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Psalm 027

My light
My salvation
Lord, the strength of my life
Facing wars and armies I’m not

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You Got The Strength Back To Live Your Life Again

You got the strength
Back to live your
Life again
You can
Look after
The house
That you live in
And that is a bonus

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Weakness limits the strength

The strength of the chain is what its weakest link is.
The strength of the mighty is what his weak point is.
That is why there is a fall for every emperor.
04.01.2000, Karaikudi

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Waiting For The Strength

i often walk in the quiet of the evening
with Mary Magdelene....
listening to the sound of her voice,
as she speaks of things
that men do not understand!
and after she leaves,
i stand by the stone,
waiting for the strength
to push it away!

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The Strength of Jesus

The strength of Jesus
Ties their hearts;
She sits by the gates of Heaven;
She sits by the weak and the lost;
She sits by her Jesus
Who is the lonely little boy,
And she visits the needy.
The strength of Jesus ties their hearts!
She sits by her because
Jesus shines
within the gates
of the city

Mar 25,2012

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Caressed By The Strength Of Lightening

Aroused by thunder.
Caressed by the strength of lightening.
And nourished is my thirst,
By falling rain.

I too become recharged,
From the acts done by Mother Nature.

As I await the Sun coming to dawn...
And awaken to flourish from the encouragement,
That affords me to blossom.
And develop the growth of my reaching bloom.

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The Strength To Say Good-Bye

Even though I seem quiet and shy
I have a strength inside of me
I have the strength to say good-bye

If a friend had always been a lie
I would be heartbroken but I realize
I have the strength to say good-bye

Even if someone precious to me dies
My soul will be crying but give me time
For I have the strength to say good-bye

When my soul is lost and I want to cry
Over time I shall heal, for I know that I
Still have the strength to say good-bye

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I Didn't Think I Had The Strength To Love Again

I thought I didn't have the strength to love again! ! ! !  
I didn't believe in the power of love until you came in my life and loved what I thought was was gone in me. 
The person who became covered with seasons of unwanted stuff and I felt like I gave so much of me that I became empty.
And it was at that place that I just wanted to give up on love because I felt that love  didn't love me no more, and was sent to drain my heart to the very core.
But when I first saw you, you help me see that I was  giving so much of me away that I  didn't save anything nothing. And a tear fell from my eyes and in time I truly felt your love poured back into my life! ! ! ! when I thought I didn't have the strength to love again! ! ! !

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Lord Give Us The Strength

Lord Give Us The Strength.....,
To suppress our fears....,
Lord Give Us The Strength....,
To fight our tears....,
It's a rough, tough, world...,
Every day is a test...,
But powerful and proud...,
We’ll always do our best....,
Still more and more....,
We need your support....,
So Lord Give Us The Strength....,
Lord Give Us The Strength.

Lord Give Us The Strength.....,
To keep the faith….,
Lord Give Us The Strength....,
To conquer hate…,
It’s a harsh, cruel road…,
We travel through life…,
But we feel comfort….,
Guided by your light....,
Still on and on….,
We pray for your love....,
And to worship you....,
Is our sole intent......,
So Lord Give Us The Strength....,
Lord Give Us The Strength.

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Oh, God! Give me the strength....

Oh, God! Give me the strength to forgive
Even when I was not forgiven,
No one to humiliate or to offend
Even when I was humiliated or offended
Give me the wisdom to be always fair,
Teach me to fly and not to be scared,
Not to be indifferent to the neighbors,
But to live and create for world's favors.
If I doubt to ask my heart for advice
As my heart never tells me lies.
If I'm wrong to apologize,
Insult and hurt not memorize.

Seven words I'd like here to say,
They help me to greet each day,
They help to love and live,
They help me to believe,
They help my pain to relieve,
For me they are the main:

©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 18th of June,2012

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With the Strength of You (Thank You)

Even though as we come to a close of this Thankful Day
There are things that we need to think
about as we end the night as we pray

That this world is full of the homeless out there
And to many of us it seems like we will never care

That there are many reasons that they are out there
by no fault of their own
As they find themselves hungry and alone

Just remember in that pray it does not matter what we say
But make sure we ask us to the Lord to help to help show us the way

To help them show them that there are people that people really care
About everything that they were went through
And we can all come together in with the Strength of You

So as the time it comes for us to give thanks again
We all can finally Say Thank You Amen

By Brank Pulver Nov 25,2011

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The Strength You Seek

My strength seems to be the corner stone
In which you rest on
But you don’t seem to understand
The strength you see in only a mirage
That I have built

Others, This world, your self
Are fooled, or have fooled your self
So you don’t realize the man, the person
You gain your strength from
Needs strength himself

Do you need this Mirage, reassurance?
How can I show you these cracks
Which are widening as we speak
Do I need to scream, shed a tear
Fall at your feet for you to see

You weaken me which each breath
You cripple me with your issues
I myself struggle each day with
The worlds torment

This act can not last long
The day will come for words to be spoken
Or actions viewed and hopefully
My plight is seen

Everyone seems at ease not to ask
Everyone seems at ease to continue on
With this manifestation

All I ask is help my self

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The Strength of a Man

The strength of a man is his arms
that protect you and keep you warm.

