Cheer me all the while

=0=0=0=

A l l   I n   T h e   W r i s t

Laurelwood Cemetery

Rock Hill, South Carolina

=0=0=0=

Take the world, but give me Jesus

All its joys are but a name

But His love abideth ever

Through eternity the same.

Take the world, but give me Jesus

Sweetest comfort of my soul

With my Saviour watching o'er me

I can sing though billows roll.

Take the world, but give me Jesus

Let me view His constant smile

Then throughout my pilgrim journey

Light will cheer me all the while.

Take the world, but give me Jesus

In His cross my trust shall be

Till with clearer, brighter vision

Face to face my Lord I see.

O the height and depth of mercy

O the length and breadth of love

O the fullness of redemption

Pledge of endless life above.

= Fanny J. Crosby =

=0=0=0=

Abide in me, and I in you.

As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself,

except it abide in the vine;

no more can ye, except ye abide in me.

John 15:4

=0=0=0=

Happy Sunday

When the golden mists are born

=0=0=0=

G o l d   O n   H o l d

Lake Murray

Columbia, South Carolina

=0=0=0=

Rarely, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
'Tis since thou are fled away.

How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.

As a lizard with the shade
Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismay'd;
Even the sighs of grief
Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.

Let me set my mournful ditty
To a merry measure;
Thou wilt never come for pity,
Thou wilt come for pleasure;
Pity then will cut away
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves dress'd,
And the starry night;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.

I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Everything almost
Which is Nature's, and may be
Untainted by man's misery.

I love tranquil solitude,
And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good;
Between thee and me
What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.

I love Love -- though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things,
Spirit, I love thee --
Thou art love and life! Oh come,
Make once more my heart thy home.

= Percy Bysshe Shelley =

=0=0=0=

Happy Saturday

Part of the meaning, part of the mind

=0=0=0=

K e e p i n g   t h e   T o m e f i r e s   B u r n i n g

Front Room Bookshelves

Columbia, South Carolina

=0=0=0=

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.

= Wallace Stevens =

=0=0=0=

Happy Friday

Sweet for a hundred miles

=0=0=0=

H a v i n g   A   L o o k - S e e

Andrew :: Irmo Fire Station

Columbia, South Carolina

=0=0=0=

There is so much sweetness in children's voices,
And so much discontent at the end of day,
And so much satisfaction when a train goes by.

I don't know why the rooster keeps crying,
Nor why elephants keep raising their trunks,
Nor why Hawthorne kept hearing trains at night.

A handsome child is a gift from God,
And a friend is a vein in the back of the hand,
And a wound is an inheritance from the wind.

Some say we are living at the end of time,
But I believe a thousand pagan ministers
Will arrive tomorrow to baptize the wind.

There's nothing we need to do about John. The Baptist
Has been laying his hands on earth for so long
That the well water is sweet for a hundred miles.

It's all right if we don't know what the rooster
Is saying in the middle of the night, nor why we feel
So much satisfaction when a train goes by. 

= Robert Bly =

=0=0=0=

Happy Thursday