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Quotes about advent

A poem, on the rising glory of America

LEANDER.
No more of Memphis and her mighty kings,
Or Alexandria, where the Ptolomies.
Taught golden commerce to unfurl her falls,
And bid fair science smile: No more of Greece
Where learning next her early visit paid,
And spread her glories to illume the world,
No more of Athens, where she flourished,
And saw her sons of mighty genius rise
Smooth flowing Plato, Socrates and him
Who with resistless eloquence reviv'd
The Spir't of Liberty, and shook the thrones
Of Macedon and Persia's haughty king.
No more of Rome enlighten'd by her beams,
Fresh kindling there the fire of eloquence,
And poesy divine; imperial Rome!
Whose wide dominion reach'd o'er half the globe;
Whose eagle flew o'er Ganges to the East,
And in the West far to the British isles.
No more of Britain, and her kings renown'd,

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Advent

Like I promised
I will deliver
Heapuponheap
Of joy and black rapture

Advent
Advent
(Advent
A d v e n t...)

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The Epochs

ON Petrarch's heart, all other days before,
In flaming letters written, was impress d
GOOD FRIDAY. And on mine, be it confess'd,
Is this year's ADVENT, as it passeth o'er.
I do not now begin,--I still adore
Her whom I early cherish'd in my breast;,
Then once again with prudence dispossess'd,
And to whose heart I'm driven back once more.
The love of Petrarch, that all-glorious love,
Was unrequited, and, alas, full sad;
One long Good Friday 'twas, one heartache drear
But may my mistress' Advent ever prove,
With its palm-jubilee, so sweet and glad,
One endless Mayday, through the livelong year!

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First Ray of Sun

First ray of sun
Travels to the earth
From high skies
Light of day begins to shine
Sun rises slowly, far in the sky
Goes higher and higher
As time trickles
Mountains are the first
To see the rising beauty
Sky is full with rainbow colors
Dark shades of night
Not to be seen
Every heart sighs in relief
Fills with joy when sees the light
Light and colors inspires every life,
Give a meaning to love and desire
Birds keep chirping
Wind keeps flowing
Mist is lost with the advent of heat
Evaporates to the sky above

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Christina Georgina Rossetti

Advent

This Advent moon shines cold and clear,
These Advent nights are long;
Our lamps have burned year after year
And still their flame is strong.
'Watchman, what of the night?' we cry,
Heart-sick with hope deferred:
'No speaking signs are in the sky,'
Is still the watchman's word.

The Porter watches at the gate,
The servants watch within;
The watch is long betimes and late,
The prize is slow to win.
'Watchman, what of the night?' But still
His answer sounds the same:
'No daybreak tops the utmost hill,
Nor pale our lamps of flame.'

One to another hear them speak
The patient virgins wise:

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It Has Always Been You - Pt7

Part 7
Your advent here amongst us was like the 'springtide of creation',
when everyone gets a gentle 'push forward' to a higher life station.
The work You did while here was often very intense and exhaustive
so much so that many times You remained very aloof and seclusive.
Undergoing a great deal of suffering while working within the inner planes
uplifting mankind's consciousness by removing the vitiating mental stains,
that have accumulated over all the years to such an enormous extent
obscurring the Light of Love and Truth revealed by Your last advent.

The words You gave came from the Source of Truth and have real meaning
and those who are ready to receive them there's a rich harvest for gleaning.
Though You did say that You 'have come not to teach but to awaken'
and it was because of Love, in this present form, Your Spirit had taken.
You showered on those who came before You of Your Love, peace and charity
not forgetting the good humour and Divine Knowledge imparted out of necessity.
Continually exhorting Your dear ones that by remembering and loving You all would be well
because You were the Godman(2) Who was the slave of Your lovers; by Grace one could tell.
You did mention many times that You were not limited by this apparent human bodily form
and that You used it only to manifest Thy compassion being more accessible than the norm.

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Christmas narrative

As the festive season draws near,
There is excitement in the air,
Spurring a welcome sense of cheer,
Which both adults and children share,
There's hopes a snowfall will occur,
And you see loved ones as planned for,
Surplus from the harvests there were,
Means that there is a feast in store,

As soon as advent has begun,
Days can't pass fast enough for some,
Light candles till the wait is done,
And the awaited shall soon come,
Good will to those that have it tough,
As Christmas spirit grows in us,
To be with loved ones is enough,
There is no need for too much fuss,

Make sure preparations are laid,
And you have stocked full the cupboard,

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The Highlanders: Part IV

NOW Winter pours his terrors o'er the plain,
And icy barriers close the wild domain,
From the fierce North the sweeping blast descends,
And drifted snow in wild confusion blends;
The Mountain-Cataract, whose thundering sound
Made echoes tremble in their caves around,
Now dashing with diminish'd majesty,
In frozen state suspended seems on high;
While in the midst a small contracted stream
Tinkles like rills that lull the shepherd's dream.
The River crusted o'er, and hid in snow,
Unfaithful tempts the traveller below;
While pools and boiling springs, unsafe beneath,
Betray th' unwary to the snares of death.
How awful now appears Night's silent reign!
Where lofty mountains bound the solemn scene.
While Nature, wrapt in chilly bright disguise,
And sunk in deep repose, unconscious lies;
And through the pure cerulean vault above,
In lucid order constellations move:

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Solomon

As thro' the Psalms from theme to theme I chang'd,
Methinks like Eve in Paradice I rang'd;
And ev'ry grace of song I seem'd to see,
As the gay pride of ev'ry season, she.
She gently treading all the walks around,
Admir'd the springing beauties of the ground,
The lilly glist'ring with the morning dew,
The rose in red, the violet in blew,
The pink in pale, the bells in purple rows,
And tulips colour'd in a thousand shows:
Then here and there perhaps she pull'd a flow'r
To strew with moss, and paint her leafy bow'r;
And here and there, like her I went along,
Chose a bright strain, and bid it deck my song.

But now the sacred Singer leaves mine eye,
Crown'd as he was, I think he mounts on high;
Ere this Devotion bore his heav'nly psalms,
And now himself bears up his harp and palms.
Go, saint triumphant, leave the changing sight,

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Metamorphoses: Book The Seventh

THE Argonauts now stemm'd the foaming tide,
And to Arcadia's shore their course apply'd;
Where sightless Phineus spent his age in grief,
But Boreas' sons engage in his relief;
And those unwelcome guests, the odious race
Of Harpyes, from the monarch's table chase.
With Jason then they greater toils sustain,
And Phasis' slimy banks at last they gain,
Here boldly they demand the golden prize
Of Scythia's king, who sternly thus replies:
That mighty labours they must first o'ercome,
Or sail their Argo thence unfreighted home.
The Story of Meanwhile Medea, seiz'd with fierce desire,
Medea and By reason strives to quench the raging fire;
Jason But strives in vain!- Some God (she said)
withstands,
And reason's baffl'd council countermands.
What unseen Pow'r does this disorder move?
'Tis love,- at least 'tis like, what men call love.
Else wherefore shou'd the king's commands appear

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