It is his caring ways
of the affection that he displays.

The strength of a man is his intellectual
mind and the words that he uses with positive

It's his motivational words
that shines from his eyes.

The strength of a man is taking care of his
responsibilities without any hostility.

It's the love that he shares with respect to his
home and supporting his children until they can
do it on their own.

The strength of a man is his gentle touch that
pulls you near when you are shedding precious

It's his passionate warm heart
he romantically imparts.

The strength of a man is especially appealing
when he displays genuine feelings.

It's his humble soul he has to continually to love
when he is emotionally hurt as his feelings fight to stay

The strength of a man
is his loyal and sheer love to only one woman.

It's his true sense of ability of integrity to his mate
and the stability of love he can continuously create.

The strength of a man isn't the world's load he can
lift or how he can shift.

Instead it's the heavy burdens he can carry on and on...

(c) By: Naomi Johnson

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The Strength of a Woman

The strength of a woman is her kindhearted ways
that she forever displays.

It's her loving confident smile that takes you to the
highest place with the glimpse of determination
shone upon her face.

The strength of a woman is the amazing ability to
withstand pain bring a life in this world even if the
man does not want to entertain.

It's the ability to raise her child on her own when
the man left her all alone to support them until they
are grown.

The strength of a woman is the intrinsic style
to protect like a child without being hostile.

It's the humble heart she shows
that warms a soul when your spirits feeling low.

The strength of a woman knows how to restrain her
tongue when insults are being flung.

It's the lovely expression she conveys with the eyes
and respect for herself she does not denys.

The strength of a woman is the devoted traits
she has standing by her man side when problems

It's her inspirational words she gives her mate
making him feel oh so great.

The strength of a woman is her gentle touch
you love so much.

It's her loyal love to one guy she continues to create
without being irate.

The strength of a woman is her intellectual mind,
oh so chic with the words she speaks.

It's the versatile
qualities she uses without spirit of guile.

The strength of a woman is learning how to love
when she has been hurt over again without
committing a sin.

The strength of a woman is not her traditional love
she has to live on, it's her unconditional spiritual love
that has not yet gone.

(c) By: Naomi Johnson

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Heart Of The Rose

(graham russell)
A long time ago, from the valley of the sun
Came the holy power,
When the gods were one
Searching for a new home,
Searching for this land
Guided by the stars, and a vision they had seen
The pillars of the temple,
In these hills of green
Buried deep inside for only us to find
It is the roar of the wind,
The power of the sun
The strength of a thousand bows
And those who near it again, will fear it again
And its here in the heart of the rose
Painted in the sky was the moment to awake
All that lay within you,
As this dawn should break
With this force awoken, none can stand before
This is the hour, now is the time
Driven by the purest love, I give you mine
All that we must be, is everything we see
Our love, has brought us both together
And its our love that will go on forever
There is no love that can become as one
Before its time
It is the trees in the earth,
It is the rivers that run
And through us this secret flows
And now our destiny calls,
Youll remember it all
Our love for the heart of the rose

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The Sultana's Remonstrance

IT suits thee well to weep,
As thou lookest on the fair land,
Whose sceptre thou hast held
With less than woman's hand.

On yon bright city gaze,
With its white and marble halls,
The glory of its lofty towers,
The strength of its proud walls.

And look to yonder palace,
With its garden of the rose,
With its groves and silver fountains,
Fit for a king's repose.

There is weeping in that city,
And a cry of woe and shame,
There's a whisper of dishonour,
And that whisper is thy name.

And the stranger's feast is spread,
But it is no feast of thine;
In thine own halls accursed lips
Drain the forbidden wine.

And aged men are in the streets,
Who mourn their length of days,
And young knights stand with folded arms,
And eyes they dare not raise.

There is not one whose blood was not
As the waves of ocean free,--
Their fathers died for thy fathers,
They would have died for thee.

Weep not, 'tis mine to weep,
That ever thou wert born,
Alas, that all a mother's love
Is lost in a queen's scorn!

