My little Son, who look’d from thoughtful eyes
And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise,
Having my law the seventh time disobey’d,
I struck him, and dismiss’d
With hard words and unkiss’d,
—His Mother, who was patient, being dead.
Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep,
I visited his bed,
But found him slumbering deep,
With darken’d eyelids, and their lashes yet
From his late sobbing wet.
And I, with moan,
Kissing away his tears, left others of my own;
For, on a table drawn beside his head,
He had put, within his reach,
A box of counters and a red-vein’d stone,
A piece of glass abraded by the beach,
And six or seven shells,
A bottle with bluebells,
And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art,
To comfort his sad heart.
So when that night I pray’d
To God, I wept, and said:
Ah, when at last we lie with trancèd breath,
Not vexing Thee in death,
And Thou rememberest of what toys
We made our joys,
How weakly understood
Thy great commanded good,
Then, fatherly not less
Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay,
Thou’lt leave Thy wrath, and say,
‘I will be sorry for their childishness.’
Posts Tagged ‘judgment’
The Toys by Coventry Patmore
Posted in O-R, Poems of Other Poets, tagged bard on the hill, childish toys, Coventry Patmore, discipline, father, French copper coins, judgment, poems, poetry, The Toys on July 25, 2020| 3 Comments »
The Future Of America by Dennis Allen Lange
Posted in abortion, My Poems, Religious, Villanelle, tagged abortion, babies, bard on the hill, crimson hands, Dennis Allen Lange, don't blush, God, Hitler, holocaust, innocent, Jews, judgment, kill the unborn child, murder, nation, poems, poetry, sins, slaughter, The Future of America, wrath on March 3, 2019| 2 Comments »
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The future of the land seems dark and bleak.
We kill the unborn child, the blameless.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek.
Position, power, self are what we seek.
The unborn are not wanted, nameless.
The future of the land seems dark and bleak.
They are the helpless, weakest of the meek.
We’re Hitlers; they’re the Jews and claimless.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek.
Ones act by millions; millions for them speak.
The murder streak is wide and tameless.
The future of the land seems dark and bleak.
We’re rootless, superficial, shallow, weak.
We’ve turned from God and so our lives are aimless.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek.
Our sins have ris’n to God and heav’n and reek.
We flaunt it to His face; we’re shameless.
The future of the land seems dark and bleak.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek.
———————————————————-
photo by Constantin Jurcut at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meSDQ0O/burning+3
———————————————————-
© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.
Sonnet 77 – Sin Is A Reproach To Any People
Posted in My Poems, Religious, Sonnets, tagged bard on the hill, black robes, definition of marriage, Dennis Lange, evil, fire and brimstone, fools, gay rights, God, Gomorrah, homosexuality, judgment, legislate, Obergefell vs. Hodges, overstepping its bounds, perversion, poems, poetry, punishment, reproach, sin, Sin Is A Reproach To Any People, Sodom, Sonnet 77, Supreme, wickedness on June 27, 2015| 2 Comments »
Our fate is sealed; gone is the rule of law.
The court has taken on itself a role
Of changing words to legislate; its claw
So proud in reason as it takes control.
The source that gives it power is ignored –
It does not matter what a word might say,
Nor that its range is roped – it cuts the cord.
It bends words since it feels a certain way.
We are a Sodom waiting for the fire,
Gomorrah for the brimstone’s choking smell.
We’re tolerant of sin because the choir
We’re singing in wears robes that come from hell.
God’s holy Court will soon in judgment sit
And lowly court will get its final writ.
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Prov.14:34 Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin
…is a reproach to any people.
——————————————————-
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.
Battle-Hymn of the Republic by Julia Ward Howe
Posted in E-H, Poems of Other Poets, ReligiousInspirational, tagged <META name = "keywords" content = "Battle Hymn of the Republic, crush, gospel, grapes of wrath, heel, judgment, Julia Ward Howe, Lord, mine eyes have seen the glory" >, patriotic, poem, poetry, retreat, serpent, trumpet on June 30, 2011| Leave a Comment »
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword.
…His truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
…His day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:
“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
…Since God is marching on.”
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat:
O, be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant my feet!
…Our God is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me;
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
…While God is marching on.
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