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1 pesma 1 želja...pravoslavlje gde mu vreme nije...a ni mesto : ) ili ipak jeste


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Jesus, Thou Divine Companion by Henry Van Dyke

Jesus, Thou divine Companion,

By Thy lowly human birth

Thou hast come to join the workers,

Burden bearers of the earth.

Thou, the Carpenter of Nazareth,

Toiling for Thy daily food,

By Thy patience and Thy courage,

Thou hast taught us toil is good.

They who tread the path of labor

Follow where Thy feet have trod;

They who work without complaining

Do the holy will of God.

Thou, the Peace that passeth knowledge,

Dwellest in the daily strife;

Thou, the Bread of :cheesy:, broken

In the sacrament of life.

Every task, however simple,

Sets the soul that does it free;

Every deed of love and kindness

Done to man is done to Thee.

Jesus, Thou divine Companion,

Help us all to do our best;

Bless in our daily labor,

Lead us to the Sabbath rest.

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To a Contemporary Bunkshooter by Carl Sandburg

YOU come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling about


Where do you get that stuff?

What do you know about Jesus?

Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few

bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem

everybody liked to have this Jesus around because

he never made any fake passes and everything

he said went and he helped the sick and gave the

people hope.

You come along squirting words at us, shaking your fist

and calling us all damn fools so fierce the froth slobbers

over your lips. . . always blabbing we're all

going to hell straight off and you know all about it.

I've read Jesus' words. I know what he said. You don't

throw any scare into me. I've got your number. I

know how much you know about Jesus.

He never came near clean people or dirty people but

they felt cleaner because he came along. It was your

crowd of bankers and business men and lawyers

hired the sluggers and murderers who put Jesus out

of the running.

I say the same bunch backing you nailed the nails into

the hands of this Jesus of Nazareth. He had lined

up against him the same crooks and strong-arm men

now lined up with you paying your way.

This Jesus was good to look at, smelled good, listened

good. He threw out something fresh and beautiful

from the skin of his body and the touch of his hands

wherever he passed along.

You slimy bunkshooter, you put a smut on every human

blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching

about hell-fire and hiccupping about this Man who

lived a clean life in Galilee.

When are you going to quit making the carpenters build

emergency hospitals for women and girls driven

crazy with wrecked nerves from your gibberish about

Jesus--I put it to you again: Where do you get that

stuff; what do you know about Jesus?

Go ahead and bust all the chairs you want to. Smash

a whole wagon load of furniture at every performance.

Turn sixty somersaults and stand on your

nutty head. If it wasn't for the way you scare the

women and kids I'd feel sorry for you and pass the hat.

I like to watch a good four-flusher work, but not when

he starts people puking and calling for the doctors.

I like a man that's got nerve and can pull off a great

original performance, but you--you're only a bug-

house peddler of second-hand gospel--you're only

shoving out a phoney imitation of the goods this

Jesus wanted free as air and sunlight.

You tell people living in shanties Jesus is going to fix it

up all right with them by giving them mansions in

the skies after they're dead and the worms have

eaten 'em.

You tell $6 a week department store girls all they need

is Jesus; you take a steel trust wop, dead without

having lived, gray and shrunken at forty years of

age, and you tell him to look at Jesus on the cross

and he'll be all right.

You tell poor people they don't need any more money

on pay day and even if it's fierce to be out of a job,

Jesus'll fix that up all right, all right--all they gotta

do is take Jesus the way you say.

I'm telling you Jesus wouldn't stand for the stuff you're

handing out. Jesus played it different. The bankers

and lawyers of Jerusalem got their sluggers and

murderers to go after Jesus just because Jesus

wouldn't play their game. He didn't sit in with

the big thieves.

I don't want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my religion.

I won't take my religion from any man who never works

except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory

except the face of the woman on the American

silver dollar.

I ask you to come through and show me where you're

pouring out the blood of your life.

I've been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha,

where they nailed Him, and I know if the story is

straight it was real blood ran from His hands and

the nail-holes, and it was real blood spurted in red

drops where the spear of the Roman soldier rammed

in between the ribs of this Jesus of Nazareth.

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Jehovah Jesus by William Cowper

My song shall bless the Lord of all,

My praise shall climb to His abode;

Thee, Saviour, by that name I call,

The great Supreme, the mighty God.

Without beginning or decline,

Object of faith and not of sense;

Eternal ages saw Him shine,

He shines eternal ages hence.

As much when in the manger laid,

Almighty Ruler of the sky,

As when the six days' work He made,

Fill'd all the morning stars with joy.

Of all the crowns Jehovah bears,

Salvation is His dearest claim;

That gracious sound well pleased He hears

And owns Emmanuel for His name.

