Quotes about psalm, page 15
When It Clears Up
The lake is like a giant saucer;
Beyond-a gathering of clouds;
Like stern and dazzling mountain-ranges
Their massif the horizon crowds.
And with the light that swiftly changes,
The landscape never stays the same.
One moment clad in sooty shadows,
The next-the woods are all aflame.
When, after days of rainy weather,
The heavy curtain is withdrawn,
How festive is the sky, burst open!
How full of triumph is the lawn!
The wind dies down, the distance lightens,
And sunshine spreads upon the grass;
The steaming foliage is translucent
Like figures in stained-window glass.
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poem by Boris Pasternak
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My Religion
Let Romanists all at the Confessional kneel,
Let the Jew with disgust turn from it,
Let the mighty Crown Prelate in Church pander zeal,
Let the Mussulman worship Mahomet.
From all these I differ—truly wise is my plan,
With my doctrine, perhaps, you'll agree,
To be upright and downright and act like a man,
That's the religion for me.
I will go to no Church and to no house of Prayer
To see a white shirt on a preacher.
And in no Courthouse on a book will I swear
To injure a poor fellow-creature.
For parsons and preachers are all a mere joke,
Their hands must be greased by a fee;
But with the poor toiler to share your last "toke"*
That's the religion for me.
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Psalm 101
The magistrate's Psalm.
Mercy and judgment are my song;
And since they both to thee belong,
My gracious God, my righteous King,
To thee my songs and vows I bring.
If I am raised to bear the sword,
I'll take my counsels from thy word;
Thy justice and thy heav'nly grace
Shall be the pattern of my ways.
Let wisdom all my actions guide,
And let my God with me reside;
No wicked thing shall dwell with me
Which may provoke thy jealousy.
No sons of slander, rage, and strife
Shall be companions of my life;
The haughty look, the heart of pride,
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poem by Isaac Watts
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Jerusalem
AT last, at last the Crescent
Falls back before the Cross.
Great spirits, incandescent
With longing and with loss,
Gleam from the clouds, crusaders
Who knew no requiem
While Saladin's invaders
Possessed Jerusalem.
King David harps for Zion
A glad, celestial psalm;
The face of the young lion
Is toward the sacred palm;
New Europe's noblest nation
Has won the diadem
Of him who brings salvation
To thee, Jerusalem.
Isaiah, Hosea, Amos,
Who cried against thy sin,
Whose vision saw thy famous
Bright bulwarks beaten in
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poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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In Memoriam A. H. H.: 56. So careful of the type? but no
"So careful of the type?" but no.
From scarped cliff and quarried stone
She cries, "A thousand types are gone:
I care for nothing, all shall go.
"Thou makest thine appeal to me:
I bring to life, I bring to death:
The spirit does but mean the breath:
I know no more." And he, shall he,
Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair,
Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,
Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law--
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed--
Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Escape
At times that were sporadic
he became nomadic,
moving around from place to place,
never having to show his face.
This solitary life he lived for now
became his choice which did allow
escape from a world that does not care
which he had searched for everywhere.
A victim of circumstance beyond his control,
he wandered around and became a lost soul.
The psyche of his mind after the war
had destoyed all that he had been before.
Gone was the faith he had in mankind.
Gone was the belief that he could ever find
peace in his heart for humanity.
He lived with the thought that he'd always be
able to kill at the sound of a gun
and so he kept moving, following the sun.
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poem by Edwina Reizer
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Psalm 92 part 1
A Psalm for the Lord's day.
Sweet is the work, my God, my King,
To praise thy name, give thanks and sing,
To show thy love by morning light,
And talk of all thy truth at night.
Sweet is the day of sacred rest,
No mortal cares shall seize my breast;
O may my heart in tune be found,
Like David's harp of solemn sound!
My heart shall triumph in my Lord,
And bless his works, and bless his word;
Thy works of grace, how bright they shine!
How deep thy counsels! how divine!
Fools never raise their thoughts so high;
Like brutes they live, like brutes they die;
Like grass they flourish, till thy breath
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poem by Isaac Watts
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The Face Of Christ
It stood alone, this old Church of grey,
tombstones scattered around in disarray.
Naming Squires and skivvies who’d lived and died
in this Hamlet, and now lay side by side.
Within, sun shafts sneak between the pews,
onto needlepoint hassocks, sewn in blues.
And as my feet slowly creep down the aisle,
the fair face of Christ on me doth smile.
From a stained glass window, arms raised, to bless
those, who find their way to this address.
He’s in radiant garments of colours bright
looking new and fresh still, in the day’s sunlight.
I see fading flowers, vases all needing renewal,
a rickety boiler, but minus its fuel.
Worn Altar cloth, of once Royal hues,
and by the door the week’s Parish News.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Peace Within
The wind is blowing gaily, the page is trying to turn.
My hair has it's own independent way and my heart is at PEACE.
My peace I give you, not as the world gives it (John 14: 27)
A peace that rests inside as though like Jesus sleeping peacefully on the wind tossed boat, secure in His Father's LOVE. (Mark 4: 38)
I move and Your peace moves WITH me.
Your sun calms the cold breeze on my face.
The shine in my heart - You LORD - brings perfect peace.
The mosques chatter restlessly, no peace is found within and none is taken out.
The politicians speak many platitudes but no peace lies within the words.
Peace is found externally and internally in YOUR WORD O LORD!
Refuge, rest, sanctuary in the knowledge of YOUR LOVE that resonates into our souls into eternity.
My soul finds rest in God alone (Psalm 62)
Those who believe in Jesus Christ carry PEACE, can calm troubled hearts, give light in their darkness, bring hunger to know that everlasting peace.
Only You O LORD can give us PEACE.
Only YOU!
Amen!
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poem by Lancashire Lass Susan
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The Child Bearers
Jean, death comes close to us all,
flapping its awful wings at us
and the gluey wings crawl up our nose.
Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs,
whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle,
mine pushed into gnawing a stilbestrol cancer
I passed on like hemophilia,
or yours in the seventh grade, with her spleen
smacked in by the balance beam.
And we, mothers, crumpled, and flyspotted
with bringing them this far
can do nothing now but pray.
Let us put your three children
and my two children,
ages ranging from eleven to twenty-one,
and send them in a large air net up to God,
with many stamps, real air mail,
and huge signs attached:
SPECIAL HANDLING.
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poem by Anne Sexton
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