Labor Day, 2022

And labor shall refresh itself with hope
- Shakespeare

The Eventide of Summer

September

Go forth at eventide, 
The eventide of summer, when the trees 
Yield their frail honors to the passing breeze,
And woodland paths with autumn tints are dyed; 
When the mild sun his paling luster shrouds 
In gorgeous draperies of golden clouds, 
Then wander forth, mid beauty and decay, 
To meditate alone—alone to watch and pray. 

—Emma C. Embury (1806-1863).

Sweet Dreams and Drowsy Charms of Tender Night

Dear B___:

Life’s tapestry is constantly stitching and unstitching. We have our days of wine and roses along with days of bitterness and sorrow. Through it all, our friendship is more than words can expressed. It is beyond wealth, eyesight, space, and time.

Do you know your birthday on 14 August has only 0.27% probability? Therefore, it is very precious. So then, it is my prayer that you go softly all your years in sweet harmony.

Sing songs of motherly love to your children and grandchildren. May their soul chorded and vibrates in your sweetness and calmness. May they always remember and return to the bosom of your care and love on all your birthdays and then some.

In closing, on your birthday celebration today/tomorrow, during your quiet hours of rest, “sweet dreams and drowsy charms of tender night.”

Always,

L'

Until the Angle of Its Saffron Beam

August
 - Yury Zhivago
Boris Paternak
"In the Interlude, Poems 1945-1960"
 
 This was its promise, held to faithfully:
 The early morning sun came in this way
 Until the angle of its saffron beam
 Between the curtains and the sofa lay,
 
 And with its ochre heat it spread across
 The village houses, and the nearby wood,
 Upon my bed and on my dampened pillow
 And to the corner where the bookcase stood.
 
 Then I recalled the reason why my pillow
 Had been so dampened by those tears that fell I'd
 dreamt I saw you coming one by one
 Across the wood to wish me your farewell.
 
 You came in ones and twos, a straggling crowd ;
 Then suddenly someone mentioned a word:
 It was the sixth of August, by Old Style,
 And the Transfiguration of Our Lord.
 
 For from Mount Tabor usually this day
 There comes a light without a flame to shine,
 And autumn draws all eyes upon itself
 As clear and unmistaken as a sign.
 
 But you came forward through the tiny, stripped,
 The pauperly and trembling alder grove,
 Into the graveyard's coppice, russet-red,
 Which, like stamped gingerbread, lay there and glowed.

A 4th July Reflection

Dear G:

Here are some thoughts from a guy who was taught in grade school U.S. history and respect for the American flag.

I am convinced the quick fire of youth light not their minds today, or in any generation. Seldom does one hear from the younger mindset the discourse on the “seven ages” of life came after the ubiquitous Shakespearean quote, “All the world’s a stage…” (As You like It, 2.7). These younger spirits would just as soon leave the introspection on the stages of life to folks like us.

Two hundred thirty-five years ago, on the last day of the Constitutional Convention in 1787 (eleven years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence), Benjamin Franklin offers a profundity of thought. If the Republic of the United States were to abide as one, the people must accept and defend the governance of the Constitution.

Unequivocally, the Franklin pundit is put to rest. To this day, this country is bruised but not broken, smoldering in upheavals but not quenched. The strong oak of this Republic has not torn asunder since the shot that heard around the world in 1775. To this day, the Constitution of these United States holds. To this day, our Republic stands indivisible.

Notwithstanding learned professors could render the War of Independence and much more in winsome edification to the readers. Nevertheless, from a Christian perspective, apart from the agency of God (cf. Psalm 127:1-2), the ‘A Train’ to Zarathustra pursuits, as it were, are useless of human effort. It is in Christ “in whom are hidden all the treasure of wisdom and knowledge” (Colossians 2:3). When Christ comes again, He will deliver the kingdom of this world to God the Father (1 Corinthians 15:24).

It is the special grace He bestowed on His people. In life and in death, (Romans 14:7-9) they belong to Christ the Savior (1 Corinthians 3:23; Titus 2:14).

In the meantime, we thank Him for the showers of general grace, with another celebration of 4th July in this Republic!

L'

4 July 1776, The Declaration of Independence

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
The Concord Hymn, First Stanza Engraved
The Battle Monument, July 4, 1837.

First Day of Summer, 2022

Summer
by John Clare (1793-1864)

Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,
For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,
And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest,
And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast;
She sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting of her hair,
And I will to my true lover with a fond request repair;
I will look upon her face, I will in her beauty rest,
And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast.

The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May,
The merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day,
And the chaffinch it is brooding on its grey mossy nest
In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast;
I'll lean upon her breast and I'll whisper in her ear

That I cannot get a wink o'sleep for thinking of my dear;
I hunger at my meat and I daily fade away
Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day.

There Lives a Glory in These Sweet June Days

June

There lives a glory in these sweet June days 
Such as I found not in the days gone by, 
A kindlier meaning in the unclouded sky, 
A tenderer whisper in the woodland ways; 
And I have understanding of the lays, 
The birds are singing, forasmuch as I 
Have learned how love avails to satisfy 
A man's whole heart, and fills his lips with praise. 

—Percy C. Ainsworth (1873-1909)

Your Sacred Dust Be the Choice Trust

Memorial Day, 2022

Our martyred dead! on each low bed,
Green be the chaplet, fresh the roses;
No marble cold may guard your mold,
But loving hearts around are swelling.

Oh, lightly rest, on each calm breast,
The turf where each in peace reposes;
Each daring deed shall gain the meed
Of praise from all hearts richly welling.

Hail! hero shades, your battle blades
A wall of steel our homes surrounded;
Your sacred dust be the choice trust
Of Freedom's grateful sons and daughters.

- Anonymous

Beneath the Concave of a Mother’s Wing

Before mine eyes had seen the light of day,
Or that my soul had come from Heaven’s great King⁠—
A harmless, tiny, helpless little thing⁠—
You loved me!—While my tender being lay
In the soft rose-leaves of your heart at rest,
Like some lone bird within its downy nest,
Beneath the concave of its mother’s wing,
Unborn—your soul came in my heart to dwell,
Like perfume in the flower, each part to bring,
As warmth unto the young bird in its shell,
And built me up to what I was to be,
A semblance of thyself. Thus, being cast
In thy heart’s mould, I grew up like to thee,
And lost in thee my first friend with my last!
		
    - T. Holley Chivers, M.D. (1842)