A cheerful confidence I feel,

My well placed hopes with joy I see;

My bosom glows with heavenly zeal,

To worship Him who died for me.

As man He pities my complaint,

His power and truth are all divine;

He will not fail, He cannot faint;

Salvation's sure, and must be mine.

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Jesus Hasting to Suffer by William Cowper

The Saviour, what a noble flame

Was kindled in his breast,

When hasting to Jerusalem,

He march'd before the rest.

Good will to men, and zeal for God,

His every thought engross;

He longs to be baptized with blood,

He pants to reach the cross!

With all His suffering full in view,

And woes to us unknown,

Forth to the task His spirit flew,

'Twas love that urged Him on.

Lord, we return Thee what we can:

Our hearts shall sound abroad,

Salvation to the dying Man,

And to the rising God!

And while Thy bleeding glories here

Engage our wondering eyes,

We learn our lighter cross to bear,

And hasten to the skies.

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Jesus Christ His Only Son Our Lord by Raymond A. Foss

Jesus of Nazareth, is the Christ, the Messiah

the one Son of God, the incarnation of the one God

the image of God made man, the love of God,

the Word of God given breath.

In Him there is all hope, all faith

all love of God, in the words of the law, the prophets

all the words, given meaning

in human form; but fully God

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William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)


    Turning and turning in the widening gyre

    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

    The best lack all conviction, while the worst

    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;

    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;

    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

    The darkness drops again but now I know

    That twenty centuries of stony sleep

    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

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ova je genijalna

Dear God

So far today I have done all right.

I haven't gossiped.

I haven't lost my temper.

I haven't been greedy, grumpy,

nasty, selfish or overindulgent.

I am very thankful for that!

But in a few minutes, Lord,

I am going to get out of this bed,

And from then on,

I'm probably going to need a lot more help.


Author Unknown

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The Difference

I got up early one morning

And rushed right into the day;

I had so much to accomplish

That I didn't have time to pray.

Problems just tumbled about me

And heavier came each task;

Why doesn't God help me? I wondered

He said, "But you didn't ask."

I wanted to see joy and beauty

But the day toiled on, gray and bleak ;

I wondered why God didn't show me.

He said, but you didn't seek.

I tried to come into God's presence;

I used all my keys at the lock.

God gently and lovingly chided,

My child, you didn't knock.

I woke up early this morning

And paused before entering the day.

I had so much to accomplish

That I had to take time to pray!

Author Unknown

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And God Said No

I asked God to take away my pride,

And God said, "No."

He said it was not for Him to take away,

But for me to give up.

I asked God to make my handicapped child whole,

And God said, "No."

He said her spirit is,

While her body is only temporary.

I asked God to grant me patience,

And God said, "No."

He said patience is a by-product of tribulation.

It isn't granted, it is earned.

I asked God to give me happiness,

And God said, "No."

He said He gives blessings,

Happiness is up to me.

I asked God to spare me pain,

And God said, "No."

He said, "Suffering draws you apart from

Worldly cares and brings you closer to Me."

I asked God to make my spirit grow,

And God said, "No."

He said I must grow on my own,

But He will prune me to make it fruitful.

I asked God if He loved me,

and God said, "Yes."

He gave me His only Son, who died for me.

And I will be in :bla: someday

Because....I believe.

I asked God to help me love others

As much as He loves me,

And God said,

"Ah finally, you have the i dea."

Claudia Minden Welsz

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  • 1 month later...

Amazing Grace

(John Newton, 1725-1807)

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost but now am found,

Was blind, but now I see.

T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear.

And Grace, my fears relieved.

How precious did that Grace appear

The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares

I have already come;

'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far

and Grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me.

His word my hope secures.

He will my shield and portion be,

As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,

And mortal life shall cease,

I shall possess within the veil,

A life of joy and peace.

When we've been here ten thousand years

Bright shining as the sun.

We've no less days to sing God's praise

Than when we've first begun.

Пева се најчешће уз ову музику:


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  • 3 months later...

TENEBRAE - Paul Celan

Близу смо, Господе,

близу и


Зграбљени већ, Господе,

уканџени једни у


као да је тело сваког од нас

твоје тело, Господе.


се, Господе,

моли се са нама,

близу смо.

Погнути од

ветра ишли смо,

ишли онамо да се придигнемо

ували и горскоме оку.

На појило смо ишли, Господе.

Била је то крв, било је


си ти пролио, Господе.

Пресијавала се.


нам је твој лик у очи, Господе.

Очи и уста су тако отворени и

празни, Господе.

Пили смо, Господе.

Крв и лик што беше у крви,


Моли се, Господе.

