of Echoes Past

Love and Death.

What time the mighty moon was gathering light

Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise,

And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes;

When, turning round a cassia, full in view,

Death, walking all alone beneath a yew,

And talking to himself, first met his sight:

"You must begone," said Death, "these walks are mine."

Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight;

Yet ere he parted said, "This hour is thine:

Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree

Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,

So in the light of great eternity

Life eminent creates the shade of death;

The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,

But I shall reign for ever over all."

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

My daughter's birthday is a mixture of joy and sadness, gratefulness and longing, life and death. And though the above poem may not be completely theologically correct, it puts it in such a beautiful light. Though Emily passed through the shadow of death, Death will not reign eternal. Though she fought for life and we fought with her and for her, Death still won. But his win is totally temporary. In view of eternity, life wins out. Love champions. Emily's death is but a shadow, a blink of an eye, a breath. As is my life here on earth- a mist, and then I too will be gone. And then, together with Christ, Emily and I will dance in the light, where there is no more shadow.

14th May 2015

Dearest sweetest Emily,

     Your birthday is coming up. You will be seven years old. Seven! You are growing up so fast. I wonder what you look like now. What color is your hair? Are your eyes hazel like your siblings? What do you like to do in heaven? Are you an artist or an engineer? Do you enjoy music, do you sing to Jesus with your sweet voice? I'm sure you have a lovely voice. 

    Or maybe time is different in heaven. Maybe you are still an infant, a mere nine days old, and you are waiting for Joel and I so we can be with you as you grow up. 

    We all miss you Emily. We wish we could all be together as a family. Even now, at supper time, I think "someone is missing, there should be one more plate." And your siblings save a space for you in the van. In the back, in the middle. 

    That's where you would be. With us. Together. 

    We love you so much Emily Grace, full of light and hope fulfilled. Save a space for us in heaven, we'll be there when our Lord calls us home.

Love, your mommy

A Hymn To Contentment

Lovely, lasting peace of mind!

Sweet delight of human kind!

Heavenly born and bred on high,

To crown the favourites of the sky

With more of happiness below,

Than victors in a triumph know!

Whither, O whither art thou fled,

To lay thy meek, contented head;

What happy region dost thou please

To make the seat of calms and ease!

Ambition searches all its sphere

Of pomp and state, to meet thee there.

Encreasing Avarice would find

Thy presence in its gold enshrin'd.

The bold adventurer ploughs his way

Through rocks amidst the foaming sea,

To gain thy love; and then perceives

Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.

The silent heart, which grief assails,

Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales,

Sees daisies open, rivers run,

And seeks, as I have vainly done,

Amusing thought; but learns to know

That solitude's the nurse of woe.

No real happiness is found

In trailing purple o'er the ground;

Or in a soul exalted high,

To range the circuit of the sky,

Converse with stars above, and know

All nature in its forms below;

The rest it seeks, in seeking dies,

And doubts at last, for knowledge, rise.

Lovely, lasting peace, appear!

This world itself, if thou art here,

Is once again with Eden blest,

And man contains it in his breast.

'Twas thus, as under shade I stood,

I sung my wishes to the wood,

And lost in thought, no more perceiv'd

The branches whisper as they wav'd:

It seem'd, as all the quiet place

Confess'd the presence of the Grace.

When thus she spoke-"Go rule thy will,

Bid thy wild passions all be still,

Know God-and bring thy heart to know

The joys which from religion flow:

Then every Grace shall prove its guest,

And I'll be there to crown the rest."

Oh! by yonder mossy seat,

In my hours of sweet retreat,

Might I thus my soul employ,

With sense of gratitude and joy!

Rais'd as ancient prophets were,

In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer;

Pleasing all men, hurting none,

Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone:

Then while the gardens take my sight,

With all the colours of delight;

While silver waters glide along,

To please my ear, and court my song;

I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,

And thee, great source of nature, sing.

The sun that walks his airy way,

To light the world, and give the day;

The moon that shines with borrow'd light;

The stars that gild the gloomy night;

The seas that roll unnumber'd waves;

The wood that spreads its shady leaves;

The field whose ears conceal the grain,

The yellow treasure of the plain;

All of these, and all I see,

Should be sung, and sung by me:

They speak their maker as they can,

But want and ask the tongue of man.

