The Old Familiar Faces (Charles Lamb)

I have had playmates, I have had companions,
In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days -
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies -
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I loved a Love once, fairest among women:
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her -
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man:
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly;
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood,
Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse,
Seeking to find the old familiar faces.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling?
So might we talk of the old familiar faces -

How some they have died, and some they have left me,
And some are taken from me; all are departed -
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

To the Balliol men still in Africa (Hilaire Belloc)

Years ago when I was at Balliol,
Balliol men - and I was one -
Swam together in winter rivers,
Wrestled together under the sun.
And still in the heart of us, Balliol, Balliol,
Loved already, but hardly known,
Welded us each of us into the others:
Called a levy and chose her own.

Here is a House that armours a man
With the eyes of a boy and the heart of a ranger,
And a laughing way in the teeth of the world
And a holy hunger and thirst for danger:
Balliol made me, Balliol fed me,
Whatever I had she gave me again,
And the best of Balliol loved and led me:
God be with you, Balliol men.

I have said it before, and I say it again,
There was treason done, and a false word spoken,
And England under the dregs of men,
And bribes about, and a treaty broken:
But angry, lonely, hating it still,
I wished to be there in spite of the wrong.
My heart was heavy for Cumnor Hill
And the hammer of galloping all day long.

Galloping outward into the weather,
Hands a-ready and battle in all:
Words together and wine together
And song together in Balliol Hall.
Rare and single! Noble and few! ...
Oh! they have wasted you over the sea!
The only brothers ever I knew,
The men that laughed and quarrelled with me.

Balliol made me, Balliol fed me,
Whatever I had she gave me again,
And the best of Balliol loved and led me:
God be with you, Balliol men.

The Lay of Dervorguilla (F.S. Boas)

Sir John de Balliol is stricken sore,
And he hath but a day to live or more,
And he plans, as he thinks upon many a sin,
How the Devil to cheat and Heaven to win.
And he says to the lady that loves him true,
'Spend pounds a many or pounds a few,
Sing masses and aves, and let me be
But a very few moments in purgatory.'
O merry the days, and merry the ways,
And merry the shining siller,
Of the Balliol bold in the days of old
And the Lady Dervorguilla.

Outspake the lady who loved him true,
A very sweet dame, but a bit of a blue,
'Sir John de Balliol, alack, I trow,
Of masses and aves we've sung enow.
But a college we'll build so tall and fair,
And the Greek and the Latin will flourish there,
And the blessings of scholars will set you free
In a very few moments from purgatory.'
O merry the days, and merry the ways,
And merry the shining siller,
Of the Balliol bold in the days of old
And the Lady Dervorguilla.

The lady she rode into Oxford town
On a milk white steed, in a scholar's gown,
And she halted her horse, and she turned a sod,
And she traced the lines of the garden quad,
Till the college it rose so fair and tall,
With chapel and tower and with blazoned hall,
And its bells rang out, and its doors stood free,
To high and to low and to each degree.
O merry the days, and merry the ways,
And merry the shining siller,
Of the Balliol bold in the days of old
And the Lady Dervorguilla.

Sir John and his lady are lying low,
They have gone where the knight and his dame must go,
But the college still rises so tall and fair,
And the Greek and the Latin still flourish there,
But they've brought some friends thro' the open door,
The racquet, the bat, and the flashing oar,
And thus may they flourish, while time shall be,
Like the best of good fellows in company.
O merry the days, and merry the ways,
And merry the shining siller,
Of the Balliol bold in the days of old
And the Lady Dervorguilla.

from The Lord of the Rings, book 4, chapter 4, Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit (J.R.R. Tolkien)

All about them were small woods of resinous trees, fir and cedar and cypress, and other kinds unknown in the Shire, with wide glades among them; and everywhere there was a wealth of sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs. The long journey from Rivendell had brought them far south of their own land, but not until now in this more sheltered region had the hobbits felt the change of clime. Here Spring was already busy about them: fronds pierced moss and mould, larches were green-fingered, small flowers were opening in the turf, birds were singing. Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate, kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.

South and west it looked towards the warm lower vales of Anduin, shielded from the east by the Ephel Dúath and yet not under the mountain-shadow, protected from the north by the Emyn Muil, open to the southern airs and the moist winds from the Sea far away. Many great trees grew there, planted long ago, falling into untended age amid a riot of careless descendants; and groves and thickets there were of tamarisk and pungent terebinth, of olive and of bay; and there were junipers and myrtles; and thymes that grew in bushes, or with their woody creeping stems mantled in deep tapestries the hidden stones; sages of many kinds putting forth blue flowers, or red, or pale green; and marjorams and new-sprouting parsleys, and many herbs of forms and scents beyond the garden-lore of Sam. The grots and rocky walls were already starred with saxifrages and stonecrops. Primeroles and anemones were awake in the filbert-brakes; and asphodel and many lily-flowers nodded their half-opened heads in the grass: deep green grass beside the pools, where falling streams halted in cool hollows on their journey down to Anduin.

Matthew 14:25 - 15:2 (NIV)

... Then those who were in the boat worshipped him, saying, 'Truly you are the Son of God.'

When they had crossed over, they landed at Gennesaret. And when the men of that place recognized Jesus, they sent word to all the surrounding country. People brought all their sick to him and begged him to let the sick just touch the edge of his cloak, and all who touched him were healed.

Then some Pharisees and teachers of the law came to Jesus from Jerusalem and asked, 'Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? They don't wash their hands before they eat!'

The Pope (A.E. Housman)

It is a fearful thing to be
The Pope.
That cross will not be laid on me
I hope.
A righteous God would not permit
It.
The Pope himself must often say
After the labours of the day
'It is a fearful thing to be
Me.'