Repentant eyes are the cellars of angels, and penitent tears their sweetest wines, which the savor of life perfumeth, the taste of grace sweeteneth, and the purest colors of returning innocency highly beautifieth. This dew of devotion never falleth, but the sun of justice draweth it up, and upon what face soever it droppeth it maketh it amiable in God's eye.... No, no, the angels must still bathe themselves in the pure streams of thy eyes, and thy face shall still be set with this liquid pearl, that as out of thy tears were stroken the first sparks of thy Lord's love, so thy tears may be the oil, to nourish and feed his flame. Till death dam up the springs, they shall never cease running: and then shall thy soul be ferried in them to the harbor of life, that as by them it was first passed from sin to grace, so in them it may be wafted from grace to glory.
A VALE OF TEARS -
A vale there is, enwrapt with dreadful shades,
Which thick of mourning pines shrouds from the sun,
Where hanging cliffs yield short and dumpish glades,
And snowy flood with broken streams doth run.
Where eye-room is from rock to cloudy sky,
From thence to dales with stony ruins strew'd,
Then to the crushèd water's frothy fry,
Which tumbleth from the tops where snow is thaw'd.
Where ears of other sound can have no choice,
But various blust'ring of the stubborn wind
In trees, in caves, in straits with divers noise;
Which now doth hiss, now howl, now roar by kind.
Where waters wrestle with encount'ring stones,
That break their streams, and turn them into foam,
The hollow clouds full fraught with thund'ring groans,
With hideous thumps discharge their pregnant womb.
And in the horror of this fearful quire
Consists the music of this doleful place;
All pleasant birds from thence their tunes retire,
Where none but heavy notes have any grace.
Resort there is of none but pilgrim wights,
That pass with trembling foot and panting heart;
With terror cast in cold and shivering frights,
They judge the place to terror framed by art.
Yet nature's work it is, of art untouch'd,
So strait indeed, so vast unto the eye,
With such disorder'd order strangely couch'd,
And with such pleasing horror low and high,
That who it views must needs remain aghast,
Much at the work, more at the Maker's might;
And muse how nature such a plot could cast
Where nothing seemeth wrong, yet nothing right.
A place for mated mindes, an only bower
Where everything do soothe a dumpish mood;
Earth lies forlorn, the cloudy sky doth lower,
The wind here weeps, here sighs, here cries aloud.
The struggling flood between the marble groans,
Then roaring beats upon the craggy sides;
A little off, amidst the pebble stones,
With bubbling streams and purling noise it glides.
The pines thick set, high grown and ever green,
Still clothe the place with sad and mourning veil;
Here gaping cliff, there mossy plain is seen,
Here hope doth spring, and there again doth quail.
Huge massy stones that hang by tickle stays,
Still threaten fall, and seem to hang in fear;
Some wither'd trees, ashamed of their decays,
Bereft of green are forced gray coats to wear.
Here crystal springs crept out of secret vein,
Straight find some envious hole that hides their grace;
Here searèd tufts lament the want of rain,
There thunder-wrack gives terror to the place.
All pangs and heavy passions here may find
A thousand motives suiting to their griefs,
To feed the sorrows of their troubled mind,
And chase away dame Pleasure's vain reliefs.
To plaining thoughts this vale a rest may be,
To which from worldly joys they may retire;
Where sorrow springs from water, stone and tree;
Where everything with mourners doth conspire.
Sit here, my soul, main streams of tears afloat,
Here all thy sinful foils alone recount;
Of solemn tunes make thou the doleful note,
That, by thy ditties, dolour may amount.
When echo shall repeat thy painful cries,
Think that the very stones thy sins bewray,
And now accuse thee with their sad replies,
As heaven and earth shall in the latter day.
Let former faults be fuel of thy fire,
For grief in limbeck of thy heart to still
Thy pensive thoughts and dumps of thy desire,
And vapour tears up to thy eyes at will.
Let tears to tunes, and pains to plaints be press'd,
And let this be the burden of thy song,—
Come, deep remorse, possess my sinful breast;
Delights, adieu! I harbour'd you too long.
Literary - Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
A farewell, and then forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me.
Adventure is allowing the unexpected to happen to you. Exploration is experiencing what you have not experienced before. How can there be any adventure, any exploration, if you let somebody else - above all, a travel bureau - arrange everything before-hand?
The pleasures of the mighty are obtained by the tears of the poor.
THE MESSIAH -
Lord, tell me when
Shall come to men
When shall Thy care
His couch prepare
To be my guest,
To sleep on my golden bed,
in my palace rest.
Wake, dear gazelle,
Shake off thy spell,
Nor slumber still.
Dawn like a flag
Surmounts the crag
Of Tabor’s hill,
And its flame it unfurls o’er my
Hermon, the hoar and chill.
From the wild-ass brood
To the grace renewed
Of Thy dainty roe,
O Lord, return,
For behold we yearn
Our love to show,
And our soul with Thy soul at
one as of yore to know.
Thrice welcome he
Who comes to me
Of David’s line,
My palace treasure
Is at his pleasure
With all that’s mine,
My pomegranate, cinnamon, spice, and
the jars of my old sweet wine.
"Daughter of Zion, tried in Sorrow’s furnace,
E’en as I swore thy fathers, be at rest.
