Saturday
Oct112014
Saturday, October 11, 2014 at 04:44AM
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U n h a n d M e
Bethany Cemetery
Aiken, South Carolina
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Whoever disenchants
A single Human soul
By failure of irreverence
Is guilty of the whole.
As guileless as a Bird
As graphic as a star
Till the suggestion sinister
Things are not what they are --
= Emily Dickinson =
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Happy Saturday
Friday
Oct102014
Sing first sad going
Friday, October 10, 2014 at 04:44AM
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T u r n t h e P a g e
Elmwood Cemetery
Columbia, South Carolina
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When Spring comes laughing
By vale and hill,
By wind-flower walking
And daffodil, --
Sing stars of morning,
Sing morning skies,
Sing blue of speedwell, --
And my Love's eyes.
By vale and hill,
By wind-flower walking
And daffodil, --
Sing stars of morning,
Sing morning skies,
Sing blue of speedwell, --
And my Love's eyes.
When comes the Summer,
Full-leaved and strong,
And gay birds gossip
The orchard long, --
Sing hid, sweet honey
That no bee sips;
Sing red, red roses, --
And my Love's lips.
Full-leaved and strong,
And gay birds gossip
The orchard long, --
Sing hid, sweet honey
That no bee sips;
Sing red, red roses, --
And my Love's lips.
When Autumn scatters
The leaves again,
And piled sheaves bury
The broad-wheeled wain, --
Sing flutes of harvest
Where men rejoice;
Sing rounds of reapers, --
And my Love's voice.
The leaves again,
And piled sheaves bury
The broad-wheeled wain, --
Sing flutes of harvest
Where men rejoice;
Sing rounds of reapers, --
And my Love's voice.
But when comes Winter
With hail and storm,
And red fire roaring
And ingle warm, --
Sing first sad going
Of friends that part;
Then sing glad meeting, --
And my Love's heart.
With hail and storm,
And red fire roaring
And ingle warm, --
Sing first sad going
Of friends that part;
Then sing glad meeting, --
And my Love's heart.
= Henry Austin Dobson =
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Happy Friday
Thursday
Oct092014
Some of us call it autumn
Thursday, October 9, 2014 at 04:44AM
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F e e l i n g V i n e
Magnolia Cemetery
Augusta, Georgia
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A fire mist and a planet --
A crystal and a cell, --
A jellyfish and a saurian,
And caves where cave men dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty,
And a face turned from the clod --
Some call it Evolution,
And others call it God.
A haze on the far horizon,
The infinite, tender sky,
The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,
And the wild geese sailing high;
And all over upland and lowland
The charm of the goldenrod --
Some of us call it Autumn,
And others call it God.
Like tides on a crescent sea beach,
When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
Come welling and surging in --
Come from the mystic ocean,
Whose rim no foot has trod --
Some of us call it Longing,
And others call it God.
A picket frozen on duty,
A mother starved for her brood,
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And Jesus on the rood;
And millions who, humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathway plod --
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it God.
= William Herbert Carruth =
A crystal and a cell, --
A jellyfish and a saurian,
And caves where cave men dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty,
And a face turned from the clod --
Some call it Evolution,
And others call it God.
A haze on the far horizon,
The infinite, tender sky,
The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,
And the wild geese sailing high;
And all over upland and lowland
The charm of the goldenrod --
Some of us call it Autumn,
And others call it God.
Like tides on a crescent sea beach,
When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
Come welling and surging in --
Come from the mystic ocean,
Whose rim no foot has trod --
Some of us call it Longing,
And others call it God.
A picket frozen on duty,
A mother starved for her brood,
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And Jesus on the rood;
And millions who, humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathway plod --
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it God.
= William Herbert Carruth =
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Happy Thursday
Wednesday
Oct082014
And have no regret
Wednesday, October 8, 2014 at 04:44AM
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A u t u m n G o t h i c
Episcopal Church of the Resurrection
Greenwood, South Carolina
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In the time of your life, live --
so that in that good time there shall be no ugliness or death
for yourself or for any life your life touches.
Seek goodness everywhere, and when it is found,
bring it out of its hiding place and let it be free and unashamed.
Place in matter and in flesh the least of the values,
for these are the things that hold death and must pass away.
Discover in all things that which shines and is beyond corruption.
Encourage virtue in whatever heart it may have been driven into
secrecy and and sorrow by the shame and terror of the world.
Ignore the obvious, for it is unworthy
of the clear eye and the kindly heart.
Be the inferior of no man, nor of any men be superior.
Remember that every man is a variation of yourself.
No man's guilt is not yours, nor is any man's innocence a thing apart.
Despise evil and ungodliness,
but not men of ungodliness or evil.
These, understand.
Have no shame in being kindly and gentle but if the time comes
in the time of your life to kill, kill and have no regret.
In the time of your life, live -- so that in that wondrous time
you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world,
but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it.
= William Saroyan =
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Happy Wednesday
Tuesday
Oct072014
This splendor hath retold
Tuesday, October 7, 2014 at 04:44AM
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R e d i s f o r B l o o d o f P a t r i o t s
Knoxville National Cemetery
Knoxville, Tennessee
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Rich hour! is not thy gift a radiant thing?
The truth here blazoned in this marble and gold,
Here writ in this refulgence manifold,
Hath sunned my groped redemption: lo, I fling --
How lightly! -- off ungraced desire; I cling
To that faith firm this splendour hath retold:
My spirit, towered, doth its sheer track behold,
And shakes the dust of chaos from its wing.
Life that is death, riches named with a lie,
This fane would, that the sum of both employs,
Your tears unseal if ignorance could weep.
Is not true being locked in tombs? and die
Must not we in death ere life's innater joys
We may, as I now, clasp as in a sleep?
The truth here blazoned in this marble and gold,
Here writ in this refulgence manifold,
Hath sunned my groped redemption: lo, I fling --
How lightly! -- off ungraced desire; I cling
To that faith firm this splendour hath retold:
My spirit, towered, doth its sheer track behold,
And shakes the dust of chaos from its wing.
Life that is death, riches named with a lie,
This fane would, that the sum of both employs,
Your tears unseal if ignorance could weep.
Is not true being locked in tombs? and die
Must not we in death ere life's innater joys
We may, as I now, clasp as in a sleep?
= William Baylebridge =
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Happy Tuesday