Song to the evening star

by Thomas Campbell
1777-1844

Star that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary labourer free!
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou
That send'st it from above,
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.

Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape's odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard
And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd
Curls yellow in the sun.

Star of love's soft interviews,
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in Heaven
Of thrilling vows thou art,
Too delicious to be riven,
By absence, from the heart.

Price Creek Cemetery

Echo

Echo

by Christina Rossetti
1830-1894

Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as
bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.

O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter-sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Para-
dise,
Where souls brim-full of love abide and meet;
Where thirsty longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
My very life again though cold in death;
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low,
As long ago my love, how long ago.

Be careful for nothing

Be careful for nothing. Phil.iv.6.

"Grief for things past that cannot be remedied, and cares for things to come that cannot be prevented, may easily hurt, can never benefit me." Bishop Hall.

Well I need these words today for lately there has poured forth much grief over our church spitting, friends we once held dear no longer in fellowship with. With no remedy in sight, we continue on, casting aside the cares and concern for the future as well, holding tightly upon the promise of our common Lord, to never leave nor forsake us.

Yard Sale Day

My sister returned from Dallas on Thursday and off the cuff decided on a yard sale Saturday. Went over to her house on Friday and drug out the tons of junk from my fathers place we have stored at my sisters. We arrived at 7am today and had a fair turn-out, making just $180 for all the work. We plan on doing it again the February 18th. Ugh. Hate yard sales.

All Tears

God shall wipe away all tears. Rev. 21:4

Beyond the smiling and the weeping,
I shall be soon;
Beyond the waking and the sleeping,
Beyond the sowing and the reaping,
I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Sweet hope!
Lord, tarry not, but come.

Bonar

.77 Illumination

Morning by Morning

He waketh morning by morning. He wakeneth mine ear to hear as the learned. Isaiah 2.4.

Morning exercises have ever been dear to enlightened, heaven-loving souls, and it has been their rule never to see the face of man till they have first seen the face of God. Spurgeon.


And too, after storm-tossed evening, in the struggling with sin, the restless night of drenching and shivering, it is comforting to experience the freshness of the morning, the comfort of forgiveness, the deep breath of the new start, to face another day. And yes, the thunder shall peal and the bolts jolt, and we shall become stranded. And then, again shall come the morning. For somewhere in the night, we do not quite recall, he has taken us in arm and set us upon the dry cleft, warm and safe within His keeping.

Of seeds and weeds

by jumpy john clare january

The agent sure did convincingly expound
The easy growing of the hybrid seeds
Hoeing under the straggly weeds
To reap a bounty from the fertile ground.

Then when it came time for the harvest
The fields looked such a beautiful white
But something didn't seem quite right
Under that white were weeds we missed.

Sure is tough planting crops that pay
Takes too long to glean those weeds
That agent sure sold us on those seeds
Who can you trust these days?

Planters trying to grow our gardens from Eden
Swine rooting about mixing seeds and weeds.

Kentucky Fans Understand....

"Rupp's Runts", easily the most popular team ever to play basketball for the University of Kentucky, came home yesterday. Their many, many fans in Fayette County didn't forget, either, despite a 72-65 loss to Texas Western Saturday night in the championship game of the NCAA tournament. About 800 greeted the Wildcats' chartered airplane at Blue Grass Field, ignoring a request by airport officials to wait for the team at Memorial Coliseum. Mrs. Donald Summers, 346 Hill n' Dale Road, waved signs saying, "Welcome Home, Our Champs" and "You Will Always Be Number One to Us." Everyone else either applauded or yelled as the Wildcats, led by Coach Adolph Rupp, came off the plane and on to a red carpet. Among the last off was senior Larry Conley, who looked tired and worn after playing two tournament games with a bad case of the flu. Meeting Conley and wrapping his arm around him was Bob Wright, who coached Conley at Ashland High and now coaches at Morehead State University. The players looked miserably sad as they lined up behind a microphone. Rupp stepped forward to speak as the crowd pressed closer.
From the book, Echoes of Kentucky Basketball
The Greatest Stories Ever Told

a blue is coming through

There we stood beneath the incoming blue
Why was it only we saw it coming through?
They travel across countries just to view
And there we stood rapt in the blue
We posted the view upon our page
Most thought it just a bit above average
You told me it wasn't worth the rage
To remember I am three times their age.
So with the blue glow fading fast
We commented, wasn't that nice
A blue coming through





For me and you

Sulphur Scribes

by john clare

We were never the poets we thought,
It's uncertain any words ever fell in place.
With each using of one, another went to waste,
The discarded word then vainly sought.

I sat beside a flower with my pen,
What words I knew I used.
Carefully composing the words I chose,
Like plucking choice gold leaves from fall winds.

A sulphur lit and to her I rhymed,
To me it was quite an event.
It was beyond any word written,
Poetical as Frost's best lines.

Then the Cranes came upon the breeze,
That sound from beyond time.
In itself a gathering of Nature's rhyme,
Each composing upon paper blue sky effortlessly.

It was then an order became evident,
I was freed from finding the rhyme,
Of trying to compose within the lines,
Before me rose a curtain un-rent.

The scene I saw was of threaded light,
We simply pull the needle slowly to see,
Only the light flecks this side of the tapestry,
Backing black yet necessary to see the
other side wedding white.

We are to give sound to the unheard,
Not mere poets but translators and scribes,
Preserving in word His light coursing ride,
Touching you, me, cloud, bee and bird.