Saturday, October 30, 2010
Come Grow Old With Me (Rabbi Ezra)
Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith "A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!"
Not that, amassing flowers,
Youth sighed "Which rose make ours,
Which lily leave and then as best recall?"
Not that, admiring stars,
It yearned "Nor Jove, nor Mars;
Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!"
Not for such hopes and fears
Annulling youth's brief years,
Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark!
Rather I prize the doubt
Low kinds exist without,
Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark.
Poor vaunt of life indeed,
Were man but formed to feed
On joy, to solely seek and find and feast:
Such feasting ended, then
As sure an end to men;
Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?
Rejoice we are allied
To That which doth provide
And not partake, effect and not receive!
A spark disturbs our clod;
Nearer we hold of God
Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe.
Then, welcome each rebuff
That turns earth's smoothness rough,
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!
Be our joys three-parts pain!
Strive, and hold cheap the strain;
Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
For thence,--a paradox
Which comforts while it mocks,--
Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:
What I aspired to be,
And was not, comforts me:
A brute I might have been, but would not sink in' the scale.
What is he but a brute
Whose flesh has soul to suit,
Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play?
To man, propose this test--
Thy body at its best,
How far can that project thy soul on its lone way?
Yet gifts should prove their use:
I own the Past profuse
Of power each side, perfection every turn:
Eyes, ears took in their dole,
Brain treasured up the whole;
Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn?"
Not once beat "Praise be Thine!
I see the whole design,
I, who saw power, see now love perfect too:
Perfect I call Thy plan:
Thanks that I was a man!
Maker, remake, complete,--I trust what Thou shalt do!"
For pleasant is this flesh;
Our soul, in its rose-mesh
Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest;
Would we some prize might hold
To match those manifold
Possessions of the brute,--gain most, as we did best!
Let us not always say,
"Spite of this flesh to-day
I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!"
As the bird wings and sings,
Let us cry "All good things
Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!"
Therefore I summon age
To grant youth's heritage,
Life's struggle having so far reached its term:
Thence shall I pass, approved
A man, for aye removed
From the developed brute; a god though in the germ.
And I shall thereupon
Take rest, ere I be gone
Once more on my adventure brave and new:
Fearless and un-perplexed,
When I wage battle next,
What weapons to select, what armour to indue.
Youth ended, I shall try
My gain or loss thereby;
Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold:
And I shall weigh the same,
Give life its praise or blame:
Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old.
For note, when evening shuts,
A certain moment cuts
The deed off, calls the glory from the grey:
A whisper from the west
Shoots--"Add this to the rest,
Take it and try its worth: here dies another day."
So, still within this life,
Though lifted o'er its strife,
Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last,
This rage was right in' the main,
That acquiescence vain:
The Future I may face now I have proved the Past."
For more is not reserved
To man, with soul just nerved
To act to-morrow what he learns to-day:
Here, work enough to watch
The Master work, and catch
Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play.
As it was better, youth
Should strive, through acts uncouth,
Toward making, than repose on aught found made:
So, better, age, exempt
From strife, should know, than tempt
Further. Thou waitedst age: wait death nor be afraid!
Enough now, if the Right
And Good and Infinite
Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own
With knowledge absolute,
Subject to no dispute
From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone.
Be there, for once and all,
Severed great minds from small,
Announced to each his station in the Past!
Was I, the world arraigned,
Were they, my soul disdained,
Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last!
Now, who shall arbitrate?
Ten men love what I hate,
Shun what I follow, slight what I receive;
Ten, who in ears and eyes
Match me: we all surmise,
They this thing, and I that: whom shall my soul believe?
Not on the vulgar mass
Called "work," must sentence pass,
Things done, that took the eye and had the price;
O'er which, from level stand,
The low world laid its hand,
Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice:
But all, the world's coarse thumb
And finger failed to plumb,
So passed in making up the main account;
All instincts immature,
All purposes unsure,
That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount:
Thoughts hardly to be packed
Into a narrow act,
Fancies that broke through language and escaped;
All I could never be,
All, men ignored in me,
This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.
