"raiseth" poems
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me:
Still all my song shall be
Nearer, my God! to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Though, like the wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Then let the way appear
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me
In mercy given:
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Then with my waking thoughts
Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Or if on joyful wing,
Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upward I fly:
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
3.2k
Immortal Love, author of this great frame,
Sprung from that beauty which can never fade,
How hath man parcel’d out Thy glorious name,
And thrown it on that dust which Thou hast made,
While mortal love doth all the title gain!
Which siding with Invention, they together
Bear all the sway, possessing heart and brain,
(Thy workmanship) and give Thee share in neither.
Wit fancies beauty, beauty raiseth wit;
The world is theirs, they two play out the game,
Thou standing by: and though Thy glorious name
Wrought our deliverance from th’ infernal pit,
Who sings Thy praise? Only a scarf or glove
Doth warm our hands, and make them write of love.
1.9k
Nearer, my God to Thee
Nearer to Theel
E'en tough it be
A cross that raiseth me
Still all my song would be
Nearer, my God to Thee
Though like wanderer
The sun gone down
Darkness be over me
My rest a stone
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God to Thee
With my working thouts
Bright with Thy Praise
Out of my story griefs Bethel I'll raise
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God to Thee
Or if on joyful wing
Cleaving the sky
Sun, moon, and stars
Forgot upwards I fly
Still all my song
Shall be nearer my God, to Thee
Nearer, my God to Thee
Nearer to Theel
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
i
Her cotton swab bolster
Marinateth her midnight sweat's;
She titter's thus from woe
Though I seeith when her heart burst showeth.
Dejection corset.
ii
Epistle's art stacked up in her thought's
Of what she should writeth tommorrow;
Grief stricken, by none restful sleeping
Awaking for school,
Another day bottled.
iii
Her way's art of God
He's her truest guidance;
She giveth truth
Sweetful tooth
A fruit of whom I shalt liveth.
iv
Death she's tasted, as Dom Pérignon
Her word's, as the wine she speaketh;
Her back hurt's, her love's at work
She telleth star's, from whence their birthed
As tis she's a faraway light as well.
v
She's seen Gehenna, she's been trapped in cell's
She's seen misery, and heaven and hell
Though when I'm close, she heareth Bell's
She raiseth a toast, when I'm in her realm
A queen, a rose, a bud bloomed, sadly, she wanders her room.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
© あある じぇえん
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC