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Best Famous Lebanon Poems

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Written by Kahlil Gibran | Create an image from this poem

Laughter and Tears IX

 As the Sun withdrew his rays from the garden, and the moon threw cushioned beams upon the flowers, I sat under the trees pondering upon the phenomena of the atmosphere, looking through the branches at the strewn stars which glittered like chips of silver upon a blue carpet; and I could hear from a distance the agitated murmur of the rivulet singing its way briskly into the valley. 

When the birds took shelter among the boughs, and the flowers folded their petals, and tremendous silence descended, I heard a rustle of feet though the grass. I took heed and saw a young couple approaching my arbor. The say under a tree where I could see them without being seen. 

After he looked about in every direction, I heard the young man saying, "Sit by me, my beloved, and listen to my heart; smile, for your happiness is a symbol of our future; be merry, for the sparkling days rejoice with us. 

"My soul is warning me of the doubt in your heart, for doubt in love is a sin. "Soon you will be the owner of this vast land, lighted by this beautiful moon; soon you will be the mistress of my palace, and all the servants and maids will obey your commands. 

"Smile, my beloved, like the gold smiles from my father's coffers. 

"My heart refuses to deny you its secret. Twelve months of comfort and travel await us; for a year we will spend my father's gold at the blue lakes of Switzerland, and viewing the edifices of Italy and Egypt, and resting under the Holy Cedars of Lebanon; you will meet the princesses who will envy you for your jewels and clothes. 

"All these things I will do for you; will you be satisfied?" 

In a little while I saw them walking and stepping on flowers as the rich step upon the hearts of the poor. As they disappeared from my sight, I commenced to make comparison between love and money, and to analyze their position in the heart. 

Money! The source of insincere love; the spring of false light and fortune; the well of poisoned water; the desperation of old age! 

I was still wandering in the vast desert of contemplation when a forlorn and specter-like couple passed by me and sat on the grass; a young man and a young woman who had left their farming shacks in the nearby fields for this cool and solitary place. 

After a few moments of complete silence, I heard the following words uttered with sighs from weather-bitten lips, "Shed not tears, my beloved; love that opens our eyes and enslaves our hearts can give us the blessing of patience. Be consoled in our delay our delay, for we have taken an oath and entered Love's shrine; for our love will ever grow in adversity; for it is in Love's name that we are suffering the obstacles of poverty and the sharpness of misery and the emptiness of separation. I shall attack these hardships until I triumph and place in your hands a strength that will help over all things to complete the journey of life. 

"Love - which is God - will consider our sighs and tears as incense burned at His altar and He will reward us with fortitude. Good-bye, my beloved; I must leave before the heartening moon vanishes." 

A pure voice, combined of the consuming flame of love, and the hopeless bitterness of longing and the resolved sweetness of patience, said, "Good-bye, my beloved." 

They separated, and the elegy to their union was smothered by the wails of my crying heart. 

I looked upon slumbering Nature, and with deep reflection discovered the reality of a vast and infinite thing -- something no power could demand, influence acquire, nor riches purchase. Nor could it be effaced by the tears of time or deadened by sorrow; a thing which cannot be discovered by the blue lakes of Switzerland or the beautiful edifices of Italy. 

It is something that gathers strength with patience, grows despite obstacles, warms in winter, flourishes in spring, casts a breeze in summer, and bears fruit in autumn -- I found Love.


Written by William Blake | Create an image from this poem

The Song of Los

 AFRICA 

I will sing you a song of Los. the Eternal Prophet: 
He sung it to four harps at the tables of Eternity. 
In heart-formed Africa. 
Urizen faded! Ariston shudderd! 
And thus the Song began 

Adam stood in the garden of Eden: 
And Noah on the mountains of Ararat; 
They saw Urizen give his Laws to the Nations 
By the hands of the children of Los. 

Adam shudderd! Noah faded! black grew the sunny African 
When Rintrah gave Abstract Philosophy to Brama in the East: 
(Night spoke to the Cloud! 
Lo these Human form'd spirits in smiling hipocrisy. War 
Against one another; so let them War on; slaves to the eternal Elements) 
Noah shrunk, beneath the waters; 
Abram fled in fires from Chaldea; 
Moses beheld upon Mount Sinai forms of dark delusion: 

To Trismegistus. Palamabron gave an abstract Law: 
To Pythagoras Socrates & Plato. 

