Readings of great or naff poems

Psalm 51 reading. Psalm 51 is a poignant expression of repentance found in the Book of Psalms. Let’s delve into its background and meaning: Authorship and Context: King David, the greatest of Israel’s kings, penned this psalm. The context revolves around David’s grave sins, including adultery, deception, and murder in his relationship with Bathsheba. The incident is recorded in 2 Samuel, chapters 11–12. The Heartfelt Confession: Raw, humble, and honest, Psalm 51 serves as David’s plea for forgiveness and cleansing. It reflects his deep remorse and desire for renewal and restoration. The psalm begins with the words: “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions” (Psalm 51:1, ESV) 1. Key Verses: Verse 2: “Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin!” Verse 10: “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” Verse 17: “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” Model of Repentance: Both Judaism and Christianity regard David’s confession as a model for repentance. The Midrash Tehillim states that anyone who acknowledges their sin, fears, and prays to God as David did will find forgiveness 2. In summary, Psalm 51 stands as a timeless testament to human frailty, divine mercy, and the transformative power of genuine repentance. It teaches us that even in our deepest failings, we can turn to God with a broken heart and seek His forgiveness and restoration.

Ann was a hero of mine. As would be her daughter. She died pleading the case of her daughter, brother and friends. She saved her daughter. Cruelly murdered on false pretexts, in her life, the legacy of Boleyn is a protestant England and a mighty empire. === By Anne Boleyn(?) O Death, O Death, rock me asleepe, Bring me to quiet rest; Let pass my weary guiltless ghost Out of my careful breast. Toll on, thou passing bell; Ring out my doleful knell; Thy sound my death abroad will tell, For I must die, There is no remedy. My pains, my pains, who can express? Alas, they are so strong! My dolours will not suffer strength My life for to prolong. Toll on, thou passing bell; Ring out my doleful knell; Thy sound my death abroad will tell, For I must die, There is no remedy. Alone, alone in prison strong I wail my destiny: Woe worth this cruel hap that I Must taste this misery! Toll on, thou passing bell; Ring out my doleful knell; Thy sound my death abroad will tell, For I must die, There is no remedy. Farewell, farewell, my pleasures past! Welcome, my present pain! I feel my torment so increase That life cannot remain. Cease now, thou passing bell, Ring out my doleful knoll, For thou my death dost tell: Lord, pity thou my soul! Death doth draw nigh, Sound dolefully: For now I die, I die, I die.

NKJV Jude 24 25 Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling, And to present you faultless Before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy, To God our Savior, Who alone is wise, Be glory and majesty, Dominion and [d]power, Both now and forever. Amen.

Romans 8:17 NIV Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory. === We Are Heirs Of The Father We Are Joint-Heirs With The Son. We Are children Of His Kingdom We Are Family, We Are One.

Poem written by DDBall written 27/7/22 for Nagle's Got Talent === I was raised atheist Told of Adam and Eve, Noah and Moses I did not believe God gradually showed himself Jonah ran from God’s task He did not want his people humbled He did not want God’s favour on others God, gradually, showed himself In exile, Jews hungered for home Their best were used and humbled They begged God for help God, gradually, showed himself An entire nation rose to attack Greece Greece survived A lands bridge exists today God, gradually, showed himself Jesus was crucified and wrapped in a sheet After three days, He rose from the dead The sheet exists today. God, gradually, showed himself I found I needed God I can’t do what I want alone I prayed for help God, gradually, showed himself I had rejected God I had spat on God I now embrace God God, gradually, showed himself God, gradually, showed himself God, gradually, showed himself === Notes I chose the Greece example because it has archaeology tying in with the Bible. The Bible has it that a king took his entire nation and court with him, some 20 million to chastise a nation that had dared to resist him. Historically, we know the so called 300 Spartans held a pass and delayed a Persian invasion that would have crushed Greece. The lands bridge that the Persian built for 20 million men women and children still exists today. I chose the shroud of Turin example because I believe it to be real. The shroud is older than the patch which was carbon dated. The weave pattern is consistent with other first century examples. The reason why the image is fixed can be explained in terms of the cleaning fluids known to be used at the time. The Bible presents a good reason to believe that the shroud had been washed before Jesus’ body would have been placed in it.

