Stanley Park

by Aoife O'Donovan

See that gull on the old sea wall
Songbirds fly and others fall
I sleep to the beating of their wings
The wind sings

See that babe at her mother's breast
If I could, I'd take my rest
Back in the belly from where I came
Nobody knows my name

Half-asleep in a bowl of gruel
No one told me life was cruel
My home is in this valley now
But it's burning down

If I find a fire escape
I'll break the past and put on my cape
I'll pretend I'm Superman
Where are my friends?

I'm a poor wayfarer, and I've
Got no one to dry my eyes
Time to lay this body down
In the frozen ground

When I die, though it bring me back
As a snow-white gull I'll make my tracks
On the sandy beach of the English bay
And I'll fly away

Ein deutsches Requiem

Excerpts from Holy Scripture
Compiled by Johannes Brahams

I.
Selig sind, die da Leid tragen,
denn sie sollen getröstet werden.

Die mit Tränen säen,
werden mit Freuden ernten.
Sie gehen hin und weinen
und tragen edlen Samen,
und kommen mit Freuden
und bringen ihre Garben.

II.
Denn alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras
und alle Herrlichkeit des Menschen
wie des Grases Blumen.
Das Gras ist verdorret
und die Blume abgefallen.

So seid nun geduldig, liebe Brüder,
bis auf die Zukunft des Herrn.
Siehe, ein Ackermann wartet
auf die köstliche Frucht der Erde
und ist geduldig darüber,
bis er empfahe den Morgenregen und Abendregen.
So seid geduldig.

Aber des Herren Wort bleibet in Ewigkeit.

Die Erlöseten des Herrn werden wiederkommen,
und gen Zion kommen mit Jauchzen;
Freude, ewige Freude,
wird über ihrem Haupte sein;
Freude und Wonne werden sie ergreifen,
und Schmerz und Seufzen wird weg müssen.

III.
Herr, lehre doch mich,
daß ein Ende mit mir haben muß.
und mein Leben ein Ziel hat,
und ich davon muß.
Siehe, meine Tage sind
einer Hand breit vor Dir,
und mein Leben ist wie nichts vor Dir.

Ach wie gar nichts sind alle Menschen,
die doch so sicher leben.
Sie gehen daher wie ein Schemen
und machen ihnen viel vergebliche Unruhe;
sie sammeln und wissen nicht,
wer es kriegen wird.
Nun Herr, wes soll ich mich trösten?

Ich hoffe auf Dich.

Der Gerechten Seelen sind in Gottes Hand
und keine Qual rühret sie an.

IV.
Wie lieblich sind Deine Wohnungen,
Herr Zebaoth!
Meine Seele verlanget und sehnet sich
nach den Vorhöfen des Herrn;
Mein Leib und Seele freuen sich
in dem lebendigen Gott.
Wohl denen, die in Deinem Hause wohnen,
die loben Dich immerdar.

V.
Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit;
aber ich will euch wiedersehen,
und euer Herz soll sich freuen,
und eure Freude soll niemand von euch nehmen.

Ich will euch trösten,
wie einen seine Mutter tröstet.

Sehet mich an: Ich habe eine kleine Zeit
Mühe und Arbeit gehabt
und habe großen Trost gefunden.

VI.
Denn wir haben hie keine bleibende Statt,
sondern die zukünftige suchen wir.

Siehe, ich sage Euch ein Geheimnis:
Wir werden nicht alle entschlafen,
wir werden aber alle verwandelt werden;
und dasselbige plötzlich in einem Augenblick,
zu der Zeit der letzten Posaune.

Denn es wird die Posaune schallen
und die Toten werden auferstehen unverweslich;
und wir werden verwandelt werden.
Dann wird erfüllet werden das Wort,
das geschrieben steht.
Der Tod ist verschlungen in den Sieg.
Tod, wo ist dein Stachel?
Hölle, wo ist dein Sieg?

Herr, Du bist würdig
zu nehmen Preis und Ehre und Kraft,
denn Du hast alle Dinge erschaffen,
und durch Deinen Willen haben sie das Wesen
und sind geschaffen.

VII.
Selig sind die Toten,
die in dem Herrn sterben,
von nun an.
Ja, der Geist spricht,
daß sie ruhen von ihrer Arbeit;
denn ihre Werke folgen ihnen nach.

I Kill Giants

by Alisa Xayalith

The end of June came
And took you away
We were all crying
Felt like I was dying

Black dress and black shoes
Tied laces for you
The saddest of days
Why couldn't we save you?

Inside my head
At the edge of the bed
Where somberness lay
In your children that day

As goodbyes are spent
Holding on to what's left
The saddest of days
Why couldn't we save you?

Nothing but ashes
In the old fire place
With all of the memories
He has erased

Heavier heels
His mourning concealed
On the saddest of days
Why couldn't we save you?

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

by Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

How Great Thou Art

by Carl G. Boberg
Trans. Stuart K. Hine

O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the works thy hands have made,
I see the stars, I hear the mighty thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed:

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!

When through the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees,
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur,
And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze:

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!

And when I think that God, his Son not sparing,
Sent him to die, I scarce can take it in,
That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away my sin.

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!

When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then shall I bow in humble adoration,
And there proclaim, My God, how great thou art!

dying is fine but death

by e.e. cummings

dying is fine)but Death

?o
baby
i

wouldn't like

Death if Death
were
good:for

when(instead of stopping to think)you

begin to feel of it,dying
's miraculous
why?be

cause dying is

perfectly natural; perfectly
putting
it mildly lively(but

Death

is strictly
scientific
& artificial &

evil & legal)

we thank thee
god
almighty for dying
(forgive us,o life! the sin of Death

Elegy

by Dylan Thomas
Edited by Vernon Watkins

Too proud to die; broken and blind he died
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cold kind man brave in his narrow pride

On that darkest day, Oh, forever may
He lie lightly, at last, on the last, crossed
Hill, under the grass, in love, and there grow

Young among the long flocks, and never lie lost
Or still all the numberless days of his death, though
Above all he longed for his mother's breast

Which was rest and dust, and in the kind ground
The darkest justice of death, blind and unblessed.
Let him find no rest but be fathered and found,

I prayed in the crouching room, by his blind bed,
In the muted house, one minute before
Noon, and night, and light. the rivers of the dead

Veined his poor hand I held, and I saw
Through his unseeing eyes to the roots of the sea.
(An old tormented man three-quarters blind,

I am not too proud to cry that He and he
Will never never go out of my mind.
All his bones crying, and poor in all but pain,

Being innocent, he dreaded that he died
Hating his God, but what he was was plain:
An old kind man brave in his burning pride.

The sticks of the house were his; his books he owned.
Even as a baby he had never cried;
Nor did he now, save to his secret wound.

Out of his eyes I saw the last light glide.
Here among the light of the lording sky
An old man is with me where I go

Walking in the meadows of his son's eye
On whom a world of ills came down like snow.
He cried as he died, fearing at last the spheres'

Last sound, the world going out without a breath:
Too proud to cry, too frail to check the tears,
And caught between two nights, blindness and death.

O deepest wound of all that he should die
On that darkest day. oh, he could hide
The tears out of his eyes, too proud to cry.

Until I die he will not leave my side.)

Lay My Burden Down

by Aoife O'Donovan

Going to lay my burden down
Lay my body in the ground
Cold clay against my skin
I don't care at all

Can't seem to find my piece of mind
So with the earth I'll lay entwined
Six feet underground
My feet are warm and dry

When I get to the other side
I'll put your picture way up high
But I'm not coming back to you
It's just too far
It's just too far

If I was cast out on the sea
Would you come and look for me
Or would you just let me sink
Beneath the waves so blue

What if I had learned to fly
I'd fly all night till day drew nigh
I'd perch down upon a branch
And scan the crowd for you

When I touch my feet on the land
I'll kiss your face and take your hands
But you know I'm not here to stay
It's just too far

Can't you hear me cry?
My bones are broke, my tongue is tied
The moon is swaying back and forth
Against the navy sky
It's all that I can see
My body's trembling on my knees
Have a little mercy on me
Run away and hide

When I sleep the angels sing
But I cannot hear a thing
Eyes closed
Dreaming of the better days gone by

When I wake the trumpets play
And I'm standing at the gates
Fall down in joy
I know my race has just been run

When I was young my mom would say
Life is hard, but that's okay
If you can make it through the day
It's not that far
No, it's not that far

Spoils of the Dead

by Robert Frost

Two fairies it was
   On a still summer day
Came forth in the woods
   With the flowers to play.

The flowers they plucked
   They cast on the ground
For others, and those
   For still others they found.

Flower-guided it was
   That they came as they ran
On something that lay
   In the shape of a man.

The snow must have made
   The feathery bed
When this one fell
   On the sleep of the dead.

But the snow was gone
   A long time ago,
And the body he wore
   Nigh gone with the snow.

The fairies drew near
   And keenly espied
A ring on his hand
   And a chain at his side.

They knelt in the leaves
   And eerily played
With the glittering things,
   And were not afraid.

And when they went home
   To hide in their burrow,
They took them along
   To play with to-morrow.

When you came on death,
   Did you not come flower-guided
Like the elves in the wood?
   I remember that I did.

But I recognised death
   With sorrow and dread,
And I hated and hate
   The spoils of the dead.

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Holy Sonnet X

by John Donne

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more, Death, thou shalt die.

If—

by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And – which is more – you'll be a Man my son!

Meditation XVII

by John Donne
from Devotions upon Emergent Occasions

Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris

Perchance, he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. The church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another. As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.

There was a contention as far as a suit (in which both piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled), which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring first that rose earliest. If we understand aright the dignity of this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is.

The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that this occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God. Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbours. Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did, for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction. If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it. Another man may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell, that tells me of his affliction, digs out and applies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another's danger I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.

Daddy Learned to Fly

by Patterson Hood

Daddy's gone away, and no one can tell me why
Mama's been so sad since Daddy learned to fly
Everybody brought food, and everybody cried
Nothing's been too good since Daddy learned to fly

The fun we used to have and the way we used to laugh
Have all gone away since they cut my world in half
Sometimes I think I see him smiling from the sky
But he never stops to visit since Daddy learned to fly

Everyone tries so hard to ease my troubled mind
I guess he's doing better than the ones he left behind
They tell me I'm not old enough to know the reasons why
The clouds reached down from heaven and Daddy learned to fly

They tell me that in time everything will be ok
Life gets back to normal like before he flew away
They tell me he can see me, so I'm trying not to cry
But sometimes I can't help it since Daddy learned to fly

Feed the Birds

by Robert B. Sherman

Early each day to the steps of Saint Paul's
The little old bird woman comes
In her own special way to the people she calls
Come, buy my bags full of crumbs

Come feed the little birds
Show them you care
And you'll be glad if you do
Their young ones are hungry
Their nests are so bare
All it takes is tuppence from you

Feed the birds, tuppence a bag
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag
'Feed the birds,' that's what she cries
While overhead, her birds fill the skies

All around the cathedral
The saints and apostles
Look down as she sells her wares
Although you can't see it
You know they are smiling
Each time someone shows that he cares

Though her words are simple and few
Listen, listen, she's calling to you
Feed the birds, tuppence a bag
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag

Unglued

by Michael Tait

Restless and alone
A weary soul has traveled home
What am I to do
In a world without you?

I don't want to believe
I turned around, and you're gone
All the sweet memories
Of loving you for so long

Sometimes it's hard
Most times I cry
But God holds this heart of mine
He feels the pain inside

Broken and undone
You were the one we counted on
You taught us how to say, 'I love you'
Then you showed us how to pray

I don't want to believe
I turned around, and you're gone
All the sweet memories
Of loving you for so long

Sometimes it's hard
Most times I cry
But God knows this heart of mine
He heals the pain I hide

Man of the Hour

by Eddie Vedder

Tidal waves don't beg forgiveness
Crashed and on their way
Father, he enjoyed collisions
Others walked away
A snowflake falls in May

And the doors are open now
As the bells are ringing out
For the man of the hour
Is taking his final bow
Good-bye for now

Nature has its own religion
Gospel from the land
Father ruled by long division
Young men, they pretend
Old men comprehend

And the sky breaks at dawn
Shedding light upon this town
They'll all come around
For the man of the hour
Is taking his final bow
Good-bye for now

And the road the old man paved
The broken seams along the way
The rusted signs left just for me
He was guiding me: love, his own way

Now the man of the hour
Is taking his final bow
As the curtain comes down
I feel that this is just good-bye for now

Who Am I

by Kyle Hollingsworth

Through my senses I'm reliving
Childhood memories from my past
But in an instant it is over
Fading quickly from my mind

In the photo with piano
I see a man whose time has gone
I knew him only for a moment
But in his spirit I live on

What I was I am
It all comes 'round again
And who he used to be
Is still a part of me

An early morning, cold December
A family gathered all around
Taken back what I was given
Open grave site, frozen ground

I see my hands, they are my father's
Time has worn my fingers thin
Humor, laughter, ever after
My heart still remembers him

All the moments seldom last
And memories they fade so fast
I turn away, and life has passed

Who am I?