Times rolled on o'er all the sons of Har, time after time 
Orc on Mount Atlas howld, chain'd down with the Chain of Jealousy 
Then Oothoon hoverd over Judah & Jerusalem 
And Jesus heard her voice (a man of sorrows) he recievd 
A Gospel from wretched Theotormon. 

The human race began to wither, for the healthy built 
Secluded places, fearing the joys of Love 
And the disease'd only propagated: 
So Antamon call'd up Leutha from her valleys of delight: 
And to Mahomet a loose Bible gave. 
But in the North, to Odin, Sotha gave a Code of War, 
Because of Diralada thinking to reclaim his joy. 

These were the Churches: Hospitals: Castles: Palaces: 
Like nets & gins & traps to catch the joys of Eternity 
And all the rest a desart; 
Till like a dream Eternity was obliterated & erased. 

Since that dread day when Har and Heva fled. 
Because their brethren & sisters liv'd in War & Lust; 
And as they fled they shrunk 
Into two narrow doleful forms: 
Creeping in reptile flesh upon 
The bosom of the ground: 
And all the vast of Nature shrunk 
Before their shrunken eyes. 

Thus the terrible race of Los & Enitharmon gave 
Laws & Religions to the sons of Har binding them more 
And more to Earth: closing and restraining: 
Till a Philosophy of Five Senses was complete 
Urizen wept & gave it into the hands of Newton & Locke 

Clouds roll heavy upon the Alps round Rousseau & Voltaire: 
And on the mountains of Lebanon round the deceased Gods 
Of Asia; & on the deserts of Africa round the Fallen Angels 
The Guardian Prince of Albion burns in his nightly tent 


ASIA 

The Kings of Asia heard 
The howl rise up from Europe! 
And each ran out from his Web; 
From his ancient woven Den; 
For the darkness of Asia was startled 
At the thick-flaming, thought-creating fires of Orc. 

And the Kings of Asia stood 
And cried in bitterness of soul. 

Shall not the King call for Famine from the heath? 
Nor the Priest, for Pestilence from the fen? 
To restrain! to dismay! to thin! 
The inhabitants of mountain and plain; 
In the day, of full-feeding prosperity; 
And the night of delicious songs. 

Shall not the Councellor throw his curb 
Of Poverty on the laborious? 
To fix the price of labour; 
To invent allegoric riches: 

And the privy admonishers of men 
Call for fires in the City 
For heaps of smoking ruins, 
In the night of prosperity & wantonness 

To turn man from his path, 
To restrain the child from the womb, 

To cut off the bread from the city, 
That the remnant may learn to obey. 
That the pride of the heart may fail; 
That the lust of the eyes may be quench'd: 
That the delicate ear in its infancy 

May be dull'd; and the nostrils clos'd up; 
To teach mortal worms the path 
That leads from the gates of the Grave. 

Urizen heard them cry! 
And his shudd'ring waving wings 
Went enormous above the red flames 
Drawing clouds of despair thro' the heavens 
Of Europe as he went: 
And his Books of brass iron & gold 
Melted over the land as he flew, 

Heavy-waving, howling, weeping. 

And he stood over Judea: 
And stay'd in his ancient place: 
And stretch'd his clouds over Jerusalem; 

For Adam, a mouldering skeleton 
Lay bleach'd on the garden of Eden; 
And Noah as white as snow 
On the mountains of Ararat. 

Then the thunders of Urizen bellow'd aloud 
From his woven darkness above. 

Orc raging in European darkness 
Arose like a pillar of fire above the Alps 
Like a serpent of fiery flame! 
The sullen Earth 
Shrunk! 

Forth from the dead dust rattling bones to bones 
Join: shaking convuls'd the shivring clay breathes 
And all flesh naked stands: Fathers and Friends; 
Mothers & Infants; Kings & Warriors: 

The Grave shrieks with delight, & shakes 
Her hollow womb, & clasps the solid stem: 
Her bosom swells with wild desire: 
And milk & blood & glandous wine.
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Banquet Night

 "ONCE in so often," King Solomon said,
 Watching his quarrymen drill the stone,
"We will curb our garlic and wine and bread
 And banquet together beneath my Throne,
And all Brethren shall come to that mess
As Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less."

