Greatness your companion

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A n d r e w ' s   S u n s e t

Island of Guam, US Territory

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These are the clouds about the fallen sun,

The majesty that shuts his burning eye:

The weak lay hand on what the strong has done,

Till that be tumbled that was lifted high

And discord follow upon unison,

And all things at one common level lie.

And therefore, friend, if your great race were run

And these things came, so much the more thereby

Have you made greatness your companion,

Although it be for children that you sigh;

These are the clouds about the fallen sun,

The majesty that shuts his burning eye.

= William Butler Yeats =

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Happy Friday

Not a wind but whispers of thy name

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W r i t t e n   i n   S t o n e

Magnolia Cemetery

Augusta, Georgia

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There's not an hour

Of day, or dreaming night, but I am with thee:

There's not a wind but whispers of thy name;

And not a flower that sleeps beneath the moon

But in its fragrance tells a tale

Of thee.

There's not a look, a word of thine,

My soul hath e'er forgot;

Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine,

Nor given thy locks one graceful twine,

Which I remember not.

Thy imag'd form I shall survey,

And, pausing at the view,

Recall thy gentle smile, and say,

"Oh, such a maid I knew!"

= William Lisle Bowles =

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Happy Thursday

The rays of many glories

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S l e e p i n g   I n

Magnolia Cemetery

Augusta, Georgia

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See! Their verses are laid
as mosaic gold to gold
gold to lapis lazuli
white marble to porphyry
stone shouldering stone, the dice
polished alike, there is
no cement seen and no gap
between stones as the frieze strides
to the impending apse:
the rays of many glories
forced to its focus forming
a glory neither of stone
nor metal, neither of words
nor verses, but of the light
shining upon no substance;
a glory not made
for which all else was made.

= Basil Bunting =

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Happy Wednesday

Rise up and run

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B e s t   S t r e s s e d   L i s t

Old Sheldon Church Ruins

 

 Yemassee, South Carolina

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Eternal spring of boundless grace,
It lifts the soul above,
Where God the Son unveils his face,
And shows that Heaven is love.

Love that revolves through endless years --
Love that can never pall;
Love which excludes the gloom of fears,
Love to whom God is all!

Love which can ransom every slave,
And set the pris'ner free;
Gild the dark horrors of the grave,
And still the raging sea.

Let but the partial smile of Heaven
Upon the bosom play,
The mystic sound of sins forgiven,
Can waft the soul away.

The pilgrim's spirits show this love,
They often soar on high;
Languish from this dim earth to move,
And leave the flesh to die.

Sing, oh my soul, rise up and run,
And leave this clay behind;

 Wing thy swift flight beyond the sun,
Nor dwell in tents confined.

= George Moses Horton =

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Happy Tuesday

There is a certain silence

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S i l e n c e   o f   t h e   S h a d o w s

Greenwich Cemetery

Savannah, Georgia

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There are all kinds of silences

and each of them means a different thing.

There is the silence that comes

with morning in a forest,

and this is different

from the silence of a sleeping city.

There is silence after a rainstorm,

and before a rainstorm,

and these are not the same.

There is the silence of emptiness,

the silence of fear,

the silence of doubt.

There is a certain silence

that can emanate from a lifeless object

as from a chair lately used,

or from a piano

with old dust upon its keys,

or from anything that has answered

to the need of a man,

for pleasure or for work.

This kind of silence can speak.

Its voice may be melancholy,

but it is not always so;

for the chair may have been left

by a laughing child

or the last notes of the piano

may have been raucous and gay.

Whatever the mood

or the circumstance,

the essence of its quality

may linger in the silence that follows.

It is a soundless echo.

= Beryl Markham =

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Happy Monday ~ Happy Labor Day ~ Happy September