No distant Lord have I,
Loving afar to be.
Made flesh for me He cannot rest
Until He rests in me.
I need not journey far
This dearest Friend to see.
Companionship is always mine;
He makes His home with me.
I envy not the twelve.
Nearer to me is He.
The Life He once lived here on earth
He lives again in me.
Ascended now to God
My Witness there to be,
His witness here am I because
His Spirit dwells in me.
O glorious Son of God,
Incarnate Deity,
I shall forever be with Thee
Because Thou art with me.
--Maltbie D. Babcock
(1858-1901)
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
This Is My Father's World
"The world is Mine, and all that is in it." Psalm 50:12
This is my Father's world, And to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings The music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas--His hand the wonders wrought.
This is my Father's world, The birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, Declare their Maker's praise.
This is my Father's world: He shines in all that's fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass, He speaks to me everywhere.
This is my Father's world, O let me ne'er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the Ruler yet.
This is my Father's world: The battle is not done;
Jesus who died shall be satisfied, And earth and heav'n be one.
--Maltbie D. Babcock
This is my Father's world, And to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings The music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas--His hand the wonders wrought.
This is my Father's world, The birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, Declare their Maker's praise.
This is my Father's world: He shines in all that's fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass, He speaks to me everywhere.
This is my Father's world, O let me ne'er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the Ruler yet.
This is my Father's world: The battle is not done;
Jesus who died shall be satisfied, And earth and heav'n be one.
--Maltbie D. Babcock
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Joy to the World!
Joy to the world! the Lord is come; Let earth receive her King.
Let every heart prepare Him room, And heav'n and nature sing,
And heav'n and nature sing, And heav'n, and heav'n and nature sing.
Joy to the world! the Savior reigns; Let men their songs employ,
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy, Repeat, repeat the sounding joy.
No more let sin and sorrow grow, Nor thorns infest the ground.
He comes to make His blessings flow Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found, Far as, far as the curse is found.
He rules the world with truth and grace And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love, And wonders, wonders of His love.
--Isaac Watts
Let every heart prepare Him room, And heav'n and nature sing,
And heav'n and nature sing, And heav'n, and heav'n and nature sing.
Joy to the world! the Savior reigns; Let men their songs employ,
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy, Repeat, repeat the sounding joy.
No more let sin and sorrow grow, Nor thorns infest the ground.
He comes to make His blessings flow Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found, Far as, far as the curse is found.
He rules the world with truth and grace And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love, And wonders, wonders of His love.
--Isaac Watts
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl (Excerpts, Pt.7)
So days went on: a week had passed
Since the great world was heard from last.
The Almanac we studied o'er,
Read and reread our little store
Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score;
One harmless novel, mostly hid
From younger eyes, a book forbid,
And poetry, (or good or bad,
A single book was all we had,)...
Yet, haply, in some lull of life,
Some Truce of God which breaks its strife,
The worldling's eyes shall gather dew,
Dreaming in throngful city ways
Of winter joys his boyhood knew;
And dear and early friends--the few
Who yet remain--shall pause to view
These Flemish pictures of old days;
Sit with me by the homestead hearth,
And stretch the hands of memory forth
To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze!
And thanks untraced to lips unknown
Shall greet me like the odors blown
From unseen meadows newly mown,
Or lilies floating in some pond,
Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond;
The traveller owns the grateful sense
Of sweetness near, he know not whence,
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare
The benediction of the air.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
Since the great world was heard from last.
The Almanac we studied o'er,
Read and reread our little store
Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score;
One harmless novel, mostly hid
From younger eyes, a book forbid,
And poetry, (or good or bad,
A single book was all we had,)...
Yet, haply, in some lull of life,
Some Truce of God which breaks its strife,
The worldling's eyes shall gather dew,
Dreaming in throngful city ways
Of winter joys his boyhood knew;
And dear and early friends--the few
Who yet remain--shall pause to view
These Flemish pictures of old days;
Sit with me by the homestead hearth,
And stretch the hands of memory forth
To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze!
And thanks untraced to lips unknown
Shall greet me like the odors blown
From unseen meadows newly mown,
Or lilies floating in some pond,
Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond;
The traveller owns the grateful sense
Of sweetness near, he know not whence,
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare
The benediction of the air.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl (Excerpts, Pt.6)
Next morn we wakened with the shout
Of merry voices high and clear;
And saw the teamsters drawing near
To break the drifted highways out.
Down the long hillside treading slow
We saw the half-buried oxen go,
Shaking the snow from heads uptost,
Their straining nostrils white with frost.
Before our door the straggling train
Drew up, an added team to gain.
The elders threshed their hands a-cold,
Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes
From lip to lip; the younger folks
Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled,
Then toiled again the cavalcade
O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine,
And woodland paths that wound between
Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed.
From every barn a team afoot,
At every house a new recruit,
Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law,
Haply the watchful young men saw
Sweet doorway pictures of the curls
And curious eyes of merry girls,
Lifting their hands in mock defence
Against the snow-ball's compliments,
And reading in each missive tost
The charm with Eden never lost.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
Of merry voices high and clear;
And saw the teamsters drawing near
To break the drifted highways out.
Down the long hillside treading slow
We saw the half-buried oxen go,
Shaking the snow from heads uptost,
Their straining nostrils white with frost.
Before our door the straggling train
Drew up, an added team to gain.
The elders threshed their hands a-cold,
Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes
From lip to lip; the younger folks
Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled,
Then toiled again the cavalcade
O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine,
And woodland paths that wound between
Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed.
From every barn a team afoot,
At every house a new recruit,
Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law,
Haply the watchful young men saw
Sweet doorway pictures of the curls
And curious eyes of merry girls,
Lifting their hands in mock defence
Against the snow-ball's compliments,
And reading in each missive tost
The charm with Eden never lost.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl (Excerpts, Pt.5)
At last the great logs, crumbling low,
Sent out a dull and duller glow,
The bull's-eye watch that hung in view,
Ticking its weary circuit through,
Pointed with mutely warning sign
Its black hand to the hour of nine.
That sign the pleasant circle broke:
My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke,
Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray,
And laid it tenderly away;
Then roused himself to safely cover
The dull red brands with ashes over.
And while, with care, our mother laid
The work aside, her steps she stayed
One moment, seeking to express
Her grateful sense of happiness
For food and shelter, warmth and health,
And love's contentment more than wealth,
With simple wishes (not the weak,
Vain prayers which no fulfilment see,
But such as warm the generous heart,
O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part)
That none might lack, that bitter night,
For bread and clothing, warmth and light.
Within our beds awhile we heard
The wind that round the gables roared,
With now and then a ruder shock,
Which made our very bedsteads rock.
We heard the loosened clapboards tost,
The board-nails snapping in the frost;
And on us, through the unplastered wall,
Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall.
But sleep stole on, as sleep will do
When hearts are light and life is new;
Faint and more faint the murmurs grew,
Till in the summer-land of dreams,
Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars,
And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
Sent out a dull and duller glow,
The bull's-eye watch that hung in view,
Ticking its weary circuit through,
Pointed with mutely warning sign
Its black hand to the hour of nine.
That sign the pleasant circle broke:
My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke,
Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray,
And laid it tenderly away;
Then roused himself to safely cover
The dull red brands with ashes over.
And while, with care, our mother laid
The work aside, her steps she stayed
One moment, seeking to express
Her grateful sense of happiness
For food and shelter, warmth and health,
And love's contentment more than wealth,
With simple wishes (not the weak,
Vain prayers which no fulfilment see,
But such as warm the generous heart,
O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part)
That none might lack, that bitter night,
For bread and clothing, warmth and light.
Within our beds awhile we heard
The wind that round the gables roared,
With now and then a ruder shock,
Which made our very bedsteads rock.
We heard the loosened clapboards tost,
The board-nails snapping in the frost;
And on us, through the unplastered wall,
Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall.
But sleep stole on, as sleep will do
When hearts are light and life is new;
Faint and more faint the murmurs grew,
Till in the summer-land of dreams,
Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars,
And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl (Excerpts, Pt.4)
What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow.
O Time and Change!--with hair as gray
As was my sire's that winter day,
How strange it seems, with so much gone
Of life and love, to still live on!
Ah, brother! only I and thou
Are left of all that circle now,--
The dear home faces whereupon
That fitful firelight paled and shone.
Henceforward, listen as we will,
The voices of that hearth are still;
Look where we may, the wide earth o'er,
Those lighted faces smile no more.
We tread the paths their feet have worn,
We sit beneath their orchard trees,
We hear, like them, the hum of bees
And rustle of the bladed corn;
We turn the pages that they read,
Their written words we linger o'er,
But in the sun they cast no shade,
No voice is heard, no sign is made,
No step is on the conscious floor!
Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust,
(Since He who knows our need is just,)
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must.
Alas for him who never sees
The stars shine through his cypress-trees!
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play!
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith,
The truth to flesh and sense unknown,
That Life is ever lord of Death,
And Love can never lose its own!...
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow.
O Time and Change!--with hair as gray
As was my sire's that winter day,
How strange it seems, with so much gone
Of life and love, to still live on!
