To remember what He lost for me,
The suffering of our common LORD
To buy the sins we can't afford.
We recall our destiny is ash,
That we were born unto the lash-
That death will come for bad and good
And every infant in the brood.
But on this solemn, holy day,
We who like life bitter, anyway,
Can find ourselves a bit confounded
To suppress the grin as frowns surround us.
Entrapped, we hope Lent to observe
With little dour in reserve
But suffering suffering joyously.
At least there's truth to set us free.
REMORSE, n. The regret we suffer for enjoying our neighbor's sorrow, commonly mild.
I'll have to pass on this one. Funny, I seem to have done the same thing yesterday. I do regret that.
That's a good poem you have there. We don't do the ashes thing although we respect those who do and also in that it is being done.
Guess I'm funny or lucky but I don't have a neighbor with whom I would enjoy his/her being in sorrow. Some do.
I'm having a hard time with this one as I never do anything wrong.
To the Methodist Church we go--
To play, this time, not for a show,
But sober hymns not so inviting
As sparkly costumes, mikes, and lighting.
Remorse: A Fragment
by Robert Burns
Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace,
That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish
Beyond comparison the worst are those
By our own folly, or our guilt brought on:
In ev'ry other circumstance, the mind
Has this to say, "It was no deed of mine:"
But, when to all the evil of misfortune
This sting is added, "Blame thy foolish self!"
Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse,
The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt-
Of guilt, perhaps, when we've involved others,
The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us;
Nay more, that very love their cause of ruin!
O burning hell! in all thy store of torments
There's not a keener lash!
Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart
Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime,
Can reason down its agonizing throbs;
And, after proper purpose of amendment,
Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace?
O happy, happy, enviable man!
O glorious magnanimity of soul!
Icy wants to be cremated so everyone can kiss her ash.
REMORSE:(FUL) The passing of Dr. John
Poem yesterday and today? You have the guts, young man...
Tom, that was too funny!
remorse: something most bloviating politicians neither recognize nor feel.
TLP, forsake but don't retreat.
Jim, you should get out more.
Nessa, think of it as 40 days of armored car.
Weirsdo, try the Episcopalians' Lent On Ice.
Karen, that 's a poem worthy of the topic and in pretty plain English for Burns. The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.
It's a good plan, Icy.
You bet, Thom.
Sauerkraut, voters can be pretty unreflective that way.
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