"Send a swift shallop to Hiram of Tyre,
 Felling and floating our beautiful trees,
Say that the Brethren and I desire
 Talk with our Brethren who use the seas.
And we shall be happy to meet them at mess
As Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less."

"Carry this message to Hiram Abif-
 Excellent master of forge and mine :-
I and the Brethren would like it if
 He and the Brethren will come to dine
(Garments from Bozrah or morning-dress)
As Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less."

"God gave the Cedar their place-
 Also the Bramble, the Fig and the Thorn-
But that is no reason to black a man's face
 Because he is not what he hasn't been born.
And, as touching the Temple, I hold and profess
We are Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less."

So it was ordered and so it was done,
 And the hewers of wood and the Masons of Mark,
With foc'sle hands of Sidon run
 And Navy Lords from the ROYAL ARK,
Came and sat down and were merry at mess
As Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less.

The Quarries are hotter than Hiram's forge,
 No one is safe from the dog-whip's reach.
It's mostly snowing up Lebanon gorge,
 And it's always blowing off Joppa beach;

But once in so often, the messenger brings
Solomon's mandate : "Forget these things!
Brother to Beggars and Fellow to Kings,
Companion of Princes-forget these things!
Fellow-Craftsmen, forget these things!"
Written by Anne Kingsmill Finch | Create an image from this poem

The Poor Mans Lamb

 NOW spent the alter'd King, in am'rous Cares, 
The Hours of sacred Hymns and solemn Pray'rs: 
In vain the Alter waits his slow returns, 
Where unattended Incense faintly burns: 
In vain the whisp'ring Priests their Fears express, 
And of the Change a thousand Causes guess. 
Heedless of all their Censures He retires, 
And in his Palace feeds his secret Fires; 
Impatient, till from Rabbah Tydings tell, 
That near those Walls the poor Uriah fell, 
Led to the Onset by a Chosen Few, 
Who at the treacherous Signal, soon withdrew; 
Nor to his Rescue e'er return'd again, 
Till by fierce Ammon's Sword they saw the Victim slain. 
'Tis pass'd, 'tis done! the holy Marriage-Knot, 
Too strong to be unty'd, at last is cut. 
And now to Bathsheba the King declares, 
That with his Heart, the Kingdom too is hers; 
That Israel's Throne, and longing Monarch's Arms 
Are to be fill'd but with her widow'd Charms. 
Nor must the Days of formal Tears exceed, 
To cross the Living, and abuse the Dead. 
This she denies; and signs of Grief are worn; 
But mourns no more than may her Face adorn, 
Give to those Eyes, which Love and Empire fir'd, 
A melting Softness more to be desir'd; 
Till the fixt Time, tho' hard to be endur'd, 
Was pass'd, and a sad Consort's Name procur'd: 
When, with the Pomp that suits a Prince's Thought, 
By Passion sway'd, and glorious Woman taught, 
A Queen she's made, than Michal seated higher, 
Whilst light unusual Airs prophane the hallow'd Lyre. 

Where art thou Nathan? where's that Spirit now, 
Giv'n to brave Vice, tho' on a Prince's Brow? 
In what low Cave, or on what Desert Coast, 
Now Virtue wants it, is thy Presence lost? 


But lo! he comes, the Rev'rend Bard appears, 
Defil'd with Dust his awful silver Hairs, 
And his rough Garment, wet with falling Tears. 
The King this mark'd, and conscious wou'd have fled, 
The healing Balm which for his Wounds was shed: 
Till the more wary Priest the Serpents Art, 
Join'd to the Dove-like Temper of his Heart, 
And thus retards the Prince just ready now to part. 


