Written by
William Henry Davies |
And now, when merry winds do blow,
And rain makes trees look fresh,
An overpowering staleness holds
This mortal flesh.
Though well I love to feel the rain,
And be by winds well blown --
The mystery of mortal life
Doth press me down.
And, In this mood, come now what will,
Shine Rainbow, Cuckoo call;
There is no thing in Heaven or Earth
Can lift my soul.
I know not where this state comes from --
No cause for grief I know;
The Earth around is fresh and green,
Flowers near me grow.
I sit between two fair rose trees;
Red roses on my right,
And on my left side roses are
A lovely white.
The little birds are full of joy,
Lambs bleating all the day;
The colt runs after the old mare,
And children play.
And still there comes this dark, dark hour --
Which is not borne of Care;
Into my heart it creeps before
I am aware.
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Written by
Hafez |
If there be any power in passion’s prayer—
But no: such ultimate longings have no word:
There is no eloquence in last despair.
Many have voiced their pain & answer heard;
Though ’twere but this, that to give bodied form
To grief, call’d their own heart to combat it:
But not ev’n thus can I pray;—thou strong storm,
All-overpowering, baffling bravest wit,
Wild spirit spurning cage of time or name,
Furious intangible fire, no duteous thought
Can deal with thee, to no calm altar-flame
Confine, nor wish acceptable,—O if aught
From such dumb need can reach aught’s hearing ear,
This is it now, O hear, O hear, O hear!
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Written by
Isaac Watts |
The song of Simeon; or, Death made desirable.
Luke 2:27ff
Lord, at thy temple we appear,
As happy Simeon came,
And hope to meet our Savior here;
O make our joys the same!
With what divine and vast delight
The good old man was filled,
When fondly in his withered arms
He clasped the holy child!
"Now I can leave this world," he cried,
"Behold, thy servant dies;
I've seen thy great salvation, Lord,
And close my peaceful eyes.
"This is the light prepared to shine
Upon the Gentile lands,
Thine Isr'el's glory, and their hope
To break their slavish bands."
[Jesus! the vision of thy face
Hath overpowering charms;
Scarce shall I feel death's cold embrace,
If Christ be in my arms.
Then while ye hear my heart-strings break,
How sweet my minutes roll!
A mortal paleness on my cheek,
And glory in my soul.]
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