Devotion to something afar

Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good fame,
Plans, credit, and the muse;
Nothing refuse.


'Tis a brave master,
Let it have scope,
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope;
High and more high,
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent;
But 'tis a god,
Knows its own path,
And the outlets of the sky.


'Tis not for the mean,
It requireth courage stout,
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending;
Such 'twill reward,
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.


Leave all for love; --
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,
Keep thee to-day,
To-morrow, for ever,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.


Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
Vague shadow of surmise,
Flits across her bosom young
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free,
Do not thou detain a hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.


Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Tho' her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive,
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

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Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.


From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.


Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?


One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

~John Donne~

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Life owes me nothing. Let the years
Bring clouds or azure, joy or tears;
Already a full cup I've quaffed;


Already wept and loved and laughed,
And seen, in ever-endless ways,
New beauties overwhelm the days.


Life owes me nought. No pain that waits
Can steal the wealth from memory's gates;
No aftermath of anguish slow
Can quench the soul fire's early glow.

I breathe, exulting, each new breath,
Embracing Life, ignoring Death.


Life owes me nothing. One clear morn
Is boon enough for being born;
And be it ninety years or ten,
No need for me to question when.


While Life is mine, I'll find it good,
And greet each hour with gratitude.

~Author Unknown~

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What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -–
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

~Wilfred Owen~

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One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it;
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it;


One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother;
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.


I can give not what men call love;
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the heavens reject not, --


The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?

~Percy Bysshe Shelley~

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God, though this life is but a wraith,
Although we know not what we use,
Although we grope with little faith,
Give me the heart to fight -- and lose.

Ever insurgent let me be,
Make me more daring than devout;
From sleek contentment keep me free,
And fill me with a buoyant doubt.

Open my eyes to visions girt
With beauty, and with wonder lit --
But let me always see the dirt,
And all that spawn and lie in it.

Open my ears to music; let
Me thrill with Spring's first flutes and drums --
But never let me dare forget
The bitter ballads of the slums.

From compromise and things half-done,
Keep me, with stern and stubborn pride.
And when, at last, the fight is won,
God, keep me still unsatisfied.

~Louis Untermeyer~

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i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes


(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)


how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any -- lifted from the no
of all nothing -- human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?


(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

~e.e. cummings~

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Photographs taken by Jennifer Weber at St. John in the Wilderness Episcopal Church and Cemetery on November 14, 2011

East Flat Rock, North Carolina

/(*_*/) >< (\*_*)\

Happy Thanksgiving!

Remember to love somebody real good today.

And to thank God He gave you somebody to love.

That is all.

You know. For now.

Comments

[Debbie]

Those pictures are wonderful. I especially like the one with the old rusted fence propped up next to the tree, it looks like it is almost grown into the tree.

You are also right when you say 'the good stuff is up close'. Thanks for sharing

[Glenda]

What a masterpiece!! I knew that no one but you could give to St. John in the Wilderness what it deserved. So beautiful it brought me to tears. Applause, Applause, dear friend.

[Donna (Texas)]

Me toooo!! LOVE the old rusted fence against the tree!!
Beautiful work Jenny!
hughugs

[Donna M.]

I love you, Miz Jenny...

[Sue the Hobbit]

In may be whispered, in the sometime future, that these poems were only written so that you could quote them.

[Debbie]

I thought you would enjoy these photos:

http://www.raptitude.com/2011/10/ordinary-things-every-mother-has-seen/