Quotes about penance, page 11
The Court Of Penance
Behold the Court of Penance. Four gaunt walls
Shutting out all things but the upper heaven.
Stone flags for floor, where daily from their stalls
The human cattle in a circle driven
Tread down their pathway to a mire uneven,
Pale--faced, sad--eyed, and mute as funerals.
Woe to the wretch whose weakness unforgiven
Falters a moment in the track or falls!
Yet is there consolation. Overhead
The pigeons build and the loud jackdaws talk,
And once in the wind's eye, like a ship moored,
A sea--gull flew and I was comforted.
Even here the heavens declare thy glory, Lord,
And the free firmament thy handiwork.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Sonnet XV
Above the ruin of God's holy place,
Where man-forsaken lay the bleeding rood,
Whose hands, when men had craved substantial food,
Gave not, nor folded when they cried, Embrace,
I saw exalted in the latter days
Her whom west winds with natal foam bedewed,
Wafted toward Cyprus, lily-breasted, nude,
Standing with arms out-stretched and flower-like face.
And, sick with all those centuries of tears
Shed in the penance for factitious woe,
Once more I saw the nations at her feet,
For Love shone in their eyes, and in their ears
Come unto me, Love beckoned them, for lo!
The breast your lips abjured is still as sweet.
poem by Alan Seeger
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Sonnet: God’s, the Almighty One
Renounce your sins and come back to the Lord!
Pour out your heart and make it burden-less;
Penance gives you the mercy/ grace of God,
And freedom from the tempter’s ruthlessness.
All things happen as per the Word of God;
He is the Almighty, our Creator;
A soul that’s dead in sins can’t praise the Lord;
God is a Friend, our Guide and our Mentor.
The Lord has eyes to see our every act;
Our God has ears to hear our every call;
With man alone, He has offered a pact,
To raise him up if ever should he fall.
Our life on earth shall pass in just moments!
So, let us live our days with God’s prudence.
poem by John Celes
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXIX
Ancient of days! What word is thy command
To one befooled of wit and his own way?
What counsel hast thou, and what chastening hand
For a lost soul grown old in its dismay?
What penance shall he do, what ransom pay,
Of blood poured out for faith in a far land,
What mute knee--service, weeping here to--day,
In words of prayer no ear shall understand?
Let him thy servant be, the least of all
In the Lord's Courts, but near thy mysteries,
To touch the crumbs which from thy table fall,
Let him--. But lo, thou speakest: ``Not with these
Is God delighted. Get thee homeward hence.
They need thee more who wait deliverance!''
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet XXXI
Rather I hold with those that tell it thus,
That they, who had made proof of their great faith,
Were joined no less with honour in love's house
By Holy Church, which binding looseneth,
Since it is written that 'twixt maid and man
The wedded contract joining hand and heart
For this life is and passeth not the span
Of victor death which all our bonds doth part.
And it were grievous one should suffer all,
Even death's last pang and an untimely grave,
If overcoming he again should fall
Prisoner to penance and to sorrow slave.
Ah, no! They lived the life their love had given,
And we too all, so grant it kindly Heaven!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Gift of Perseverance
ONCE, as I brooded o'er my guilty state,
A fever seized me, duties to devise,
To buy me interest in my Saviour's eyes;
Not that His love I would extenuate,
But scourge and penance, masterful self-hate,
Or gift of cost, served by an artifice
To quell my restless thoughts and envious sighs
And doubts, which fain heaven's peace would antedate.
Thus as I tossed, He said:—'E'en holiest deeds
Shroud not the soul from God, nor soothe its needs;
Deny thee thine own fears, and wait the end!'
Stern lesson! Let me con it day by day,
And learn to kneel before the Omniscient Ray,
Nor shrink, when Truth's avenging shafts descend!
.
poem by John Henry Newman
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Whilst it is prime
FRESH Spring, the herald of loves 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 love, where she is carelesse layd,
Yet in her winters bowre not well awake;
Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid,
Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take;
Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make,
To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew;
Where every one, that misseth then her make,
Shall be by him amearst with penance dew.
Make hast, therefore, sweet love, whilest it is prime;
For none can call againe the passed time.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Virelay
Alone walking
In thought plaining,
And sore sighing;
All desolate,
Me rememb'ring
Of my living;
My death wishing
Both early and late.
Infortunate
Is so my fate,
That, wot ye what?
Out of measure
My life I hate;
Thus desperate,
In such poor estate,
Do I endure.
Of other cure
Am I not sure;
[...] Read more
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Modern Love XXIV: The Misery Is Greater
The misery is greater, as I live!
To know her flesh so pure, so keen her sense,
That she does penance now for no offence,
Save against Love. The less can I forgive!
The less can I forgive, though I adore
That cruel lovely pallor which surrounds
Her footsteps; and the low vibrating sounds
That come on me, as from a magic shore.
Low are they, but most subtle to find out
The shrinking soul. Madam, 'tis understood
When women play upon their womanhood;
It means, a Season gone. And yet I doubt
But I am duped. That nun-like look waylays
My fancy. Oh! I do but wait a sign!
Pluck out the eyes of pride! thy mouth to mine!
Never! though I die thirsting. Go thy ways!
poem by George Meredith
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What Might You Do?
What if you were me-what might you do?
Must you serve, for crimes, your penance-
Yet, to mine own heart, I must remain true;
After all, how penal might be the return of our romance?
In utter disbelief I have wondered the 'why? ' of it all!
Nary shall there be for me, explication, proper,
Nothing but all there was, before your fall-
All or nothing-this is my only, final offer!
Hopeful I am that you see behind my compassion
To the love I feel in my heart!
To your heart, for you to be true, is all I am asking,
Rewind may we, to wherest our love did start!
I shall be free soon, at long last,
But for only now shall I look you, past!
Maurice Harris,15 July 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
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