Ay, note that Potter's wheel,
That metaphor! and feel
Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay,--
Thou, to whom fools propound,
When the wine makes its round,
"Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!"
Fool! All that is, at all,
Lasts ever, past recall;
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure:
What entered into thee,
That was, is, and shall be:
Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure.
He fixed thee mid this dance
Of plastic circumstance,
This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest:
Machinery just meant
To give thy soul its bent,
Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed.
What though the earlier grooves,
Which ran the laughing loves
Around thy base, no longer pause and press?
What though, about thy rim,
Skull-things in order grim
Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress?
Look not thou down but up!
To uses of a cup,
The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal,
The new wine's foaming flow,
The Master's lips a-glow!
Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what need'st thou with earth's wheel?
But I need, now as then,
Thee, God, who mouldest men;
And since, not even while the whirl was worst,
Did I,--to the wheel of life
With shapes and colours rife,
Bound dizzily,--mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst:
So, take and use Thy work:
Amend what flaws may lurk,
What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!
My times be in Thy hand!
Perfect the cup as planned!
Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same!
Robert Browning (1812-1889)
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith "A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!"
Not that, amassing flowers,
Youth sighed "Which rose make ours,
Which lily leave and then as best recall?"
Not that, admiring stars,
It yearned "Nor Jove, nor Mars;
Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!"
Not for such hopes and fears
Annulling youth's brief years,
Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark!
Rather I prize the doubt
Low kinds exist without,
Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark.
Poor vaunt of life indeed,
Were man but formed to feed
On joy, to solely seek and find and feast:
Such feasting ended, then
As sure an end to men;
Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?
Rejoice we are allied
To That which doth provide
And not partake, effect and not receive!
A spark disturbs our clod;
Nearer we hold of God
Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe.
Then, welcome each rebuff
That turns earth's smoothness rough,
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!
Be our joys three-parts pain!
Strive, and hold cheap the strain;
Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
For thence,--a paradox
Which comforts while it mocks,--
Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:
What I aspired to be,
And was not, comforts me:
A brute I might have been, but would not sink in' the scale.
What is he but a brute
Whose flesh has soul to suit,
Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play?
To man, propose this test--
Thy body at its best,
How far can that project thy soul on its lone way?
Yet gifts should prove their use:
I own the Past profuse
Of power each side, perfection every turn:
Eyes, ears took in their dole,
Brain treasured up the whole;
Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn?"
Not once beat "Praise be Thine!
I see the whole design,
I, who saw power, see now love perfect too:
Perfect I call Thy plan:
Thanks that I was a man!
Maker, remake, complete,--I trust what Thou shalt do!"
For pleasant is this flesh;
Our soul, in its rose-mesh
Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest;
Would we some prize might hold
To match those manifold
Possessions of the brute,--gain most, as we did best!
Let us not always say,
"Spite of this flesh to-day
I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!"
As the bird wings and sings,
Let us cry "All good things
Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!"
Therefore I summon age
To grant youth's heritage,
Life's struggle having so far reached its term:
Thence shall I pass, approved
A man, for aye removed
From the developed brute; a god though in the germ.
And I shall thereupon
Take rest, ere I be gone
Once more on my adventure brave and new:
Fearless and un-perplexed,
When I wage battle next,
What weapons to select, what armour to indue.
Youth ended, I shall try
My gain or loss thereby;
Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold:
And I shall weigh the same,
Give life its praise or blame:
Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old.
For note, when evening shuts,
A certain moment cuts
The deed off, calls the glory from the grey:
A whisper from the west
Shoots--"Add this to the rest,
Take it and try its worth: here dies another day."
So, still within this life,
Though lifted o'er its strife,
Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last,
This rage was right in' the main,
That acquiescence vain:
The Future I may face now I have proved the Past."
For more is not reserved
To man, with soul just nerved
To act to-morrow what he learns to-day:
Here, work enough to watch
The Master work, and catch
Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play.