Go search among your idle dreams,

Your busy or your vain extremes;

And find a life of equal bliss,

Or own the next begun in this.

-Thomas Parnell (1679-1718)

Each and All

"...All are needed by each one;
Nothing is fair or good alone.
I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home, in his nest, at even;
He sings the song, but it pleases not now,
For I did not bring home the river and sky;-
He sang to my ear,-they sang to my eye.

The delicate shells lay on the shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave;
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me.
I wiped away the weeds and foam,
I fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore,
With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar..."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Becalmed

Becalmed upon the sea of Thought,
Still unattained the land is sought,
My mind, with loosely-hanging sails,
Lies waiting the auspicious gales.

On either side, behind, before,
The ocean stretches like a floor,-
A level floor of amethyst,
Crowned by a golden dome of mist.

Blow, breath of inspiration, blow!
Shake and uplift this golden glow!
And fill the canvas of the mind
With wafts of thy celestial wind.

Blow, breath of song! until I feel
The straining sail, the lifting keel,
The life of the awakening sea,
Its motion and its mystery!


-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

a poem on prayer

Praying

It doesn't have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try 

to make them elaborate, this isn't

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.

-Mary Oliver

I Meant to do my Work Today

I meant to do my work today-

But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,

And a butterfly flitted across the field,

And all the leaves were calling me.

And the wind went sighing over the land

Tossing the grasses to and fro,

And a rainbow held out its shining hand-

So what could I do but laugh and go?

-Richard LeGallienne

The Seed Shop

Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry-
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.

Dead that shall quicken at the call of Spring,

Sleepers to stir beneath June's magic kiss,

Though birds pass over, unremembering,

And no bee seeks here roses that were his.

In this brown hush, a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century's streams.
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.

Here in their safe and simple house of death,

Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap;

Here I can blow a garden with my breath,

And in my hand a forest lies asleep.

-Muriel Stuart

The Tree

I love thee when thy swelling buds appear

And one by one their tender leaves unfold,

As if they knew that warmer suns were near,

Nor longer sought to hide from winter's cold.

And when with darker growth thy leaves are seen,

To veil from view the early robin's nest,

I love to lie beneath  thy waving screen

With limbs by summer's heat and toil oppressed.

And when the autumn winds have stripped thee bare,

And round thee lies the smooth, untrodden snow,

When naught is thine that made thee once so fair,

I love to watch thy shadowy form below,

And through thy leafless arms to look above

On stars that brighter beam when most we need their love.

-Jones Very

"Heavy"

Heavy

That time

I thought I could not

go any closer to grief

without dying

I went closer,

and I did not die.

Surely God

had His hand in this,

as well as friends.

Still, I was bent,

and my laughter,

as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.

Then said my friend Daniel

(brave even among lions),

"It's not the weight you carry

but how you carry it-

books, bricks, grief-

it's all in the way

you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not,

put it down."

So I went practicing.

Have you noticed?

Have you heard

the laughter

that comes, now and again,

out of my startled mouth?

How I linger

to admire, admire, admire

the things of this world

that are kind, and maybe

also troubled-

roses in the wind,

the sea geese on the steep waves,

a love

to which there is no reply?

-Mary Oliver

The Young Dandelion

I am a bold fellow

As ever was seen,

With my shield of yellow,

And my blade of green.

You may uproot me

From field and from lane;

Trample me, cut me,

I spring up again.

I never flinch, sir;

Wherever I dwell;

Give me an inch, sir,

I'll soon take an ell.

Drive me from garden

In anger and pride,

I'll thrive and harden

By the roadside.

Not a bit fearful,

Showing my face,

Always so cheerful,

In every place.

-Dinah Mulock Craik

Smells

Through all the frozen winter

My nose has grown most lonely

For lovely, lovely colored smells

That come in springtime only.

The purple smell of lilacs,

The yellow smell that blows

Across the air of meadows

Where bright forsythia grows.

The tall pink smell of peach trees,

The low white smell of clover,

And everywhere the great green smell 

of grass the whole world over.

