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The worm grazes where it's born.

Sicilian proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Clover-Blossom

In a quiet, pleasant meadow,
Beneath a summer sky,
Where green old trees their branches waved,
And winds went singing by;
Where a little brook went rippling
So musically low,
And passing clouds cast shadows
On the waving grass below;
Where low, sweet notes of brooding birds
Stole out on the fragrant air,
And golden sunlight shone undimmed
On all most fresh and fair;--
There bloomed a lovely sisterhood
Of happy little flowers,
Together in this pleasant home,
Through quiet summer hours.
No rude hand came to gather them,
No chilling winds to blight;
Warm sunbeams smiled on them by day,
And soft dews fell at night.
So here, along the brook-side,
Beneath the green old trees,
The flowers dwelt among their friends,
The sunbeams and the breeze.

One morning, as the flowers awoke,
Fragrant, and fresh, and fair,
A little worm came creeping by,
And begged a shelter there.
'Ah! pity and love me,' sighed the worm,
'I am lonely, poor, and weak;
A little spot for a resting-place,
Dear flowers, is all I seek.
I am not fair, and have dwelt unloved
By butterfly, bird, and bee.
They little knew that in this dark form
Lay the beauty they yet may see.
Then let me lie in the deep green moss,
And weave my little tomb,
And sleep my long, unbroken sleep
Till Spring's first flowers come.
Then will I come in a fairer dress,
And your gentle care repay
By the grateful love of the humble worm;
Kind flowers, O let me stay!'
But the wild rose showed her little thorns,
While her soft face glowed with pride;
The violet hid beneath the drooping ferns,
And the daisy turned aside.
Little Houstonia scornfully laughed,

[...] Read more

poem by Louisa May Alcott
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Out of the…is Born a …

Out of the mire is born a gorgeous flower;
Out of the noise is born a dead silence;
Out of the storm is born, calm!

Out of the strife is born a pleasant life;
Out of the filth is born flora, fauna;
Out of the chaos is born clarity.

Out of the exercise is born a healthy body;
Out of the training is born wisdom;
Out of the learning is born a scholar!

Out of the confession is born a soul afilled with grace;
Out of the Holy Book is born the word of God;
Out of the prayers is born answers from God!

Out of the rain is born the verdure shoots;
Out of the sun is born the growing plants;
Out of the dawn is born a lovely day;
Out of the dusk is born a quiet night!

Out of the hunger is born an appetite;
Out of the dainty food is born satiety;
Out of the wine is born inebriety.

Out of the fasting is born controlled senses;
Out of the inhibition is born a civilized person;
Out of the nature’s furies is born forbearance;
Out of the war is born a newer peace.

Out of the mistakes done is born a new resolve;
Out of the struggle is born a long-lasting freedom;
Out of the perseverance is born an accomplishment.

Out of the light is born a new day on earth;
Out of the night is born a starry sky;
Out of the dark clouds is born an aureole moon.

Out of the boredom is born a life of joy;
Out of the trials, travail is born a mind of steel;
Out of the woes is born a content heart!

Out of the parent’s love is born a loving child;
Out of the love of God is born forgiveness of sins;
Out of the mercy of God is born a soul for heaven!

poem by John Celes
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Worm Either Way

If you live along with all the other people
and are just like them, and conform, and are nice
you're just a worm --

and if you live with all the other people
and you don't like them and won't be like them and won't conform
then you're just the worm that has turned,
in either case, a worm.

The conforming worm stays just inside the skin
respectably unseen, and cheerfully gnaws away at the heart of life,
making it all rotten inside.

