The same through tests of time

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W i t h   a   B r o k e n   W i n g

Grove Street Cemetery

New Haven, Connecticut

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Love divine, so great and wondrous

Deep and mighty, pure, sublime

Coming from the heart of Jesus

Just the same through tests of time.

He the pearly gates will open

So that I may enter in

For he purchased my redemption

And forgave me all my sin.

Like a dove when hunted, frightened

As a wounded fawn was I

Brokenhearted, yet He healed me

He will heed the sinner's cry.

Love divine, so great and wondrous

All my sins he then forgave

I will sing His praise forever

For His blood, His pow'r to save.

In life's eventide, at twilight

At His door I'll knock and wait

By the precious love of Jesus

I shall enter Heaven's gate.

He the pearly gates will open

So that I may enter in

For He purchased my redemption

And forgave me all my sin.

= Fredrick A. Blom =

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But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard,

neither have entered into the heart of man,

the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.

I Corinthians 2:9

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Happy Sunday

Upon their silver feet

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T i m e   I n   N e w   E n g l a n d

The Congregational Church

Belchertown, Massachusetts

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How still the Bells in Steeples stand

Till swollen with the Sky

They leap upon their silver Feet

In frantic Melody!

= Emily Dickinson =

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Happy Saturday

I know the magic word

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I ' m   L i c h e n   I t

Mount Olivet Cemetery

Nashville, Tennessee

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Now the dead past seems vividly alive,
And in this shining moment I can trace,
Down through the vista of the vanished years,
Your faun-like form, your fond elusive face.

And suddenly come secret spring’s released,
And unawares a riddle is revealed,
And I can read like large, black-lettered print,
What seemed before a thing forever sealed.

I know the magic word, the graceful thought,
The song that fills me in my lucid hours,
The spirit’s wine that thrills my body through,
And makes me music-drunk, are yours, all yours.

I cannot praise, for you have passed from praise,
I have no tinted thoughts to paint you true;
But I can feel and I can write the word;
The best of me is but the least of you.

= Claude McKay =

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Happy Friday

The last heavy sweetness

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U p   Y o u   G o

Green-Wood Cemetery

Brooklyn, New York

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Lord, it is time. Summer was very great.
Now cast your shadow upon sundials.
Let winds remind meadows it is late.

Mellow now the last fruits on the vine.
Allow them only two more southern days.
Hasten them to fulness, and press
The last heavy sweetness through the wine.

Who has no home can not build now.
Who dwells alone must now remain alone;
Will waken, read, write long letters, and
Will wander restlessly when leaves are blowing.

= Ted Berrigan =

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Happy Thursday

Neither left nor right

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P e t a l   P u s h i n g

Kensico Cemetery

Valhalla, New York

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Now it is Loneliness who comes at night
Instead of Sleep, to sit beside my bed.
Like a tired child I lie and wait her tread,
I watch her softly blowing out the light.
Motionless sitting, neither left or right
She turns, and weary, weary droops her head.
She, too, is old; she, too, has fought the fight.
So, with the laurel she is garlanded.

Through the sad dark the slowly ebbing tide
Breaks on a barren shore, unsatisfied.
A strange wind flows ... then silence. I am fain
To turn to Loneliness, to take her hand,
Cling to her, waiting, till the barren land
Fills with the dreadful monotone of rain.

= Katherine Mansfield =

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Happy Wednesday