Yet weep, thou less than woman, weep,
Those tears become thine eye,--
It suits thee well to weep the land
For which thou daredst not die.*

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Born From the Blood of the Gael

I learned my history of Ireland
From my father every Friday night,
When he would arrive home from Madigan’s bar
Reciting in song and verse of Ireland’s fight.

He talked of Robert Emmett
And sang of the brave Wolfe Tone,
He spoke with pride of Padraig Pearse
Of James Connolly, he would recite a poem.

It was not the Guinness that fuelled his passion,
For his heritage, he would never part.
And he told me, that I, a son of the Diaspora
Was an Irish bhoy at heart.

He said that Brother Walfrid should be canonized a saint
For his vision and his dream.
For he brought faith and pride to the Glasgow Irish
With men proudly wearing the emerald green.

A second-class citizen is how he had felt all his life
For being a Catholic of Irish descent.
And it burned his soul, the discrimination and bigotry,
That had encountered his up bringing in a Glasgow tenement.

He spoke of the shipyards; he had worked down by the Clyde,
Harassed for his faith, labeled a papist and Fenian.
His solace he found, in Our Lord and the Virgin Mary,
How he sometimes wished, he had the strength of Cúchulainn.

Our heritage and culture, he said, shall last forever
For we are born from the blood of the Gael,
And the next time that you walk into Parkhead,
Those rebel songs of old, sing, shout and yell.

Daniel McDonagh June’2008

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Carmen Sylva

Down the Stream

From whence the brook? From where the waters gather
In mountains' deep recesses, stone-black lakes
And dripping crevices. It ripples forth
Into the shining day with scarce a voice,
And with no strength at all, till mountain showers
And winter's snow and spring storms pour their flood
Into the dancing brook, that foams and starts
And rushes headlong down the steeps and throws
Into the Unknown all its youth and strength,
And thunders into hell, to rise again
In sheets of whiteness into dreamy veils,
To kiss the flowers' feet and overflow
The meadows; thence, o'erbridged and caught and fastened
To wheels, to grind and grind with irksome noise,
To lose all liberty, all winsome frolic,
And work till doomsday. On and on the stream
Goes widening into calm and mighty strength,
A hero of a stream, that bears the ships
Like toys, and carries legions.
Wider still
He grows, and stronger, as he drags the waters
Of hundred rivers with him to the sea.
At last his course is sluggish, tired, slow,
A living death, till, blended with the sea,
A rising tide will carry him away
Into oblivion. Such is life! A stream
From unknown heights through storm and dangerous fall,
Through unknown land and never-ending work
Unto Eternity's great, unknown sea.
You cannot rise above the height you come from,
You only widen and expand--but downwards,--
Your strength is gone, your impetus is quenched.
And then the world will call you great and grand,
And make a fortune out of all those waters:
Your tears, your blood, your work, and what you spent;
The strength of all your aims and all your falls!

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The kid only kept me alive and helped me stand the pain

I was holding the tender
Left hand palm of the
Little child lying by my side
Seeking the kid
To bless me with strength
And a part of his enthusiasm
So that we keep alive
And see the light of the day

It must be early morning now
And I was able to hear shouts
Of people arrived at the spot of the mishap
We were survivors of a
Recent train accident

I saw the same kid yesternight
Playing with his mom
And dodging her efforts
To feed him with the most nutritious food
She could best afford
I do not know what time we went off in sleep
In this three tier air conditioned coach

But all came to a halt with a big bang and great jerk
All settled with cries of help
Emanating from all directions
And the cries also died down over a period to time
I was trapped between two berth slabs
The berth in which the child is sleeping
Getting crushed close to mine
But the kid was not injured and still sleeping
After some initial cries immediately after the mishap

I was holding that child’s palm
And praying all gods known to me
To help us come out
I was in great pains and was unable to
Move my legs while hands were free

Prayers of mine were answered
When I saw an acetylene torch
Cutting the ceiling and molten hot
Metal splinters started showering from top
I made shouts so that they could exercise caution
Which they did
And entered a pair of asbestos gloved hands
I carefully grabbed the sleeping kid
And handed over to the rescuers
Telling that the kid was fine
And requesting them to take a good care of him
I did not know what happened
After the child was handed over

When I became conscious
I smelt the disinfectant laden hospital environ
And I heard doctors discussing about me
I understood I have lost both my legs
And they were wondering how I
Withstood the pain of such a crush
At the same time saved the life of a kid