As it was better, youth
Should strive, through acts uncouth,
Toward making, than repose on aught found made:
So, better, age, exempt
From strife, should know, than tempt
Further. Thou waitedst age: wait death nor be afraid!
Enough now, if the Right
And Good and Infinite
Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own
With knowledge absolute,
Subject to no dispute
From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone.
Be there, for once and all,
Severed great minds from small,
Announced to each his station in the Past!
Was I, the world arraigned,
Were they, my soul disdained,
Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last!
Now, who shall arbitrate?
Ten men love what I hate,
Shun what I follow, slight what I receive;
Ten, who in ears and eyes
Match me: we all surmise,
They this thing, and I that: whom shall my soul believe?
Not on the vulgar mass
Called "work," must sentence pass,
Things done, that took the eye and had the price;
O'er which, from level stand,
The low world laid its hand,
Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice:
But all, the world's coarse thumb
And finger failed to plumb,
So passed in making up the main account;
All instincts immature,
All purposes unsure,
That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount:
Thoughts hardly to be packed
Into a narrow act,
Fancies that broke through language and escaped;
All I could never be,
All, men ignored in me,
This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.
Ay, note that Potter's wheel,
That metaphor! and feel
Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay,--
Thou, to whom fools propound,
When the wine makes its round,
"Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!"
Fool! All that is, at all,
Lasts ever, past recall;
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure:
What entered into thee,
That was, is, and shall be:
Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure.
He fixed thee mid this dance
Of plastic circumstance,
This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest:
Machinery just meant
To give thy soul its bent,
Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed.
What though the earlier grooves,
Which ran the laughing loves
Around thy base, no longer pause and press?
What though, about thy rim,
Skull-things in order grim
Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress?
Look not thou down but up!
To uses of a cup,
The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal,
The new wine's foaming flow,
The Master's lips a-glow!
Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what need'st thou with earth's wheel?
But I need, now as then,
Thee, God, who mouldest men;
And since, not even while the whirl was worst,
Did I,--to the wheel of life
With shapes and colours rife,
Bound dizzily,--mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst:
So, take and use Thy work:
Amend what flaws may lurk,
What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!
My times be in Thy hand!
Perfect the cup as planned!
Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same!
Robert Browning (1812-1889)
Imagine A Woman ~
Imagine A Woman
Imagine a woman who believes it is right and good she is a woman. A woman who honors
her experience and tells her stories. Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body
and life. Imagine a woman who says she is good.
A woman who trusts and respects herself.
Who listens to her needs and desires, and meets them with tenderness and grace.
Imagine a woman who has acknowledged the past influence on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed in the present.
Imagine a woman who has authored her own life.
A woman who exerts, initiates, and moves on her own behalf.
Who refuses to surrender except to her truest self and her wisest voice.
Imagine a woman who names her own gods.
A woman who imagines the divine in her own image and likeness.
Who designs her own spirituality and allows it to inform her daily life.
Imagine a woman who is in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough just as it is.
Who celebrates her body and it rhythm and cycles as an esquisite resource.
Imagine a woman who honors the face of the Goddess in her changing face.
A woman who celebrates the accumulated wisdom.
Who refused to use her precious life energy disguising the changes in her body and life.
Imagine a woman who values the woman in her life.
A woman who sits in a circle of woman.
Who is reminded of the truth in herself when she forgets.
Imagine yourself as this woman.
Monday, October 25, 2010
The Parable of the Lost Son
Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything there was severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to the fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
When he came to his senses, he said, "How many pf my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy of being called your son. Make me like one of you hired men." So, he got up and went to his father.
The son said to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy of being called your son."
But the father said to his servants, "Quick, bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and now is found." So they began to celebrate.
Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard the sound of music and dancing. So he called one of his servants and asked what is going on. "Your brother has come" He replied, "and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound."
The older brother got angry and refused to go in. So his father came out and pleaded with him. But he answered his father, "Look! All these years I have been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when that son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him."
"My son," the father said, "you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we have to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and now he is found."
