Tag Archives: Poems

Cowboy’s Prayer

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O Lord, I’ve never lived where churches grow;

I’ve loved creation better as it stood.

That day you finished it, so long ago,

And looked upon your work and called it good.

Just let me live my life as I’ve begun!

And give me work that’s open to the sky;

Make me a partner of the wind and sun,

And I won’t ask a life that’s soft and high.

Make me as big and open as the plains;

As honest as the horse between my knees;

Clean as the wind that blows behind the rains;

Free as the hawk that circles down the breeze.

Just keep an eye on all that’s done and said;

Just right me sometime when I turn aside;

And guide me on the long, dim trail ahead –

That stretches upward towards the Great Divide.

  • Author Unknown
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Much Madness Is Divinest Sense by Emily Dickinson

Much Madness Is Divinest Sense

by Emily Dickinson

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Much madness is divinest sense

To a discerning eye;

Much sense the starkest madness.

‘Tis the majority

In this, as all, prevails.

Assent, and you are sane;

Demur – you’re straightway dangerous

And handled with a chain.

Happy Easter!!!

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Cold Iron

by Rudyard Kipling

“Gold is for the mistress — silver for the maid —

Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.”

“Good!’ said the Baron, sitting in his hall,

“But Iron — Cold Iron — is master of them all.”

So he made rebellion ‘gainst the King his liege,

Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege.

“Nay!” said the cannoneer on the castle wall,

“But Iron — Cold Iron — shall be master of you all!”

Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong,

When the cruel cannon-balls laid ’em all along;

He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall,

And Iron — Cold Iron — was master of it all!

Yet his King spake kindly (ah, how kind a Lord!)

“What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword?”

“Nay!” said the Baron, “mock not at my fall,

For Iron — Cold Iron — is master of men all.”

“Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown —

Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.”

“As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small,

For Iron — Cold Iron — must be master of men all!”

Yet his King made answer  (few such Kings there be!)

“Here is Bread and here is Wine — sit and sup with me.

Eat and drink in Mary’s Name, the whiles I do recall

How Iron — Cold Iron — can be master of men all!”

He took the Wine and blessed it.  He blessed and brake the Bread.

With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He said:

“See!  These Hands they pierced with nails, outside My city wall,

Show Iron — Cold Iron — to be master of men all.”

“Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong.

Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong.

I forgive thy treason — I redeem thy fall —

For Iron — Cold Iron — must be master of men all!”

“Crowns are for the valiant — scepters for the bold!

Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold!”

“Nay!” said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,

“But Iron — Cold Iron — is master of men all!

Iron out of Calvary is master of men all!”

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Happy Easter, readers!

The Mithril Guardian

Reference(s):

http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/kipling/cold_iron.html

Prayer of a Soldier in France by Joyce Kilmer

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Prayer of a Soldier in France

By Joyce Kilmer
My shoulders ache beneath my pack
(Lie easier, Cross, upon His back).
I march with feet that burn and smart
(Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart).
Men shout at me who may not speak
(They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek).
I may not lift a hand to clear
My eyes of salty drops that sear.
 –
(Then shall my fickle soul forget
Thy agony of Bloody Sweat?)
 –
My rifle hand is stiff and numb
(From Thy pierced palm red rivers come).
 –
Lord, Thou didst suffer more for me
Than all the hosts of land and sea.
 –
So let me render back again
This millionth of Thy gift. Amen.

Let It Be Forgotten by Sara Teasdale

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Let It Be Forgotten

By Sara Teasdale
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold,
Let it be forgotten for ever and ever,
Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
In a long forgotten snow.