Written by
Kahlil Gibran |
Part One
The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.
My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and give the juice to the thirsty.
Heaven fills my lamp with oil and I place it at my window to direct the stranger through the dark.
I do all these things because I live in them; and if destiny should tie my hands and prevent me from so doing, then death would be my only desire.
For I am a poet, and if I cannot give, I shall refuse to receive.
Humanity rages like a tempest, but I sigh in silence for I know the storm must pass away while a sigh goes to God.
Human kinds cling to earthly things, but I seek ever to embrace the torch of love so it will purify me by its fire and sear inhumanity from my heart.
Substantial things deaden a man without suffering; love awakens him with enlivening pains.
Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong to countries and towns.
But I find myself a stranger to all communities and belong to no settlement.
The universe is my country and the human family is my tribe.
Men are weak, and it is sad that they divide amongst themselves.
The world is narrow and it is unwise to cleave it into kingdoms, empires, and provinces.
Human kinds unite themselves one to destroy the temples of the soul, and they join hands to build edifices for earthly bodies.
I stand alone listening to the voice of hope in my deep self saying, "As love enlivens a man's heart with pain, so ignorance teaches him the way of knowledge.
" Pain and ignorance lead to great joy and knowledge because the Supreme Being has created nothing vain under the sun.
Part Two
I have a yearning for my beautiful country, and I love its people because of their misery.
But if my people rose, stimulated by plunder and motivated by what they call "patriotic spirit" to murder, and invaded my neighbor's country, then upon the committing of any human atrocity I would hate my people and my country.
I sing the praise of my birthplace and long to see the home of my children; but if the people in that home refused to shelter and feed the needy wayfarer, I would convert my praise into anger and my longing to forgetfulness.
My inner voice would say, "The house that does not comfort the need is worthy of naught by destruction.
"
I love my native village with some of my love for my country; and I love my country with part of my love for the earth, all of which is my country; and I love the earth will all of myself because it is the haven of humanity, the manifest spirit of God.
Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that humanity is standing amidst ruins, hiding its nakedness behind tattered rags, shedding tears upon hollow cheeks, and calling for its children with pitiful voice.
But the children are busy singing their clan's anthem; they are busy sharpening the swords and cannot hear the cry of their mothers.
Humanity appeals to its people but they listen not.
Were one to listen, and console a mother by wiping her tears, other would say, "He is weak, affected by sentiment.
"
Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that Supreme Being preaches love and good-will.
But the people ridicule such teachings.
The Nazarene Jesus listened, and crucifixion was his lot; Socrates heard the voice and followed it, and he too fell victim in body.
The followers of The Nazarene and Socrates are the followers of Deity, and since people will not kill them, they deride them, saying, "Ridicule is more bitter than killing.
"
Jerusalem could not kill The Nazarene, nor Athens Socrates; they are living yet and shall live eternally.
Ridicule cannot triumph over the followers of Deity.
They live and grow forever.
Part Three
Thou art my brother because you are a human, and we both are sons of one Holy Spirit; we are equal and made of the same earth.
You are here as my companion along the path of life, and my aid in understanding the meaning of hidden Truth.
You are a human, and, that fact sufficing, I love you as a brother.
You may speak of me as you choose, for Tomorrow shall take you away and will use your talk as evidence for his judgment, and you shall receive justice.
You may deprive me of whatever I possess, for my greed instigated the amassing of wealth and you are entitled to my lot if it will satisfy you.
You may do unto me whatever you wish, but you shall not be able to touch my Truth.
You may shed my blood and burn my body, but you cannot kill or hurt my spirit.
You may tie my hands with chains and my feet with shackles, and put me in the dark prison, but who shall not enslave my thinking, for it is free, like the breeze in the spacious sky.
You are my brother and I love you.
I love you worshipping in your church, kneeling in your temple, and praying in your mosque.
You and I and all are children of one religion, for the varied paths of religion are but the fingers of the loving hand of the Supreme Being, extended to all, offering completeness of spirit to all, anxious to receive all.
I love you for your Truth, derived from your knowledge; that Truth which I cannot see because of my ignorance.
But I respect it as a divine thing, for it is the deed of the spirit.
Your Truth shall meet my Truth in the coming world and blend together like the fragrance of flowers and becoming one whole and eternal Truth, perpetuating and living in the eternity of Love and Beauty.
I love you because you are weak before the strong oppressor, and poor before the greedy rich.
For these reasons I shed tears and comfort you; and from behind my tears I see you embraced in the arms of Justice, smiling and forgiving your persecutors.
You are my brother and I love you.
Part Four
You are my brother, but why are you quarreling with me? Why do you invade my country and try to subjugate me for the sake of pleasing those who are seeking glory and authority?
Why do you leave your wife and children and follow Death to the distant land for the sake of those who buy glory with your blood, and high honor with your mother's tears?
Is it an honor for a man to kill his brother man? If you deem it an honor, let it be an act of worship, and erect a temple to Cain who slew his brother Abel.
Is self-preservation the first law of Nature? Why, then, does Greed urge you to self-sacrifice in order only to achieve his aim in hurting your brothers? Beware, my brother, of the leader who says, "Love of existence obliges us to deprive the people of their rights!" I say unto you but this: protecting others' rights is the noblest and most beautiful human act; if my existence requires that I kill others, then death is more honorable to me, and if I cannot find someone to kill me for the protection of my honor, I will not hesitate to take my life by my own hands for the sake of Eternity before Eternity comes.
Selfishness, my brother, is the cause of blind superiority, and superiority creates clanship, and clanship creates authority which leads to discord and subjugation.
The soul believes in the power of knowledge and justice over dark ignorance; it denies the authority that supplies the swords to defend and strengthen ignorance and oppression - that authority which destroyed Babylon and shook the foundation of Jerusalem and left Rome in ruins.
It is that which made people call criminals great mean; made writers respect their names; made historians relate the stories of their inhumanity in manner of praise.
The only authority I obey is the knowledge of guarding and acquiescing in the Natural Law of Justice.
What justice does authority display when it kills the killer? When it imprisons the robber? When it descends on a neighborhood country and slays its people? What does justice think of the authority under which a killer punishes the one who kills, and a thief sentences the one who steals?
You are my brother, and I love you; and Love is justice with its full intensity and dignity.
If justice did not support my love for you, regardless of your tribe and community, I would be a deceiver concealing the ugliness of selfishness behind the outer garment of pure love.
Conclusion
My soul is my friend who consoles me in misery and distress of life.
He who does not befriend his soul is an enemy of humanity, and he who does not find human guidance within himself will perish desperately.
Life emerges from within, and derives not from environs.
I came to say a word and I shall say it now.
But if death prevents its uttering, it will be said tomorrow, for tomorrow never leaves a secret in the book of eternity.
I came to live in the glory of love and the light of beauty, which are the reflections of God.
I am here living, and the people are unable to exile me from the domain of life for they know I will live in death.
If they pluck my eyes I will hearken to the murmers of love and the songs of beauty.
If they close my ears I will enjoy the touch of the breeze mixed with the incebse of love and the fragrance of beauty.
If they place me in a vacuum, I will live together with my soul, the child of love and beauty.
I came here to be for all and with all, and what I do today in my solitude will be echoed by tomorrow to the people.
What I say now with one heart will be said tomorrow by many hearts
|
Written by
T S (Thomas Stearns) Eliot |
I
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.
My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
Other echoes
Inhabit the garden.
Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner.
Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
To look down into the drained pool.
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
II
Garlic and sapphires in the mud
Clot the bedded axle-tree.
The trilling wire in the blood
Sings below inveterate scars
Appeasing long forgotten wars.
The dance along the artery
The circulation of the lymph
Are figured in the drift of stars
Ascend to summer in the tree
We move above the moving tree
In light upon the figured leaf
And hear upon the sodden floor
Below, the boarhound and the boar
Pursue their pattern as before
But reconciled among the stars.
At the still point of the turning world.
Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement.
And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered.
Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline.
Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
The inner freedom from the practical desire,
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,
Erhebung without motion, concentration
Without elimination, both a new world
And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.
Yet the enchainment of past and future
Woven in the weakness of the changing body,
Protects mankind from heaven and damnation
Which flesh cannot endure.
Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.
III
Here is a place of disaffection
Time before and time after
In a dim light: neither daylight
Investing form with lucid stillness
Turning shadow into transient beauty
With slow rotation suggesting permanence
Nor darkness to purify the soul
Emptying the sensual with deprivation
Cleansing affection from the temporal.
Neither plenitude nor vacancy.
Only a flicker
Over the strained time-ridden faces
Distracted from distraction by distraction
Filled with fancies and empty of meaning
Tumid apathy with no concentration
Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind
That blows before and after time,
Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs
Time before and time after.
Eructation of unhealthy souls
Into the faded air, the torpid
Driven on the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London,
Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney,
Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate.
Not here
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.
Descend lower, descend only
Into the world of perpetual solitude,
World not world, but that which is not world,
Internal darkness, deprivation
And destitution of all property,
Desiccation of the world of sense,
Evacuation of the world of fancy,
Inoperancy of the world of spirit;
This is the one way, and the other
Is the same, not in movement
But abstention from movement; while the world moves
In appetency, on its metalled ways
Of time past and time future.
IV
Time and the bell have buried the day,
The black cloud carries the sun away.
Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis
Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray
Clutch and cling?