-Kathryn Worth

Christmas Bells

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world received from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep
"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!"

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Breaks Free

I just want to be
where the earth breaks free
of concrete and metal and glass,
of asphalt and plastic and gas,
where sun is king
and water is queen,
where cactus grow tall
and the air is clean.
I just want to be
where the earth breaks free
of fences and alleys and walls,
of factories and traffic and malls,
where owls sleep
in the heart of day
waiting for sunset
to hunt their prey,
where mountains rise
in seas of sand
and coyotes roam
across the land.

-Frank Asch

People

Some people talk and talk

and never say a thing.

Some people look at you

 and birds begin to sing.

Some people laugh and laugh

and yet you want to cry.

Some people touch your hand

and music fills the sky.

-Charlotte Zolotow

Oh, For a Book

Oh, for a book and shady nook,

Either in door or out;

With the green leaves whisp'ring

overhead or the street cries all about.

Where I may read all at my ease,

both of the new and old;

For a jolly good book whereon to

look is better to me than gold.

-Christopher North

My Symphony

To live content with small means,

to seek elegance rather than luxury,

and refinement rather than fashion,

to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich,

to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly,

to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages with open heart,

to bear all cheerfully,

do all bravely,

await occasions,

hurry never-

in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious,

grow up through the common.

This is to be my symphony.

-William Ellery Channing

God's World

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide gray skies!
Thy mists that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry and color! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, world, I cannot get thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart. Lord, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
My soul is all but out of me,-let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Be Like the Bird

Be like the bird, who

Resting in his flight

On a twig too slight

Feels it give way beneath him,

Yet sings

Knowing he has wings.

-Victor Hugo

Merry Autumn Days

'Tis pleasant on a fine spring morn

To see the buds expand;

'Tis pleasant in the summer time

To see the fruitful land;

'Tis pleasant on a winter's night

To sit around the blaze,

But what are joys like these, my boys,

To merry autumn days!

We hail the merry autumn days,

When leaves are turning red;

Because they're far more beautiful

Than anyone has said,

We hail the merry harvest time,

The gayest of the year;

The time of rich and bounteous crops,

Rejoicing and good cheer.

-Charles Dickens

Among the Scattered Stars

I (Renee) have been lacking the inspiration to blog on this blog. What with selling our house, homeschooling and all the other things that make life full, my mental energy has run a bit low. On an up note though, I have taken an interest (a small one) in reading poetry. I am fascinated by the poet's use of different words and how they intermingle to describe some indescribable thing. 

So since I love to share what's going on in my life and sometimes what I'm thinking I'll be sharing a poem that caught my fancy until my mental inspiration revives and I can once again share my own thoughts.

To start, I'll share one about the moon. Right now it is a waning full moon. And as the wind blows and the leaves fall, and the nights get darker, and the temperature drops every week, I will nestle into Love and find comfort in Him and in His gifted poets.

The Wind and The Moon

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out;

You stare

In the air

Like a ghost in a chair,

Always looking what I am about;

I hate to be watched; I will blow you out."

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.

So, Deep

On a heap

Of clouds to sleep,

Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon-

Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon."

He turned in his bed; she was there again!

On high,

In the sky,

With her one ghost eye,

The Moon shone white and alive and plain,

Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again."

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim,

"With my sledge

And my wedge

I have knocked off her edge!

If only I blow right fierce and grim,

The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."

He blew and blew, and she thinned to a thread.

"One puff

More's enough

To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred,

And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go that thread!"

He blew a great blast and the thread was gone.

In the air

Nowhere

Was a moonbeam bare;

Far-off and harmless the shy stars shone;

Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more;

On down,

In town,

Like a merry-mad clown,

He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar-

"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage; he danced and blew;

But in vain

Was the pain

Of his bursting brain;

For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew

The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew, till she filled the night,

And shone

On her throne

In the sky alone,

A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,

Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the night.

Said the Wind, "What a marvel of power am I!"

With my breath,

Good faith,

I blew her to death-

First blew her away right out of the sky-

Then blew her right in; what strength have I!"

But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair;

For high

In the sky

With her one white eye,

Motionless, miles above the air,

She had never heard the great Wind blare.

-George MacDonald