The fact I cannot sing does not mean I will not William Shakespeare wrote the lyric for his play "As you like it"

"In Flanders Fields" is a war poem in the form of a rondeau, written during the First World War by Canadian physician Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae. He was inspired to write it on May 3, 1915, after presiding over the funeral of friend and fellow soldier Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, who died in the Second Battle of Ypres. According to legend, fellow soldiers retrieved the poem after McCrae, initially dissatisfied with his work, discarded it. "In Flanders Fields" was first published on December 8 of that year in the London magazine Punch. Flanders Fields is a common English name of the World War I battlefields in Belgium and France. It is one of the most quoted poems from the war. As a result of its immediate popularity, parts of the poem were used in efforts and appeals to recruit soldiers and raise money selling war bonds. Its references to the red poppies that grew over the graves of fallen soldiers resulted in the remembrance poppy becoming one of the world's most recognized memorial symbols for soldiers who have died in conflict. The poem and poppy are prominent Remembrance Day symbols throughout the Commonwealth of Nations, particularly in Canada, where "In Flanders Fields" is one of the nation's best-known literary works. The poem is also widely known in the United States, where it is associated with Veterans Day and Memorial Day. Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae (November 30, 1872 – January 28, 1918) was a Canadian poet, physician, author, artist and soldier during World War I, and a surgeon during the Second Battle of Ypres, in Belgium. He is best known for writing the famous war memorial poem "In Flanders Fields". McCrae died of pneumonia near the end of the war. In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. AUAWN1230421

"Suicide in the Trenches" is one of the many poems the English poet Siegfried Sassoon (1886–1967) composed in response to World War I, reflecting his own notable service in that especially bloody conflict. Sassoon was a brave and gallant upper-class officer who eventually opposed the war, but he never lost his admiration for the common soldiers who had to fight it. Sassoon felt contempt for the political leaders and civilian war hawks who, safe in their power and comfort, sent young men off to die in huge battles that seemed futile and pointless. It was first published February 23, 1918 in Cambridge Magazine, then in Sassoon's collection: Counter-Attack and Other Poems. The poem is written in iambic tetrameter and consists of twelve lines in three stanzas. The poem exemplifies the sensibility of war poets in "avoid[ing] sentimentality and self-pity while describing the realities of war". It tells of the suicide of a young man sent off to war and attacks the "'smug-faced' crowds who greet the returning soldiers". This is one of the poems referenced when Copp states, "It was with poems like these that Sassoon, more than any other trench poet writing in English, brought home to an uninformed public the true reality of the ghastly nature of the war." https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suicide_in_the_Trenches === I knew a simple soldier boy Who grinned at life in empty joy, Slept soundly through the lonesome dark, And whistled early with the lark. In winter trenches, cowed and glum, With crumps and lice and lack of rum, He put a bullet through his brain. No one spoke of him again. You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know The hell where youth and laughter go. === AUAWN1110321