Chill
Fingers of yew be curled
Down on us? After the kingfisher's wing
Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still
At the still point of the turning world.
V
Words move, music moves
Only in time; but that which is only living
Can only die.
Words, after speech, reach
Into the silence.
Only by the form, the pattern,
Can words or music reach
The stillness, as a Chinese jar still
Moves perpetually in its stillness.
Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts,
Not that only, but the co-existence,
Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now.
Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still.
Shrieking voices
Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,
Always assail them.
The Word in the desert
Is most attacked by voices of temptation,
The crying shadow in the funeral dance,
The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.
The detail of the pattern is movement,
As in the figure of the ten stairs.
Desire itself is movement
Not in itself desirable;
Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,
Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being.
Sudden in a shaft of sunlight
Even while the dust moves
There rises the hidden laughter
Of children in the foliage
Quick now, here, now, always—
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.
|
Written by
Rudyard Kipling |
Take of English earth as much
As either hand may rightly clutch.
In the taking of it breathe
Prayer for all who lie beneath.
Not the great nor well-bespoke,
But the mere uncounted folk
Of whose life and death is none
Report or lamentation.
Lay that earth upon thy heart,
And thy sickness shall depart!
It shall sweeten and make whole
Fevered breath and festered soul.
It shall mightily restrain
Over-busied hand and brain.
It shall ease thy mortal strife
'Gainst the immortal woe of life,
Till thyself, restored, shall prove
By what grace the Heavens do move.
Take of English flowers these --
Spring's full-vaced primroses,
Summer's wild wide-hearted rose,
Autumn's wall-flowerr of the close,
And, thy darkness to illume,
Winter's bee-thronged ivy-bloom.
Seek and serve them where they bide
From Candlemas to Christmas-tide,
For these simples, used aright,
Can restore a failing sight.
These shall cleanse and purify
Webbed and inward-turning eye;
These shall show thee treasure hid,
Thy familiar fields amid;
And reveal (which is thy need)
Every man a King indeed!
|
Written by
The Bible |
“Do not enter into judgment with your servant;
For before you no one alive can be righteous.
”—Ps.
143:2.
“O Jehovah, do not in your indignation reprove me,
Nor in your rage correct me.
For your own arrows have sunk themselves deep into me,
And upon me your hand is come down.
There is no sound spot in my flesh because of your denunciation.
There is no peace in my bones on account of my sin.
For my own errors have passed over my head;
Like a heavy load they are too heavy for me.
My wounds have become stinky, they have festered,
Because of my foolishness.
I have become disconcerted, I have bowed low to an extreme degree;
All day long I have walked about sad.
”—Ps.
38:1-6.
“Look! With error I was brought forth with birth pains,
And in sin my mother conceived me.
”
“May you purify me from sin with hyssop, that I may be clean;
May you wash me, that I may become whiter even than snow.
”
“Conceal your face from my sins,
And wipe out even all my errors.
”—Ps.
51:5, 7, 9.
“Happy is the one whose revolt is pardoned, whose sin is covered.
Happy is the man to whose account Jehovah does not put error,
And in whose spirit there is no deceit.
.
.
.
My sin I finally confessed to you, and my error I did not cover.
I said: ‘I shall make confession over my transgressions to Jehovah.
’
And you yourself pardoned the error of my sins.
”—Ps.
32:1-5.
|
Written by
Helen Hunt Jackson |
Still lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white;
And reigns the winter's pregnant silence still;
No sign of spring, save that the catkins fill,
And willow stems grow daily red and bright.
These are days when ancients held a rite
Of expiation for the old year's ill,
And prayer to purify the new year's will:
Fit days, ere yet the spring rains blur the sight,
Ere yet the bounding blood grows hot with haste,
And dreaming thoughts grow heavy with a greed
The ardent summer's joy to have and taste;
Fit days, to give to last year's losses heed,
To recon clear the new life's sterner need;
Fit days, for Feast of Expiation placed!
|
Written by
Edwin Muir |
Our fathers all were poor,
Poorer our fathers' fathers;
Beyond, we dare not look.
We, the sons, keep store
Of tarnished gold that gathers
Around us from the night,
Record it in this book
That, when the line is drawn,
Credit and creditor gone,
Column and figure flown,
Will open into light.
Archaic fevers shake
Our healthy flesh and blood
Plumped in the passing day
And fed with pleasant food.
The fathers' anger and ache
Will not, will not away
And leave the living alone,
But on our careless brows
Faintly their furrows engrave
Like veinings in a stone,
Breathe in the sunny house
Nightmare of blackened bone,
Cellar and choking cave.
Panics and furies fly
Through our unhurried veins,
Heavenly lights and rains
Purify heart and eye,
Past agonies purify
And lay the sullen dust.
The angers will not away.
