An Altered Look

10 04 2014

An altered look about the hills;
    A Tyrian light the village fills;
    A wider sunrise in the dawn;
    A deeper twilight on the lawn;
    A print of a vermilion foot;
    A purple finger on the slope;
    A flippant fly upon the pane;
    A spider at his trade again;
    An added strut in chanticleer;
    A flower expected everywhere;
    An axe shrill singing in the woods;
    Fern-odors on untravelled roads, —
    All this, and more I cannot tell,
    A furtive look you know as well,
    And Nicodemus’ mystery
    Receives its annual reply.

Emily Dickinson

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Praise Proclaim

6 04 2014

Praise ye the Lord, His praise proclaim,
And, O my soul, bless thou His Name;
Yea, I will sound His praise abroad
And ever bless the Lord, my God.

Trust not in man who soon must die,
But on the living God rely;
Most blest the man whose help is He
That made the heaven and earth and sea.

His truth unchanged shall ever stand,
He saves from strong oppression’s hand,
In Him the sad a helper find,
He feeds the poor and heals the blind.

Thy God shall reign for evermore,
Praise Him, O Zion, and adore;
The Lord is heaven’s eternal King,
To Him all praise and honor bring.

Adapted for the 1912 Psalter from Psalm 146.

 

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April Prayer

5 04 2014

  ’T is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird
In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard;
For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow,
And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow;
Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white,
On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light,
O’er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots
The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots;
And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps,
Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps,
Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers,
With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers
We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south!
For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth;
For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God,
Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod!
Up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased
The wail and the shriek of the bitter northeast,
Raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow,
All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau,
Until all our dreams of the land of the blest,
Like that red hunter’s, turn to the sunny southwest.
O soul of the spring-time, its light and its breath,
Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death;
Renew the great miracle; let us behold
The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled,
And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old!
Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain,
Revive with the warmth and the brightness again,
And in blooming of flower and budding of tree
The symbols and types of our destiny see;
The life of the spring-time, the life of the whole,
And, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to the soul.

John Greenleaf Whittier

field and forest 2