My light with yours

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G l o w i n g   A w a y

Elmwood Dogwood

Columbia, South Carolina

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When the sea has devoured the ships,
And the spires and the towers
Have gone back to the hills.
And all the cities
Are one with the plains again.
And the beauty of bronze,
And the strength of steel
Are blown over silent continents,
As the desert sand is blown —
My dust with yours forever.

When folly and wisdom are no more,
And fire is no more,
Because man is no more;
When the dead world slowly spinning
Drifts and falls through the void —
My light with yours
In the Light of Lights forever!

= Edgar Lee Masters =

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Happy Tuesday

What it means to bless

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H o l e - y   T o l e d o

State Lunatic Asylum Grounds (Abandoned)

Columbia, South Carolina

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Time too is afraid of passing, is riddled with holes
through which time feels itself leaking.
Time sweats in the middle of the night
when all the other dimensions are sleeping.
Time has lost every picture of itself as a child.
Now time is old, leathery and slow.
Can’t sneak up on anyone anymore,
Can’t hide in the grass, can’t run, can’t catch.
Can’t figure out how not to trample
what it means to bless.

= Joy Ladin =

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Happy Monday

Safely reach my home

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F a i t h   I s   T h e   K e y

First Presbyterian Church Cemetery

Columbia, South Carolina

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When I can read my title clear

To mansions in the skies

I bid farewell to every fear

And wipe my weeping eyes

I bid farewell to every fear

And wipe my weeping eyes.

Should earth against my soul engage

And hellish darts be hurled

Then I can smile at Satan's rage

And face a frowning world

Then I can smile at Satan's rage

And face a frowning world.

Let cares like a wild deluge come

And storms of sorrow fall

May I but safely reach my home

My God, my heav'n, my all

May I but safely reach my home

My God, my heav'n, my all.

There shall I bathe my weary soul

In seas of heav'nly rest

And not a wave of trouble roll

Across my peaceful breast

And not a wave of trouble roll

Across my peaceful breast.

= Isaac Watts =

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Let not your heart be troubled:

ye believe in God, believe also in me.

In my Father's house are many mansions:

if it were not so, I would have told you.

I go to prepare a place for you.

John 14:1-2

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Happy Sunday

Hungry all the years

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T i m e   W i l l   T e l l

Grand Central Station

New York, New York

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I had been hungry, all the Years --

My Noon had Come -- to dine --

I trembling drew the Table near --

And touched the Curious Wine --

'Twas this on Tables I had seen --

When turning, hungry, Home

I looked in Windows, for the Wealth

I could not hope -- for Mine --

I did not know the ample Bread --

'Twas so unlike that Crumb

The Birds and I, had often shared

In Nature's -- Dining Room --

The Plenty hurt me -- 'twas so new --

Myself felt ill -- and odd --

As Berry -- of a Mountain Bush --

Transplanted -- to the Road --

Nor was I hungry -- so I found

That Hunger -- was a way

Of Persons outside Windows --

The Entering -- takes away --

= Emily Dickinson =

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Happy Saturday

A magic made by melody

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L B D

Furman University

Greenville, South Carolina

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I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
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 =

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Happy Friday