Hear me, the Cause betwixt two Neighbors hear, 
Thou, who for Justice dost the Sceptre bear: 
Help the Opprest, nor let me weep alone 
For him, that calls for Succour from the Throne. 
Good Princes for Protection are Ador'd, 
And Greater by the Shield, than by the Sword. 
This clears the Doubt, and now no more he fears 
The Cause his Own, and therefore stays and hears: 
When thus the Prophet: – 
–In a flow'ry Plain 
A King-like Man does in full Plenty reign; 
Casts round his Eyes, in vain, to reach the Bound, 
Which Jordan's Flood sets to his fertile Ground: 
Countless his Flocks, whilst Lebanon contains 
A Herd as large, kept by his numerous Swains, 
That fill with morning Bellowings the cool Air, 
And to the Cedar's shade at scorching Noon repair. 
Near to this Wood a lowly Cottage stands, 
Built by the humble Owner's painful Hands; 
Fenc'd by a Stubble-roof, from Rain and Heat, 
Secur'd without, within all Plain and Neat. 
A Field of small Extent surrounds the Place, 
In which One single Ewe did sport and graze: 
This his whole Stock, till in full time there came, 
To bless his utmost Hopes, a snowy Lamb; 
Which, lest the Season yet too Cold might prove, 
And Northern Blasts annoy it from the Grove, 
Or tow'ring Fowl on the weak Prey might sieze, 
(For with his Store his Fears must too increase) 
He brings it Home, and lays it by his Side, 
At once his Wealth, his Pleasure and his Pride; 
Still bars the Door, by Labour call'd away, 
And, when returning at the Close of Day, 
With One small Mess himself, and that sustains, 
And half his Dish it shares, and half his slender Gains. 
When to the great Man's table now there comes 
A Lord as great, follow'd by hungry Grooms: 

For these must be provided sundry Meats, 
The best for Some, for Others coarser Cates. 
One Servant, diligent above the rest 
To help his Master to contrive the Feast, 
Extols the Lamb was nourished with such Care, 
So fed, so lodg'd, it must be Princely Fare; 
And having this, my Lord his own may spare. 
In haste he sends, led by no Law, but Will, 
Not to entreat, or purchase, but to Kill. 
The Messenger's arriv'd: the harmless Spoil, 
Unus'd to fly, runs Bleating to the Toil: 
Whilst for the Innocent the Owner fear'd, 
And, sure wou'd move, cou'd Poverty be heard. 
Oh spare (he cries) the Product of my Cares, 
My Stock's Encrease, the Blessing on my Pray'rs; 
My growing Hope, and Treasure of my Life! 
More was he speaking, when the murd'ring Knife 
Shew'd him, his Suit, tho' just, must be deny'd, 
And the white Fleece in its own Scarlet dy'd; 
Whilst the poor helpless Wretch stands weeping by, 
And lifts his Hands for Justice to the Sky. 

Which he shall find, th' incensed King replies, 
When for the proud Offence th' Oppressor dies. 
O Nathan! by the Holy Name I swear, 
Our Land such Wrongs unpunished shall not bear 
If, with the Fault, th' Offender thou declare. 

To whom the Prophet, closing with the Time, 
Thou art the Man replies, and thine th' ill-natur'd Crime. 
Nor think, against thy Place, or State, I err; 
A Pow'r above thee does this Charge prefer; 
Urg'd by whose Spirit, hither am I brought 
T' expostulate his Goodness and thy Fault; 
To lead thee back to those forgotten Years, 
In Labour spent, and lowly Rustick Cares, 
When in the Wilderness thy Flocks but few, 
Thou didst the Shepherd's simple Art pursue 
Thro' crusting Frosts, and penetrating Dew: 
Till wondring Jesse saw six Brothers past, 
And Thou Elected, Thou the Least and Last; 
A Sceptre to thy Rural Hand convey'd, 
And in thy Bosom Royal Beauties laid; 
A lovely Princess made thy Prize that Day, 
When on the shaken Ground the Giant lay 
Stupid in Death, beyond the Reach of Cries 
That bore thy shouted Fame to list'ning Skies, 
And drove the flying Foe as fast away, 
As Winds, of old, Locusts to Egypt's Sea. 
Thy Heart with Love, thy Temples with Renown, 
Th' All-giving Hand of Heav'n did largely crown, 
Whilst yet thy Cheek was spread with youthful Down. 
What more cou'd craving Man of God implore? 
Or what for favour'd Man cou'd God do more? 
Yet cou'd not These, nor Israel's Throne, suffice 
Intemp'rate Wishes, drawn thro' wand'ring Eyes. 

One Beauty (not thy own) and seen by chance, 
Melts down the Work of Grace with an alluring Glance; 
Chafes the Spirit, fed by sacred Art, 
And blots the Title AFTER GOD'S OWN HEART; 
Black Murder breeds to level at his Head, 
Who boasts so fair a Part'ner of his Bed, 
Nor longer must possess those envy'd Charms, 
The single Treasure of his House, and Arms: 
Giving, by this thy Fall, cause to Blaspheme 
To all the Heathen the Almighty Name. 
For which the Sword shall still thy Race pursue, 
And, in revolted Israel's scornful View, 
Thy captiv'd Wives shall be in Triumph led 
Unto a bold Usurper's shameful Bed; 
Who from thy Bowels sprung shall seize thy Throne, 
And scourge thee by a Sin beyond thy own. 
Thou hast thy Fault in secret Darkness done; 
But this the World shall see before the Noonday's Sun. 


