll be such a roaring at the Globe
As never stunned the bleeding gladiators.
He’ll have to change the color of its hair
A bit, for now he calls it Cleopatra.
Black hair would never do for Cleopatra.
But you and I are not yet two old women,
And you’re a man of office. What he does
Is more to you than how it is he does it,—
And that’s what the Lord God has never told him.
They work together, and the Devil helps ’em;
They do it of a morning, or if not,
They do it of a night; in which event
He’s peevish of a morning. He seems old;
He’s not the proper stomach or the sleep—
And they’re two sovran agents to conserve him
Against the fiery art that has no mercy
But what’s in that prodigious grand new House.
I gather something happening in his boyhood
Fulfilled him with a boy’s determination
To make all Stratford ’ware of him. Well, well,
I hope at last he’ll have his joy of it,
And all his pigs and sheep and bellowing beeves,
And frogs and owls and unicorns, moreover,
Be less than hell to his attendant ears.
Oh, past a doubt we’ll all go down to see him.

He may be wise. With London two days off,
Down there some wind of heaven may yet revive him;
But there’s no quickening breath from anywhere
Small make of him again the poised young faun
From Warwickshire, who’d made, it seems, already
A legend of himself before I came
To blink before the last of his first lightning.
Whatever there be, there’ll be no more of that;
The coming on of his old monster Time
Has made him a still man; and he has dreams
Were fair to think on once, and all found hollow.
He knows how much of what men paint themselves
Would blister in the light of what they are;
He sees how much of what was great now shares
An eminence transformed and ordinary;
He knows too much of what the world has hushed
In others, to be loud now for himself;
He knows now at what height low enemies
May reach his heart, and high friends let him fall;
But what not even such as he may know
Bedevils him the worst: his lark may sing
At heaven’s gate how he will, and for as long
As joy may listen, but he sees no gate,
Save one whereat the spent clay waits a little
Before the churchyard has it, and the worm.
Not long ago, late in an afternoon,
I came on him unseen down Lambeth way,
And on my life I was afear’d of him:
He gloomed and mumbled like a soul from Tophet,
His hands behind him and his head bent solemn.
What is it now,” said I,—“another woman?”
That made him sorry for me, and he smiled.
No, Ben,” he mused; “it’s Nothing. It’s all Nothing.
We come, we go; and when we’re done, we’re done;
Spiders and flies—we’re mostly one or t’other—
We come, we go; and when we’re done, we’re done;
“By God, you sing that song as if you knew it!”
Said I, by way of cheering him; “what ails ye?”
I think I must have come down here to think,”
Says he to that, and pulls his little beard;
Your fly will serve as well as anybody,
And what’s his hour? He flies, and flies, and flies,
And in his fly’s mind has a brave appearance;
And then your spider gets him in her net,
And eats him out, and hangs him up to dry.
That’s Nature, the kind mother of us all.
And then your slattern housemaid swings her broom,
And where’s your spider? And that’s Nature, also.
It’s Nature, and it’s Nothing. It’s all Nothing.
It’s all a world where bugs and emperors
Go singularly back to the same dust,
Each in his time; and the old, ordered stars
That sang together, Ben, will sing the same
Old stave tomorrow.”

When he talks like that,
There’s nothing for a human man to do
But lead him to some grateful nook like this
Where we be now, and there to make him drink.
He’ll drink, for love of me, and then be sick;
A sad sign always in a man of parts,
And always very ominous. The great
Should be as large in liquor as in love,—
And our great friend is not so large in either:
One disaffects him, and the other fails him;
Whatso he drinks that has an antic in it,
He’s wondering what’s to pay in his insides;
And while his eyes are on the Cyprian
He’s fribbling all the time with that damned House.
We laugh here at his thrift, but after all
It may be thrift that saves him from the devil;
God gave it, anyhow,—and we’ll suppose
He knew the compound of his handiwork.
Today the clouds are with him, but anon
He’ll out of ’em enough to shake the tree
Of life itself and bring down fruit unheard-of,—
And, throwing in the bruised and whole together,
Prepare a wine to make us drunk with wonder;
And if he live, there’ll be a sunset spell
Thrown over him as over a glassed lake
That yesterday was all a black wild water.

God send he live to give us, if no more,
What now’s a-rampage in him, and exhibit,
With a decent half-allegiance to the ages
An earnest of at least a casual eye
Turned once on what he owes to Gutenberg,
And to the fealty of more centuries
Than are as yet a picture in our vision.
There’s time enough,—I’ll do it when I’m old,
And we’re immortal men,” he says to that;
And then he says to me, “Ben, what’s ‘immortal’?
Think you by any force of ordination
It may be nothing of a sort more noisy
Than a small oblivion of component ashes
That of a dream-addicted world was once
A moving atomy much like your friend here?”
Nothing will help that man. To make him laugh,
I said then he was a mad mountebank,—
And by the Lord I nearer made him cry.
I could have eat an eft then, on my knees,
Tail, claws, and all of him; for I had stung
The king of men, who had no sting for me,
And I had hurt him in his memories;
And I say now, as I shall say again,
I love the man this side idolatry.

