Poet: Richard Henry Dana
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: Catherine Pulsifer
In the art of listening, we find grace,
Not just with ears, but in every trace.
Through tones and expressions, we perceive,
The underlying truths that they leave.
So let us heed not only words said,
But the heart's whispers, gently led.
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.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
In moments of conversation, we find grace,
Careful listening, a most humble embrace.
Not to craft our reply before words are done,
But to absorb the message, one by one.
Our minds attentive, hearts open wide,
Understanding first, our thoughts set aside.
For true listening means hearing with care,
Respecting the speaker, their feelings laid bare.
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.
Poet: Unknown
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."
Poet: Unknown
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.
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.
Poet: Unknown
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.
Short Listening Poems
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
In the hush of the morning, hear nature's sweet call,
A symphony of whispers, captivating all.
Listen with your heart, let the world unfold,
In every soft murmur, stories are told.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Amid the city's chaos, a quiet grace,
Listen to the rhythm, find a peaceful space.
In the bustling streets, and the urban stream,
Hear the melody of dreams within each beam.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Words unspoken, yet emotions they convey,
Listen not just with ears, but in a soulful way.
In the silent dialogue of hearts, find the key,
To understanding, to love, to unity.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Music's embrace, a language so divine,
Listen to the notes, let your spirit intertwine.
In every chord and every sweet refrain,
Find inspiration, wash away the mundane.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Silence, a canvas where feelings paint,
Listen to the quiet, where echoes acquaint.
In the stillness, find the power to heal,
A symphony of calm, where serenity can feel.