A Bruce Dawe Poem. One of my first putting images to with my reading. Ghost liked it and added his sound track Blood Pressure AUAWN0823110 Bruce Dawe wrote this circa 1956. Materialism was big during the Melbourne Olympics of '56 which saw the intro of TV to Australia. === enter without so much as knocking Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris. (Epigraph: Remember, man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return.) Blink, blink. HOSPITAL. SILENCE. Ten days old, carried in the front door in his mother's arms, first thing he heard was Bobby Dazzler on Channel 7: Hello, hello hello all you lucky people and he really was lucky because it didn't mean a thing to him then... A year or two to settle in and get acquainted with the set-up; like every other well-equipped smoothly-run household, his included one economy-size Mum, one Anthony Squires- Coolstream-Summerweight Dad, along with two other kids straight off the Junior Department rack. When Mom won the Luck's-A-Fortch Tricky-Tune Quiz she took him shopping in the good-as-new station-wagon (£ 495 dep. at Reno's). Beep, beep. WALK. DON'T WALK. TURN LEFT. NO PARKING. WAIT HERE. NO SMOKING. KEEP CLEAR/OUT/OFF GRASS. NO BREATHING EXCEPT BY ORDER. BEWARE OF THIS. WATCH OUT FOR THAT. My God (beep) the congestion here just gets (beep) worse every day, now what the (beep beep) does that idiot think he's doing (beep beep and BEEP). However, what he enjoyed most of all was when they went to the late show at the local drive-in, on a clear night and he could see (beyond the fifty-foot screen where giant faces forever snarled screamed or make incomprehensible and monstrous love) a pure unadulterated fringe of sky, littered with stars no-one had got around to fixing up yet: he'd watch them circling about in luminous groups like kids at the circus who never go quite close enough to the elephant to get kicked. Anyway, pretty soon he was old enough to be realistic like every other godless money-hungry back-stabbing miserable so-and-so, and then it was goodbye stars and the soft cry in the corner when no-one was looking because I'm telling you straight, Jim, it's Number One every time for this chicken, hit wherever you see a head and kick whoever's down, well thanks for a lovely evening Clare, it's good to get away from it all once in a while, I mean it's a real battle all the way and a man can't help but feel a little soiled, himself, at times, you know what I mean? Now take it easy on those curves, Alice, for God's sake, I've had enough for one night, with that Clare Jessup, hey, ease up, will you, watch it -- Probity & Sons, Morticians, did a really first-class job on his face (everyone was very pleased) even adding a healthy tan he'd never had, living, gave him back for keeps the old automatic smile with nothing behind it, winding the whole show up with a nice ride out to the underground metropolis permanent residentials, no parking tickets, no taximeters ticking, no Bobby Dazzlers here, no down payments, nobody grieving over halitosis flat feet, shrinking gums, falling hair. Six feet down nobody interested. Blink, blink. CEMETERY. Silence.

The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke is a verse novel by Australian novelist and poet C. J. Dennis. The book sold over 60,000 copies in nine editions within the first year, and is probably one of the highest selling verse novels ever published in Australia. Contents A Spring Song The Intro The Stoush O' Day Doreen The Play The Stror 'at Coot The Siren Mar Pilot Cove Hitched Beef Tea Uncle Jim The Kid The Mooch o' Life https://conservativeweasel.blogspot.com/2018/05/thu-may-10th-todays-news.html AUAWN0510110

