Extra smiles

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S i s t e r s

Lenoir, North Carolina

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I've got dreams in hidden places

And extra smiles for when I'm blue.

~Author Unknown~

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O hush the noise

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F a l l i n g   F i r e

Elmwood Cemetery

Columbia, South Carolina

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It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth,
To touch their harps of gold;
“Peace on the earth, good will to men,
From Heaven’s all gracious King.”
The world in solemn stillness lay,
To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats
O’er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains,
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever over its Babel sounds
The blessèd angels sing.

Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring;
O hush the noise, ye men of strife
And hear the angels sing.

And ye, beneath life’s crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing.
O rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing!

For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophet-bards foretold,
When with the ever circling years
Comes round the age of gold;
When peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.

~Edmund Hamilton Sears (1810-1876)~

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The many-colored chamber

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G o   I n   P e a c e   G o   I n   L i g h t

Elmwood Cemetery

Columbia, South Carolina

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I am not making a book that will live or a book that will die. I have no thought whether it will live or die.

I am for my own sake manifesting myself, looking at myself, encouraging and criticizing myself.

I see you as you pass on the street, but I do not see the inner chamber where you live -- the many-colored chamber of the soul.

I think I must be taking an inventory of the chamber of my soul, cataloguing its contents.

Many items I do not set down, for I have not yet full courage; if I set down aught in shame, it will not be in defiance or bravado; it will be to satisfy my honesty.

But most of all I would catalogue the love of my soul; for I do not know but that after a while I will be cold and dead inside. 

Therefore I think it well that I make a record of the love of my soul --

A record that may soften a little the stern world, and abide with me until the evening, when I am worn out, and the world is discharging me from service; the sun gone down, darkness come, and I sit still in the quiet night.

~Max Ehrmann (1872-1945)~

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What but Thy grace

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A b i d i n g   I n   T h e   C r o s s

Elmwood Cemetery

Columbia, South Carolina

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Abide with me; fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide
When other helpers fail and comforts flee
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day
Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away
Change and decay in all around I see
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word
But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord
Familiar, condescending, patient, free
Come not to sojourn, but abide with me.

Come not in terrors, as the King of kings
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me.

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile
And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee
On to the close, O Lord, abide with me.

I need Thy presence every passing hour
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

~Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847)~

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Every good mariner

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W i d e   W a t e r   W i d e  S k y

Lake Murray

Lexington, South Carolina

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We are all ships returning home laden with life's experience, memories of work, good times and sorrows, each with his especial cargo;

 And it is our common lot to show the marks of the voyage, here a shattered prow, there a patched rigging, and every hulk turned black by the unceasing batter of the restless wave.

May we be thankful for fair weather and smooth seas, and in times of storm have the courage and patience that mark every good mariner;

And, over all, may we have the cheering hope of joyful meetings, as our ship at last drops anchor in the still water of the eternal harbor.

~Max Ehrmann (1872-1945)~

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