Ah, brother! only I and thou
Are left of all that circle now,--
The dear home faces whereupon
That fitful firelight paled and shone.
Henceforward, listen as we will,
The voices of that hearth are still;
Look where we may, the wide earth o'er,
Those lighted faces smile no more.
We tread the paths their feet have worn,
We sit beneath their orchard trees,
We hear, like them, the hum of bees
And rustle of the bladed corn;
We turn the pages that they read,
Their written words we linger o'er,
But in the sun they cast no shade,
No voice is heard, no sign is made,
No step is on the conscious floor!
Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust,
(Since He who knows our need is just,)
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must.
Alas for him who never sees
The stars shine through his cypress-trees!
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play!
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith,
The truth to flesh and sense unknown,
That Life is ever lord of Death,
And Love can never lose its own!...
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl (Excerpts, Pt.3)
As night drew on, and, from the crest
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west,
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank
From sight beneath the smothering bank,
We piled, with care, our nightly stack
Of wood against the chimney-back,--
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,
And on its top the stout back-stick,
The knotty forestick laid apart,
And filled between with curious art
The ragged brush; then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear,
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;
While radiant with a mimic flame
Outside the sparkling drift became,
And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree
Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.
The crane and pendent trammels showed,
The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed;
While childish fancy, prompt to tell
The meaning of the miracle,
Whispered the old rhyme: "Under the tree,
When fire outdoors burns merrily,
There the witches are making tea."
The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the sombre green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back.
For such a world and such a night
Most fitting that unwarming light,
Which only seemed where'er it fell
To make the coldness visible.
Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;
And ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed;
The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall;
And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons' straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west,
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank
From sight beneath the smothering bank,
We piled, with care, our nightly stack
Of wood against the chimney-back,--
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,
And on its top the stout back-stick,
The knotty forestick laid apart,
And filled between with curious art
The ragged brush; then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear,
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;
While radiant with a mimic flame
Outside the sparkling drift became,
And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree
Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.
The crane and pendent trammels showed,
The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed;
While childish fancy, prompt to tell
The meaning of the miracle,
Whispered the old rhyme: "Under the tree,
When fire outdoors burns merrily,
There the witches are making tea."
The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the sombre green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back.
For such a world and such a night
Most fitting that unwarming light,
Which only seemed where'er it fell
To make the coldness visible.
Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;
And ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed;
The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall;
And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons' straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl (Excerpts, Pt.2)
Unwarmed by any sunset light
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag, wavering to and fro,
Crossed and recrossed the wing'ed snow:
And ere the early bedtime came
The white drift piled the window-frame,
And through the glass the clothes-line posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.
So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun;
In tiny spherule traced with lines
Of Nature's geometric signs,
In starry flake, and pellicle,
All day the hoary meteor fell;
And, when the second morning shone,
We looked upon a world unknown,
On nothing we could call our own.
Around the glistening wonder bent
The blue walls of the firmament,
No cloud above, no earth below,--
A universe of sky and snow!
The old familiar sights of ours
Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers
Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood,
Or garden-wall, or belt of wood;
A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed,
A fenceless drift what once was road;
The bridle-post an old man sat
With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;
The well-curb had a Chinese roof;
And even the long sweep, high aloof,
In its slant splendor, seemed to tell
Of Pisa's leaning miracle...
All day the gusty north-wind bore
The loosening drift its breath before;
Low circling round its southern zone,
The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone.
No church-bell lent its Christian tone
To the savage air, no social smoke
Curled over woods of snow-hung oak.
A solitude made more intense
By dreary-voiced elements,
The shrieking of the mindless wind,
The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind,
And on the glass the unmeaning beat
Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet.
Beyond the circle of our hearth
No welcome sound of toil or mirth
Unbound the spell, and testified
Of human life and thought outside.
We minded that the sharpest ear
The buried brooklet could not hear,
The music of whose liquid lip
Had been to us companionship,
And, in our lonely life, had grown
To have an almost human tone.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag, wavering to and fro,
Crossed and recrossed the wing'ed snow:
And ere the early bedtime came
The white drift piled the window-frame,
And through the glass the clothes-line posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.
So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun;
In tiny spherule traced with lines
Of Nature's geometric signs,
In starry flake, and pellicle,
All day the hoary meteor fell;
And, when the second morning shone,
We looked upon a world unknown,
On nothing we could call our own.
Around the glistening wonder bent
The blue walls of the firmament,
No cloud above, no earth below,--
A universe of sky and snow!
The old familiar sights of ours
Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers
Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood,
Or garden-wall, or belt of wood;
A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed,
A fenceless drift what once was road;
The bridle-post an old man sat
With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;
The well-curb had a Chinese roof;
And even the long sweep, high aloof,
In its slant splendor, seemed to tell
Of Pisa's leaning miracle...
All day the gusty north-wind bore
The loosening drift its breath before;
Low circling round its southern zone,
The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone.
No church-bell lent its Christian tone
To the savage air, no social smoke
Curled over woods of snow-hung oak.
A solitude made more intense
By dreary-voiced elements,
The shrieking of the mindless wind,
The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind,
And on the glass the unmeaning beat
Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet.
Beyond the circle of our hearth
No welcome sound of toil or mirth
Unbound the spell, and testified
Of human life and thought outside.
We minded that the sharpest ear
The buried brooklet could not hear,
The music of whose liquid lip
Had been to us companionship,
And, in our lonely life, had grown
To have an almost human tone.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl (Excerpts, Pt.1)
Dedicated to my snow-bound tweeps in the Eastern U.S.
The sun that brief December day
rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
Of life-blood in the sharpened face,
The coming of the snow-storm told.
The wind blew east; we heard the roar
Of Ocean on his wintry shore,
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rhythm our inland air.
Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,--
Brought in the wood from out of doors,
Littered the stalls, and from the mows
Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows:
Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;
And, sharply clashing horn on horn,
Impatient down the stanchion rows
The cattle shake their walnut bows;
While, peering from his early perch
Upon the scaffold's pole of birch,
The cock his crested helmet bent
And down his querulous challenge sent.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
The sun that brief December day
rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
Of life-blood in the sharpened face,
The coming of the snow-storm told.
The wind blew east; we heard the roar
Of Ocean on his wintry shore,
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rhythm our inland air.
Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,--
Brought in the wood from out of doors,
Littered the stalls, and from the mows
Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows:
Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;
And, sharply clashing horn on horn,
Impatient down the stanchion rows
The cattle shake their walnut bows;
While, peering from his early perch
Upon the scaffold's pole of birch,
The cock his crested helmet bent
And down his querulous challenge sent.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
by John Greenleaf Whittier
(To be continued)
Friday, December 18, 2009
The World We Make
We make the world in which we live
By what we gather and what we give,
By our daily deeds and the things we say,
By what we keep or we cast away.
We make our world by the beauty we see
In a skylark's song or a lilac tree,
In a butterfly's wing, in the pale moon's rise,
And the wonder that lingers in midnight skies.
We make our world by the life we lead,
By the friends we have, by the books we read,
By the pity we show in the hour of care,
By the loads we lift and the love we share.
We make our world by the goals we pursue,
By the heights we seek and the higher view,
By hopes and dreams that reach the sun
And a will to fight till the heights are won.
What is the place in which we dwell,
A hut or a palace, a heaven or hell
We gather and scatter, we take and we give,
We make our world--and there we live.
--Alfred Grant Walton
By what we gather and what we give,
By our daily deeds and the things we say,
By what we keep or we cast away.
We make our world by the beauty we see
In a skylark's song or a lilac tree,
In a butterfly's wing, in the pale moon's rise,
And the wonder that lingers in midnight skies.
We make our world by the life we lead,
By the friends we have, by the books we read,
By the pity we show in the hour of care,
By the loads we lift and the love we share.
We make our world by the goals we pursue,
By the heights we seek and the higher view,
By hopes and dreams that reach the sun
And a will to fight till the heights are won.
What is the place in which we dwell,
A hut or a palace, a heaven or hell
We gather and scatter, we take and we give,
We make our world--and there we live.
--Alfred Grant Walton
Voyagers
O Maker of the Mighty Deep
Whereon our vessels fare,
Above our life's adventure keep
Thy faithful watch and care.
In Thee we trust, whate'er befall;
Thy sea is great, our boats are small.
We know not where the secret tides
Will help us or delay,
Nor where the lurking tempest hides,
Nor where the fogs are gray.
We trust in Thee, whate'er befall;
Thy sea is great, our boats are small.
When outward bound we boldly sail
And leave the friendly shore,
Let not our hearts of courage fail
Before the voyage is o'er.
We trust in Thee, whate'er befall;
Thy sea is great, our boats are small.
When homeward bound we gladly turn,
O bring us safely there,
Where harbour-lights of friendship burn
And peace is in the air.
We trust in Thee, whate'er befall;
Thy sea is great, our boats are small.
Beyond the circle of the sea,
When voyaging is past,
We seek our final port in Thee;
O bring us home at last.
In Thee we trust, whate'er befall;
Thy sea is great, our boats are small.
--Henry van Dyke (1852-1933)
Whereon our vessels fare,
Above our life's adventure keep
Thy faithful watch and care.