Enough! the King, enough! the Saint replies, 
And pours his swift Repentance from his Eyes; 
Falls on the Ground, and tears the Nuptial Vest, 
By which his Crime's Completion was exprest: 
Then with a Sigh blasting to Carnal Love, 
Drawn deep as Hell, and piercing Heaven, above 
Let Me (he cries) let Me attend his Rod, 
For I have sinn'd, for I have lost my God. 


Hold! (says the Prophet ) of that Speech beware, 
God ne'er was lost, unless by Man's Despair. 
The Wound that is thus willingly reveal'd, 
Th' Almighty is as willing should be heal'd. 
Thus wash'd in Tears, thy Soul as fair does show 
As the first Fleece, which on the Lamb does grow, 
Or on the Mountain's top the lately fallen Snow. 

Yet to the World that Justice may appear 
Acting her Part impartial, and severe, 
The Offspring of thy Sin shall soon resign 
That Life, for which thou must not once repine; 
But with submissive Grief his Fate deplore, 
And bless the Hand, that does inflict no more. 

Shall I then pay but Part, and owe the Whole? 
My Body's Fruit, for my offending Soul? 
Shall I no more endure (the King demands) 
And 'scape thus lightly his offended Hands? 
Oh! let him All resume, my Crown, my Fame; 
Reduce me to the Nothing, whence I came; 
Call back his Favours, faster than he gave; 
And, if but Pardon'd, strip me to my Grave: 


Since (tho' he seems to Lose ) He surely Wins, 
Who gives but earthly Comforts for his Sins.
Written by Kahlil Gibran | Create an image from this poem

The Widow and Her Son XXI

 Night fell over North Lebanon and snow was covering the villages surrounded by the Kadeesha Valley, giving the fields and prairies the appearance of a great sheet of parchment upon which the furious Nature was recording her many deeds. Men came home from the streets while silence engulfed the night. 

In a lone house near those villages lived a woman who sat by her fireside spinning wool, and at her side was her only child, staring now at the fire and then at his mother. 

A terrible roar of thunder shook the house and the little boy shook with fright. He threw his arms about his mother, seeking protection from Nature in her affection. She took him to her bosom and kissed him; then she say him on her lap and said, "Do not fear, my son, for Nature is but comparing her great power to man's weakness. There is a Supreme Being beyond the falling snow and the heavy clouds and the blowing wind, and He knows the needs of the earth, for He made it; and He looks upon the weak with merciful eyes. 

"Be brave, my boy. Nature smiles in Spring and laughs in Summer and yawns in Autumn, but now she is weeping; and with her tears she waters life, hidden under the earth. 

"Sleep, my dear child; your father is viewing us from Eternity. The snow and thunder bring us closer to him at this time. 

"Sleep, my beloved, for this white blanket which makes us cold, keeps the seeds warm, and these war-like things will produce beautiful flowers when Nisan comes. 

"Thus, my child, man cannot reap love until after sad and revealing separation, and bitter patience, and desperate hardship. Sleep, my little boy; sweet dreams will find your soul who is unafraid of the terrible darkness of night and the biting frost." 

The little boy looked upon his mother with sleep-laden eyes and said, "Mother, my eyes are heavy, but I cannot go to bed without saying my prayer." 

The woman looked at his angelic face, her vision blurred by misted eyes, and said, "Repeat with me, my boy - 'God, have mercy on the poor and protect them from the winter; warm their thin-clad bodies with Thy merciful hands; look upon the orphans who are sleeping in wretched houses, suffering from hunger and cold. Hear, oh Lord, the call of widows who are helpless and shivering with fear for their young. Open, oh Lord, the hearts of all humans, that they may see the misery of the weak. Have mercy upon the sufferers who knock on doors, and lead the wayfarers into warm places. Watch, oh Lord, over the little birds and protect the trees and fields from the anger of the storm; for Thou art merciful and full of love.'" 