"Ginger Mick was a likeable rogue who, before he answered the call to arms to defend democracy, sold fresh rabbits in the streets of Melbourne. This book by CJ Dennis tells of his tender love for Rose and his experiences at war in North Africa. The verse is full of humour and pathos and truly captures the spirit of the era. Contents: INTRODUCTION I. DUCK AN' FOWL II. WAR III. THE CALL OF STOUSH IV. THE PUSH V. SARI BAIR VI. GINGER'S COBBER VII. THE SINGING SOLDIERS VIII. IN SPADGER'S LANE IX. THE STRAIGHT GRIFFIN X. A LETTER TO THE FRONT XI. RABBITS XII. TO THE BOYS WHO TOOK THE COUNT XIII. THE GAME XIV. "A GALLANT GENTLEMAN" I suppose you sometimes dream, Bill, in between the scraps out there, Of the land you left behind you when you sailed to do your share: Of Collins-street, or Rundle-street, or Pitt, or George, or Hay, Of the land beyond the Murray, or "along the Castlereagh." And I guess you dream of old days and the things you used to do, And you wonder how 'twill strike you when you've seen this business through, And you try to count your chances when you've finished with the Turk, And swap the gaudy war game for a spell of plain, drab work. Well, Bill, you know just how it is these early days of Spring, When the gilding of the wattle throws a glow on everything. The olden days, the golden days that you remember well, In spite o' war and worry, Bill, are with us for a spell. For the green is on the paddocks, and the sap is in the trees. And the bush birds in the gullies sing the ole, sweet melodies; And we're hoping, as we hearken, that when next the Springtime comes You'll be with us here to listen to that bird-talk in the gums. It's much the same old Springtime, Bill, you recollect of yore; Boronia and daffodils and wattle blooms once more Sling sweetness over city streets, and seem to put to shame The cult of greed and butchery that got you on this game. The same old,sweet September days, and much the same old place; Yet, there's a subtle something, Bill, upon each passing face: A thing that cannot be defined; a look that you put there The day you lobbed upon the beach and charged at Sari Bair. It isn't that we're boasting, lad; we've done with most of that - The froth, the cheers, the flapping flags, the wildy waving hat. Such things are childish memories; we blush to have them told; For we have seen our wounded, Bill, and it has made us old. Nor with a weary child's regret, not with a braggard's pride, But with a grown youth's calm resolve we've laid our toys aside. And it wus you that taught us, Bill, upon that fateful day, That we at last had grown too old for everlasting play. And, as a grown man dreams at times of boyhood days gone by, So shall we, when the mood is here, for carefree childhood sigh. But, as a clean youth looks out on life, clear-visioned and serene, So may we gaze, and ever strive to make our mandood clean. When all the strife is over, Bill, there yet is work to do; And in the bloodless fights to come we shall be needing you. We will be needing you the more for what you've seen and done, For you were born a Builder, lad, and we have just begun. There's been a deal of talk, old mate, of what we owe to you, of what you've braved and done for us, and what we mean to do. We've hailed you as a heroe, Bill, and talked Of just reward, When you have done the job you're at, and laid aside the sword. I guess it makes you think a bit, and weigh this gaudy praise; For even heroes have to eat, and - there are other days: The days to come when we no more need stalwart sons to fight, When the wild excitement's over, and the Leeuwin looms in sight. Then there's another fight to fight, and you will find it tough To doff the khaki for a suit of plain civilian stuff. When all the cheering dies away and hero-worship wanes, You'll have to face the old drab life and fight for other gains; For still your land will need you, as she needs each sturdy son. To fight the fight that never knows the firing of a gun - The quiet fight, the steady fight, when you shall prove your worth, And milk a cow on Yarra Flats or drive a quill in Perth. The gold is on the wattle, Bill; the sap is on the trees, And the bush-birds in the gullies sing the old, sweet melodies; There's a good, green land awaiting you when you come home again To swing a pick at Broken Hill or ride Yarrowie Plain. The streets are gay with daffodils, but, haggard in the sun. A wounded soldier passes; and we know old days are done. For down, deep down inside our hearts, is something you put there The day you landed on the beach and charged at Sari Bair. "Den" Bulletin 23 September 1915, p6 This poem was later published in The Moods of Ginger Mick with the same title but a different emphasis - basically this version shows the letter as being written by Ginger Mick, whereas the book version has it written to Ginger Mick by Bill (the Sentimental Bloke). In addition an entirely new first verse has been added in the book version. This poem was also published in: Favourite Poems of C.J. Dennis

The Pilgrim By John Bunyan https://www.poetryoutloud.org/poem/the-pilgrim/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_Be_a_Pilgrim === AUAWN0413421 === Who would true Valour see Let him come hither; One here will Constant be, Come Wind, come Weather. There’s no Discouragement, Shall make him once Relent, His first avow’d Intent, To be a Pilgrim. Who so beset him round, With dismal Storys, Do but themselves Confound; His Strength the more is. No Lyon can him fright, He’l with a Gyant Fight, But he will have a right, To be a Pilgrim. Hobgoblin, nor foul Fiend, Can daunt his Spirit: He knows, he at the end, Shall Life Inherit. Then Fancies fly away, He’l fear not what men say, He’l labour Night and Day, To be a Pilgrim. === Preacher and writer John Bunyan was born near Bedford in Elstow, England. Bunyan’s Puritan religious conversion, the central event of his life, was marked by an inner voice reciting Scripture, at times reassuring in its promise of salvation, and at times ominous in its threat of damnation. Bunyan came to believe that a greater appreciation of the weight of one’s sin corresponded to greater attention from God, and began to preach in a Baptist congregation. In 1660 the Stuart monarchy was reinstated, outlawing proselytizing by anyone not ordained by the Church of England. Bunyan was jailed for most of the following 12 years, which enabled him to devote himself to his writing.

