Archives for category: Poetry

Today is Robert Burns day, celebrating the work of Scotland’s famous poet. The custom is to hold Burns suppers where haggis is eaten, and poems recited. Here’s one of his most famous:

A Man’s A Man For A’ That

Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an’ a’ that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that.
Our toils obscure an’ a’ that,
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The Man’s the gowd for a’ that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man’s a Man for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that;
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord,
Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that;
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a coof for a’ that:
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
His ribband, star, an’ a’ that:
The man o’ independent mind
He looks an’ laughs at a’ that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that;
But an honest man’s abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their dignities an’ a’ that;
The pith o’ sense, an’ pride o’ worth,
Are higher rank than a’ that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a’ that,)
That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an’ a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
It’s coming yet for a’ that,
That Man to Man, the world o’er,
Shall brothers be for a’ that.

Thanks to robertburns.org

The house of God will never close to them that yearn,
Nor will the wicks die out that in the branches turn;
And all the pathways to God’s house will be converging,
In quests of nests the migrant pigeons will come surging.

And when at close of crimson nights and frenzied days,
You’ll writhe in darkness and will struggle in a maze
Of demons’ toils, with ashes strewn upon your head,
And lead-shot blood, and quicksand for your feet to tread.
The silent house of God will stand in silent glade.
It will not chide, or blame, or scoff, will not upbraid,
The door will be wide open and light will burn,
And none will beckon you and none repel with stern,
Rebuke. For upon the threshold Love will wait to bless
and heal your bleeding wounds, and soothe your sore distress…

– from Returning, edited by Jonathan Magonet



Will I love you always?


Never doubt it.





Someone else will work
Someone else will pay
Someone else will go
Someone else will stay
Someone else will think
Someone else will plan
Someone else will pray
Someone else will stand
Someone else will clean
Someone else will sing
Someone else will give
Someone else will bring
Someone else will laugh
Someone else will cry
Someone else will live
Someone else will die.


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