As Slumber captured the boy's spirit, his mother placed him in the bed and kissed his eyes with quivering lips. Then she went back and sat by the hearth, spinning the wool to make him raiment.


Written by Archibald MacLeish | Create an image from this poem

You Andrew Marvell

 And here face down beneath the sun
And here upon earth's noonward height
To feel the always coming on
The always rising of the night

To feel creep up the curving east
The earthy chill of dusk and slow
Upon those under lands the vast
And ever climbing shadow grow

And strange at Ecbatan the trees
Take leaf by leaf the evening strange
The flooding dark about their knees
The mountains over Persia change

And now at Kermanshah the gate
Dark empty and the withered grass
And through the twilight now the late
Few travelers in the westward pass

And Baghdad darken and the bridge
Across the silent river gone
And through Arabia the edge
Of evening widen and steal on

And deepen on Palmyra's street
The wheel rut in the ruined stone
And Lebanon fade out and Crete
High through the clouds and overblown

And over Sicily the air
Still flashing with the landward gulls
And loom and slowly disappear
The sails above the shadowy hulls

And Spain go under the the shore
Of Africa the gilded sand
And evening vanish and no more
The low pale light across that land

Nor now the long light on the sea

And here face downward in the sun
To feel how swift how secretly
The shadow of the night comes on...
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

The Merchantmen

 King Solomon drew merchantmen,
 Because of his desire
 For peacocks, apes, and ivory,
 From Tarshish unto Tyre,
 With cedars out of Lebanon
 Which Hiram rafted down;
 But we be only sailormen
 That use in London town.

Coastwise -- cross-seas -- round the world and back again --
 Where the paw shall head us or the full Trade suits --
Plain-sail -- storm-sail -- lay your board and tack again --
 And that's the way we'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots!

 We bring no store of ingots,
 Of spice or precious stones,
 But what we have we gathered
 With sweat and aching bones:
 In flame beneath the Tropics,
 In frost upon the floe,
 And jeopardy of every wind
 That does between them go.

 And some we got by purchase,
 And some we had by trade,
 And some we found by courtesy
 Of pike and carronade --
 At midnight, 'mid-sea meetings,
 For charity to keep,
 And light the rolling homeward-bound
 That rowed a foot too deep!

 By sport of bitter weather
 We're walty, strained, and scarred
 From the kentledge on the kelson
 To the slings upon the yard.
 Six oceans had their will of us
 To carry all away --
 Our galley's in the Baltic,
 And our boom's in Mossel Bay.

 We've floundered off the Texel,
 Awash with sodden deals,
 We've shipped from Valparaiso
 With the Norther at our heels:
 We're ratched beyond the Crossets
 That tusk the Southern Pole,
 And dipped our gunnels under
 To the dread Agulhas roll.

 Beyond all outer charting
 We sailed where none have sailed,
 And saw the land-lights burning
 On islands none have hailed;
 Our hair stood up for wonder,
 But, when the night was done,
 There danced the deep to windward
 Blue-empty'neath the sun!

 Strange consorts rode beside us
 And brought us evil luck;
 The witch-fire climbed our channels,
 And flared on vane and truck,
 Till, through the red tornado,
 That lashed us nigh to blind,
 We saw The Dutchman plunging,
 Full canvas, head to wind!

 We've heard the Midnight Leadsman
 That calls the black deep down --
 Ay, thrice we've heard The Swimmer,
 The Thing that may not drown.
 On frozen bunt and gasket
 The sleet-cloud drave her hosts,
 When, manned by more than signed with us
 We passed the Isle of Ghosts! 

 And north, amid the hummocks,
 A biscuit-toss below,
 We met the silent shallop
 That frighted whalers know;
 For, down a cruel ice-lane,
 That opened as he sped,
 We saw dead Hendrick Hudson
 Steer, North by West, his dead.

 So dealt God's waters with us
 Beneath the roaring skies,
 So walked His signs and marrvels
 All naked to our eyes:
 But we were heading homeward
 With trade to lose or make --
 Good Lord, they slipped behind us
 In the tailing of our wake!

 Let go, let go the anchors;
 Now shamed at heart are we
 To bring so poor a cargo home
 That had for gift the sea!
 Let go the great bow-anchor --
 Ah, fools were we and blind --
 The worst we stored with utter toil,
 The best we left behind!