He’ll do it when he’s old, he says. I wonder.
He may not be so ancient as all that.
For such as he, the thing that is to do
Will do itself,—but there’s a reckoning;
The sessions that are now too much his own,
The roiling inward of a stilled outside,
The churning out of all those blood-fed lines,
The nights of many schemes and little sleep,
The full brain hammered hot with too much thinking,
The vexed heart over-worn with too much aching,—
This weary jangling of conjoined affairs
Made out of elements that have no end,
And all confused at once, I understand,
Is not what makes a man to live forever.
O no, not now! He’ll not be going now:
There’ll be time yet for God knows what explosions
Before he goes. He’ll stay awhile. Just wait:
Just wait a year or two for Cleopatra,
For she’s to be a balsam and a comfort;
And that’s not all a jape of mine now, either.
For granted once the old way of Apollo
Sings in a man, he may then, if he’s able,
Strike unafraid whatever strings he will
Upon the last and wildest of new lyres;
Nor out of his new magic, though it hymn
The shrieks of dungeoned hell, shall he create
A madness or a gloom to shut quite out
A cleaving daylight, and a last great calm
Triumphant over shipwreck and all storms.
He might have given Aristotle creeps,
But surely would have given him his katharsis.

He’ll not be going yet. There’s too much yet
Unsung within the man. But when he goes,
I’d stake ye coin o’ the realm his only care
For a phantom world he sounded and found wanting
Will be a portion here, a portion there,
Of this or that thing or some other thing
That has a patent and intrinsical
Equivalence in those egregious shillings.
And yet he knows, God help him! Tell me, now,
If ever there was anything let loose
On earth by gods or devils heretofore
Like this mad, careful, proud, indifferent Shakespeare!
Where was it, if it ever was? By heaven,
’Twas never yet in Rhodes or Pergamon—
In Thebes or Nineveh, a thing like this!
No thing like this was ever out of England;
And that he knows. I wonder if he cares.
Perhaps he does.… O Lord, that House in Stratford!

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Your smile

Your smile is worth million
Your heart may be in trillion
What makes you so unique/
I see you in dreams when not awake

You are so dear and near
But we have no words from you to hear
I always worry for u and fear
Let no pain come to you o, dear

You stay happy wherever you are
You are so near though remain very far
You make us cry I don't know why?
I wish I had wings to fly?

Days are getting on close
You may be ready to pose
Clad in good suit to tie in nuptials
We may all stand to witness your initials

I pray God to offer you happy smile
You never suffer separation for while
You get helping hand when walk for mile
Can you preserve your smile not for sake of smile

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Your Failure Is My Revenge

Go
You say stand up for your rights
But you fall for all their lies
You Claim to know the truth
While wearing a cheap disguise
Who are you to judge us, don't tell
Us how to live our lives
The real world's outside your door,
It's gonna open your eyes
Go..
Real life is coming gonna wipe
The smile from your face
You'll be left chocking, gagging
On reality's bitter taste
Won't talk down to others when
You're living on your knees
Slowly the hate sets in it
Consumes you like a disease
Oh your failure (failure) is my revenge.
Life's gonna catch up with you in the end
this world you've built is fragile,
It's all gonna come crashing down
And when your world collapses,
I only pray that I'm around
To see the look on your face,
The hurt, hollow, and blank stare
Of a person who just realized
That no one ever cared

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Smile At The World

You called her baby doll
She got a really big smile
You called her baby girl
She smiled a big smile

He's got a real big smile and a car that matches
He's got a lot of money and a real big smile
He's got girls and game, he never acts lame
He's smiles a lot which increases his style

You're never fully dressed
if you don't wear a smile
If you feel the need you can
take my shoes and walk awhile

You gave her a big hug
She got a real big smile
You played with her hair
She couldn't help but smile

You've got a real big smile and a hug that matches
Baby boy now don't go changin, why dontchya stay the same
Keep it up, boy, because she loves to see that smile
Don't go breakin all the rules, Cuz that's not why she came

You're never fully dressed
if you don't wear a smile
If you don't feel so happy
take my shoes and walk awhile

You called her beautiful
She got a real big smile
You held her tight
And for a while she smiled

She's got a real big smile and a heart that matches
If you need a hand, she'll know just what to do
She's sweet and her smile makes her pretty
It just gets everyone, with it she just can't lose

You're never fully dressed
if you don't wear a smile
Think about this girl
And Smile at the world