~Luke 15:11-31
I Vow To Thee My Country ~
I vow to thee my country all earthly things above
Entire and whole and perfect, the sources of thy love
The love that asks no questions, the love that stands the test
That lays upon the alter the dearest and the host.
The love that never falters, the love that pays the price.
The love that makes individuals the final sacrifice.
And there's another country, I have heard of long ago,
Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know.
We may not count her armies, we may not see her long
Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering,
And soul by soul and silently be shining bounds increase
And her ways are ways of gentleness and all her paths are peace.
Entire and whole and perfect, the sources of thy love
The love that asks no questions, the love that stands the test
That lays upon the alter the dearest and the host.
The love that never falters, the love that pays the price.
The love that makes individuals the final sacrifice.
And there's another country, I have heard of long ago,
Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know.
We may not count her armies, we may not see her long
Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering,
And soul by soul and silently be shining bounds increase
And her ways are ways of gentleness and all her paths are peace.
Be Thou My Vision~
Be Thou my vision, or Lord of my heart
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best though, by day or by night
Walking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.
Be Thou my wisdom, and Thou my true word,
I ever with Thee, and Thou with me Lord.
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son.
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one
Riches, I need not, nor man's empty praise
Thou mine inheritance, now and always.
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart.
High king of heaven, my treasure Thou art.
High King of heaven, my victory won
may I reach heavens joys O bright heavens son
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall
Still, be my vision O Ruler of all
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best though, by day or by night
Walking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.
Be Thou my wisdom, and Thou my true word,
I ever with Thee, and Thou with me Lord.
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son.
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one
Riches, I need not, nor man's empty praise
Thou mine inheritance, now and always.
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart.
High king of heaven, my treasure Thou art.
High King of heaven, my victory won
may I reach heavens joys O bright heavens son
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall
Still, be my vision O Ruler of all
Touches the World With Beauty
God who touches the world with beauty,
Make me lovely too;
With thy spirit re create me,
Make my heart anew.
Like Thy springs and running waters,
Make me crystal pure;
Like thy rocks of towering grandeur,
Make me strong and sure.
Like Thy dancing waves of sunlight,
Make me glad and free;
Like the straightness of the pine trees,
Let me upright be.
Like the arching of the heavens,
Lift my thoughts above;
Turn my dreams to noble actions,
Ministries of love.
God, who touches the earth with beauty,
Make me lovely too;
Keep me ever by Thy spirit.
Pure and strong and true.
Make me lovely too;
With thy spirit re create me,
Make my heart anew.
Like Thy springs and running waters,
Make me crystal pure;
Like thy rocks of towering grandeur,
Make me strong and sure.
Like Thy dancing waves of sunlight,
Make me glad and free;
Like the straightness of the pine trees,
Let me upright be.
Like the arching of the heavens,
Lift my thoughts above;
Turn my dreams to noble actions,
Ministries of love.
God, who touches the earth with beauty,
Make me lovely too;
Keep me ever by Thy spirit.
Pure and strong and true.
~from the Camp Fire Girls songbook...1945
Friday, October 22, 2010
Tough questions from kids - Why do we pray for our enemies?
The main reason we pray for our enemies is because God tells us to. He tells us to love our enemies. Praying for our enemies and loving them is God's way.
Another reason is that all people, especially bad people, need prayer. There is no better way to change them. If we want bad people to stop being bad, we need to ask God to do it.
Another reason is that all people, especially bad people, need prayer. There is no better way to change them. If we want bad people to stop being bad, we need to ask God to do it.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Doxology - Awake My Soul......
Awake my soul, and with the sun
Thy daily stage of duty run
Shake of dull sloth and joyfully rise
To pay thy morning sacrifice
Lord, I my vows to thee renew
disperse my sins as morning dew
guard my first springs of thought and will
and with thyself, thy spirit fill
Direct, control, suggest this day
All I design or do or say
that all my powers with all their might
in thy soul glory may unite
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him, all creatures here below
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost
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