In Thee we trust, whate'er befall;
Thy sea is great, our boats are small.
We know not where the secret tides
Will help us or delay,
Nor where the lurking tempest hides,
Nor where the fogs are gray.
We trust in Thee, whate'er befall;
Thy sea is great, our boats are small.
When outward bound we boldly sail
And leave the friendly shore,
Let not our hearts of courage fail
Before the voyage is o'er.
We trust in Thee, whate'er befall;
Thy sea is great, our boats are small.
When homeward bound we gladly turn,
O bring us safely there,
Where harbour-lights of friendship burn
And peace is in the air.
We trust in Thee, whate'er befall;
Thy sea is great, our boats are small.
Beyond the circle of the sea,
When voyaging is past,
We seek our final port in Thee;
O bring us home at last.
In Thee we trust, whate'er befall;
Thy sea is great, our boats are small.
A Morning Prayer
Let me today do something that will take
A little sadness from the world's vast store,
And may I be so favored as to make
Of joy's too scanty sum a little more.
Let me not hurt, by any selfish deed
Or thoughtless word, the heart of foe or friend.
Nor would I pass unseeing worthy need,
Or sin by silence when I should defend.
However meager be my worldly wealth,
Let me give something that shall aid my kind--
A word of courage, or a thought of health
Dropped as I pass for troubled hearts to find.
Let me tonight look back across the span
'Twixt dawn and dark, and to my conscience say--
Because of some good act to beast or man--
"The world is better that I lived today."
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox
A little sadness from the world's vast store,
And may I be so favored as to make
Of joy's too scanty sum a little more.
Let me not hurt, by any selfish deed
Or thoughtless word, the heart of foe or friend.
Nor would I pass unseeing worthy need,
Or sin by silence when I should defend.
However meager be my worldly wealth,
Let me give something that shall aid my kind--
A word of courage, or a thought of health
Dropped as I pass for troubled hearts to find.
Let me tonight look back across the span
'Twixt dawn and dark, and to my conscience say--
Because of some good act to beast or man--
"The world is better that I lived today."
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus
"...He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to the captives, And the
opening of the prison to those who are bound;"
--Isaiah 61:1
Come, Thou long expected Jesus,
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us;
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel's strength and consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear Desire of ev'ry nation,
Joy of ev'ry longing heart.
Born Thy people to deliver,
Born a Child, and yet a King,
Born to reign in us forever,
Now Thy gracious kingdom bring.
By Thine own eternal Spirit
Rule in all our hearts alone;
By Thine all sufficient merit,
Raise us to Thy glorious throne.
--Charles Wesley
To proclaim liberty to the captives, And the
opening of the prison to those who are bound;"
--Isaiah 61:1
Come, Thou long expected Jesus,
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us;
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel's strength and consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear Desire of ev'ry nation,
Joy of ev'ry longing heart.
Born Thy people to deliver,
Born a Child, and yet a King,
Born to reign in us forever,
Now Thy gracious kingdom bring.
By Thine own eternal Spirit
Rule in all our hearts alone;
By Thine all sufficient merit,
Raise us to Thy glorious throne.
--Charles Wesley
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
A Nation's Strength
What makes a nation's pillars high
And its foundations strong?
What makes it mighty to defy
The foes that 'round it throng?
It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand
Go down in battle shock;
Its shafts are laid on sinking sand
Not on abiding rock.
Is it the sword? Ask the red dust
Of empires passed away;
The blood has turned their stones to rust,
Their glory to decay.
And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown
Has seemed to nations sweet;
But God has struck its luster down
In ashes at His feet.
Not gold but only men can make
A people great and strong;
Men who for truth and honor's sake
Stand fast and suffer long.
Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly--
They build a nation's pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson
And its foundations strong?
What makes it mighty to defy
The foes that 'round it throng?
It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand
Go down in battle shock;
Its shafts are laid on sinking sand
Not on abiding rock.
Is it the sword? Ask the red dust
Of empires passed away;
The blood has turned their stones to rust,
Their glory to decay.
And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown
Has seemed to nations sweet;
But God has struck its luster down
In ashes at His feet.
Not gold but only men can make
A people great and strong;
Men who for truth and honor's sake
Stand fast and suffer long.
Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly--
They build a nation's pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Tongue
"But no man can tame the tongue.
It is an unruly evil, full of deadly
poison. With it we bless our God and
Father, and with it we curse men, who
have been made in the similitude of
God. Out of the same mouth proceed
blessing and cursing. My brethren,
these things ought not to be so."
--James 3:8-10
"The boneless tongue, so small and weak,
Can crush and kill," declares the Greek.
"The tongue destroys a greater hoard,"
The Turk asserts, "than does the sword."
A Persian proverb wisely saith,
"A lengthy tongue--an early death";
Or sometimes takes this form instead,
"Don't let your tongue cut off your head."
"The tongue can speak a word whose speed,"
The Chinese say, "outstrips the steed";
While Arab sages this impart,
"The tongue's great storehouse is the heart."
From Hebrew wit this maxim sprung,
"Though feet should slip, ne'er let the tongue."
The sacred writer crowns the whole,
"Who keeps his tongue doth keep his soul."
--Author Unknown
It is an unruly evil, full of deadly
poison. With it we bless our God and
Father, and with it we curse men, who
have been made in the similitude of
God. Out of the same mouth proceed
blessing and cursing. My brethren,
these things ought not to be so."
--James 3:8-10
"The boneless tongue, so small and weak,
Can crush and kill," declares the Greek.
"The tongue destroys a greater hoard,"
The Turk asserts, "than does the sword."
A Persian proverb wisely saith,
"A lengthy tongue--an early death";
Or sometimes takes this form instead,
"Don't let your tongue cut off your head."
"The tongue can speak a word whose speed,"
The Chinese say, "outstrips the steed";
While Arab sages this impart,
"The tongue's great storehouse is the heart."
From Hebrew wit this maxim sprung,
"Though feet should slip, ne'er let the tongue."
The sacred writer crowns the whole,
"Who keeps his tongue doth keep his soul."
--Author Unknown
Sunday, December 13, 2009
The Preacher's Mistake
The parish priest
Of austerity,
climbed up in a high church steeple
To be nearer God,
So that he might hand
His word down to His people.
When the sun was high,
When the sun was low,
The good man sat unheeding
Sublunary things.
From transcendency
Was he forever reading.
And now and again
When he heard the creak
Of the weather vane a-turning,
He closed his eyes
And said, "Of a truth
From God I now am learning."
And in sermon script
He daily wrote
What he thought was sent from heaven,
And he dropped this down
On his people's heads
Two times one day in seven.
In his age God said,
"Come down and die!"
And he cried out from the steeple,
"Where art thou, Lord?"
And the Lord replied,
"Down here among my people."
--William Croswell Doane
Of austerity,
climbed up in a high church steeple
To be nearer God,
So that he might hand
His word down to His people.
When the sun was high,
When the sun was low,
The good man sat unheeding
Sublunary things.
From transcendency
Was he forever reading.
And now and again
When he heard the creak
Of the weather vane a-turning,
He closed his eyes
And said, "Of a truth
From God I now am learning."
And in sermon script
He daily wrote
What he thought was sent from heaven,
And he dropped this down
On his people's heads
Two times one day in seven.
In his age God said,
"Come down and die!"
And he cried out from the steeple,
"Where art thou, Lord?"
And the Lord replied,
"Down here among my people."
--William Croswell Doane
The Bible
The Bible contains the mind of God,
the state of man, the way of salvation,
the doom of sinners, and the happiness
of believers. Its doctrines are holy,
its precepts are binding, its histories
are true, and its decisions are
immutable.
Read it to be wise, believe it to be safe,
and practice it to be holy. It contains
light to direct you, and comfort to cheer
you. It is the traveler's map, the pil-
grim's staff, the pilot's compass, the
soldier's sword, and the Christian's
charter.
Here paradise is restored, heaven opened,
and the gates of hell disclosed. Christ is
its grand subject, our good its design,
and the glory of God its end. It should
fill the memory, rule the heart, and
guide the feet.
Read it slowly, frequently, prayerfully.
It is a mine of wealth, a paradise of
glory, and a river of pleasure. It is
given to you in life, will be open at the
judgment, and be remembered forever. It
involves the highest responsibility, re-
wards the greatest labor, and condemns
all who trifle with its holy contents."
--Author Unknown
the state of man, the way of salvation,
the doom of sinners, and the happiness
of believers. Its doctrines are holy,
its precepts are binding, its histories
are true, and its decisions are
immutable.
Read it to be wise, believe it to be safe,
and practice it to be holy. It contains
light to direct you, and comfort to cheer
you. It is the traveler's map, the pil-
grim's staff, the pilot's compass, the
soldier's sword, and the Christian's
charter.
Here paradise is restored, heaven opened,
and the gates of hell disclosed. Christ is
its grand subject, our good its design,
and the glory of God its end. It should
fill the memory, rule the heart, and
guide the feet.
Read it slowly, frequently, prayerfully.
It is a mine of wealth, a paradise of
glory, and a river of pleasure. It is
given to you in life, will be open at the
judgment, and be remembered forever. It
involves the highest responsibility, re-
wards the greatest labor, and condemns
all who trifle with its holy contents."