Coastwise -- cross-seas -- round the world and back again,
 Whither flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down:
Plain-sail -- storm-sail -- lay your board and tack again --
 And all to bring a cargo up to London Town!
Written by Andrew Marvell | Create an image from this poem

Bermudas

 Where the remote Bermudas ride
In th' Oceans bosome unespy'd,
From a small Boat, that row'd along,
The listning Winds receiv'd this Song.
What should we do but sing his Praise
That led us through the watry Maze,
Unto an Isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own?
Where he the huge Sea-Monsters wracks,
That lift the Deep upon their Backs.
He lands us on a grassy stage;
Safe from the Storms, and Prelat's rage.
He gave us this eternal Spring,
Which here enamells every thing;
And sends the Fowl's to us in care,
On daily Visits through the Air,
He hangs in shades the Orange bright,
Like golden Lamps in a green Night.
And does in the Pomgranates close,
Jewels more rich than Ormus show's.
He makes the Figs our mouths to meet;
And throws the Melons at our feet.
But Apples plants of such a price,
No Tree could ever bear them twice.
With Cedars, chosen by his hand,
From Lebanon, he stores the Land.
And makes the hollow Seas, that roar,
Proclaime the Ambergris on shoar.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The Gospels Pearl upon our coast.
And in these Rocks for us did frame
A Temple, where to sound his Name.
Oh let our Voice his Praise exalt,
Till it arrive at Heavens Vault:
Which thence (perhaps) rebounding, may
Eccho beyond the Mexique Bay.
Thus sung they, in the English boat,
An holy and a chearful Note,
And all the way, to guide their Chime,
With falling Oars they kept the time.
Written by Isaac Watts | Create an image from this poem

Hymn 73

 The church's beauty in the eyes of Christ.

SS 4:1-11. 

Kind is the speech of Christ our Lord,
Affection sounds in every word:
Lo! thou art fair, my love," he cries,
"Not the young doves have sweeter eyes."

["Sweet are thy lips, thy pleasing voice
Salutes mine ear with secret joys;
No spice so much delights the smell,
Nor milk nor honey tastes so well.]

"Thou art all fair, my bride, to me,
I will behold no spot in thee."
What mighty wonders love performs,
And puts a comeliness on worms!

Defiled and loathsome as we are,
He makes us white, and calls us fair;
Adorns us with that heav'nly dress,
His graces and his righteousness.

"My sister and my spouse," he cries,
"Bound to my heart by various ties,
Thy powerful love my heart detains
In strong delight and pleasing chains."

He calls me from the leopard's den,
From this wild world of beasts and men,
To Zion, where his glories are;
Not Lebanon is half so fair.

Nor dens of prey, nor flowery plains,
Nor earthly joys, nor earthly pains,
Shall hold my feet or force my stay,
When Christ invites my soul away.
Written by Isaac Watts | Create an image from this poem

Hymn 75

 The description of Christ the beloved.

SS 5:9-16. 

The wond'ring world inquires to know
Why I should love my Jesus so:
What are his charms," say they, "above
The objects of a mortal love?"

Yes! my Beloved, to my sight
Shows a sweet mixture, red and white:
All human beauties, all divine,
In my Beloved meet and shine.

White is his soul, from blemish free;
Red with the blood he shed for me;
The fairest of ten thousand fairs;
A sun amongst ten thousand stars.

[His head the finest gold excels;
There wisdom in perfection dwells,
And glory like a crown adorns
Those temples once beset with thorns.

Compassion's in his heart are found,
Hard by the signals of his wound:
His sacred side no more shall bear
The cruel scourge, the piercing spear.]

[His hands are fairer to behold
Than diamonds set in rings of gold;
Those heav'nly hands, that on the tree
Were nailed, and torn, and bled for me!

Though once he bowed his feeble knees,
Loaded with sins and agonies,
Now on the throne of his command
His legs like marble pillars stand.]

[His eyes are majesty and love,
The eagle tempered with the dove;
No more shall trickling sorrows roll
Through those dear windows of his soul.

His mouth, that poured out long complaints,
Now smiles and cheers his fainting saints
His countenance more graceful is
Than Lebanon with all its trees.]

All over glorious is my Lord
Must be beloved, and yet adored;
His worth if all the nations knew,
Sure the whole earth would love him too.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry