R&B Singer
25 January, 1938
Etta James (1961)
A Sunday Kind of Love
(Barbara Belle, et al, 1946)
Saturday, January 24, 2009
On Her Birthday - A Sunday Kind of Love
R&B Singer
25 January, 1938
Etta James (1961)
A Sunday Kind of Love
(Barbara Belle, et al, 1946)
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Wishing You A Psalm 51 New Year
(Psalm 51:10 KJV)
In tandem with each winter solstice and Christmas celebration, the winter nights become shorter and the days longer. Yet, our Lord, the Sun of Righteousness, reigns in unconceivable splendor even as I write:
"Bright, like a sun, the Savior sits, And spreads eternal noon; No evenings there, nor gloomy nights, To want the feeble moon." – Isaac Watts
On this side of eternity, His advent made it possible to fill us-His elect-with the promised hope and the light of day. His grace and truth poured over us. Our being is filled with an immeasurable joy; His love uplifts and preserves us far beyond the holiday season and temporal tides.
May the Lord continue to make His face shine on you, and be gracious to you in the New Year.
Déjà vu All Over Again - New Year's Morn
New Year's Dawn - Broadway
Sara Teasdale (1884 -1933)
When the horns wear thin
And the noise, like a garment outworn,
Falls from the night,
The tattered and shivering night,
That thinks she is gay;
When the patient silence comes back,
And retires,
And returns,
Rebuffed by a ribald song,
Wounded by vehement cries,
Fleeing again to the stars--
Ashamed of her sister the night;
Oh, then they steal home,
The blinded, the pitiful ones
With their gew-gaws still in their hands,
Reeling with odorous breath
And thick, coarse words on their tongues.
They get them to bed, somehow,
And sleep the forgiving,
Comes thru the scattering tumult
And closes their eyes.
The stars sink down ashamed
And the dawn awakes,
Like a youth who steals from a brothel,
Dizzy and sick.
Sara Teasdale (1884 -1933)
When the horns wear thin
And the noise, like a garment outworn,
Falls from the night,
The tattered and shivering night,
That thinks she is gay;
When the patient silence comes back,
And retires,
And returns,
Rebuffed by a ribald song,
Wounded by vehement cries,
Fleeing again to the stars--
Ashamed of her sister the night;
Oh, then they steal home,
The blinded, the pitiful ones
With their gew-gaws still in their hands,
Reeling with odorous breath
And thick, coarse words on their tongues.
They get them to bed, somehow,
And sleep the forgiving,
Comes thru the scattering tumult
And closes their eyes.
The stars sink down ashamed
And the dawn awakes,
Like a youth who steals from a brothel,
Dizzy and sick.