strength to prayhope to livethe window's handstretched out to give
eyes to seeears to heara hungry souldrawing near
Lord my Godi am not strongi need your Sonto carry on
slothful waysstubborn sinswithout your gracedoubting wins
obey, my soulyour Savior's voicelove, not hate,must be your choice
a heart of changean open handthe sound of rainupon the land
Christ, my all,you bore my shameforgave the debt -I praise your Name!
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| Bittersweet October. -jcs- The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter. - C.B. Hipps - |
n.
a. A coarse trailing vine (Cucurbita pepo) widely cultivated for its fruit.
b. The large pulpy round fruit of this plant, having a thick, orange-yellow rind and numerous seeds.
c. Something very autumn-ish that Cate painted with her new watercolor set.
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| -jcs- |
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| Christmas lights in the kitchen...i love the cozy glow |
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| J surprised me with a whole bunch of succulents. Each one is unique. |
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| my miniature forest |
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| Tray from Goodwill (yay spraypaint!). I'm ready to serve J breakfast in bed...if law school ever lets him sleep in long enough for that to happen! |
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| Before |
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| After |
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| (harper's ferry, jcs) |
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.
There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.
The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.
“A small knowledge of history depresses one with the sense of the everlasting mass and weight of human iniquity: old, old, dreary, endless repetitive unchanging incurable wickedness ... At the same time one knows that there is always good: much more hidden, much less clearly discerned, seldom breaking out into recognizable, visible beauties of word or deed or face — not even when in fact sanctity, far greater than the visible advertised wickedness, is really there.”
–J.R.R. Tolkien, in a letter to his son Christopher, 1944
The World
by Henry Vaughan
I saw Eternity the other night
Like a great Ring of pure and endless light
All calm as it was bright;
And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years,
Driven by the spheres,
Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world
And all her train were hurled.
The doting Lover in his quaintest strain
Did there complain;
Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights,
Wit's sour delights;
With gloves and knots, the silly snares of pleasure;
Yet his dear treasure
All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour
Upon a flower.
The darksome Statesman hung with weights and woe,
Like a thick midnight fog, moved there so slow
He did nor stay nor go;
Condemning thoughts, like sad eclipses, scowl
Upon his soul,
And clouds of crying witnesses without
Pursued him with one shout.
Yet digged the mole, and, lest his ways be found,
Worked under ground,
Where he did clutch his prey; but One did see
That policy.
Churches and altars fed him, perjuries
Were gnats and flies;
It rained about him blood and tears, but he
Drank them as free.
The fearful Miser on a heap of rust
Sat pining all his life there, did scarce trust
His own hands with the dust;
Yet would not place one piece above, but lives
In fear of thieves.
Thousands there were as frantic as himself,
And hugged each one his pelf.
The downright Epicure placed heaven in sense
And scorned pretence;
While others, slipped into a wide excess,
Said little less;
The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares enslave,
Who think them brave;
And poor despisèd Truth sat counting by
Their victory.
Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,
And sing and weep, soared up into the Ring;
But most would use no wing.
'Oh, fools,' said I, 'thus to prefer dark night
Before true light,
To live in grots and caves, and hate the day
Because it shows the way,
The way which from this dead and dark abode
Leaps up to God,
A way where you might tread the sun, and be
More bright than he.'
But as I did their madness so discuss,
One whispered thus,
This Ring the Bridegroom did for none provide
But for his Bride.
I have seen the wanderers on their wanderings
entranced by the sun but blind to the light.
Convinced the journey is redemption, they admire their worn sandals
and will not stop for water. Neither jeweled oasis nor humble cottage
will do, for they wear weariness as a virtue and
thirst as a badge of wisdom. They have no goal,
no aim, for (they say) it is arrogant to think there is Rest anywhere.
They grow belligerent when they see women by the Well,
laughing and draining Water from a simple cup. They scoff,
nursing their parched tongues and encouraging each other
not to break down and drink. "For," they say, "how do we
know if that is really water for drinking...or if it's even water at all?"
Their greatest fear is being satisfied, for Thirst is their god,
and they worship by wandering in the desert...
“But as for you who forsake the LORDand forget my holy mountain, who spread a table for Fortune & fill bowls of mixed wine for Destiny, I will destine you for the sword, & all of you will fall in the slaughter; for I called but you did not answer, I spoke but you did not listen. You did evil in my sight & chose what displeases me.”
Therefore this is what the Sovereign LORD says:
“My servants will eat, but you will go hungry; my servants will drink, but you will go thirsty; my servants will rejoice, but you will be put to shame. My servants will sing out of the joy of their hearts, but you will cry out from anguish of heart & wail in brokenness of spirit. - Isaiah 65:11-14
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| He fell in love with a dark-eyed girl as she walked in the garden after noon (oh how the time as flown!) |
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