Monday, November 20, 2006

COMMENTS ON MY BLOG: nice poems :)

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Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom, lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home; lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on.
O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till the night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile, which I
Have loved long since, and lost awhile!

Meantime, along the narrow rugged path, Thyself hast trod,
Lead, Savior, lead me home in childlike faith, home to my God.
To rest forever after earthly strife
In the calm light of everlasting life.

by John H. New­man

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When you get all you want and you struggle for self,
and the world makes you king for a day,
then go to the mirror and look at yourself
and see what that man has to say.

For it isn't your mother, your father or wife
whose judgement upon you must pass,
but the man, whose verdict counts most in your life
is the one staring back from the glass.

He's the fellow to please,
never mind all the rest.

For he's with you right to the end,
and you've passed your most difficult test
if the man in the glass is your friend.

You can fool the whole world,
down the highway of years,
and take pats on the back as you pass.

But your final reward will be heartache and tears
if you've cheated the man in the glass

by Anonymous.

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The bizarre of each and every life, lies in its annonymity;
Known for so long, then also astonishes with its ability!
Alacrity again holds high, overcoming its every trial;
Ambiguous may be, but still manages pace on the dial!

Its esteem may not have been ever appreciated;
May be noone ever bothered, where it was located,
But then also, one day if it disappears from there,
Subconsiously eyes will search for something atleast SIMILAR.

Never any smith feared the temperature of the forge,
Unless and untill, impacted his metal to become coarse.
For he, who knows better, that his iron has to melt,
And that too bearing the penance of pelt.

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