--Author Unknown
Sunday Scripture
The Lord's My Shepherd
The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want;
He makes me down to lie
In pastures green; He leadeth me
The quiet waters by.
My soul He doth restore again;
And me to walk doth make
Within the paths of righteousness,
E'en for His own name's sake.
Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale,
Yet will I fear no ill,
For Thou art with me, and Thy rod
And staff me comfort still.
My table Thou hast furnished
In presence of my foes;
My head Thou dost with oil anoint,
And my cup overflows.
Goodness and mercy all my life
Shall surely follow me;
And in God's house for evermore
My dwelling place shall be.
--Scottish Psalter
(Psalm 23)
The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want;
He makes me down to lie
In pastures green; He leadeth me
The quiet waters by.
My soul He doth restore again;
And me to walk doth make
Within the paths of righteousness,
E'en for His own name's sake.
Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale,
Yet will I fear no ill,
For Thou art with me, and Thy rod
And staff me comfort still.
My table Thou hast furnished
In presence of my foes;
My head Thou dost with oil anoint,
And my cup overflows.
Goodness and mercy all my life
Shall surely follow me;
And in God's house for evermore
My dwelling place shall be.
--Scottish Psalter
(Psalm 23)
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Song of Life
A traveler on a dusty road
Strewed acorns on the lea;
And one took root and sprouted up,
And grew into a tree.
Love sought its shade at evening time,
To breathe its early vows;
And Age was pleased, in heights of noon,
To bask beneath its boughs.
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,
The birds sweet music bore--
It stood a glory in its place,
A blessing evermore.
A little spring had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern;
A passing stranger scooped a well
Where weary men might turn.
He walled it in, and hung with care
A ladle on the brink;
He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that Toil might drink.
He passed again; and lo! The well,
By summer never dried,
Had cooled ten thousand parched tongues,
And saved a life beside.
A nameless man, amid the crowd
That thronged the daily mart,
Let fall a word of hope and love,
Unstudied from the heart,
A whisper of the tumult thrown,
A transitory breath,
It raised a brother from the dust,
It saved a soul from death.
O germ! O fount! O word of love!
O thought at random cast!
Ye were but little at the first,
But mighty at the last.
--Charles MacKay
Strewed acorns on the lea;
And one took root and sprouted up,
And grew into a tree.
Love sought its shade at evening time,
To breathe its early vows;
And Age was pleased, in heights of noon,
To bask beneath its boughs.
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,
The birds sweet music bore--
It stood a glory in its place,
A blessing evermore.
A little spring had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern;
A passing stranger scooped a well
Where weary men might turn.
He walled it in, and hung with care
A ladle on the brink;
He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that Toil might drink.
He passed again; and lo! The well,
By summer never dried,
Had cooled ten thousand parched tongues,
And saved a life beside.
A nameless man, amid the crowd
That thronged the daily mart,
Let fall a word of hope and love,
Unstudied from the heart,
A whisper of the tumult thrown,
A transitory breath,
It raised a brother from the dust,
It saved a soul from death.
O germ! O fount! O word of love!
O thought at random cast!
Ye were but little at the first,
But mighty at the last.
--Charles MacKay
Friday, December 11, 2009
Blind
Knowing this first: that scoffers will come
in the last days, walking according to their
own lusts, and saying, "Where is the promise
of His coming? For since the fathers fell a-
sleep, all things continue as they were from
the beginning of creation."
But, beloved, do not forget this one thing,
that with the Lord one day is as a thousand
years, and a thousand years as one day. The
Lord is not slack concerning His promise,
as some count slackness, but is longsuffering
toward us, not willing that any should perish
but that all should come to repentance.
--2 Peter 3:3-4,8-9
BLIND
"Show me your God!" the doubter cries.
I point him to the smiling skies;
I show him all the woodland greens;
I show him peaceful sylvan scenes;
I show him winter snows and frost;
I show him waters tempest-tossed;
I show him hills rock-ribbed and strong;
I bid him hear the thrush's song;
I show him flowers in the close--
The lily, violet and rose;
I show him rivers, babbling streams;
I show him youthful hopes and dreams;
I show him maids with eager hearts;
I show him toilers in the marts;
I show him stars, the moon, the sun;
I show him deeds of kindness done;
I show him joy; I show him care,
And still he holds his doubting air,
and faithfless goes his way, for he
Is blind of soul, and cannot see!
--John Kendrick Bangs
But even if our gospel is veiled, it
is veiled to those who are perishing,
whose minds the god of this age has
blinded, who do not believe, lest the
light of the gospel of the glory of
Christ, who is the image of God,
should shine on them."
--2 Corinthians 4:3,4
in the last days, walking according to their
own lusts, and saying, "Where is the promise
of His coming? For since the fathers fell a-
sleep, all things continue as they were from
the beginning of creation."
But, beloved, do not forget this one thing,
that with the Lord one day is as a thousand
years, and a thousand years as one day. The
Lord is not slack concerning His promise,
as some count slackness, but is longsuffering
toward us, not willing that any should perish
but that all should come to repentance.
--2 Peter 3:3-4,8-9
BLIND
"Show me your God!" the doubter cries.
I point him to the smiling skies;
I show him all the woodland greens;
I show him peaceful sylvan scenes;
I show him winter snows and frost;
I show him waters tempest-tossed;
I show him hills rock-ribbed and strong;
I bid him hear the thrush's song;
I show him flowers in the close--
The lily, violet and rose;
I show him rivers, babbling streams;
I show him youthful hopes and dreams;
I show him maids with eager hearts;
I show him toilers in the marts;
I show him stars, the moon, the sun;
I show him deeds of kindness done;
I show him joy; I show him care,
And still he holds his doubting air,
and faithfless goes his way, for he
Is blind of soul, and cannot see!
--John Kendrick Bangs
But even if our gospel is veiled, it
is veiled to those who are perishing,
whose minds the god of this age has
blinded, who do not believe, lest the
light of the gospel of the glory of
Christ, who is the image of God,
should shine on them."
--2 Corinthians 4:3,4
The Secret
I met God in the morning
When my day was at its best,
And His presence came like sunrise,
Like a glory in my breast.
All day long the Presence lingered,
All day long He stayed with me,
And we sailed in perfect calmness
O'er a very troubled sea.
Other ships were blown and battered,
Other ships were sore distressed,
but the winds that seemed to drive them
Brought to us a peace and rest.
Then I thought of other mornings,
With a keen remorse of mind,
When I too had loosed the moorings,
With the Presence left behind.
So I think I know the secret,
Learned from many a troubled way:
You must seek Him in the morning
If you want Him through the day!
--Ralph Spaulding Cushman
When my day was at its best,
And His presence came like sunrise,
Like a glory in my breast.
All day long the Presence lingered,
All day long He stayed with me,
And we sailed in perfect calmness
O'er a very troubled sea.
Other ships were blown and battered,
Other ships were sore distressed,
but the winds that seemed to drive them
Brought to us a peace and rest.
Then I thought of other mornings,
With a keen remorse of mind,
When I too had loosed the moorings,
With the Presence left behind.
So I think I know the secret,
Learned from many a troubled way:
You must seek Him in the morning
If you want Him through the day!
--Ralph Spaulding Cushman
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Amid the Din of Earthly Strife
"And when Jesus was passed over again by ship
unto the other side, much people gathered unto
Him: and He was nigh unto the sea." --Mark 5:21
Amid the din of earthly strife,
Amid the busy crowd,
The whispers of eternal life
Are lost in clamors loud;
When lo! I find a healing balm,
The world grows dim to me;
My spirit rests in sudden calm
With Him of Galilee.
I linger near Him in the throng,
And listen to His voice;
I feel my weary soul grow strong,
My saddened heart rejoice.
Amid the storms that darkly frown
I hear His call to me,
And lay my heavy burden down
With Him of Galilee.
--Henry Warburton Hawkes
unto the other side, much people gathered unto
Him: and He was nigh unto the sea." --Mark 5:21
Amid the din of earthly strife,
Amid the busy crowd,
The whispers of eternal life
Are lost in clamors loud;
When lo! I find a healing balm,
The world grows dim to me;
My spirit rests in sudden calm
With Him of Galilee.
I linger near Him in the throng,
And listen to His voice;
I feel my weary soul grow strong,
My saddened heart rejoice.
Amid the storms that darkly frown
I hear His call to me,
And lay my heavy burden down
With Him of Galilee.
--Henry Warburton Hawkes
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
In Memory of John R. Brown
When I was a kid growing up, I took piano lessons.
We went to a small church so my "talents" were
called upon from time to time.
Whenever my dad was home when I happened to be
practicing (which wasn't very often--the practicing
that is), he would ask me to play his favorite hymn.
This is dedicated to you, Dad, on what would have
been your 93rd birthday.
GREAT IS THY FAITHFULNESS
Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father,
there is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not;
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.
Refrain
Great is Thy faithulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided--
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!
Summer and winter, and spring-time and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.
Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thy own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!
Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided--
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!
--Thomas O. Chisholm
Dedicated to John R. Brown
December 9, 1916 - June 6, 1974 (Promoted to Glory)!
"It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not
consumed, because His compassions fail not.
They are new every morning: great is Thy
faithfulness." --Lamentations 3:22,23
P.S. I don't play the piano anymore since I
married a virtuoso pianist (who, by the way,
took piano lessons from the same piano teacher as I).
We went to a small church so my "talents" were
called upon from time to time.
Whenever my dad was home when I happened to be
practicing (which wasn't very often--the practicing
that is), he would ask me to play his favorite hymn.
This is dedicated to you, Dad, on what would have
been your 93rd birthday.
GREAT IS THY FAITHFULNESS
Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father,
there is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not;
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.
Refrain
Great is Thy faithulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided--
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!
Summer and winter, and spring-time and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.
Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thy own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!
Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided--
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!
--Thomas O. Chisholm
Dedicated to John R. Brown
December 9, 1916 - June 6, 1974 (Promoted to Glory)!
"It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not
consumed, because His compassions fail not.
They are new every morning: great is Thy
faithfulness." --Lamentations 3:22,23
P.S. I don't play the piano anymore since I
married a virtuoso pianist (who, by the way,
took piano lessons from the same piano teacher as I).
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
A Name in the Sand
Alone I walked the ocean strand;
A pearly shell was in my hand:
I stooped and wrote upon the sand
My name--the year--the day.
As onward from the spot I passed,
One lingering look behind I cast;
A wave came rolling high and fast,
And washed my lines away.
And so, methought, 'twill shortly be
With every mark on earth from me:
A wave of dark oblivion's sea
Will sweep across the place
Where I have trod the sandy shore
Of time, and been, to be no more,
Of me--my day--the name I bore,
To leave nor track nor trace.
And yet, with Him Who counts the sands
And holds the waters in His hands,
I know a lasting record stands
Inscribed against my name,
Of all this mortal part has wrought,
Of all this thinking soul has thought,
And from these fleeting moments caught
For glory or for shame.
--Hannah Flagg Gould
A pearly shell was in my hand:
I stooped and wrote upon the sand
My name--the year--the day.
As onward from the spot I passed,
One lingering look behind I cast;
A wave came rolling high and fast,
And washed my lines away.
And so, methought, 'twill shortly be
With every mark on earth from me:
A wave of dark oblivion's sea
Will sweep across the place
Where I have trod the sandy shore
Of time, and been, to be no more,
Of me--my day--the name I bore,
To leave nor track nor trace.
And yet, with Him Who counts the sands
And holds the waters in His hands,
I know a lasting record stands
Inscribed against my name,
Of all this mortal part has wrought,
Of all this thinking soul has thought,
And from these fleeting moments caught
For glory or for shame.
--Hannah Flagg Gould
Monday, December 7, 2009
Pearl Harbor Day
Dedicated to U.S. Veterans of all former wars:
VIGIL STRANGE I KEPT ON THE FIELD ONE NIGHT
Vigil strange I kept on the field one night;
When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave which your dear eyes return'd with a look I
shall never forget,
One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach'd up as you lay on
the ground,
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle,
Till late in the night reliev'd to the place at last again I made my
way,
Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body son
of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the
moderate night-wind,
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-
field spreading,
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night,
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed,
Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my
chin in my hands,
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest
comrade--not a tear, not a word,
Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my
soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole,
Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was
your death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall
surely meet again,)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn
appear'd,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and
carefully under feet,
And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his
grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited,
Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battlefield
dim,
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth
responding,)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day
brighten'd,
I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his
blanket,
And buried him where he fell.
--Walt Whitman
(1819-1892)
VIGIL STRANGE I KEPT ON THE FIELD ONE NIGHT
Vigil strange I kept on the field one night;
When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave which your dear eyes return'd with a look I
shall never forget,
One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach'd up as you lay on
the ground,
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle,
Till late in the night reliev'd to the place at last again I made my
way,
Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body son
of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the
moderate night-wind,
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-
field spreading,
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night,
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed,
Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my
chin in my hands,
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest
comrade--not a tear, not a word,
Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my
soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole,
Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was
your death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall
surely meet again,)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn
appear'd,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and
carefully under feet,
And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his
grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited,
Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battlefield
dim,
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth
responding,)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day
brighten'd,
I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his
blanket,
And buried him where he fell.
--Walt Whitman
(1819-1892)
Sunday, December 6, 2009
O Worship the King
O worship the King, all glorious above,
and gratefully sing His wonderful love;
Our Shield and Defender, the Ancient of Days,
Pavilioned in splendor, and girded with praise.
O tell of His might, O sing of His grace,
Whose robe is the light, Whose canopy space!
His chariots of wrath the deep thunder clouds form,
And dark is His path on the wings of the storm.
Thy bountiful care what tongue can recite?
It breathes in the air, it shines in the light,
It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain,
And sweetly distills in the dew and the rain.
Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail,
In Thee do we trust, nor find Thee to fail:
Thy mercies how tender, how firm to the end,
Our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend.
--Robert Grant
"Bless the LORD, O my soul! O LORD my God,
You are very great: You are clothed with
honor and majesty." --Psalm 104:1
and gratefully sing His wonderful love;
Our Shield and Defender, the Ancient of Days,
Pavilioned in splendor, and girded with praise.
O tell of His might, O sing of His grace,
Whose robe is the light, Whose canopy space!
His chariots of wrath the deep thunder clouds form,
And dark is His path on the wings of the storm.
Thy bountiful care what tongue can recite?
It breathes in the air, it shines in the light,
It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain,
And sweetly distills in the dew and the rain.
Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail,
In Thee do we trust, nor find Thee to fail:
Thy mercies how tender, how firm to the end,
Our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend.
--Robert Grant
"Bless the LORD, O my soul! O LORD my God,
You are very great: You are clothed with
honor and majesty." --Psalm 104:1
The World's Bible
Christ has no hands but our hands
To do His work today;
He has no feet but our feet
To lead men in His way;
He has no tongue but our tongues
To tell men how He died;
He has no help but our help
To bring them to His side.
We are the only Bible
The careless world will read;
We are the sinner's gospel,
We are the scoffer's creed;
We are the Lord's last message
Given in deed and word--
What if the line is crooked?
What if the type is blurred?
What if our hands are busy
With other work than His?
What if our feet are walking
Where sin's allurement is?
What if our tongues are speaking
Of the things His lips would spurn?
How can we hope to help Him
Unless from Him we learn?
--Annie Johnson Flint
To do His work today;
He has no feet but our feet
To lead men in His way;
He has no tongue but our tongues
To tell men how He died;
He has no help but our help
To bring them to His side.
We are the only Bible
The careless world will read;
We are the sinner's gospel,
We are the scoffer's creed;
We are the Lord's last message
Given in deed and word--
What if the line is crooked?
What if the type is blurred?
What if our hands are busy
With other work than His?
What if our feet are walking
Where sin's allurement is?
What if our tongues are speaking
Of the things His lips would spurn?
How can we hope to help Him
Unless from Him we learn?
--Annie Johnson Flint
Sunday Scripture
The Beatitudes
And seeing the multitudes, He went up on a mountain,
and when He was seated His disciples came to Him.
Then He opened His mouth and taught them, saying:
"Blessed are the poor in spirit,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven,
Blessed are those who mourn,
For they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
For they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and
thirst for righteousness,
For they shall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
For they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
For they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
For they shall be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted
for righteousness' sake,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when they revile and
persecute you, and say all kinds of evil
against you falsely for My sake.
Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for
great is your reward in heaven, for so
they persecuted the prophets who were
before you.
The Similitudes
You are the salt of the earth; but
if the salt loses its flavor, how shall
it be seasoned? It is then good for
nothing but to be thrown out and
trampled underfoot by men.
You are the light of the world. A
city that is set on a hill cannot be
hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and
put it under a basket, but on a
lampstand, and it gives light to all
who are in the house. Let your light
so shine before men, that they may see
your good works and glorify your Father
in heaven. Do not think that I came to
destroy the Law or the Prophets, I did
not come to destroy but to fulfill.
For assuredly, I say to you, till
heaven and earth pass away, one jot
or one tittle will by no means pass
from the law till all is fulfilled."
--Matthew 5:1-18
And seeing the multitudes, He went up on a mountain,
and when He was seated His disciples came to Him.
Then He opened His mouth and taught them, saying:
"Blessed are the poor in spirit,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven,
Blessed are those who mourn,
For they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
For they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and
thirst for righteousness,
For they shall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
For they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
For they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
For they shall be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted
for righteousness' sake,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when they revile and
persecute you, and say all kinds of evil
against you falsely for My sake.
Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for
great is your reward in heaven, for so
they persecuted the prophets who were
before you.
The Similitudes
You are the salt of the earth; but
if the salt loses its flavor, how shall
it be seasoned? It is then good for
nothing but to be thrown out and
trampled underfoot by men.
You are the light of the world. A
city that is set on a hill cannot be
hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and
put it under a basket, but on a
lampstand, and it gives light to all
who are in the house. Let your light
so shine before men, that they may see
your good works and glorify your Father
in heaven. Do not think that I came to
destroy the Law or the Prophets, I did
not come to destroy but to fulfill.
For assuredly, I say to you, till
heaven and earth pass away, one jot
or one tittle will by no means pass
from the law till all is fulfilled."
--Matthew 5:1-18
Saturday, December 5, 2009
There's a Light Upon the Mountains
"Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign:
Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son,
and shall call His name Immanuel." --Isaiah 7:14
There's a light upon the mountains,
And the day is at the spring,
When our eyes shall see the beauty
And the glory of the King:
Weary was our heart with waiting,
And the night-watch seemed so long,
But His triumph-day is breaking,
And we hail it with a song.
In the fading of the starlight
We may see the coming morn;
And the lights of men are paling
In the splendors of the dawn;
For the eastern skies are glowing
As with light of hidden fire,
And the hearts of men are stirring
With the throbs of deep desire.
There's a hush of expectation
And a quiet in the air,
And the breath of God is moving
In the fervent breath of prayer;
For the suffering, dying Jesus
Is the Christ upon the throne,
And the travail of our spirit
Is the travail of His own.
He is breaking down the barriers,
He is casting up the way;
He is calling for His angels
To build up the gates of day:
But His angels here are human,
Not the shining hosts above;
For the drum-beats of His army
Are the heart-beats of our love.
Hark! we hear a distant music,
And it comes with fuller swell;
'Tis the triumph-song of Jesus,
Of our King, Immanuel!
Go ye forth with joy to meet Him!
And, my soul, be swift to bring
All thy sweetest and thy dearest
For the triumph of our King!
--Henry Burton
Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son,
and shall call His name Immanuel." --Isaiah 7:14
There's a light upon the mountains,
And the day is at the spring,
When our eyes shall see the beauty
And the glory of the King:
Weary was our heart with waiting,
And the night-watch seemed so long,
But His triumph-day is breaking,
And we hail it with a song.
In the fading of the starlight
We may see the coming morn;
And the lights of men are paling
In the splendors of the dawn;
For the eastern skies are glowing
As with light of hidden fire,
And the hearts of men are stirring
With the throbs of deep desire.
There's a hush of expectation
And a quiet in the air,
And the breath of God is moving
In the fervent breath of prayer;
For the suffering, dying Jesus
Is the Christ upon the throne,
And the travail of our spirit
Is the travail of His own.
He is breaking down the barriers,
He is casting up the way;
He is calling for His angels
To build up the gates of day:
But His angels here are human,
Not the shining hosts above;
For the drum-beats of His army
Are the heart-beats of our love.
Hark! we hear a distant music,
And it comes with fuller swell;
'Tis the triumph-song of Jesus,
Of our King, Immanuel!
Go ye forth with joy to meet Him!
And, my soul, be swift to bring
All thy sweetest and thy dearest
For the triumph of our King!
--Henry Burton
Friday, December 4, 2009
The Village Blacksmith
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns what'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees its close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(1807-1882)
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns what'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees its close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(1807-1882)
The Dawn
"But to You I have cried out, O LORD,
and in the morning my prayer comes
before You." --Psalm 88:13
THE DAWN
One morn I rose and looked upon the world.
"Have I been blind until this hour?" I said.
On every trembling leaf the sun had spread,
And was like golden tapestry unfurled;
And as the moments passed more light was hurled
Upon the drinking earth athirst for light;
And I, beholding all this wondrous sight,
Cried out aloud, "O God, I love Thy world!"
And since that waking, often I drink deep
The joy of dawn, and peace abides with me;
And though I know that I again shall see
Dark fear with withered hand approach my sleep,
More sure am I when lonely night shall flee,
At dawn the sun will bring good cheer to me."
--Author Unknown
and in the morning my prayer comes
before You." --Psalm 88:13
THE DAWN
One morn I rose and looked upon the world.
"Have I been blind until this hour?" I said.
On every trembling leaf the sun had spread,
And was like golden tapestry unfurled;
And as the moments passed more light was hurled
Upon the drinking earth athirst for light;
And I, beholding all this wondrous sight,
Cried out aloud, "O God, I love Thy world!"
And since that waking, often I drink deep
The joy of dawn, and peace abides with me;
And though I know that I again shall see
Dark fear with withered hand approach my sleep,
More sure am I when lonely night shall flee,
At dawn the sun will bring good cheer to me."
--Author Unknown
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Hymn of the Week
O ZION, HASTE
O Zion, haste, thy mission high fulfilling,
To tell to all the world that God is Light;
That He who made all nations is not willing
One soul should perish, lost in shades of night.
Publish glad tidings, tidings of peace;
Tidings of Jesus, redemption, and release.
Behold how many thousands still are lying,
Bound in the dark--some prison-house of sin,
With none to tell them of the Savior's dying,
Or of the life He died for them to win.
Proclaim to every people, tongue and nation
That God, in whom they live and move, is love:
Tell how He stooped to save His lost creation,
And died on earth that man might live above.
Give of thy sons to bear the message glorious;
Give of thy wealth to speed them on their way;
Pour out thy soul for them in prayer victorious;
And all thy spending Jesus will repay.
Publish glad tidings, tidings of peace;
Tidings of Jesus, redemption, and release.
--Mary A. Thomson
O Zion,
You who bring good tidings,
Get up into the high mountain;
O Jerusalem,
You who bring good tidings,
Lift up your voice with strength,
Lift it up, be not afraid;
Say to the cities of Judah,
"Behold your God!"
--Isaiah 40:9
O Zion, haste, thy mission high fulfilling,
To tell to all the world that God is Light;
That He who made all nations is not willing
One soul should perish, lost in shades of night.
Publish glad tidings, tidings of peace;
Tidings of Jesus, redemption, and release.
Behold how many thousands still are lying,
Bound in the dark--some prison-house of sin,
With none to tell them of the Savior's dying,
Or of the life He died for them to win.
Proclaim to every people, tongue and nation
That God, in whom they live and move, is love:
Tell how He stooped to save His lost creation,
And died on earth that man might live above.
Give of thy sons to bear the message glorious;
Give of thy wealth to speed them on their way;
Pour out thy soul for them in prayer victorious;
And all thy spending Jesus will repay.
Publish glad tidings, tidings of peace;
Tidings of Jesus, redemption, and release.
--Mary A. Thomson
O Zion,
You who bring good tidings,
Get up into the high mountain;
O Jerusalem,
You who bring good tidings,
Lift up your voice with strength,
Lift it up, be not afraid;
Say to the cities of Judah,
"Behold your God!"
--Isaiah 40:9
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Home
Home!
My very heart's desire is safe
Within thy walls;
The voices of my loved ones, friends who come,
My treasured books that rest in niche serene,
All make more dear to me thy haven sweet.
Nor do my feet
Desire to wander out except that they
May have the glad return at eventide--
Dear Home.
Home!
My very heart's contentment lies
Within thy walls.
No worldly calls hath power to turn my eyes
In longing from thy quietness. Each morn
When I go forth upon the duties of the day
I wend my way
Content to know that eve will bring me
Safely to thy walls again.
Dear Home.
--Nellie Womack Hines
My very heart's desire is safe
Within thy walls;
The voices of my loved ones, friends who come,
My treasured books that rest in niche serene,
All make more dear to me thy haven sweet.
Nor do my feet
Desire to wander out except that they
May have the glad return at eventide--
Dear Home.
Home!
My very heart's contentment lies
Within thy walls.
No worldly calls hath power to turn my eyes
In longing from thy quietness. Each morn
When I go forth upon the duties of the day
I wend my way
Content to know that eve will bring me
Safely to thy walls again.
Dear Home.
--Nellie Womack Hines
Monday, November 30, 2009
Mistakes
"To make no mistakes is not in the power of man, but from their errors and mistakes the wise and good learn wisdom for the future." --Plutarch
"Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself." --Martin Vanbee
MISTAKES
God sent us here to make mistakes,
To strive, to fail, to rebegin,
To taste the tempting fruit of sin,
And find what bitter food it makes.
To miss the path, to go astray,
To wander blindly in the night.
But searching, praying for the light,
Until at last we find the way.
And looking back along the past,
We know we needed all the strain
Of fear and doubt and strife and pain
To make us value peace, at last.
Who fails finds later triumph sweet.
Who stumbles once walks then with care,
And knows the place to cry "Beware"
To other unaccustomed feet.
Through strife the slumbering soul awakes
We learn on errors troubled route
The truths we could not prize without
The sorrow of our sad mistakes.
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox
"Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself." --Martin Vanbee
MISTAKES
God sent us here to make mistakes,
To strive, to fail, to rebegin,
To taste the tempting fruit of sin,
And find what bitter food it makes.
To miss the path, to go astray,
To wander blindly in the night.
But searching, praying for the light,
Until at last we find the way.
And looking back along the past,
We know we needed all the strain
Of fear and doubt and strife and pain
To make us value peace, at last.
Who fails finds later triumph sweet.
Who stumbles once walks then with care,
And knows the place to cry "Beware"
To other unaccustomed feet.
Through strife the slumbering soul awakes
We learn on errors troubled route
The truths we could not prize without
The sorrow of our sad mistakes.
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Count That Day Lost
If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard,
One glance most kind
That fell like sunshine where it went--
Then you may count that day well spent.
But if, through all the livelong day,
You've cheered no heart, by yea or nay--
If, through it all
You've nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face--
No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost--
Then count that day as worse than lost.
--George Eliot (1819-1880)
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard,
One glance most kind
That fell like sunshine where it went--
Then you may count that day well spent.
But if, through all the livelong day,
You've cheered no heart, by yea or nay--
If, through it all
You've nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face--
No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost--
Then count that day as worse than lost.
--George Eliot (1819-1880)
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
The Love of God
"For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38,39
Could we with ink the oceans fill
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above
Would drain the oceans dry,
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Tho' stretched from sky to sky.
O love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure
The saints' and angels' song.
--Words found on the wall of
a prison cell 200 years ago
Could we with ink the oceans fill
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above
Would drain the oceans dry,
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Tho' stretched from sky to sky.
O love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure
The saints' and angels' song.
--Words found on the wall of
a prison cell 200 years ago
Monday, November 23, 2009
Simple Things
"Simplicity is making the journey of this life with just baggage enough." --Charles Warner
I Have Found Such Joy
I have found such joy in simple things;
A plain, clean room, a nut-brown loaf of bread,
A cup of milk, a kettle as it sings,
The shelter of a roof above my head,
And in a leaf-laced square along the floor,
Where yellow sunlight glimmers through a door.
I have found such joy in things that fill
My quiet days: a curtain's blowing grace,
A potted plant upon my window sill,
A rose, fresh-cut and placed within a vase;
A table cleared, a lamp beside a chair,
And books I long have loved beside me there.
Oh, I have found such joys I wish I might
Tell everyone who goes seeking far
For some elusive, feverish delight,
That very close to home the great joys are:
The elemental things--old as the race,
Yet never, through the ages, commonplace.
--Grace Noll Crowell
I Have Found Such Joy
I have found such joy in simple things;
A plain, clean room, a nut-brown loaf of bread,
A cup of milk, a kettle as it sings,
The shelter of a roof above my head,
And in a leaf-laced square along the floor,
Where yellow sunlight glimmers through a door.
I have found such joy in things that fill
My quiet days: a curtain's blowing grace,
A potted plant upon my window sill,
A rose, fresh-cut and placed within a vase;
A table cleared, a lamp beside a chair,
And books I long have loved beside me there.
Oh, I have found such joys I wish I might
Tell everyone who goes seeking far
For some elusive, feverish delight,
That very close to home the great joys are:
The elemental things--old as the race,
Yet never, through the ages, commonplace.
--Grace Noll Crowell
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Added Grace for Difficult Times
"But He gives more grace. Therefore He says:
'God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble.'
Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will
lift you up."
--James 4:6,10
He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.
When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father's full giving is only begun.
His love has no limit, His grace has no measure,
His power has no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
He giveth and giveth and giveth again.
--Annie Johnson Flint
'God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble.'
Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will
lift you up."
--James 4:6,10
He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.
When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father's full giving is only begun.
His love has no limit, His grace has no measure,
His power has no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
He giveth and giveth and giveth again.
--Annie Johnson Flint
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Exceeding Great and Precious Promises
"Grace and peace be multiplied to you in the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord, as His divine power has given to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of Him who called us by glory and virtue, by which have been given to us exceedingly great and precious promises, that through these you may be partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust." --2 Peter 1:2-4
God hath not promised skies always blue,
Flower-strewn pathways all our lives through,
God hath not promised sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.
God hath not promised we shall not know,
Toil and temptation, trouble and woe.
He hath not told us we shall not bear
Many a burden, many a care.
But God hath promised strength for the day,
Rest for the laborer, light for the way,
Grace for the trials, help from above,
Unfailing sympathy, undying love!
--Annie Johnson Flint
God hath not promised skies always blue,
Flower-strewn pathways all our lives through,
God hath not promised sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.
God hath not promised we shall not know,
Toil and temptation, trouble and woe.
He hath not told us we shall not bear
Many a burden, many a care.
But God hath promised strength for the day,
Rest for the laborer, light for the way,
Grace for the trials, help from above,
Unfailing sympathy, undying love!
--Annie Johnson Flint
Friday, November 20, 2009
The Sin of Omission
"Therefore, to him who knows to do good and does not do it, to him it is sin."
--James 4:17
It isn't the thing you do;
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you a bit of heartache
At the setting of the sun.
The tender word forgotten,
The letter you did not write,
The flower you might have sent,
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted
Out of a brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand,
the gentle and winsome tone,
that you had no time or thought for
With troubles enough of your own.
The little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind;
Those chances to be helpful
Which everyone may find--
No, it's not the thing you do,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bit of heartache
At the setting of the sun.
--Margaret E. Sangster
--James 4:17
It isn't the thing you do;
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you a bit of heartache
At the setting of the sun.
The tender word forgotten,
The letter you did not write,
The flower you might have sent,
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted
Out of a brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand,
the gentle and winsome tone,
that you had no time or thought for
With troubles enough of your own.
The little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind;
Those chances to be helpful
Which everyone may find--
No, it's not the thing you do,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bit of heartache
At the setting of the sun.
--Margaret E. Sangster
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Hymn of the Week
"For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day: wherefore the LORD blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it." --Exodus 20:11
I Sing the Mighty Power of God
I sing the mighty power of God,
That made the mountains rise,
That spread the flowing seas abroad,
And built the lofty skies.
I sing the wisdom that ordained
The sun to rule the day;
The moon shines full at His command,
And all the stars obey.
I sing the goodness of the LORD,
That filled the earth with food;
He formed the creatures with His word,
And then pronounced them good.
LORD, how Thy wonders are displayed,
Where'er I turn my eye:
If I survey the ground I tread,
Or gaze upon the sky!
There's not a plant or flower below,
But makes Thy glories known;
And clouds arise, and tempests blow,
By order from Thy throne,
While all that borrows life from Thee
Is ever in Thy care,
And everywhere that man can be,
Thou, God, art present there.
--Isaac Watts (1784)
I Sing the Mighty Power of God
I sing the mighty power of God,
That made the mountains rise,
That spread the flowing seas abroad,
And built the lofty skies.
I sing the wisdom that ordained
The sun to rule the day;
The moon shines full at His command,
And all the stars obey.
I sing the goodness of the LORD,
That filled the earth with food;
He formed the creatures with His word,
And then pronounced them good.
LORD, how Thy wonders are displayed,
Where'er I turn my eye:
If I survey the ground I tread,
Or gaze upon the sky!
There's not a plant or flower below,
But makes Thy glories known;
And clouds arise, and tempests blow,
By order from Thy throne,
While all that borrows life from Thee
Is ever in Thy care,
And everywhere that man can be,
Thou, God, art present there.
--Isaac Watts (1784)
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
In Flanders Fields
Today is Veteran's Day. May each of us pause to offer a prayer of thanks--to God, for the freedoms we enjoy, and to the brave men and women who gave their lives defending these freedoms, and to those in our military who are risking their lives today for this great nation.
In honor of our veterans, I would like to dedicate this poem to them:
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
--John McCrae
In honor of our veterans, I would like to dedicate this poem to them:
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
--John McCrae
Thursday, November 5, 2009
...In Times Like These
These are desperate times in which we live. Millions of people are without God and without hope in this world. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the victims and families impacted by the terrible shootings at Ft. Hood, TX, today.
The terrible events such as this one in Ft. Hood today are obvious signs that we are living in the end times. The Bible warns that in the last days perilous times will come. "For men shall be lovers of their own selves...despisers of those that are good, traitors...lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God...ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth." II Tim. 3:2-7
The only solution to the terrible problems we are facing today is found in the Person of Jesus Christ..."which is our hope." 1 Tim.1:1 "Christ in you, the hope of glory." Col. 1:27
The words of the old hymn, "In Times Like These", say it best:
In times like these you need a Savior,
In times like these you need an anchor;
Be very sure, be very sure
Your anchor holds and grips the Solid Rock!
This Rock is Jesus, Yes, He's the One!
This Rock is Jesus, the only One!
Be very sure, be very sure
Your anchor holds and grips the Solid Rock!
If you have not yet done so, won't you put your faith and trust in the Solid Rock, Jesus Christ?
The terrible events such as this one in Ft. Hood today are obvious signs that we are living in the end times. The Bible warns that in the last days perilous times will come. "For men shall be lovers of their own selves...despisers of those that are good, traitors...lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God...ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth." II Tim. 3:2-7
The only solution to the terrible problems we are facing today is found in the Person of Jesus Christ..."which is our hope." 1 Tim.1:1 "Christ in you, the hope of glory." Col. 1:27
The words of the old hymn, "In Times Like These", say it best:
In times like these you need a Savior,
In times like these you need an anchor;
Be very sure, be very sure
Your anchor holds and grips the Solid Rock!
This Rock is Jesus, Yes, He's the One!
This Rock is Jesus, the only One!
Be very sure, be very sure
Your anchor holds and grips the Solid Rock!
If you have not yet done so, won't you put your faith and trust in the Solid Rock, Jesus Christ?
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Need An Anchor?
