Like one in danger

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P o i n t e d   L o o k s

Zion Chapel of Ease Cemetery

Hilton Head Island, South Carolina

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A Bird came down the Walk --

He did not know I saw --

He bit an Angleworm in halves

And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank a Dew

From a convenient Grass --

And then hopped sidewise to the Wall

To let a Beetle pass --

He glanced with rapid eyes

That hurried all around --

They looked like frightened Beads, I thought --

He stirred his Velvet Head

Like one in danger, Cautious,

I offered him a Crumb

And he unrolled his feathers

And rowed him softer home --

Than Oars divide the Ocean,

Too silver for a seam --

Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon

Leap, plashless as they swim.

= Emily Dickinson =

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Happy Monday

The glories of my God

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O n   H i g h

Elmwood Cemetery

Charlotte, North Carolina

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Majestic sweetness sits enthroned
Upon the Savior’s brow;
His head with radiant glories crowned,
His lips with grace o’erflow.

Survey the beauties of His face,
And on His glories dwell;
Think of the wonders of His grace,
And all His triumphs tell.

No mortal can with Him compare
Among the sons of men;
Fairer is He than all the fair
Who fill the heav’nly train.

He saw me plunged in deep distress
And flew to my relief;
For me He bore the shameful cross
And carried all my grief.

His hand a thousand blessings pours
Upon my guilty head:
His presence gilds my darkest hours,
And guards my sleeping bed.

To Him I owe my life and breath
And all the joys I have;
He makes me triumph over death
And saves me from the grave.

To Heav’n, the place of His abode,
He brings my weary feet;
Shows me the glories of my God,
And makes my joys complete.

Since from His bounty I receive
Such proofs of love divine,
Had I a thousand hearts to give,
Lord, they should all be Thine.

= Samuel Stennett =

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Bless the LORD, O my soul.

O LORD my God, thou art very great;

thou art clothed with honour and majesty.

Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment:

who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain:

Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters:

who maketh the clouds his chariot:

who walketh upon the wings of the wind:

Who maketh his angels spirits; his ministers a flaming fire:

Who laid the foundations of the earth,

that it should not be removed for ever.

Psalm 104:1-5

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Happy Sunday

A perfect beauty in rhyme

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A m e r i c a n   G o t h i c

Elmwood Cemetery

Charlotte, North Carolina

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O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes,
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies:
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.

= William Butler Yeats =

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Happy Saturday

Who shall live and flee it

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W o r d

Six Oaks Cemetery at Sea Pines

Hilton Head Island, South Carolina

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Sweet life, if life were stronger,
Earth clear of years that wrong her,
Then two things might live longer,
Two sweeter things than they;
Delight, the rootless flower,
And love, the bloomless bower;
Delight that lives an hour,
And love that lives a day.

So hath it been, so be it;
For who shall live and flee it?
But look that no man see it
Or hear it unaware;
Lest all who love and choose him
See Love, and so refuse him
For all who find him lose him,
But all have found him fair.

= Algernon Charles Swinburne =

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Happy Thursday

Water out of sunlight

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R a i s i n g   t h e   B a r

Magnolia Cemetery

Charleston, South Carolina

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Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
 But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.

Other echoes

Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
To look down into the drained pool.
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

From Four Quartets

= T.S. Eliot =

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Happy Thursday