Quotes about sloth, page 7
We Are Nearing The Shore
Beautiful is that distant shore
Flourishing with lavish lush verdure
Tall trees in tune with wind’s tremolo
Are swaying their heads in wild gusto
As if saying no to all worldly woes
Flitting white doves in free skies
And glittering silvery sands; all encore
Seem to be vowing peace, comfort and more
That is the haven we’re trying to discover
The ultimate Utopia of Thomos More!
Ahoy! My fellow rowers of ‘Bharat’ boat
Let not sloth rust your grits
Rest not yours oars even for a minute
Let sweat evaporate; of few more droplets
Let brawn burn into some more effort
There! Great future is well within our sight! ! !
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Can Beauty Remain Beauty?
Can beauty remain beauty without light?
No beauty survives without light in sight
To endure the pangs sharp of age in flight,
For fair with folly dead plunges at night.
When beauty blooms into beauty divine,
Showered with wisdom married to light to shine,
To border of no ending on the line,
Lifted is beauty's life onto cloud nine.
Life valued more in thought than gold man eyes,
Beats thrones, castles held in esteem that dies.
Vessels with covetousness, wrath, spite, lust, pride,
Greed, sloth do sink into oblivion wide.
Life is nature, who stores light in sublime.
Such beauty saved as truth lives on with time.
poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
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Of Sardanapalus's Dishonorable Life And Miserable Death.
TH' Assyrian king, in peace, with foul desire
And filthy lusts that stain'd his regal heart ;
In war, that should set princely hearts on fire,
Did yield vanquisht for want of martial art.
The dint of swords from kisses seemed strange ;
And harder than his lady's side, his targe : 1
From glutton feasts to soldier's fare, a change ;
His helmet, far above a garland's charge :
Who scarce the name of manhood did retain,
Drenched in sloth and womanish delight.
Feeble of spirit, impatient of pain,
When he had lost his honour, and his right,
(Proud time of wealth, in storms appalled with dread,)
Murder'd himself, to shew some manful deed.
poem by Henry Howard
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Because We Are Going
Because we are going from our wonted places
To be task-ridden by one shattering Aim,
And terror hides in all our laughing faces
That had no will to die, no thirst for fame,
Hear our last word. In Hell we seek for Heaven;
The agony of wounds shall make us clean;
And the failures of our sloth shall be forgiven
When Silence holds the songs that might have been,
And what we served remains, superb, unshaken,
England, our June of blossom that shines above
Disastrous War; for whom we have forsaken
Ways that were rich and gleeful and filled with love.
Thus are we heroes; since we might not choose
To live where Honour gave us life to lose.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Sonnets of the Empire: Australia 1914
The Night is thick with storm and driving cloud,
Lurid at instants through the blackness break
Quick gleams of war across the perilous lake
From yonder isles that awe and magic shroud:
Far in the northland smite Thor’s hammers loud
On steel that warlocks for her spoilure make,
Till lo! from sleep Australia starts awake
And lifts the queenly head that sloth had bowed.
Not yet her eyes are clear: throughout her brain
Still swarm the antic creatures of her dream,
The idiot jests, the sports that kill the soul,
Yet shall not night lay hold on her again,
For through the rack she spies the morning gleam
Clear on the sword that lights her to her goal.
poem by Archibald Thomas Strong
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A Ballad of Gentleness
The firste stock-father of gentleness,
What man desireth gentle for to be,
Must follow his trace, and all his wittes dress,
Virtue to love, and vices for to flee;
For unto virtue longeth dignity,
And not the reverse, safely dare I deem,
All wear he mitre, crown, or diademe.
This firste stock was full of righteousness,
True of his word, sober, pious, and free,
Clean of his ghost, and loved business,
Against the vice of sloth, in honesty;
And, but his heir love virtue as did he,
He is not gentle, though he riche seem,
All wear he mitre, crown, or diademe.
Vice may well be heir to old richess,
But there may no man, as men may well see,
Bequeath his heir his virtuous nobless;
That is appropried to no degree,
[...] Read more
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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He Doesn't Want To Be Nagged For Petty Things!
The prayer of bringing up to the clouds,
The invention of airplanes by the wrights,
The plea of knowing the welfare of kiths and kins,
The holding of tablet in both hands to see and appease,
The request of having high abode, good salary and fine clothes,
Granted in excess to strive for better and then sloth,
The desire to have good food, drink and health care,
Available in abundant in various branded fair,
The super powers of the world blessed the selected,
To have all these comforts for not to be nagged,
But taken away the peace from them for them to go back,
To kneel and cry for the peace they have lost in Hammocks,
That tied between two trees of lust and greed,
Up from the ground, in the middle of the air,
With the foundation of flimsy materialistic desires.
Now peace is the only request, plea and the dream,
With which Gods of Heaven may be comfortable with,
Not to be disturbed with multiple confusing begs and beseeches.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The shell
Look what a beautiful shell of ivory white
Recently thrown at the sands by the rushing tide
See what a lovely shell a pad of a soft sloth snail
Small and pure without the notoriety of a pearl
Lying on the back of sand hill so nigh to my foot
Brittle, frail spared by the violent breakers loot
Oh what mind what hand has made it so fairly well
Ah, empty, vacant from the creature that within it dwells
Its delicate spire and whorl
How exquisitely are weaved its stripes of colors in whole
A miracle of design, that lives through ancient time
No less in beauty and charm than a poet rhyme
A piece of beauty is called a 'shell' by man
Not a pearl, not a jewel but unmoving dull clumsy name
A 'shell' which does not recall any treasure or historical fame
[...] Read more
poem by Isaac Ziv
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With a mind like that the poet must be mad
Many men...
(He lost his marbles)
Many women...
(Poetry did this to her)
We believe
What we want to believe
He is keen to see the things
We want to see that they're
Not where we see them
With the one working ear he
Listens with tear stained
Sympathy to the outraged
Complaints of the robbed robbers
With the other not there slashed
Ear he opts not to hear the soaring
Jazz score of the pious whose only
Sin is to escape the wrath of the
Beleaguered match fixers
He's a poet of you know
So in his distress he married himself
[...] Read more
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Hymn to Matins—Sunday
TODAY the Blessed Three in One
Began the earth and skies;
Today a Conqueror, God the Son,
Did from the grave arise;
We too will wake, and, in despite
Of sloth and languor, all unite,
As Psalmists bid, through the dim night,
Waiting with wistful eyes.
So may He hear, and heed each vow
And prayer to Him addrest;
And grant an instant cleansing now,
A future glorious rest.
So may He plentifully shower,
On all who hymn His love and power,
In this most still and sacred hour,
His sweetest gifts and best.
Father of purity and light!
Thy presence if we win,
[...] Read more
poem by John Henry Newman
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