Loved deeplier, darklier understood

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E n g a g e m e n t   G o t h i c

Megrew :: Hopelands Gardens

Aiken, South Carolina

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Dear friend, far off, my lost desire,

So far, so near in woe and weal;

O loved the most, when most I feel

There is a lower and a higher;

Known and unknown; human, divine;

Sweet human hand and lips and eye;

Dear heavenly friend that canst not die,

Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine;

Strange friend, past, present, and to be;

Loved deeplier, darklier understood;

Behold, I dream a dream of good,

And mingle all the world with thee.

= Alfred, Lord Tennyson =

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Happy Saturday

That joy and love may dawn like newborn days

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H i g h e r   P l e a s e

Elmwood Cemetery

Memphis, Tennessee

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There will come that which ever pleases Thee;

For surely Thou dost love the good of men.

Help me to make the things that beauty hold

Amid these veering lines and diverse shades,

That cheer will bring to sad and solemn men

And tired women in their dreary haunts,

That youth will not forget on highways hard

With troubled years, when somber night is on,

And when no kindly light leads through the way,

That joy and love may dawn like newborn days

In hearts where long the chambers have been dark.

Let lowly life and dusty daily toil

Come near me evermore and day by day,

That I forget not them that still are kind

Though tried by years of unrequited toil,

Alas! and sometimes want and age and pain.

Let me not love my pictures more than men,

Nor follow the wild lead of some mad dream,

Nor see myself as if above the crowd

Commanding that they all bow low their heads;

Instead, with kindly heart and gentle hand

And smiles upon my face, let me serve them

Whose muscles ache in evening's twilight hour,

While mine in comfort still are fresh and strong.

May all these be not empty, idle words,

But all the burden of my life's sweet task.

And when Thou seest that my work is done,

Let me feel Thy soft evening shadows fall,

As when I climbed into my nursery bed

With childish faith, in time's old long ago;

And let the kiss of peace lie on my lips.

= Max Ehrmann =

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Happy Friday

Restless dream all done

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G o n e   H o m e

St. Helena's Episcopal Church Cemetery

Beaufort, South Carolina

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Going home, going home

I'm just going home

Quiet-like, slip away

I'll be going home

It's not far, just close by

Jesus is the Door

Work all done, laid aside

Fear and grief no more

Friends are there waiting now

He is waiting too

See His smile! See His hand!

He will lead me through.

Morning Star lights the way

Restless dream all done

Shadows gone, break of day

Life has just begun

Ev'ry tear wiped away

Pain and sickness gone

Wide awake there with Him

Peace goes on and on

Going home, going home

I'll be going home

See the Light! See the Sun!

I'm just going home.

= William Arms Fisher / Ken Bible =

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Happy Thursday

Only remember me

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G o n e   A w a y

Bonaventure Cemetery

Savannah, Georgia

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Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more, day by day,

You tell me of our future that you planned;

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve;

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

= Christina Rossetti =

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Happy Wednesday

My cowardice I keep

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M a d e   i n   t h e   S h a d e

Beaufort National Cemetery

Beaufort, South Carolina

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When I am dead, this be my will

And codicil:

To earth I do bequeathe and give
My fugitive
Obstreperous flesh, for flower and wheat
Blithely to eat.

My bones enduring tracery,
I leave to be
Exhibit labelled -- categoric --
"Man: prehistoric."
Having no need of it, past death,
I give my breath
To air, that is the bird's abode
And the sun's road.

The world -- her Maytime trees that loom
White hills of bloom, --
Her bluebirds like winged iris shaken
Where buds awaken, --
Her cloud-deep skies, or daisy thicket
Shading the cricket, --
I leave to any who, like me,
Has eyes to see.

I give -- if it persists -- my song
To bless and throng
The swift twelve winds of the world that fly
Through all the sky,
Blown -- a winged thistleseed of sound --
Toward its own ground.

I yield that love that tortured me
With ecstasy
To any strong enough to bear
Joy of despair.

As for my joy itself, I deed it
To all who need it --
Hitch-hikers, seedy and too grey ...
Or dogs astray
At whom the careless hand has thrown
The careful stone.

Sadness, that made my young heart grave,
I give to save
All of earth's callous ones who go
Unhelped by woe;
My loneliness to everyone
Who seeks the sun.

To my lord, Don Quixote, hurled
Against the world
By his own nobleness, to be
Men's mockery,
I will my madness -- to increase
His tragic peace.

My cowardice I keep: of such
Men have too much.

To scholars for inheritance,
My ignorance!
Pure darkness, eager for truth's white
Amazing light.

I deed my laughter to the wise,
To clear their eyes;
And any surplus to a cow --
For she knows how
To moo and put a poker face
On the world's grace,
Making by genial occult powers
Cream out of flowers.

I give my anger and my hate
To wake, though late,
Albino gentle souls that dwell
Meekly in hell;
I will my lazy calm to bless
Their restlessness
Who take nine stitches to save one
Best left undone.

I leave my strength to aid the rose
Against the snows;
My patience to the snows that keep
Earth safe asleep.

I give the Dawn for those to take
Who are awake.

Last, I leave Death whatever he
Can hold of me.

= E. Merrill Root =

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Happy Tuesday