They did not know
The kid only kept me alive
And helped me stand the pain

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The Song Of The Wage-Slave

When the long, long day is over, and the Big Boss gives me my pay,
I hope that it won't be hell-fire, as some of the parsons say.
And I hope that it won't be heaven, with some of the parsons I've met --
All I want is just quiet, just to rest and forget.
Look at my face, toil-furrowed; look at my calloused hands;
Master, I've done Thy bidding, wrought in Thy many lands --
Wrought for the little masters, big-bellied they be, and rich;
I've done their desire for a daily hire, and I die like a dog in a ditch.
I have used the strength Thou hast given, Thou knowest I did not shirk;
Threescore years of labor -- Thine be the long day's work.
And now, Big Master, I'm broken and bent and twisted and scarred,
But I've held my job, and Thou knowest, and Thou will not judge me hard.
Thou knowest my sins are many, and often I've played the fool --
Whiskey and cards and women, they made me the devil's tool.
I was just like a child with money; I flung it away with a curse,
Feasting a fawning parasite, or glutting a harlot's purse;
Then back to the woods repentant, back to the mill or the mine,
I, the worker of workers, everything in my line.
Everything hard but headwork (I'd no more brains than a kid),
A brute with brute strength to labor, doing as I was bid;
Living in camps with men-folk, a lonely and loveless life;
Never knew kiss of sweetheart, never caress of wife.
A brute with brute strength to labor, and they were so far above --
Yet I'd gladly have gone to the gallows for one little look of Love.
I, with the strength of two men, savage and shy and wild --
Yet how I'd ha' treasured a woman, and the sweet, warm kiss of a child!
Well, 'tis Thy world, and Thou knowest. I blaspheme and my ways be rude;
But I've lived my life as I found it, and I've done my best to be good;
I, the primitive toiler, half naked and grimed to the eyes,
Sweating it deep in their ditches, swining it stark in their styes;
Hurling down forests before me, spanning tumultuous streams;
Down in the ditch building o'er me palaces fairer than dreams;
Boring the rock to the ore-bed, driving the road through the fen,
Resolute, dumb, uncomplaining, a man in a world of men.
Master, I've filled my contract, wrought in Thy many lands;
Not by my sins wilt Thou judge me, but by the work of my hands.
Master, I've done Thy bidding, and the light is low in the west,
And the long, long shift is over . . . Master, I've earned it -- Rest.

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William Butler Yeats

Blood And The Moon

BLESSED be this place,
More blessed still this tower;
A bloody, arrogant power
Rose out of the race
Uttering, mastering it,
Rose like these walls from these
Storm-beaten cottages --
In mockery I have set
A powerful emblem up,
And sing it rhyme upon rhyme
In mockery of a time
HaIf dead at the top.
Alexandria's was a beacon tower, and Babylon's
An image of the moving heavens, a log-book of the
sun's journey and the moon's;
And Shelley had his towers, thought's crowned powers
he called them once.
I declare this tower is my symbol; I declare
This winding, gyring, spiring treadmill of a stair is my
ancestral stair;
That Goldsmith and the Dean, Berkeley and Burke
have travelled there.
Swift beating on his breast in sibylline frenzy blind
Because the heart in his blood-sodden breast had
dragged him down into mankind,
Goldsmith deliberately sipping at the honey-pot of his
And haughtier-headed Burke that proved the State a
That this unconquerable labyrinth of the birds, cen-
tury after century,
Cast but dead leaves to mathematical equality;
And God-appointed Berkeley that proved all things a
That this pragmatical, preposterous pig of a world, its
farrow that so solid seem,
Must vanish on the instant if the mind but change its
i{Saeva Indignatio} and the labourer's hire,
The strength that gives our blood and state magnani-
mity of its own desire;
Everything that is not God consumed with intellectual
The purity of the unclouded moon
Has flung its atrowy shaft upon the floor.
Seven centuries have passed and it is pure,
The blood of innocence has left no stain.
There, on blood-saturated ground, have stood
Soldier, assassin, executioner.
Whether for daily pittance or in blind fear
Or out of abstract hatred, and shed blood,
But could not cast a single jet thereon.
Odour of blood on the ancestral stair!
And we that have shed none must gather there
And clamour in drunken frenzy for the moon.

Upon the dusty, glittering windows cling,
And seem to cling upon the moonlit skies,
Tortoiseshell butterflies, peacock butterflies,
A couple of night-moths are on the wing.
Is every modern nation like the tower,
Half dead at the top? No matter what I said,
For wisdom is the property of the dead,
A something incompatible with life; and power,
Like everything that has the stain of blood,
A property of the living; but no stain
Can come upon the visage of the moon
When it has looked in glory from a cloud.

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