Song Of The Dynamo (Brazilian Verses)

How do I know what Order brings
Me into being?
I only know, if you do certain things,
I must become your Hearing and your Seeing
Also your Strength, to make great wheels go round,
And save your sons from toil, while I am bound!

What do I care how you dispose
The Powers that move me?
I only know that I am one with those
True Powers which rend the firmament above me,
And, harrying earth, would save me at the last,
But that your coward foresight holds me fast!

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

Rudyard

Ulster

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Rudyard , Simple Poetry

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An Astrologer's Song

To the Heavens above us
O look and behold
The Planets that love us
All harnessed in gold!
What chariots, what horses
Against us shall bide
While the Stars in their courses
Do fight on our side?

All thought, all desires,
That are under the sun,
Are one with their fires,
As we also are one:
All matter, all spirit,
All fashion, all frame,
Receive and inherit
Their strength from the same.

Oh, man that deniest
All power save thine own,
Their power in the highest
Is mightily shown.
Not less in the lowest
That power is made clear.
(Oh, man, if thou knowest,
What treasure is here!)

Earth quakes in her throes
And we wonder for why!
But the blind planet knows
When her ruler is nigh;
And, attun...

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The Supports - (Song Of The Avaiting Seraphs.)

!Full Chorus.
To Him Who bade the Heavens abide, yet cease not from their motion,
To Him Who tames the moonstruck tide twice a day round Ocean,
Let His Names be magnified in all poor folks devotion!

Powers and Gifts.
Not for Prophecies or Powers, Visions, Gifts, or Graces,
But the unregardful hours that grind us in our places
With the burden on our backs, the weather in our faces.

Toils.
Not for any Miracle of easy Loaves and Fishes,
But for doing, gainst our will, work against our wishes,
Such as finding food to fill daily-emptied dishes.

Glories.
Not for Voices, Harps or Wings or rapt illumination,
But the grosser Self that springs of use and occupation,
Unto which the Spirit clings as her last salvation.

Powers, Glories, Toils, and...

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The Song Of The Dynamo.

I have been kissed by the Priestess of the Thin and Deadly Blood--
    With the kiss that men call Lightning, and yet I did not die,
For the kiss was a message from God; I felt it and understood,
And I knew how He looked on the cosmic light and called it "Good";
    I thrilled with a vibrant joy; I hummed with ecstasy.

Men hear me sing but they know not the source of my song;
I hold them enthralled with my mysterious eyes;
They quiver when I purr with the voice of a wanton woman;
They touch me and fall dead.
I am a dream of the Creator made visible;
My voice is an echo of the Voice that taught
The morning stars their choral hymn;
The force that binds me to the marts of men
Is the force that holds the planets in a leash while God
Drives them in glittering ga...

Charles Hamilton Musgrove

Hymn Of The Triumphant Airman

Oh, long had we paltered
With bridle and girth
Ere those horses were haltered
That gave us the Earth,

Ere the Flame and the Fountain,
The Spark and the Wheel,
Sank Ocean and Mountain
Alike neath our keel.

But the Wind in her blowing,
The bird on the wind,
Made naught of our going,
And left us behind.

Till the gale was outdriven,
The gull overflown,
And there matched us in Heaven
The Sun-God alone.

He only the master
We leagued to oerthrow,
He only the faster
And, therefore, our foe!
.    .    .    .    .
Light steals to uncurtain
The dim-shaping skies
That arch and make certain
Where he shall arise.

We lift to the onset.
We challenge anew.
From sunrise to sunset,
Apollo...

Rudyard

The Secret Of The Machines

We were taken from the ore-bed and the mine,
We were melted in the furnace and the pit,
We were cast and wrought and hammered to design,
We were cut and filed and tooled and gauged to fit.
Some water, coal, and oil is all we ask,
And a thousandth of an inch to give us play:
And now, if you will set us to our task,
We will serve you four and twenty hours a day!

We can pull and haul and push and lift and drive,
We can print and plough and weave and heat and light,
We can run and race and swim and fly and dive,
We can see and hear and count and read and write!

Would you call a friend from half across the world?
If you'll let us have his name and town and state,
You shall see and hear your cracking question hurled
Across the arch of heaven while you wait.

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The Power Of Song.

The foaming stream from out the rock
With thunder roar begins to rush,
The oak falls prostrate at the shock,
And mountain-wrecks attend the gush.
With rapturous awe, in wonder lost,
The wanderer hearkens to the sound;
From cliff to cliff he hears it tossed,
Yet knows not whither it is bound:
'Tis thus that song's bright waters pour
From sources never known before.

In union with those dreaded ones
That spin life's thread all-silently,
Who can resist the singer's tones?
Who from his magic set him free?
With wand like that the gods bestow,
He guides the heaving bosom's chords,
He steeps it in the realms below,
He bears it, wondering, heavenward,
And rocks it, 'twixt the grave and gay,
On feeling's scales that trembling sway.

As whe...

Friedrich Schiller