The unconforming worm -- that is, the worm that has turned --
gnaws just the same, gnawing the substance out of life,
but he insists on gnawing a little hole in the social epidermis
and poking his head out and waving himself
and saying: Look at me, I am not respectable,
I do all the things the bourgeois daren't do,
I booze and fornicate and use foul language and despise your honest man.--

But why should the worm that has turned protest so much?
The bonnie bonnie bourgeois goes a-whoring up back streets just the same.
The busy busy bourgeois imbibes his little share
just the same
if not more.
The pretty pretty bourgeois pinks his language just as pink
if not pinker,
and in private boasts his exploits even louder, if you ask me,
than the other.
While as to honesty, Oh look where the money lies!

So I can't see where the worm that has turned puts anything over
the worm that is too cunning to turn.
On the contrary, he merely gives himself away.
The turned worm shouts. I bravely booze!
the other says. Have one with me!
The turned worm boasts: I copulate!
the unturned says: You look it.
You're a d----- b----- b----- p----- bb-----, says the worm that's turned.
Quite! says the other. Cuckoo!

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Dr Worm

They call me Dr. Worm,
Good morning, how are you? I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things,
I'm not a real doctor but I am a real worm,
I am an actual worm,
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think I'm getting good, but I can handle criticism.
I'll show you what I know and you can
Tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums
I'll leave the front unlocked 'cause I can't
Hear the doorbell...
When I get into it, I can't tell if you are
Watching me twirling the stick.
When I give the signal, my friend
Rabbi Vole will play the solo...
Someday, somebody else besides me will
Call me by my stage name, they will
Call me Dr. Worm,
Good morning, how are you? I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things.
I'm not a real doctor but I am a real worm,
I am an actual worm,
I live like a worm.
And I like to play the drums,
I think I'm getting good, but I can handle criticism.
I'll show you what I know and you can
Tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums.
I'm not a real doctor, but they call me
Dr. Worm!

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Doctor Worm

They call me dr. worm.
Good morning. how are you? Im dr. worm.
Im interested in things.
Im not a real doctor,
But I am a real worm;
I am an actual worm.
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think Im getting good,
But I can handle criticism.
Ill show you what I know,
And you can tell me if you think Im getting better on the drums.
Ill leave the front un-locked cause I cant
Hear the doorbell
When I get into it I cant tell if you are
Watching me twirling the stick.
When I give the signal, my friend
Rabbi vole will play the solo
Some day somebody else besides me will
Call me by my stage name, they will
Call me dr worm.
Good morning how are you, Im dr worm
Im interested in things.
Im not a real doctor,
But I am a real worm;
I am an actual worm.
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think Im getting good,
But I can handle criticism.
Ill show you what I know,
And you can tell me if you think Im getting better on the drums.
Im not a real doctor,
But they call me dr. worm.

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Born To Be Loved By You

Borne again.
Because have you at just being borne again.
At last I feel that Im alive and more.
This is the moment Ive waited for.
Born to be loved by you.born to be loved by you.
Born to walk with you.born to talk with you.
I was born for you.
Born to be with you, only you.
Born to be loved by you.
Born for you, born for you baby.
Born for you, born for you baby.
Born for you, born to be loved by you
(you and only you) born to be with only you.
I look at you and all at once I know that dreams come true.
For there you are the other part of me.
I have found my destiny.
Born to be loved by you.born to be loved by you.
Right or wrong for you.weak or strong for you.
Faithful or untrue
Born chained forever and far beyond.
Born to be loved by you and only you
No one else will do.
Heart and soul,born to be loved
Born to be loved.born to be loved by you.
(you and only you,born to be with only you)
Born for you.born for you baby.
Born for you.born for you baby.
Born for you, born for you baby..

song performed by Roy Orbison
Added by Lucian Velea
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In the next birth

IF I ACQUIRED the menacing form of an
alligator in the next birth,
I would want you to cling tightly to my persona as my serrated green
skin.

If I was born in the ominous form of the jungle tiger in the
next birth,
I would you to be incorporated in my body as my domineeringly
authoritative growl.

If I was born as a densely foliated tree in the next birth,
I would want you to be the perennial leaves that emanated from
my silhouette.

If I was born as an opalescent fish in the next birth,
I would want you to be saline water in which I could sustain life
and swim.

If I was born as the twin horned sacrosanct cow in the next birth,
I would inevitably desire you as the milk I would diffuse from
my flaccid teats.

If I was born as a slithering reptile in the next birth,
I would want you to be the lethal venom I possessed in my triangular
fangs.

If I was born as an obnoxious donkey in the next birth,
I would want you to be my hooves which swished indiscriminately
at innocuous trespassers.

If I was born as perpetually blind in the next birth,
I would indispensably want you to be my eyes to guide me
towards dazzling light.

If I was born as being disdainfully maim; bereft of feet in the next
birth,
I would incorrigibly want you to be my legs to ecstatically leap
in times of jubilation.

If I was born as a rustic spider with a battalion of arms in the
next birth,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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The Ballad Of The Ice-Worm Cocktail

To Dawson Town came Percy Brown from London on the Thames.
A pane of glass was in his eye, and stockings on his stems.
Upon the shoulder of his coat a leather pad he wore,
To rest his deadly rifle when it wasn't seeking gore;
The which it must have often been, for Major Percy Brown,
According to his story was a hunter of renown,
Who in the Murrumbidgee wilds had stalked the kangaroo
And killed the cassowary on the plains of Timbuctoo.
And now the Arctic fox he meant to follow to its lair,
And it was also his intent to beard the Artic hare...
Which facts concerning Major Brown I merely tell because
I fain would have you know him for the Nimrod that he was.

Now Skipper Grey and Deacon White were sitting in the shack,
And sampling of the whisky that pertained to Sheriff Black.
Said Skipper Grey: "I want to say a word about this Brown:
The piker's sticking out his chest as if he owned the town."
Said Sheriff Black: "he has no lack of frigorated cheek;
He called himself a Sourdough when he'd just been here a week."
Said Deacon White: "Methinks you're right, and so I have a plan
By which I hope to prove to-night the mettle of the man.
Just meet me where the hooch-bird sings, and though our ways be rude
We'll make a proper Sourdough of this Piccadilly dude."

Within the Malamute Saloon were gathered all the gang;
The fun was fast and furious, and the loud hooch-bird sang.
In fact the night's hilarity had almost reached its crown,
When into its storm-centre breezed the gallant Major Brown.
And at the apparation, whith its glass eye and plus-fours,
From fifty alcoholic throats responded fifty roars.
With shouts of stark amazement and with whoops of sheer delight,
They surged around the stranger, but the first was Deacon White.
"We welcome you," he cried aloud, "to this the Great White Land.
The Artic Brotherhood is proud to grip you by the hand.
Yea, sportsman of the bull-dog breed, from trails of far away,
To Yukoners this is indeed a memorable day.
Our jubilation to express, vocabularies fail...
Boys, hail the Great Cheechako!" And the boys responded: "Hail!"

"And now," continued Deacon White to blushing Major Brown,
"Behold assembled the eelight and cream of Dawson Town,
And one ambition fills their hearts and makes their bosoms glow -
They want to make you, honoured sir, a bony feed Sourdough.
The same, some say, is one who's seen the Yukon ice go out,
But most profound authorities the definition doubt,
And to the genial notion of this meeting, Major Brown,
A Sourdough is a guy who drinks ... an ice-worm cocktail down."

"By Gad!" responded Major Brown, "that's ripping, don't you know.
I've always felt I'd like to be a certified Sourdough.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert William Service
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The Book of Thel

THEL'S Motto

Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole:
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?

THE BOOK of THEL

The Author & Printer Willm. Blake. 1780

THEL

I

The daughters of Mne Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air.
To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard;
And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew.

O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water?
Why fade these children of the spring? born but to smile & fall.
Ah! Thel is like a watry bow, and like a parting cloud,
Like a reflection in a glass: like shadows in the water
Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infants face.
Like the doves voice, like transient day, like music in the air:
Ah! gentle may I lay me down and gentle rest my head.
And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gently hear the voice
Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.

The Lilly of the valley breathing in the humble grass
Answerd the lovely maid and said: I am a watry weed,
And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales:
So weak the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head
Yet I am visited from heaven and he that smiles on all
Walks in the valley, and each morn over me spreads his hand
Saying, rejoice thou humble grass, thou new-born lily flower.
Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks:
For thou shall be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna:
Till summers heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
To flourish in eternal vales: they why should Thel complain.
Why should the mistress of the vales of Har, utter a sigh.

She ceasd & smild in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.

Thel answerd, O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley.
Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'er tired

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake (1789)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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With Rose In Hand

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

[...] Read more

poem by Meg Harrison
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Professor Nutbutters House Of Treats

Cmon kiddies gather round. whos your foremost friend in town?
From main to maple the name resounds, professor nutbutter.
Hes the one, the humble one, the barkley county prodigal son.
Here to serve only you, professor nutbutter.
At old nutbutters house of treats from jellied jams to sacks of
Sweets,
Theres creamy and nutatious spreads for all.
Chemist, master of entomology the professor for a modest fee
Will cure what ails you, guaranteed professor nutbutter.
Its alright, dont fear the worm.
Cmon kiddies dont be shy be youthful til the day you die.
The man the myth, the magic of professor nutbutter.
Hes the one the only one the meeklybville prodigal son.
Here to help us with ourselves, professor nutbutter
Its alright to fear the worm.
[its all right to fear the worm. the worm, the worm is our friend.
Um, but not all of the properties of the worm can be, uh, fully,
Fully, well, appreciated by the, uh, the human body itself, but, um
Its, its, its, its ok to, to fear the worm. um, i, myself, have
Had no, uh, problems with the worm but in a certain situation, uh, i
Would feel like, what, what, uh, ramifications, um, could occur? uh,
Theres, theres really no need to, uh, to fear much of anything, you
Know. fear of the, fear of the temptation is a, more, probably, more,
More, appropriate word in this particular scenario. um, the, uh,
Well, it, depends on what you want, I suppose. it really depends on,
On what you want.]

song performed by Primus
Added by Lucian Velea
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Born To Rule

Lay down your arms this night
Surrender to the power
Embracing your metal heart
On your final walk through the snow
A hammer made of steel
From the river of blood
With magic, forged in flames
Delusions, a curse of the damned
What do you see?
Imaginary visions or reality
When you're free
Then you'll see that you are bound to rule
Rule - Born - Rule
We were Born to Rule
Rule - Born - Rule
We were Born to Rule
Born to Rule - Born to Rule
We're Born to Rule forever more
Born to Rule - Born to Rule
We're Born to Rule forever
The revolution forced us all to heed the final call
And if tomorrow never comes
Then we will strike the hammer down
Rule - Born - Rule
We were Born to Rule
Rule - Born - Rule
We were Born to Rule
Born to Rule - Born to Rule
We're Born to Rule forever more
Born to Rule - Born to Rule
We're Born to Rule forever
Forever, forever Rule!

song performed by Hammerfall
Added by Lucian Velea
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Into how many parts would you divide the child after Divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many insane parts would you divide your new-born child’s eternal happiness; after your treacherously vindictive divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many heartless parts would you divide your new-born child’s invincible freedom; after your venomously unbearable divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many ribald parts would you divide your new-born child’s unsurpassable creativity; after your lethally unceremonious divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many salacious parts would you divide your new-born child’s majestic destiny; after your lecherously ignominious divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many emotionless parts would you divide your new-born child’s triumphant spirit; after your contemptuously debasing divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many terrorizing parts would you divide your new-born child’s unbridled fantasies; after your abhorrently cadaverous divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many excruciating parts would you divide your new-born child’s humanitarian blood; after your cold-bloodedly cannibalistic divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many tyrannized parts would you divide your new-born child’s unconquerable artistry; after your violently besmirching divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many reproachful parts would you divide your new-born child’s redolent playfulness; after your despicably devastating divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many sacrilegious parts would you divide your new-born child’s impregnable mischief; after your sadistically bemoaning divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many wanton parts would you divide your new-born child’s impeccable integrity; after your hedonistically carnivorous divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many ghoulish parts would you divide your new-born child’s limitless fertility; after your mindlessly malicious divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many diabolical parts would you divide your new- born child’s infallible innocence; after your unforgivably truculent divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many vengeful parts would you divide your new-born child’s uninhibited cries; after your preposterously bigoted divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many criminal parts would you divide your new-born child’s princely silkenness; after your tempestuously confounding divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many satanic parts would you divide your new-born child’s tiny brain; after your barbarously ungainly divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many sadistic parts would you divide your new-born child’s unlimited curiosity; after your egregiously dastardly divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many carnivorous parts would you divide your new-born child’s parental longing; after your inanely decrepit divorce?

And you might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but tell me; into how many goddamned parts would you divide your new-born child’s immortal love; after your devilishly vituperative divorce?

©®copyright-2005, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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The rain and my newborn baby daughter

The rain was uninhibitedly untamed; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
kicking left; right and center; in her diminutively blessed cradle,

The rain was Omnipotently pristine; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
mischievously tossing in unadulterated joy on the tufts of majestic
green
grass galore,

The rain was magically mitigating; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
miraculously ameliorating me of my most horrific despair; with her
innocuously fluttering eyelashes,

The rain was eternally liberating; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
naughtily smiling amidst her spectrum of teddy bears; as if there was
not
even the most infinitesimal trace of tension on this fathomless
Universe,

The rain was perennially fructifying; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
perpetually proliferating into unparalleled festoons of happiness;
every
unfurling minute of inscrutable existence,

The rain was unbelievably colorful; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
unfurling into the infinite shades of mystically emollient life; every
time
she alighted her pristinely nimble foot,

The rain was timelessly life-yielding; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
perpetuating a paradise of unsurpassably undefeated newness; in every
direction that she cast her immaculately dancing sight,

The rain was pricelessly inimitable; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
unconquerably enamoring even the most farthest quarter of heaven; with
the
twinkle in her rhapsodically infallible eyes,

The rain was the ultimate gift of the heavens; and so was my new born
baby
daughter; whose cries of stupendously charismatic freshness; spawned a
civilization of boundless beauty; till times beyond infinite infinity,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Song of the Worm

THE worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain
In the field that is stored with its millions of slain ;
The charnel-grounds widen, to me they belong,
With the vaults of the sepulchre, sculptured and strong.
The tower of ages in fragments is laid,
Moss grows on the stones, and I lurk in its shade ;
And the hand of the giant and heart of the brave
Must turn weak and submit to the worm and the grave.

Daughters of earth, if I happen to meet
Your bloom-plucking fingers and sod-treading feet--
Oh ! turn not away with the shriek of disgust
From the thing you must mate with in darkness and dust.
Your eyes may be flashing in pleasure and pride,
'Neath the crown of a Queen or the wreath of a bride ;
Your lips may be fresh and your cheeks may be fair--
Let a few years pass over, and I shall be there.

Cities of splendour, where palace and gate,
Where the marble of strength and the purple of state ;
Where the mart and arena, the olive and vine,
Once flourished in glory ; oh ! are ye not mine ?
Go look for famed Carthage, and I shall be found
In the desolate ruin and weed-covered mound ;
And the slime of my trailing discovers my home,
'Mid the pillars of Tyre and the temples of Rome.

I am sacredly sheltered and daintily fed
Where the velvet bedecks, and the white lawn is spread ;
I may feast undisturbed, I may dwell and carouse
On the sweetest of lips and the smoothest of brows.
The voice of the sexton, the chink of the spade,
Sound merrily under the willow's dank shade.
They are carnival notes, and I travel with glee
To learn what the churchyard has given to me.

Oh ! the worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain,
For where monarchs are voiceless I revel and reign ;
I delve at my ease and regale where I may ;
None dispute with the worm in his will or his way.
The high and the bright for my feasting must fall--
Youth, Beauty, and Manhood, I prey on ye all :
The Prince and the peasant, the despot and slave ;
All, all must bow down to the worm and the grave.

poem by Eliza Cook
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Another Conversa Mi Amiga....

i am proud to say, i do not hide my ignorance and lapses 7: 06 AM
but i always hide my eggs 7: 06 AM



Me

h ehehe 7: 06 AM






for fear that it may get burned 7: 07 AM



Me

but 7: 07 AM
it is because uv got confidence 7: 07 AM
ur ignorance is minimal hehehe 7: 07 AM
compared to us 7: 07 AM






confidence is the flower of ignorance 7: 07 AM



Me

so nasa taas gihapon ka 7: 07 AM
safe up there 7: 07 AM
u can still be naked 7: 08 AM

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Born This Day

Christmas is the day
The angels came to say
they said be not afraid
for born on this day
born to save is Christ The Lord
Sheperds watched by night
When that angel appeared from on high
and said be not afraid for born on this day
born to save is Christ The Lord
Christ the Lord
Wise men from afar
Said they followed the eastern star
followed it to this place
For born on this day
born to save is Christ The Lord
Born this day
Christmas day
Born to save the world is Christ the Lord
(2X)
they said be not afraid
for born on this day
born to save is Christ The Lord
Christ The Lord
He's GOd the Father, God the Son and Holy Spirit
Christmas is the day
When the angels appeared to say
they said be not afraid
for born on this day
born to save is Christ The Lord
Born this day
Christmas day
Born to save the world is Christ the Lord
(4X)
They said be not afraid
for born on this day
born to save our lives
His name is Jesus Christ
He is Emmanuel
He is Christ
and he is born to save
He's Christ the Lord

song performed by Yolanda Adams
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Born This Day

Christmas is the day
The angels came to say
they said be not afraid
for born on this day
born to save is Christ The Lord
Sheperds watched by night
When that angel appeared from on high
and said be not afraid for born on this day
born to save is Christ The Lord
Christ the Lord
Wise men from afar
Said they followed the eastern star
followed it to this place
For born on this day
born to save is Christ The Lord
Born this day
Christmas day
Born to save the world is Christ the Lord
(2X)
they said be not afraid
for born on this day
born to save is Christ The Lord
Christ The Lord
He's GOd the Father, God the Son and Holy Spirit
Christmas is the day
When the angels appeared to say
they said be not afraid
for born on this day
born to save is Christ The Lord
Born this day
Christmas day
Born to save the world is Christ the Lord
(4X)
They said be not afraid
for born on this day
born to save our lives
His name is Jesus Christ
He is Emmanuel
He is Christ
and he is born to save
He's Christ the Lord

song performed by Yolanda Adams
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

X’mas

Born was a child in a manger;
Born was the son of God, the Father;
Born was the love of the Maker;
Born was for men, a Redeemer.

Born was a baby boy, a king;
Born was on earth a prophet great;
Born was the love of God in human form;
Born was a Messiah.

Born was a son of a carpenter;
Born was the king of Jews;
Born was the living God as flesh;
Born was a Savior.

Born was a babe, who brought,
Joy and peace to the world;
Born was a babe on a bed of hay,
As angels choirs kept singing on.

Born was the spotless Lamb of God
Who was to die on the cross;
Born was a divine child,
From the Virgin Mary’s womb!

Born was Lord Jesus Christ,
Who paid the price for our sins,
And by His death and resurrection,
Made it possible for sinners too,
To go to Heaven.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-25-2006

poem by John Celes
Added by Poetry Lover
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