The Midnight Skaters Edmund Blunden https://allpoetry.com/The-Midnight-Skaters The hop-poles stand in cones, The icy pond lurks under, The pole-tops steeple to the thrones Of stars, sound gulfs of wonder; But not the tallest thee, 'tis said, Could fathom to this pond's black bed. Then is not death at watch Within those secret waters? What wants he but to catch Earth's heedless sons and daughters? With but a crystal parapet Between, he has his engines set. Then on, blood shouts, on, on, Twirl, wheel and whip above him, Dance on this ball-floor thin and wan, Use him as though you love him; Court him, elude him, reel and pass, And let him hate you through the glass. === AUAWN0413321 === Blunden returned to England in 1927. where he returned to military service as a staff member of the Oxford Training Corps and enjoyed his most productive period as an essayist and prose writer, publishing On the Poems of Henry Vaughn (1927), Leigh Hunt’s “Examiner” Examined (1928), and Nature in English Literature (1929), a volume in Leonard and Virginia Woolf’s Hogarth Lectures on English Literature series. Nature in English Literature is much more than literary criticism; it is Blunden’s lay sermon on nature, his affirmation of faith in the spirit of the English countryside, and his argument for the inseparability of English literature from the Englishman’s love of nature. To Blunden, remarks Fussell, “the countryside is magical. It is as precious as English literature, with which indeed it is almost identical. ... To Blunden, both the countryside and English literature are ‘alive,’ and both have ‘feelings.’” https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/edmund-blunden

Dying Speech of an Old Philosopher BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44562/dying-speech-of-an-old-philosopher#:~:text=I%20strove%20with%20none%2C%20for,I%20am%20ready%20to%20depart.

The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against Fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings: Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds! Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds. Your heads must come To the cold tomb: Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. === AUAWN0412321 https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56372/the-glories-of-our-blood-and-state

poem 'When the Lamp is Shattered' Percy Bysshe Shelley - 1792-1822 === https://poets.org/poem/lines-when-lamp-shattered AUAWN0412421 I When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead— When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. II As music and splendor Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute:— No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell. III When hearts have once mingled Love first leaves the well-built nest; The weak one is singled To endure what it once possessed. O Love! who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier? IV Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high; Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.

Evolution by Langdon Smith is a poem that intertwined the love the author had for his wife. Epic in scale. This is my Valentines Day offering, to anonymous. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Langdon_smith Becwil is the talented muso who made this piece possible. http://conservativeweasel.blogspot.com/2008/02/evolution-by-langdon-smith.html AUAWN0214108

David D Ball has posted a poem by Pablo Neruda : "The Dead Woman - La Muerte". His diction is perfect. See "Lyrics for details. http://www.icompositions.com/music/song.php?sid=88805 I've thought I could adapt music over his spoken words. I play all instruments. You can listen there the result... Thx David DDBall's page : http://www.icompositions.com/artists/ddball - LaFayette === I read the poem from the murderous socialist leader who was in turn overthrown. The poem was not so powerful for me, but its placement in the movie Truly, Madly Deeply was profound. Lafayette, Patrick Poulou passed from cancer a few years ago. He was a French farmer near the Pyrenees, and a rare jazz talent with a great heart.