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Life Loves A Tragedy

Of all the words that Ive spoken
And lies that Ive told
Of all the hearts left broken
Begged for, bought, and sold
Lord Im feeling lonely
Feel like I cant go on
The streets have all grown cold now
The mysteries all gone
Shes all gone
Shes all gone, gone, gone
All gone now
Shes all...
Well I aint getting any younger
Cant you see it in my eyes
She sweet has turned to sour
I think its time for me to fly
Well my vices have turned to habits
And my habits have turned to stone
The lies chipped away at my smile now baby
While the truth ate me down to the bone
One more step and I swear
Ill be over the edge
Ive gotta stop living at a pace that kills
Before I wake up dead
Chorus:
Good times, bad times
How life loves a tragedy
Heartbreaks, heartaches
How life loves a tragedy
The nights I spent in danger
With strangers I thought were friends
Only to wake in anger
For some pleasure they swore theyd send
I think its time I move on
Like a rolling stone
Cause I got all the broken dreams I can buy
Its time to sell the ones I stole
Chorus
Well I paid the price
For every thrill I got
Those thrills are all long gone baby
But Im still paying for them like it or not
Solo
I think its time I move on like a rolling stone
Cause I got all the broken dreams I can buy
Its time to sell the ones I stole
Chorus

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The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia

(bobby russell)
He was on his way home from candletop
Been two weeks gone and he thought hed stop
At webs and have him a drink for he went home to her
Andy wo-lo said hello
He said hi whats a doing
Wo said sit down I got some bad news thats gonna hurt
Said Im your best friend and you know thats right
But your young bride aint home tonight
Since you been gone shes been seeing that amos boy seth
He got mad and he saw red
Andy said boy dont you lose your head
Cause to tell you the truth Ive been with her myself
Chorus:
Thats the night the lights went out in georgia
Thats the night that they hung an innocent man
Dont trust your soul to no back woods southern lawyer
Cause the judge in the towns got bloodstains on his hand
Andy got scared and left the bar
Walking on home cause he didnt live far you see
Andy didnt have many friends and he just lost him one
Brother thought his wife mustve left town
So he went home and finally found the only thing
Daddy had left him and that was a gun
He went off to andys house
Slipping through the back woods quiet as a mouse
Came upon some tracks too small for andy to make
He looked through the screen at the back porch door
He saw andy lying on the floor
In a puddle of blood and he started to shake
The georgia patrol was making their rounds
So he fired a shot just to flag em down
And a big bellied sheriff grabbed his gun and said
Whyd you do it?
The judge said guilty in a make believe trial
Slapped the sherrif on the back with a smile and said
Suppers waiting at home and I got to get to it
Chorus
They hung my brother before I could say
The tracks he saw while on his way
To andys house and back that night were mine
And his cheatin wife had never left town
And thats one body thatll be found
You see little sister dont miss when she aims her gun
Repeat chorus twice

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Hermes Trismegistus

Still through Egypt's desert places
Flows the lordly Nile,
From its banks the great stone faces
Gaze with patient smile.
Still the pyramids imperious
Pierce the cloudless skies,
And the Sphinx stares with mysterious,
Solemn, stony eyes.

But where are the old Egyptian
Demi-gods and kings?
Nothing left but an inscription
Graven on stones and rings.
Where are Helios and Hephaestus,
Gods of eldest eld?
Where is Hermes Trismegistus,
Who their secrets held?

Where are now the many hundred
Thousand books he wrote?
By the Thaumaturgists plundered,
Lost in lands remote;
In oblivion sunk forever,
As when o'er the land
Blows a storm-wind, in the river
Sinks the scattered sand.

Something unsubstantial, ghostly,
Seems this Theurgist,
In deep meditation mostly
Wrapped, as in a mist.
Vague, phantasmal, and unreal
To our thought he seems,
Walking in a world ideal,
In a land of dreams.

Was he one, or many, merging
Name and fame in one,
Like a stream, to which, converging
Many streamlets run?
Till, with gathered power proceeding,
Ampler sweep it takes,
Downward the sweet waters leading
From unnumbered lakes.

By the Nile I see him wandering,
Pausing now and then,
On the mystic union pondering
Between gods and men;
Half believing, wholly feeling,
With supreme delight,
How the gods, themselves concealing,
Lift men to their height.

Or in Thebes, the hundred-gated,
In the thoroughfare
Breathing, as if consecrated,
A diviner air;
And amid discordant noises,
In the jostling throng,
Hearing far, celestial voices
Of Olympian song.

Who shall call his dreams fallacious?
Who has searched or sought
All the unexplored and spacious
Universe of thought?
Who, in his own skill confiding,
Shall with rule and line
Mark the border-land dividing
Human and divine?

Trismegistus! three times greatest!
How thy name sublime
Has descended to this latest
Progeny of time!
Happy they whose written pages
Perish with their lives,
If amid the crumbling ages
Still their name survives!

Thine, O priest of Egypt, lately
Found I in the vast,
Weed-encumbered sombre, stately,
Grave-yard of the Past;
And a presence moved before me
On that gloomy shore,
As a waft of wind, that o'er me
Breathed, and was no more.

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Avis

I MAY not rightly call thy name,—­
Alas! thy forehead never knew
The kiss that happier children claim,
Nor glistened with baptismal dew.

Daughter of want and wrong and woe,
I saw thee with thy sister-band,
Snatched from the whirlpool’s narrowing flow
By Mercy’s strong yet trembling hand.

“Avis!”—­With Saxon eye and cheek,
At once a woman and a child,
The saint uncrowned I came to seek
Drew near to greet us,—­spoke, and smiled.

God gave that sweet sad smile she wore
All wrong to shame, all souls to win,—­
A heavenly sunbeam sent before
Her footsteps through a world of sin.

“And who is Avis?”—­Hear the tale
The calm-voiced matrons gravely tell,—­
The story known through all the vale
Where Avis and her sisters dwell.

With the lost children running wild,
Strayed from the hand of human care,
They find one little refuse child
Left helpless in its poisoned lair.

The primal mark is on her face,—­
The chattel-stamp,—­the pariah-stain
That follows still her hunted race,—­
The curse without the crime of Cain.

How shall our smooth-turned phrase relate
The little suffering outcast’s ail?
Not Lazarus at the rich man’s gate
So turned the rose-wreathed revellers pale.

Ah, veil the living death from sight
That wounds our beauty-loving eye!
The children turn in selfish fright,
The white-lipped nurses hurry by.

Take her, dread Angel! Break in love
This bruised reed and make it thine!—­
No voice descended from above,
But Avis answered, “She is mine.”

The task that dainty menials spurn
The fair young girl has made her own;
Her heart shall teach, her hand shall learn
The toils, the duties yet unknown.

So Love and Death in lingering strife
Stand face to face from day to day,
Still battling for the spoil of Life
While the slow seasons creep away.

Love conquers Death; the prize is won;
See to her joyous bosom pressed
The dusky daughter of the sun,—­
The bronze against the marble breast!

Her task is done; no voice divine
Has crowned her deeds with saintly fame.
No eye can see the aureole shine
That rings her brow with heavenly flame.

Yet what has holy page more sweet,
Or what had woman’s love more fair,
When Mary clasped her Saviour’s feet
With flowing eyes and streaming hair?

Meek child of sorrow, walk unknown,
The Angel of that earthly throng,
And let thine image live alone
To hallow this unstudied song!

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An Old Vagabond

HE was old and alone, and he sat on a stone to rest for awhile from the road:
His beard was white, and his eye was bright, and his wrinkles overflowed
With a mild content at the way life went; and I closed the book on my knee:
'I will venture a look in this living book,' I thought, as he greeted me.

And I said: ' My friend, have you time to spend to tell me what makes you glad?'
'Oh, ay, my lad,' with a smile; 'I'm glad that I'm old, yet am never sad!'

'But why?' said I; and his merry eye made answer as much as his tongue;
'Because,' said he, 'I am poor and free who was rich and a slave when young.
There is naught but age can allay the rage of the passions that rule men's lives;
And a man to be free must a poor man be, for unhappy is he who thrives:
He fears for his ventures, his rents and debentures, his crops, and his son, and his wife;
His dignity's slighted when he's not invited; he fears every day of his life.
But the man who is poor, and by age has grown sure that there are no surprises in years,
Who knows that to have is no joy, nor to save, and who opens his eyes and his ears
To the world as it is, and the part of it his, and who says: They are happy, these birds,
Yet they live day by day in improvident way—improvident? What were the words
Of the Teacher who taught that the field-lilies brought the lesson of life to a man?
Can we better the thing that is school-less, or sing more of love than the nightingale can?
See that rabbit—what feature in that pretty creature needs science or culture or care?
Send this dog to a college and stuff him with knowledge, will it add to the warmth of his hair?
Why should mankind, apart, turn from Nature to Art, and declare the exchange better-planned?
I prefer to trust God for my living than plod for my bread at a master's hand,
A man's higher being is knowing and seeing, not having and toiling for more;
In the senses and soul is the joy of control, not in pride or luxurious store.
Yet my needs are the same as the kingling's whose name is a terror to thousands: some bread,
Some water and milk,—I can do without silk,—some wool, and a roof for my head.
What more is possest that will stand the grim test of death's verdict? What riches remain
To give joy at the last, all the vanities past?—Ay, ay, that's the word—they are vain
And vexatious of spirit to all who inherit belief in the world and its ways.
And so, old and alone, sitting here on a stone, I smile with the birds at the days.'

And I thanked him, and went to my study, head bent, where I laid down my book on its shelf;
And that day all the page that I read was my age, and my wants, and my joys, and myself.

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