I swore it for My sake, and now thy crying
Hath mounted to My habitation blest,
And I have heard, for gracious is My breast."
"Obeisance low I made, for I am feeble,
Thy kindliness responds to all who yearn.
Come back, dear Lord, whose name is linked with pardon,
No other saviour Israel can discern,
Unto his myriad families return!"
"Where’er thy origin, whosoe’er thy master,
A man shall come—nay, I—thy cause to plead,
Whoever holds the bill of thy divorcement.
Like wall or tower of fire I guard thy seed,
Then wherefore weep or heart affrighted heed?"
"Why do I weep? Because Thou keepest silence,
Though violence rages and, all uncontrolled,
The mob destroys, and we as slaves to strangers,
Master and man together, have been sold,
And no Redeemer do our eyes behold."
"Who art thou thus to shrink from man in terror
And be dismayed because of mankind’s scorn?
My angel I will send, as wrote the prophet,
And gather Israel winnowed and new-born:
This miracle shall be to-morrow morn."
"To gather me my chieftains Thou didst promise,
The day comes not and miracle is none,
Nor see I Temple built nor any herald
Of Peace arrive to be my Holy One—
Ah, wherefore lingers Jesse’s promised son?"
"Behold, I keep the oath I swore to gather
My captives—kings shall bring their gifts to thee;
Created for a witness to the nations,
My holy ones shall testify to Me—
Yea, Jesse’s son Mine eyes already see."
My breast I am smiting,
My own sins indicting.
How then canst Thou draw me
To strife and thus awe me,
And bring Me to judgment?
My branch hangeth ailing,
My eyelid is failing,
My aims to derision
Are turned by the vision
Of Thee bringing judgment.
The creditor calleth,
The dread decree falleth,
The awful day breaking
God’s creatures sets quaking
In fear of His judgment.
Through Thy attributes preaching,
Almighty, and teaching,
O weigh aberration
In the scale of salvation,
Nor bring us to judgment.
In Thy merciful fashion
Award us compassion,
That man who but dust is
May handle with justice
The haters of judgment.
Like a vapour evanished,
Man is melted and banished,
His birth is coëval
With a harvest of evil,
’Tis Thou must bring judgment.
We await—O behold us—
Thy love to enfold us.
Did Thy warning not hasten
Our impulse to chasten?
For the Lord loveth judgment.
Everyone is alone on the heart of the earth
pierced by a ray of sunshine:
and now evening, and Everyone stands alone at the heart of the world, pierced by a ray of sunlight, and Suddenly it's evening.
Lo, I return with my spirit in torment
May God have mercy upon you, my brother!
A day ago I buried you
But even now my complaint is bitter.
Greetings I bring you! Do you not hear
When I call to you with all my might?
Answer me: Do you not recognize
The response of my crying lament?
Are your bones starting to wither
And your teeth loosening in the jaw?
Has your moistness fled in the night
Even as mine is running in my tears?
O first born of my father, I have left you
As security in the hand of my Creator
Whose assurance I trust
That you will go in peace.
She said: “Be happy that God has helped you reach
The age of fifty in this world,” not knowing
That to me there is no difference between my life’s
Past and that of Noah about whom I heard.
For me there is only the hour in which I am present in this world:
It stays for a moment and then like a cloud moves on.
Methinks that life is more than creed,
Is more than dust or craving lust.
Are hopes but dreams that fail in need,
That fly away like mist and dust?
The feeling of pity alone is enough to make Man choose the good and reject the bad.
Treading beneath their feet all visible things,
As steps that upwards to their Father's throne
Lovely was the death
Of Him whose life was Love! Holy with power,
He on the thought-benighted Skeptic beamed
This is the spot where I will lie
When life has had enough of me,
These are the grasses that will blow
Above me like a living sea.
These gay old lilies will not shrink
To draw their life from death of mine,
And I will give my body's fire
To make blue flowers on this vine.
"O Soul," I said, "have you no tears?
Was not the body dear to you?"
I heard my soul say carelessly,
"The myrtle flowers will grow more blue.
That day I encountered the first American soldiers
in the Buchenwald concentration camp.
I remember them well.
Bewildered, disbelieving, they walked around the place,
hell on earth,
where our destiny had been played out.
They looked at us,
and did not know what to do or say.
Survivors snatched from the dark throes of death,
we were empty of all hope—
too weak, too emaciated to hug them or even speak to them.
Like lost children, the American soldiers wept and wept with rage and sadness.
And we received their tears as if they were heartrending offerings
from a wounded and generous humanity.
Even if only one free individual is left,
he is proof that the dictator is powerless against freedom.
But a free man is never alone; the dictator is alone.
The free man is the one who, even in prison,
gives to the other prisoners
their thirst for, their memory of, freedom.
I cannot stop asking. If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks.
See, those things go their way that others may succeed them, and that a whole may exist comprised of all its parts, though a lowly whole indeed. But I, says the Word of God, shall I depart to any place? Fix your dwelling there, my soul, lay up there for safe-keeping whatever you have thence received, if only because you are weary of deceits.
The obedience which we render to a superior is paid to God, Who says, ‘He that hears you hears Me;’ so that whatever he who holds the place of God commands, supposing it is not evidently contrary to God's law, is to be received by us as if it came from God Himself; for it is the same thing to know His Will, either from His Own, from an Angel's, or from a man's mouth.