A shadow of cloud on the stream

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B u r b l e   a n d   F l o w

The Rock at Jocassee

Pickens, South Carolina

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Hearts with one purpose alone

Through summer and winter seem

Enchanted to a stone

To trouble the living stream.

The horse that comes from the road,

The rider, the birds that range

From cloud to tumbling cloud,

Minute by minute they change;

A shadow of cloud on the stream

Changes minute by minute;

A horse-hoof slides on the brim,

And a horse plashes within it;

The long-legged moor-hens dive,

And hens to moor-cocks call;

Minute by minute they live:

The stone's in the midst of it all.

= William Butler Yeats =

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Happy Monday

My voice shall never tire or grow old

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E v e r   Y o u n g

Aimwell Cemetery

Ridgeway, South Carolina

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Someday this stamm'ring tongue will falter no more

And a grander, sweeter song I shall sing

Then I'll join the ransomed choir on heaven's bright shore

Forever to praise the King.

And while the ages roll, I'll keep on praising Him

And my voice shall never tire or grow old

And my song shall ever be

Praise the Lamb Who died for me

And I'll sing it while ages shall roll.

When a million years have passed in that wonderful place

My song of praise will just have begun

And my song shall never end while I look on His face

And my song will never be done.

And while the ages roll, I'll keep on praising Him

And my voice shall never tire or grow old

And my song shall ever be

Priase the Lamb Who died for me

And I'll sing it while ages shall roll.

= Mosie Lister =

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Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto him

that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb

forever and ever.

Revelation 5:13b

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In Loving Memory

of my friend

Linda Gail Clement Richards

1949-1996

on what would have been

her sixty-fifth birthday

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Happy Sunday

That lonesome glory

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In Loving Memory

of

Blanchard Guy McManus

October 16, 1930 - September 13, 1968

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Gathered into the Earth,

And out of story --

Gathered to that strange Fame --

That lonesome Glory

That hath no omen here -- but Awe --

= Emily Dickinson =

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Happy Saturday

Blow, winds of God, awake and blow

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H e a r t s   i n   t h e   W i n d

Summer 2014

Columbia, South Carolina

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Immortal love, forever full,
Forever flowing free,
Forever shared, forever whole,
A never ebbing sea!

Our outward lips confess the name
All other names above;
Love only knoweth whence it came,
And comprehendeth love.

Blow, winds of God, awake and blow
The mists of earth away:
Shine out, O Light divine, and show
How wide and far we stray.

We may not climb the heavenly steeps
To bring the Lord Christ down;
In vain we search the lowest deeps,
For Him no depths can drown.

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet,
A present help is He;
And faith still has its Olivet,
And love its Galilee.

The healing of His seamless dress
Is by our beds of pain;
We touch Him in life’s throng and press,
And we are whole again.

Through Him the first fond prayers are said
Our lips of childhood frame,
The last low whispers of our dead
Are burdened with His Name.

O Lord and Master of us all,
Whate’er our name or sign,
We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call,
We test our lives by Thine.

The letter fails, the systems fall,
And every symbol wanes;
The Spirit over brooding all,
Eternal Love remains.

= John Greenleaf Whittier =

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Happy Friday

The altar lights grow pale and dim

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To the greater glory of God

and in recognition of

the enduring links between

the City of London

and

the City of New York

Forged in Adversity ~ 11 September 2001

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St. Paul's Chapel, Across Church Street From Ground Zero

New York City

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Our little hour, -- how swift it flies
When poppies flare and lilies smile;
How soon the fleeting minute dies,
Leaving us but a little while
To dream our dream, to sing our song,
To pick the fruit, to pluck the flower,
The Gods -- They do not give us long, --
One little hour.

Our little hour, -- how short it is
When Love with dew-eyed loveliness
Raises her lips for ours to kiss
And dies within our first caress.
Youth flickers out like wind-blown flame,
Sweets of to-day to-morrow sour,
For Time and Death, relentless, claim
Our little hour.

Our little hour, -- how short a time
To wage our wars, to fan our hates,
To take our fill of armoured crime,
To troop our banners, storm the gates.
Blood on the sword, our eyes blood-red,
Blind in our puny reign of power,
Do we forget how soon is sped
Our little hour?

Our little hour, -- how soon it dies:
How short a time to tell our beads,
To chant our feeble Litanies,
To think sweet thoughts, to do good deeds.
The altar lights grow pale and dim,
The bells hang silent in the tower --
So passes with the dying hymn
Our little hour.

= Leslie Coulson =

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Never Forget