Life poems
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Hymn 18
© Isaac Watts
Hear what the voice from heav'n proclaims,
For all the pious dead;
Sweet is the savor of their names,
And soft their sleeping bed.
Hymn 166
© Isaac Watts
How shall I praise th' eternal God,
That infinite Unknown?
Who can ascend his high abode,
Or venture near his throne?
Hymn 16 Part 2
© Isaac Watts
Lord, what a heav'n of saving grace
Shines through the beauties of thy face,
And lights our passions to a flame!
Lord, how we love thy charming name!
Hymn 148
© Isaac Watts
With cheerful voice I sing
The titles of my Lord,
And borrow all the names
Of honor from his word:
Nature and art can ne'er supply
Sufficient forms of majesty.
Hymn 147
© Isaac Watts
['Tis from the treasures of his word
I borrow titles for my Lord;
Nor art nor nature can supply
Sufficient forms of majesty.
Hymn 146
© Isaac Watts
Go, worship at Immanuel's feet,
See in his face what wonders meet!
Earth is too narrow to express
His worth, his glory, or his grace.
Hymn 145
© Isaac Watts
Jesus, in thee our eyes behold
A thousand glories more,
Than the rich gems and polished gold
The sons of Aaron wore.
Hymn 142
© Isaac Watts
Like sheep we went astray,
And broke the fold of God,
Each wand'ring in a diff'rent way,
But all the downward road.
Hymn 14
© Isaac Watts
Who shall the Lord's elect condemn?
'Tis God that justifies their souls;
And mercy, like a mighty stream,
O'er all their sins divinely rolls.
Hymn 130
© Isaac Watts
Now by the bowels of my God,
His sharp distress, his sore complaints,
By his last groans, his dying blood,
I charge my soul to love the saints.
Hymn 124
© Isaac Watts
Deep in the dust before thy throne
Our guilt and our disgrace we own;
Great God! we own th' unhappy name
Whence sprang our nature and our shame;
Hymn 105
© Isaac Watts
Nor eye hath seen, nor ear hath heard,
Nor sense nor reason known,
What joys the Father hath prepared
For those that love the Son.
The Sun Weilds Mercy
© Charles Bukowski
and the sun weilds mercy
but like a jet torch carried to high,
and the jets whip across its sight
and rockets leap like toads,
Now
© Charles Bukowski
I sit here on the 2nd floor
hunched over in yellow
pajamas
still pretending to be
Whats The Use Of A Title?
© Charles Bukowski
they do'nt make it
the beautiful can't endure,
they are butterflies
they are doves
they are sparrows,
they dont make it.
Gamblers All
© Charles Bukowski
you find the turn-off, drive through the most dangerous
part of town, feel momentarily wonderful as Mozart works
his way into your brain and slides down along your bones and
out through your shoes.
His Wife, The Painter
© Charles Bukowski
There are sketches on the walls of men and women and ducks,
and outside a large green bus swerves through traffic like
insanity sprung from a waving line; Turgenev, Turgenev,
says the radio, and Jane Austin, Jane Austin, too.
Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame
© Charles Bukowski
some dogs who sleep ay night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
Melancholia
© Charles Bukowski
the history of melancholia
includes all of us.
me, I writhe in dirty sheets
while staring at blue walls
As The Sparrow
© Charles Bukowski
To give life you must take life,
and as our grief falls flat and hollow
upon the billion-blooded sea
I pass upon serious inward-breaking shoals rimmed