"O MOTHER DEAR, JERUSALEM" "He…showed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God" (Rev. 21:10) INTRO.: An old hymn which looks forward to that great city, the holy Jerusalem, which God has prepared for His people in heaven is "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem." The text is an anonymous Latin hymn, "Mater Hierusalem, civitas sancta Dei," that may be based on a passage from the Liber Meditationes often ascribed to Aurelius Augustine of Hippo (353-430). Some believe that the Meditations were a forgery. A versified form of some of these meditations entitled "Ad perennis vitae fontem" was made in Latin by Cardinal Peter Damian (c. 988-1072). An old English translation appeared in a British manuscript dating to the sixteenth century, from around 1580 or so, and titled, "A Song made by F. B. P.," which some think may stand for "Francis Baker, Priest." Another well-known hymn, "Jerusalem, My Happy Home" as arranged by Joseph Bromehead (and others), was taken from this same source. The section beginning, "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem," was arranged by William Prid in 1585, and further altered to its present form by David DIckson (1583-1663). The tune (Materna) most commonly used with this hymn was composed specifically for this text by Samuel Augustus Ward, who was born on Dec. 28, 1847, at Newark, NJ, the son of George Spencer and Abbie Ann Tichenor Ward. After studying music under Jan Pychowski and others in New York City, NY, he returned to Newark and married Virginia Bell Ward (no relation). Opening a music store in Newark, he later became music director at Grace Episcopal Church. An employee of Ward’s music store said that in 1882, while Ward was crossing New York Harbor after a day’s outing at Coney Island, the composer jotted the melody down on his cuff and it was later sung at Grace Episcopal Church. However, Ward’s son-in-law, Henry W. Armstrong, stated that the tune was composed in memory of Ward’s oldest daughter, Clara, who died in 1885. In any event, the tune was first published in a periodical, The Parish Choir (1889?), and its first hymnbook inclusion was in Charles L. Hutchins’s The Church Hymnal of 1894 with "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem." In addition to his store and church work, Ward was active in the musical life of his hometown and founded Newark’s Orpheus Club in 1889, serving as president until 1900, and then died in Newark, NJ, on Sept. 28, 1903. In 1912, the president of Massachusetts Agricultural College requested permission from Ward’s widow to use this tune with Katherine Lee Bates’s patriotic anthem, "America, the Beautiful," beginning, "O beautiful for spacious skies" of 1893 (which was not published until 1899), and most people are probably more familiar with that usage than with the hymn. Among hymnbooks published by members of the Lord’s church during the twentieth century for use in churches of Christ, "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem" appeared in the 1921 Great Songs of the Church (No. 1) edited by E. L. Jorgenson. The tune was used with "America, the Beautiful" in the 1937 Great Songs of the Church No. 2 also edited by Jorgenson; and the 1963 Christian Hymnal edited by J. Nelson Slater. Today, the tune with Bates’s song may be found in the 1971 Songs of the Church, the 1990 Songs of the Church 21st C., and the 1994 Songs of Faith and Praise all edited by Alton H. Howard; the 1977 Special Sacred Selections edited by Ellis J. Crum; the 1986 Great Songs Revised edited by Forrest M. McCann; and the 1992 Praise for the Lord edited by John P. Wiegand. The only other modern book in which I have seen "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem" is the 1961 Trinity Hymnal of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church. 1.⁠O Mother dear, Jerusalem! When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end? Thy joys when shall I see? O happy harbor of the saints! O sweet and pleasant soil! In thee no sorrow may be found, No grief, no care, no toil. 2.⁠No murky cloud o'ershadows thee, Nor gloom, nor darksome night; But every soul shines as the sun, For God himself gives light. O my sweet home, Jerusalem, The joys when shall I see? The King that sitteth on thy throne In his felicity. 3.⁠The gardens and thy goodly walks Continually are green, Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers, As nowhere else are seen. Right thro' the streets, with silver sound,The living waters flow, And on the banks, on either side, The trees of life do grow. 4.⁠Those trees for evermore bear fruit, And evermore do spring; There evermore the angels are, And evermore do sing. Jerusalem, my happy home, Would God I were in thee! Would God my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see! AUAWN0324221

The fact I cannot sing does not mean I will not === https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47423/song-under-the-greenwood-tree https://youtu.be/QpqqIpvkAu4 === Song: “Under the greenwood tree” BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (from As You Like It) Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. AUAWN0322221

A reverse poem by anonymous AUAWN0312121

A reverse poem by Anonymous AUAWN0311121

The fact I cannot sing does not mean I will not === From William Shakespeare's Much ado about Nothing Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey nonny, nonny. Sing no more ditties, sing no more Of dumps so dull and heavy. The fraud of men was ever so Since summer first was leafy. Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey, nonny, nonny. === https://youtu.be/8Sm6uoJTS3I https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50653/song-sigh-no-more-ladies-sigh-no-more

“Demons run when a good man goes to war Night will fall and drown the sun When a good man goes to war Friendship dies and true love lies Night will fall and the dark will rise When a good man goes to war Demons run, but count the cost The battle's won, but the child is lost” AUAWN0126221 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Good_Man_Goes_to_War https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/399840-demons-run-when-a-good-man-goes-to-war-night#:~:text=Quotes%20%3E%20Quotable%20Quote-,%E2%80%9CDemons%20run%20when%20a%20good%20man%20goes%20to%20war,fall%20and%20drown%20the%20sun&text=Demons%20run%2C%20but%20count%20the,but%20the%20child%20is%20lost%E2%80%9D

Said to be what the NATO troops use to pronounce English words right.