Близу смо.

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  • 2 years later...

Volt Vitman

Nikad se ništa zaista ne gubi, niti može da se izgubi,

Ni rođenje, ni identitet, ni oblik - ništa na svetu,

Ni život, ni sila, nijedna vidljiva stvar;

Spoljašnjost ne sme da zavara, niti sfera pomerena da te zbuni.

Široki su vreme i prostor - široka su polja Prirode.

Telo, sporo, staro, hladno - žar ostao od negdašnje vatre;

Svetlost u oku izbledela - opet će ona da plamti;

Sunce što sada zalazi, uvek se diže ujutru i prepodne;

Smrznutoj se zemlji nevidljivi zakon proleća stalno vraća,

Sa travom i cvećem i letnjim plodovima i kukuruzom.



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  • 1 month later...



verujem da bi neki oci potpisali ovu pesmu kad govorimo o sećanju na smrt


The Ship of Death



Now it is autumn and the falling fruit

and the long journey towards oblivion.


The apples falling like great drops of dew

to bruise themselves an exit from themselves.


And it is time to go, to bid farewell

to one's own self, and find an exit

from the fallen self.




Have you built your ship of death, O have you?

O build your ship of death, for you will need it.


The grim frost is at hand, when the apples will fall

thick, almost thundrous, on the hardened earth.


And death is on the air like a smell of ashes!

Ah! can't you smell it?


And in the bruised body, the frightened soul

finds itself shrinking, wincing from the cold

that blows upon it through the orifices.




And can a man his own quietus make

with a bare bodkin?


With daggers, bodkins, bullets, man can make

a bruise or break of exit for his life;

but is that a quietus, O tell me, is it quietus?


Surely not so! for how could murder, even self-murder

ever a quietus make?




O let us talk of quiet that we know,

that we can know, the deep and lovely quiet

of a strong heart at peace!


How can we this, our own quietus, make?



Build then the ship of death, for you must take

the longest journey, to oblivion.


And die the death, the long and painful death

that lies between the old self and the new.


Already our bodies are fallen, bruised, badly bruised,

already our souls are oozing through the exit

of the cruel bruise.


Already the dark and endless ocean of the end

is washing in through the breaches of our wounds,

already the flood is upon us.


Oh build your ship of death, your little ark

and furnish it with food, with little cakes, and wine

for the dark flight down oblivion.




Piecemeal the body dies, and the timid soul

has her footing washed away, as the dark flood rises.


We are dying, we are dying, we are all of us dying

and nothing will stay the death-flood rising within us

and soon it will rise on the world, on the outside world.


We are dying, we are dying, piecemeal our bodies are dying

and our strength leaves us,

and our soul cowers naked in the dark rain over the flood,

cowering in the last branches of the tree of our life.




We are dying, we are dying, so all we can do

is now to be willing to die, and to build the ship

of death to carry the soul on the longest journey.


A little ship, with oars and food

and little dishes, and all accoutrements

fitting and ready for the departing soul.


Now launch the small ship, now as the body dies

and life departs, launch out, the fragile soul

in the fragile ship of courage, the ark of faith

with its store of food and little cooking pans

and change of clothes,

upon the flood's black waste

upon the waters of the end

upon the sea of death, where still we sail

darkly, for we cannot steer, and have no port.


There is no port, there is nowhere to go

only the deepening black darkening still

blacker upon the soundless, ungurgling flood

darkness at one with darkness, up and down

and sideways utterly dark, so there is no direction any more

and the little ship is there; yet she is gone.

She is not seen, for there is nothing to see her by.

She is gone! gone! and yet

somewhere she is there.





75And everything is gone, the body is gone

completely under, gone, entirely gone.

The upper darkness is heavy as the lower,

between them the little ship

is gone

she is gone.


It is the end, it is oblivion.




And yet out of eternity a thread

separates itself on the blackness,

a horizontal thread

that fumes a little with pallor upon the dark.


Is it illusion? or does the pallor fume

A little higher?

Ah wait, wait, for there's the dawn,

the cruel dawn of coming back to life

out of oblivion.


Wait, wait, the little ship

drifting, beneath the deathly ashy grey

of a flood-dawn.


Wait, wait! even so, a flush of yellow

and strangely, O chilled wan soul, a flush of rose.


A flush of rose, and the whole thing starts again.




The flood subsides, and the body, like a worn sea-shell

emerges strange and lovely.

And the little ship wings home, faltering and lapsing

on the pink flood,

and the frail soul steps out, into the house again

filling the heart with peace.


Swings the heart renewed with peace

even of oblivion.


Oh build your ship of death, oh build it!

for you will need it.

For the voyage of oblivion awaits you.

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