Let these poems about listening remind you that we sometimes hear but we need to listen. To listen is a skill that requires that we not only hear but we give our full attention. We hope these poems give you thoughts to consider.
Oh, listen, man!
A voice within us speaks that startling word,
"Man, thou shalt never die!" Celestial voices
Hymn it into our souls; according- harps,
By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars
Of morning: sang- together, sound forth still
The song- of our great immortality.
Thick-clustering- orbs, and this our fair domain,
The tall, dark mountains and the deep-toned seas,
Join in this solemn, universal song-.
Oh, listen ye, our spirits; drink it in
From all the air. 'Tis in the gentle moonlight;
'Tis floating- midst Day's setting glories; Night,
"Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears:
Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve,
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse,
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched
By an unseen, living Hand; and conscious chords
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee.
The dying hear it; and, as sounds of earth
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls
To mingle in this heavenly harmony.
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
You can talk about your music, and your operatic airs.
And your phonographic record that Caruso's tenor bears;
But there isn't any music that such wondrous joy can bring
Like the concert when the kiddies and their mother start to sing.
When the supper time is over, then the mother starts to play
Some simple little ditty, and our concert's under way.
And I'm happier and richer than a millionaire or king
When I listen to the kiddies and their mother as they sing.
There's a sweetness most appealing in the trilling of their notes:
It is innocence that's pouring from their little baby throats;
And I gaze at them enraptured, for my joy's a real thing
Every evening when the kiddies and their mother start to sing.
When God Speaks
by Phillips Brooks
When God speaks to you,
you must not believe that it is the wind blowing or the torrent falling from the hill,
You must know that it is God.
You must gather up the whole power of meeting Him,
You must be thankful that life is great and not little,
You must listen as if listening were your life.
And then, then only can come peace.
All other sounds will be caught up into the prevailing richness of that voice of God,
The lost proportions will be perfectly restored.
Discord will cease; harmony will be complete.
Gather To Listen
The snowflakes are falling
And whirling around,
And covering thickly
The hard, frozen ground.
Yet faintly and softly
There comes to the ear
A strain of sweet music,
So liquid and clear,
That we gather to listen,
And wondering say,
"It must be the voices
Of fairies at play."
And the snowdrops, which silent
Have lain at our feet,
Slowly ring their white bells
In an answer so sweet;
That Winter awakens,
All nature draws near,
And wishes her children
"A Happy New Year."
Listen My Soul
With love as a guide,
Every day is a fresh beginning;
Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain,
And spite of old sorrows and older sinning,
And puzzles forecasted and possible pain.
Take heart with the day and begin again.
Wait And Listen
Poet: M. C. O.
Patiently wait, for His steps will not tarry,
Patiently listen — He cometh apace;
"Only a little time," thou who art weary
Then shalt behold Him and gaze on His face.
All thou hast longed for He brings at His coming,
Down the dim ages thy gift cometh sure,
See that thy hands are made fit to receive it,
See that thy heart and thy spirit are pure.
Listen, Sweet, how bees are humming.
Beating wings are drumming, drumming,
"April's here and May is coming."
Poet: Geo. Crahhe
When all the fiercer passions cease
(The glory and disgrace of youth)
When the deluded soul in peace,
Can listen to the voice of truth;
When we are taught in whom to trust
And how to spare, to spend, to give
(Our prudence kind, our pity just),
Tis then we rightly learn to live.
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