We hold our fathers' trust,
Wrong, riches, sorrow and all
Until they topple and fall,
And fallen let in the day.
|
Written by
William Blake |
THEL'S MOTTO
1 Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
2 Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?
3 Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
4 Or Love in a golden bowl?
I
1.
1 The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
1.
2 All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
1.
3 To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
1.
4 Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
1.
5 And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:
1.
6 "O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water,
1.
7 Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall?
1.
8 Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud;
1.
9 Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
1.
10 Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face;
1.
11 Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air.
1.
12 Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
1.
13 And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
1.
14 Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.
"
1.
15 The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass,
1.
16 Answer'd the lovely maid and said: "I am a wat'ry weed,
1.
17 And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales;
1.
18 So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
1.
19 Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
1.
20 Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
1.
21 Saying, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower,
1.
22 Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
1.
23 For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
1.
24 Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
1.
25 To flourish in eternal vales.
' Then why should Thel complain?
1.
26 Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?"
1.
27 She ceas'd and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
1.
28 Thel answer'd: "O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley,
1.
29 Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired;
1.
30 Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
1.
31 He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
1.
32 Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
1.
33 Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
1.
34 Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs,
1.
35 Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed.
1.
36 But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
1.
37 I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?"
1.
38 "Queen of the vales," the Lily answer'd, "ask the tender cloud,
1.
39 And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky,
1.
40 And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air.
1.
41 Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel.
"
1.
42 The Cloud descended, and the Lily bow'd her modest head
1.
43 And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
II
2.
1 "O little Cloud," the virgin said, "I charge thee tell to me
2.
2 Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away:
2.
3 Then we shall seek thee, but not find.
Ah! Thel is like to thee:
2.
4 I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.
"
2.
5 The Cloud then shew'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd,
2.
6 Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
2.
7 "O virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
2.
8 Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,
2.
9 And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
2.
10 Nothing remains? O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away
2.
11 It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace and raptures holy:
2.
12 Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
2.
13 And court the fair-eyed dew to take me to her shining tent:
2.
14 The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the risen sun,
2.
15 Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part,
2.
16 But walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers.
"
2.
17 "Dost thou, O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee,
2.
18 For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers,
2.
19 But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds,
2.
20 But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food:
2.
21 But Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away;
2.
22 And all shall say, 'Without a use this shining woman liv'd,
2.
23 Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?' "
2.
24 The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne and answer'd thus:
2.
25 "Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies,
2.
26 How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Every thing that lives
2.
27 Lives not alone nor for itself.
Fear not, and I will call
2.
28 The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice,
2.
29 Come forth, worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive queen.
"
2.
30 The helpless worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf,
2.
31 And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale.
III
3.
1 Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
3.
2 "Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm?
3.
3 I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf
3.
4 Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep.
3.
5 Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping,
3.
6 And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles.
"
3.
7 The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head:
3.
8 She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
3.
9 In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes.
3.
10 "O beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves.
3.
11 Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed.
3.
12 My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark;
3.
13 But he, that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head,
3.
14 And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast,
3.
15 And says: 'Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
3.
16 And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.
'
3.
17 But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know;
3.
18 I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love.
"
3.
19 The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
3.
20 And said: "Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep.
3.
21 That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
3.
22 That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that he cherish'd it
3.
23 With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep;
3.
24 And I complain'd in the mild air, because I fade away,
3.
25 And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot.
"
3.
26 "Queen of the vales," the matron Clay answer'd, "I heard thy sighs,
3.
27 And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down.
3.
28 Wilt thou, O Queen, enter my house? 'Tis given thee to enter
3.
29 And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet.
"
IV
4.
1 The eternal gates' terrific porter lifted the northern bar:
4.
2 Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the land unknown.
4.
3 She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
4.
4 Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
4.
5 A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen.
4.
6 She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
4.
7 Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
4.
8 She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground,
4.
9 Till to her own grave plot she came, and there she sat down,
4.
10 And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
4.
11 "Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
4.
12 Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile?
4.
13 Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn,
4.
14 Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie?
4.
15 Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'ring fruits and coined gold?
4.
16 Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
4.
17 Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
4.
18 Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affright?
4.
19 Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
4.
20 Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?"
4.
21 The Virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
4.
22 Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.
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Written by
The Bible |
Behold, you desire truth
Within the inner parts
Make me to know your wisdom,
Deep in my inmost heart
Purify me with hyssop,
Deeper than I've ever been
Wash me as white as the snow
Then I shall truly be clean
Turn away from all my sins
And blot out the guilt I had
Make me to rejoice again
To be satisfied, and made glad.
Scripture Poem © Copyright Of M.
S.
Lowndes
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Written by
Ehsan Sehgal |
"How to honour and purify your "Self", speak the truth, respect others and spread the love and harmony.
"
Ehsan Sehgal
|