| Author | Message | ||
| Max |
James Russell Lowell.Ý1819ñ1891 Ý THE PRESENT CRISIS Ý WHEN a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth's aching breast Ý Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west, Ý And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within him climb Ý To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime Ý Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of Time. ÝÝÝÝÝÝÝÝÝ5 ÝÝ Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the instantaneous throe, Ý When the travail of the Ages wrings earth's systems to and fro; Ý At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start, Ý Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute lips apart, Ý And glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps beneath the Future's heart. ÝÝ10 ÝÝ So the Evil's triumph sendeth, with a terror and a chill, Ý Under continent to continent, the sense of coming ill, Ý And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his sympathies with God Ý In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be drunk up by the sod, Ý Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the nobler clod. ÝÝ15 ÝÝ For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along, Ý Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong; Ý Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast frame Ý Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or shame;ó Ý In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim. ÝÝ20 ÝÝ Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, Ý In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side; Ý Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight, Ý Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right, Ý And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light. ÝÝ25 ÝÝ Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt stand, Ý Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land? Ý Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 't is Truth alone is strong, Ý And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng Ý Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong. ÝÝ30 ÝÝ Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments see, Ý That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion's sea; Ý Not an ear in court or market for the low, foreboding cry Ý Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet earth's chaff must fly; Ý Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by. ÝÝ35 ÝÝ Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record Ý One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word; Ý Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,ó Ý Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown, Ý Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own. ÝÝ40 ÝÝ We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is great, Ý Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate, Ý But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's din, Ý List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave within,ó Ý "They enslave their children's children who make compromise with sin." ÝÝ45 ÝÝ Slavery, the earth-born Cyclops, fellest of the giant brood, Ý Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched the earth with blood, Ý Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer day, Ý Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable prey;ó Ý Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless children play? ÝÝ50 ÝÝ Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust, Ý Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 't is prosperous to be just; Ý Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside, Ý Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified, Ý And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied. ÝÝ55 ÝÝ Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes,óthey were souls that stood alone, Ý While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone, Ý Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline Ý To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine, Ý By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design. ÝÝ60 ÝÝ By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track, Ý Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back, Ý And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned Ý One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet-hearts hath burned Ý Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven upturned. ÝÝ65 ÝÝ For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands, Ý On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands; Ý Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn, Ý While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return Ý To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn. ÝÝ70 ÝÝ 'T is as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves Ý Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves, Ý Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime;ó Ý Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time? Ý Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that made Plymouth Rock sublime? ÝÝ75 ÝÝ They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts, Ý Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past's; Ý But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath made us free, Ý Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits flee Ý The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them across the sea. ÝÝ80 ÝÝ They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our sires, Ý Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar-fires; Ý Shall we make their creed our jailer? Shall we, in our haste to slay, Ý From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away Ý To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day? ÝÝ85 ÝÝ New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth; Ý They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth; Ý Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Ý Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Ý Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key. ÝÝ90 Ý | ||
| Denisegilmore |
Max, That was a beautiful poem! What depth in thought that poet was in at the time of his writing. Absolutely awesome! God Bless, me | ||
| Max |
THE JOURNEY OF THE MAGI by T. S. Eliot 'A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For the journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.' And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, Lying down in the melting snow. There were times we regretted The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, And the silken girls bringing sherbet. Then the camel men cursing and grumbling And running away, and wanting their liquor and women, And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters, And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly And the villages dirty and charging high prices: A hard time we had of it. At the end we preferred to travel all night, Sleeping in snatches, With the voices singing in our ears, saying That this was all folly. Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley, Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation; With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness, And three trees on the low sky, And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow. Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel, Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver, And feet kicking the empty wine-skins, But there was no information, and so we continued And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory All this was a long time ago, I remember, And I would do it again, but set down This set down This: were we led all that way for Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly, We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death, But had thought they were different; this Birth was Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death, We returned to our places, these Kingdoms, But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, With an alien people clutching their gods. I should be glad of another death. | ||
| Cindy |
Thanks, Max, for posting "The Journey of the Magi" by T.S. Eliot; I hadn't read it before. Interesting to read at first; then so much more when re-reading, seeing the many images of Christ brought up in the story! I'll print it out to add to my treasures... Grace always, Cindy | ||
| Max |
THE KINGDOM OF GOD: In No Strange Land by Francis Thompson (1859-1907) O world invisible, we view thee, O world intangible, we touch thee, O world unknowable, we know thee, Inapprehensible, we clutch thee! Does the fish soar to find the ocean, The eagle plunge to find the air-- That we ask of the stars in motion If they have rumor of thee there? Not where the wheeling systems darken, And our benumbed conceiving soars!-- The drift of pinions, would we harken, Beats at our own clay-shuttered doors. The angels keep their ancient places-- Turn but a stone and start a wing! ëTis ye, ëtis your estragned faces, That miss the many-splendored thing. But (when so sad thou canst not sadder) Cry -- and upon thy so sore loss Shall shine the traffic of Jacobís ladder Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross. Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter, Cry -- clinging Heaven by the hems; And lo, Christ walking on the water, Not of Genesareth, but Thames! ____________________________ Notes: 1. Charing Cross is an intersection in London. 2. Genesareth is the name for the sea of Galilee. | ||
| Cindy |
Max, This is a favorite of mine! I posted somewhere here on the background of the writer of this poem, but can't find it on my keyword search thing this morning. Maybe later...got to go.. Thanks...and have a good day... Grace always, Cindy | ||
| Snowdove (Snowdove) |
As I was walking down life's highway many years ago I came upon a sign that read Heavens Grocery Store. Unknown author When I got a little closer the doors swung open wide And when I came to myself I was standing inside. I saw a host of angels. They were standing everywhere One handed me a basket and said "My child shop with care." Everything a human needed was in that grocery store And what you could not carry you could come back for more First I got some Patience. Love was in that same row. Further down was Understanding, you need that everywhere you go. I got a box or two of Wisdom and Faith a bag or two. And Charity of course I would need some of that too. I couldn't miss the Holy Ghost It was all over the place. And then some Strength and Courage to help me run this race. My basket was getting full but I remembered I needed Grace, And then I chose Salvation for Salvation was for free I tried to get enough of that to do for you and me. Then I started to the counter to pay my grocery bill, For I thought I had everything to do the Masters will. As I went up the aisle I saw Prayer and put that in, For I knew when I stepped outside I would run into sin. Peace and Joy were plentiful, the last things on the shelf. Song and Praise were hanging near so I just helped myself. Then I said to the angel "Now how much do I owe?" He smiled and said "Just take them everywhere you go." Again I asked "Really now, How much do I owe?" "My child" he said, "God paid your bill long long time ago." Unknown Author | ||
| Snowdove (Snowdove) |
sorry I don't know how unknown author got in the first stanza | ||
| Sherry2 (Sherry2) |
I should probably post this poem in a couple spots because of it's nature. This poem can be found in "From Sabbath to Lord's Day" by D.A. Carson. It was written by Joseph Hart(1712-1768). "Some Christians to the Lord regard a day, And others to the Lord regard it not; Now, though these seem to choose a diff'rent way, Yet both, at last, to one same point are brought. He that regards the day will reason thus -- 'This glorious day our Saviour and our King Perform'd some might act of love for us; Observe the time in mem'ry of the thing.' Thus he to Jesus points his kind intent, And offers prayers and praises in his name; As to the Lord above his love is meant, The Lord accepts it; and who dare to blame? For, though the shell indeed is not the meat, 'Tis not rejected when the meat's within; Though superstition is a vain conceit, Commemoration surely is not sin, He also, that to days has no regard, The shadows only for the subtance quits; Towards the Saviour's presence presses hard, And outward things through eagerness omits. For warmly to himself he thus reflects-- 'My Lord alone I count my cheifest good; All empty forms my craving soul rejects, And seeks the solid riches of his blood. 'All days and times I place my sole delight In him, the only object of my care; External shows for his dear sake I slight, Lest ought but Jesus my respect should share.' Let not th' oberver, therefore, entertain Against his brother any secret grudge; Nor let the non-observer call him vain; But use his freedom, and forbear to judge. Thus both may bring their motives to the test; Our condescending Lord will both approve. Let each pursue the way that likes him best; He cannot walk amiss, that walks in love." |
