Quotes about penance, page 10
Sin separates me from God
My sins take me away from Thee afar,
And make me think, I can achieve great things,
Without the help of God I will be Star,
With health and wealth and fame among earthlings.
My sins appease my disturb'd mind somewhat,
And give me transient joy and happiness;
But not for long; I'm back in life's ghats!
And guilt engulfs with much nervousness.
In life, I ought to be nearer to God;
My sins have dug a deep abyss 'twixt us;
With weary heart, I really forgot,
Remorse, penance, provide my Omnibus.
I promise God, never to sin again.
My Sun has set and clouds will bring the Rain.
poem by John Celes
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In Her Eyes Soft Silky Dreams..!
In her eyes
soft silky dreams..
In her breaths
flute's mellifluous tunes...
In sunrise-hued face
two rising full moons..
Within these moons roll
two pitch dark nights..
In the core of these nights
sparkle star diamonds....
O..these twinkling stars
the eyes of the lustful male storms..
The warfield wherein hot arrows of love
whiz past in billions...
[...] Read more
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Tom the Lunatic
Sang old Tom the lunatic
That sleeps under the canopy:
'What change has put my thoughts astray
And eyes that had so keen a sight?
What has turned to smoking wick
Nature's pure unchanging light?
'Huddon and Duddon and Daniel O'Leary.
Holy Joe, the beggar-man,
Wenching, drinking, still remain
Or sing a penance on the road;
Something made these eyeballs weary
That blinked and saw them in a shroud.
'Whatever stands in field or flood,
Bird, beast, fish or man,
Mare or stallion, cock or hen,
Stands in God's unchanging eye
In all the vigour of its blood;
In that faith I live or die.'
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Sonnet 111: O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide
O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Pity me then, and wish I were renewed,
Whilst like a willing patient I will drink
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection;
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet: God-willing, Sinners Are Saved
When temptations had overwhelmed me long
And weariness had filled my mind and heart,
My life had turned in strain, a woeful song!
The turmoil state, no longer could I cart.
And then, I thought profoundly once again!
Something had gone amiss in life somehow;
And sorrows came upon me down like rain;
So too did God into my life with love.
When remorse filled my heart, I did penance;
My soul got resurrected once again;
To divine tune, did I begin to dance;
God’s forgiveness had made my mind more sane.
However big a sinner, ’tis not late!
One word from God helps him enter His gate.
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: Things Can Happen Fast
One move that’s false can cost a man his life;
One mortal sin can deny soul, Heaven;
One vain desire can land a man in strife;
One blunder made can land in jail some man.
Wary must be a man in earthly life,
In choosing aims and friends and things he’ll do;
Scary is life whenever comes some strife;
All evil acts attract punishments due.
One split second can change a sinful heart;
Remorse/ penance can win a soul, Heaven;
The state of soul matters when you depart;
’Tis Purgatory or Hell for sinful men!
A prudent man will always keep his soul;
To reach Heaven will be his only goal.
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet LXX
FResh spring the herald of loues mighty king,
In whose cote armour richly are displayd,
all sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring
in goodly colours gloriously arrayd.
Goe to my loue, where she is carelesse layd,
yet in her winters bowre not well awake:
tell her the ioyous time wil not be staid
vnlesse she doe him by the forelock take.
Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make,
to wayt on loue amongst his louely crew:
where euery one that misseth then her make,
shall be by him amearst with penance dew.
Make hast therefore sweet loue, whilest it is prime,
for none can call againe the passed time.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Without Disguise
If I have erred in showing all my heart,
And lost your favour by a lack of pride;
If standing like a beggar at your side
With naked feet, I have forgot the art
Of those who bargain well in passion's mart,
And win the thing they want by what they hide;
Be mine the fault as mine the hope denied,
Be mine the lover's and the loser's part.
The sin, if sin it was, I do repent,
And take the penance on myself alone;
Yet after I have borne the punishment,
I shall not fear to stand before the throne
Of Love with open heart, and make this plea:
"At least I have not lied to her nor Thee!"
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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At The Age Of 35
Gone are the aching want, the unceasing fret,
Mad flight and moaning over battered wings,
And self-contempt whose secret penance wrings
Out of the writhing soul her bloody sweat.
But use has never taught me to forget
The glory that the common daylight flings;
Still in my heart the rebel tocsin rings,
And still is love my glowing amulet.
Calm and contented, yet with heart afire
To fight for ever for the sake of strife,
I hold the future and the past in fee.
The time to come brings riper fruit for me
Who stretch my hands with passionate desire
And welcome for the green and grey of life.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Sonnet III
I have a hoard of treasure in my breast;
The grange of memory steams against the door,
Full of my bygone lifetime's garnered store -
Old pleasures crowned with sorrow for a zest,
Old sorrow grown a joy, old penance blest,
Chastened remembrance of the sins of yore
That, like a new evangel, more and more
Supports our halting will toward the best.
Ah! what to us the barren after years
May bring of joy or sorrow, who can tell?
O, knowing not, who cares? It may be well
That we shall find old pleasures and old fears,
And our remembered childhood seen thro' tears,
The best of Heaven and the worst of Hell.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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