Life is full of distractions, as I'm sure you're well aware! It seems like every moment of the day a myriad of things are competing for our attention. This makes us extremely vulnerable to becoming adrift on life's sea.
In times such as these we need an anchor that will hold, and keep us from drifting aimlessly through life--utterly frustrated and defeated.
God's word speaks to this in Hebrews 6:18,19 where we read: "...we might have a strong consolation, who have fled for refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before us: which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast..."
Hope in God is our anchor in the storms of life. This Greek word 'hope' (elpis), does not mean empty, wisfhul thinking, but rather a confident expectation of an unseen reality.
I would like to share the words of an old song which drive this point home:
Will your anchor hold in the storms of life,
When the clouds unfold their wings of strife?
When the strong tides lift, and the cables strain,
Will your anchor drift, or firm remain?
We have an anchor that keeps the soul
Stedfast and sure while the billows roll,
Fastened to the Rock which cannot move,
Grounded firm and deep in the Savior's love.
When our eyes behold through the gathering night,
The city of gold, our harbor bright,
We shall anchor fast by the heavenly shore,
With the storms all past forevermore.
We have an anchor that keeps the soul
Stedfast and sure while the billows roll,
Fastened to the Rock which cannot move,
Grounded firm and deep in the Savior's love.
We Have An Anchor, by Priscilla J. Owens
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
who according to His abundant mercy has begotten us again
to a living hope, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ
from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled
and that does not fade away, reserved in heaven for you, who
are kept by the power of God through faith for salvation ready
to be revealed in the last time." 1 Peter 1:3-5
Trust in God as the Anchor for your soul!
Blessings
In times such as these we need an anchor that will hold, and keep us from drifting aimlessly through life--utterly frustrated and defeated.
God's word speaks to this in Hebrews 6:18,19 where we read: "...we might have a strong consolation, who have fled for refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before us: which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast..."
Hope in God is our anchor in the storms of life. This Greek word 'hope' (elpis), does not mean empty, wisfhul thinking, but rather a confident expectation of an unseen reality.
I would like to share the words of an old song which drive this point home:
Will your anchor hold in the storms of life,
When the clouds unfold their wings of strife?
When the strong tides lift, and the cables strain,
Will your anchor drift, or firm remain?
We have an anchor that keeps the soul
Stedfast and sure while the billows roll,
Fastened to the Rock which cannot move,
Grounded firm and deep in the Savior's love.
When our eyes behold through the gathering night,
The city of gold, our harbor bright,
We shall anchor fast by the heavenly shore,
With the storms all past forevermore.
We have an anchor that keeps the soul
Stedfast and sure while the billows roll,
Fastened to the Rock which cannot move,
Grounded firm and deep in the Savior's love.
We Have An Anchor, by Priscilla J. Owens
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
who according to His abundant mercy has begotten us again
to a living hope, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ
from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled
and that does not fade away, reserved in heaven for you, who
are kept by the power of God through faith for salvation ready
to be revealed in the last time." 1 Peter 1:3-5
Trust in God as the Anchor for your soul!
Blessings
Monday, November 2, 2009
What Time Is It?
We are reminded in the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes (which was written by the wisest man who ever lived--King Solomon), that "There's an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:"--The Message
It's probably been a while since many of us have read from the passage in the third Chapter of the Book of Ecclesiastes, so I would like to share part of that passage with you here:
"There is a time for everything, and a reason for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace." Eccl. 3:1-8 (NIV)
To answer our question "What time is it?", I would like to look at the part of the passage which tells us there is a time to speak.
There is a well-known quote of Edmund Burke which states,"All that is necessary for evil to triumph, is for good men to do (say) nothing." America is often called 'the land of the free', but our freedoms are in danger of being lost if we do not speak up in their defense. The very foundations of our freedoms are in danger of being crumbled by skepticism, secular humanism and post-modernism.
We are admonished by the Psalmist in Ps. 11:1, "If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?" I believe this is a time to speak up in defense of the Judeo-Christian principles upon which this nation was founded. It is my desire that this blog be a voice for the truth, that truth which is rooted and grounded in the Word of God. Of course, I welcome opposing views, because--after all, this is supposed to be a dialogue.
So, what time is it? It's time to speak up for what we hold sacred--our faith and our freedom! Hope to hear from you soon.
It's probably been a while since many of us have read from the passage in the third Chapter of the Book of Ecclesiastes, so I would like to share part of that passage with you here:
"There is a time for everything, and a reason for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace." Eccl. 3:1-8 (NIV)
To answer our question "What time is it?", I would like to look at the part of the passage which tells us there is a time to speak.
There is a well-known quote of Edmund Burke which states,"All that is necessary for evil to triumph, is for good men to do (say) nothing." America is often called 'the land of the free', but our freedoms are in danger of being lost if we do not speak up in their defense. The very foundations of our freedoms are in danger of being crumbled by skepticism, secular humanism and post-modernism.
We are admonished by the Psalmist in Ps. 11:1, "If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?" I believe this is a time to speak up in defense of the Judeo-Christian principles upon which this nation was founded. It is my desire that this blog be a voice for the truth, that truth which is rooted and grounded in the Word of God. Of course, I welcome opposing views, because--after all, this is supposed to be a dialogue.
So, what time is it? It's time to speak up for what we hold sacred--our faith and our freedom! Hope to hear from you soon.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Demographics
Hello, folks. This is my second post as a newbie blogger, so let's start with a little background. Let me tell you a little about the place where this blog is originating from.
Sterling, KS, USA, is a rural community about 55 miles NW of Wichita, KS, with a population of approximately 2,400. For such a small town, Sterling has a lot to offer!
It is the home of Sterling College, a United Presbyterian liberal arts college founded in 1887. The college's enrollment is over 700 this year, the highest in the schools history, with students coming from 38 states and 7 foreign countries.
Their are several industries in Sterling with national and international recognition:
JACAM Chemicals manufactures chemicals for oilfield treatments, water treatments, carwash products, and also provides lab services.
United Industries manufactures products and equipment for commercial/municipal aquatic facilities and waterparks. They recently manufactured a number of water filtration tanks which will be used in the Freedom Tower in New York City.
KMW designs and manufactures front-end loaders. Main-Street Sterling has been awarded several federal grants for community enhancements and beautification, among which is the renovation of a Main Street building, transforming it into Studio 96, which will be a venue for the Fine Arts and community gatherings.
And of course, Sterling is the home of Brown's Books, Established 2/18/06. This is my online eBay bookstore, so if you're needing a good book, come check out my selection of approximately 480 listings.
So, why TheFairHavens in the middle of wheat country? Well, a haven, by defenition, is any place of shelter and safety; refuge; asylum. It is my hope that this blog will be a place where we can come to share ideas, hopes, struggles, joys in a safe, non-judgmental atmosphere.
And so, may we begin; to chart our course as we navigate the tempestuous waters of these tumultuous, although exciting times. See you soon!
Sterling, KS, USA, is a rural community about 55 miles NW of Wichita, KS, with a population of approximately 2,400. For such a small town, Sterling has a lot to offer!
It is the home of Sterling College, a United Presbyterian liberal arts college founded in 1887. The college's enrollment is over 700 this year, the highest in the schools history, with students coming from 38 states and 7 foreign countries.
Their are several industries in Sterling with national and international recognition:
JACAM Chemicals manufactures chemicals for oilfield treatments, water treatments, carwash products, and also provides lab services.
United Industries manufactures products and equipment for commercial/municipal aquatic facilities and waterparks. They recently manufactured a number of water filtration tanks which will be used in the Freedom Tower in New York City.
KMW designs and manufactures front-end loaders. Main-Street Sterling has been awarded several federal grants for community enhancements and beautification, among which is the renovation of a Main Street building, transforming it into Studio 96, which will be a venue for the Fine Arts and community gatherings.
And of course, Sterling is the home of Brown's Books, Established 2/18/06. This is my online eBay bookstore, so if you're needing a good book, come check out my selection of approximately 480 listings.
So, why TheFairHavens in the middle of wheat country? Well, a haven, by defenition, is any place of shelter and safety; refuge; asylum. It is my hope that this blog will be a place where we can come to share ideas, hopes, struggles, joys in a safe, non-judgmental atmosphere.
And so, may we begin; to chart our course as we navigate the tempestuous waters of these tumultuous, although exciting times. See you soon!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
New Beginnings
Welcome to TheFairHavens! The name of this blog is taken from an ancient site, a harbor on the southern coast of the island of Crete in the Mediterranean Sea. This is a place where the Apostle Paul took refuge from a storm during his voyage to Rome.
It is my hope that this blog can be a place of refuge from the storms of this life. A place where we can communicate our deepest feelings, and our aspirations for our voyage through life.
Come and share your thoughts and ambitions, your struggles and triumphs, your ideals and passions as we navigate the treacherous waters of this life. This is my first experience at blogging, I have much to learn, so let us learn together.
It is my hope that this blog can be a place of refuge from the storms of this life. A place where we can communicate our deepest feelings, and our aspirations for our voyage through life.
Come and share your thoughts and ambitions, your struggles and triumphs, your ideals and passions as we navigate the treacherous waters of this life. This is my first experience at blogging, I have much to learn, so let us learn together.
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