Saved to sin no more

>>>>++<<<<

E l b o w   R o o m

Mount Olivet Cemetery

Nashville, Tennessee

>>>>++<<<<

There is a fountain filled with blood

Drawn from Emmanuel's veins

And sinners plunged beneath that flood

Lose all their guilty stains

Lose all their guilty stains, lose all their guilty stains

And sinners plunged beneath that flood

Lose all their guilty stains!

The dying thief rejoiced to see

That fountain in his day

And there may I, though vile as he

Wash all my sins away

Wash all my sins away, wash all my sins away

And there may I, though vile as he

Wash all my sins away!

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood

Shall never lose its pow'r

Till all the ransomed church of God

Be saved to sin no more

Be saved to sin no more, be saved to sin no more

Till all the ransomed church of God

Be saved to sin no more!

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream

Thy flowing wounds supply

Redeeming love has been my theme

And shall be till I die

And shall be till I die, and shall be till I die

Redeeming love has been my theme

And shall be till I die!

Then in a nobler, sweeter song

I'll sing Thy pow'r to save

When this poor lisping, stam'ring tongue

Lies silent in the grave

Lies silent in the grave, lies silent in the grave

When this poor lisping, stam'ring tongue

Lies silent in the grave!

Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared

Unworthy though I be

For me a blood-bought free reward

A golden harp for me

'Tis strung and tuned for endless years

And formed by pow'r divine

To sound in God the Father's ears

No other name but Thine!

> William Cowper <

>>>>++<<<<

Herein is love, not that we loved God,

but that he loved us, and sent his Son

to be the propitiation for our sins.

I John 4:10

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Sunday

Wild roses in your wreath

>>>>++<<<<

I   S a w   T h e   L i g h t

Graceland Cemetery

Chicago, Illinois

>>>>++<<<<

When we came home across the hill
No leaves were fallen from the trees;
The gentle fingers of the breeze
Had torn no quivering cobweb down.

The hedgerow bloomed with flowers still,
No withered petals lay beneath;
But the wild roses in your wreath
Were faded, and the leaves were brown.

> T.S. Eliot <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Saturday

This larger dome of blue and white

>>>>++<<<<

T h e   O n l y   W a y   I s   U p

Duke Chapel :: Duke University

Durham, North Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary’s cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

> Billy Collins <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Friday

Grammar of justice

>>>>++<<<<

T h e   S t a r r y   S t a r e

Quaker Burial Ground

Camden, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

A voice from the dark called out,
‘The poets must give us
imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
the absence of war.’
 

But peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can’t be imagined before it is made,
can’t be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.
 

 A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.
 

A line of peace might appear
if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned our needs, allowed
long pauses ...
 

A cadence of peace might balance its weight
on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
an energy field more intense than war,
might pulse then,
stanza by stanza into the world,
each act of living
one of its words, each word
a vibration of light -- facets
of the forming crystal.

> Denise Levertov <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Wednesday

The spears of the spring

>>>>++<<<<

T a k e   a   N e o n

Elmo's Diner

Durham, North Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

If we could get the hang of it entirely
It would take too long;
All we know is the splash of words in passing
And falling twigs of song,
And when we try to eavesdrop on the great
Presences it is rarely
That by a stroke of luck we can appropriate
Even a phrase entirely.

If we could find our happiness entirely
In somebody else’s arms
We should not fear the spears of the spring nor the city’s
Yammering fire alarms
But, as it is, the spears each year go through
Our flesh and almost hourly
Bell or siren banishes the blue
Eyes of Love entirely.

And if the world were black or white entirely
And all the charts were plain
Instead of a mad weir of tigerish waters,
A prism of delight and pain,
We might be surer where we wished to go 
Or again we might be merely
Bored but in brute reality there is no
Road that is right entirely.

> Louis MacNiece <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Tuesday

This awful key to my infinity

>>>>++<<<<

D e t a i l   : :   B l a c k   D o o r

West Congress Street

Savannah, Georgia

>>>>++<<<<

I plucked my soul out of its secret place,

And held it to the mirror of my eye,

To see it like a star against the sky,

A twitching body quivering in space,

A spark of passion shining on my face.

And I explored it to determine why

This awful key to my infinity

Conspires to rob me of sweet joy and grace.

And if the sign may not be fully read,

If I can comprehend but not control,

I need not gloom my days with futile dread,

Because I see a part and not the whole.

Contemplating the strange, I'm comforted

By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.

> Claude McKay <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Monday

Like the stars of the morning

>>>>++<<<<

F e a t h e r   W e a t h e r

Rose Hill Cemetery

Macon, Georgia

>>>>++<<<<

When He cometh, when He cometh

To make up His jewels

All His jewels, precious jewels

His loved and His own

Like the stars of the morning

His brightness adorning

They shall shine in their beauty

Bright gems for His crown

He will gather, He will gather

The gems for His Kingdom

All the pure ones, all the bright ones

His loved and His own

Little children, little children

Who love their Redeemer

Are the jewels, precious jewels

His loved and His own

Like the stars of the morning

His brightness adorning

All His jewels, precious jewels

His loved and His own.

> William O. Cushing <

>>>>++<<<<

And they shall be mine, saith the LORD of hosts, in that day

when I make up my jewels; and I will spare them,

as a man spareth his own son that serveth him.

Malachi 3:17

And the LORD their God shall save them in that day

as the flock of his people:

 for they shall be as the stones of a crown,

lifted up as an ensign upon his land.

Zechariah 9:16

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Sunday :: Happy Spring

To warm with life

>>>>++<<<<

A   N e w   G r e e n   D e a l

Harry Easterling Bridge

Peak, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

Is there another world for this frail dust
To warm with life and be itself again?
Something about me daily speaks there must,
And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain?
'Tis nature's prophesy that such will be,
And everything seems struggling to explain
The close sealed volume of its mystery.
Time wandering onward keeps its usual pace
As seeming anxious of eternity,
To meet that calm and find a resting place.
E'en the small violet feels a future power
And waits each year renewing blooms to bring,
And surely man is no inferior flower
To die unworthy of a second spring?

> John Clare <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Friday

Little goods I have not thought of

>>>>++<<<<

D u e   C o n s i d e r a t i o n

Glenwood Cemetery

Tupelo, Mississippi

>>>>++<<<<

Who am I worthless that You spent such pains
and take may pains again?
I do not understand; but I believe.
Jonquils respond with wit to the teasing breeze.

Induct me down my secrets. Stiffen this heart
to stand their horrifying cries, O cushion
the first the second shocks, will to a halt
in mid-air there demons who would be at me.

May fade before, sweet morning on sweet morning,
I wake my dreams, my fan-mail go astray,
and do me little goods I have not thought of,
ingenious & beneficial Father.

Ease in their passing my beloved friends,
all others too I have cared for in a travelling life,
anyone anywhere indeed. Lift up
sober toward truth a scared self-estimate.

> John Berryman <

>>>>++<<<<

In loving memory of my dear friend

Sherry Maureen Hutson Camperson

on what would have been her 68th birthday

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Thursday

Dream flushed to glow

>>>>++<<<<

I n   N e e d   O f   B a s e b a l l

Fenway Park

Boston, Massachusetts

>>>>++<<<<

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

> Elizabeth Bishop <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Wednesday