Poetry is a powerful medium and I might post a poem now and again. Here is one of my favourites:
BENEDICITE
GOD’S love and peace be with thee, where
Soe’er this soft autumnal air
Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair!
Whether through city casements comes
Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms,
Or, out among the woodland blooms,
It freshens o’er thy thoughtful face,
Imparting, in its glad embrace,
Beauty to beauty, grace to grace!
Fair Nature’s book together read,
The old wood-paths that knew our tread,
The maple shadows overhead, --
The hills we climbed, the river seen
By gleams along its deep ravine, --
All keep thy memory fresh and green.
Where’ere I look, where’ere I stray,
Thy thought goes with me on my way,
And hence the prayer I breathe to-day;
O’er lapse of time and change of scene,
The weary waste which lies between
Thyself and me, my heart I lean.
Thou lack’st not Friendship’s spell-word, nor
The half-unconscious power to draw
All hearts to thine by Love’s sweet law.
With these good gifts of God is cast
Thy lot, and many a charm thou hast
To hold the blessed angels fast.
If, then, a fervent wish for thee
The gracious heavens will heed from me,
And should, dear heart, its burden be?
The sighing of a shaken reed, --
What can I more than meekly plead
The greatness of our common need?
God’s love, --unchanging, pure, and true, --
The Paraclete white-shining through
His peace, --the fall of Hermon’s dew!
With such a prayer, on this sweet day,
As thou mayst hear, and I may say,
I greet thee, dearest, far away!
John Greenleaf Whittier, 1851
Poetry
Another poem, entitled "The Meadows of Spring"
‘Tis a dull sight
To see the year dying,
When winter winds
Set the yellow wood sighing:
Sighing, oh! Sighing.
When such a time cometh,
I do retire
Into an old room
Beside a bright fire:
O, pile a bright fire!
And there I sit
Reading old things,
Of knights and lorn damsels,
While the wind sings ---
O, drearily sings!
I never look out
Nor attend to the blast;
For all to be seen
Is the leaves falling fast:
Falling, falling!
Bur close at the hearth,
Like a cricket, sit I,
Reading of summer
And chivalry ---
Gallant chivalry!
Then with an old friend
I talk of our youth ---
How ‘twas gladsome, but often
Foolish, forsooth:
But gladsome, gladsome!
Or to get merry
We sing some old rhyme,
That made the wood ring again
In summer time ---
Sweet summer time!
Then go we to smoking,
Silent and snug:
Nought passes between us,
Save a brown jug ---
Sometimes!
And sometimes a tear
Will rise in each eye,
Seeing the two old friends
So merrily ---
So merrily!
And ere to bed
Go we, go we,
Down on the ashes
We kneel on the knee,
Praying together!
Thus, then, live I,
Till, ‘mid all the gloom,
By heaven! The bold sun
Is with me in the room,
Shining, shining!
Then the clouds part,
Swallows soaring between;
The spring is alive,
And the meadows are green!
I jump up, like mad,
Break the old pipe in twain,
And away to the meadows,
The meadows again!
-Edward FitzGerald, 1830
‘Tis a dull sight
To see the year dying,
When winter winds
Set the yellow wood sighing:
Sighing, oh! Sighing.
When such a time cometh,
I do retire
Into an old room
Beside a bright fire:
O, pile a bright fire!
And there I sit
Reading old things,
Of knights and lorn damsels,
While the wind sings ---
O, drearily sings!
I never look out
Nor attend to the blast;
For all to be seen
Is the leaves falling fast:
Falling, falling!
Bur close at the hearth,
Like a cricket, sit I,
Reading of summer
And chivalry ---
Gallant chivalry!
Then with an old friend
I talk of our youth ---
How ‘twas gladsome, but often
Foolish, forsooth:
But gladsome, gladsome!
Or to get merry
We sing some old rhyme,
That made the wood ring again
In summer time ---
Sweet summer time!
Then go we to smoking,
Silent and snug:
Nought passes between us,
Save a brown jug ---
Sometimes!
And sometimes a tear
Will rise in each eye,
Seeing the two old friends
So merrily ---
So merrily!
And ere to bed
Go we, go we,
Down on the ashes
We kneel on the knee,
Praying together!
Thus, then, live I,
Till, ‘mid all the gloom,
By heaven! The bold sun
Is with me in the room,
Shining, shining!
Then the clouds part,
Swallows soaring between;
The spring is alive,
And the meadows are green!
I jump up, like mad,
Break the old pipe in twain,
And away to the meadows,
The meadows again!
-Edward FitzGerald, 1830