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Posted on 03/07/2006 9:06:41 PM PST by Soaring Feather
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WOW, here in my neck of the woods the snow is gone. ;)
I'd take moisture here . . . no matter the form . . . we are DRY!!!
STERN Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And clam'st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried:
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself command
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh! let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And, in the light of truth, thy Bondman let me live!
by: William Wordsworth (1770-1850)Good Miss Feather and Fellow Lairites . . . see you tomorrow.
Good night, dear lady of Hope and Glory.
I like it Uncle.
Good Morning, bentfeather!
Listening to the cast Unc, good selections!
Thank you.
Today is Monday, March 13, the 72nd day of 2006 with 293 to
follow. The moon is waxing. The morning stars are Mercury,
Uranus, Neptune, Jupiter, Pluto and Venus. The evening stars
are Mars and Saturn.
The following words have a similar characteristic. Can you
tell me what that is, apart from the fact that they are all
nouns?
1. Case
2. Keeper
3. Maker
4. Plate
5. Seller
6. Mark
7. Store
Oooops answers to follow at the end of the day.
Meditations on the Fourth Station of the Cross
(Jesus Meets His Mother on the Way to Calvary)
I
Did you feel your heart
beating in your throat
as the crowd closed in,
the swolen passover crowd,
some jeering,
some just strangers trying to see
what was happening,
blocking your access,
blocking your view,
blocking you.
Did you struggle through the backways
to catch up,
the need to be there
like panic
burning in your heart,
pulling you and the others
like a magnet,
your son,
your light
your life.
And when you finally caught up,
and saw him,
sprawled out on the road,
rough hands trying
to yank him upright,
bloody,
beaten,
exhausted,
muscles trembling in their fatigue,
and your hands were unable
to soothe the wounds,
and ease the pain,
did your voice dry up
in your grief
and shock
and longing to do
what you knew you couldn't,
to stop it all -
this thing God asked for
this thing you knew your son wanted?
Birthpangs
bitterer than any childbirth
this sword piercing your heart
as in your silent, grieving yes,
you became mother to the church.
II
How long ago you heard
the words of Simeon,
your dearest son
A sign of contradition,
a sword to pass through you,
and here it is,
that moment so long ago,
dreaded,
feared,
fulfilled.
It is not a long walk
from the judgement place
to the place of execution,
but the way is filled
with the passover crowd,
and the streets are narrow.
how you have to struggle,
trying to follow,
to get close,
to see.
The procession halts for a moment,
and soon you see why,
as he lies there,
bloody,
burdened,
tasting the dust of the street.
An exasperated soldier
begins a kick to motivate him,
but for some reason,
realizes the futility of it,
and begins to yank him up.
For a moment you touch him,
try to comfort him,
feel the sword go deeper into your heart.
How deep the sword must go before it is over.
III
Let us see it then,
That moment.
One tiny momement in time.
There he is,
the central person
of a sad procession,
the heavy crossbeam across his shoulders,
tied to his arms,
his head crowned with the ugly cap of thorns,
a trickle of blood down his forehead from their touch.
His face has started to swell from the bruising
homage the soldiers paid him,
blood seeps through the back of his robe
from the kiss of their whips.
She sees him then.
Their eyes meet,
He pauses,
stopping the sad procession.
No words pass between them.
No words need to be said.
She reaches out a hand,
Then the soldiers jerk his bonds forward to catch up with the rest.
IV
How thick the crowd must have seen,
O Lady of Sorrows,
as you threaded your way
in that numbing timelessness
that comes with crisis,
each second seeming to last minutes,
your son,
your son,
his beautiful face,
swollen,
bleeding, battered,
breaking your heart.
How much you must have wanted to scream
NONONONONO!
Don't let this be today,
now,
at this moment,
ever,
even though you knew he was given to you
for just this purpose,
and the sword you felt
had been fortold long ago.
How hard it must have been
not to throw yourself at the guards,
to some how get them to stop,
to let him rest,
to give him a chance
to change his mind
and make this all a nightmare.
And yet, you merely told God
Your will be done,
and continued on,
giving all you had
until the end
and darkness fell.
Good morning, ms feather.
Oh, very moving.
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