Evening Prayer

From Poems, by C.S.Lewis (pp. 129-130):

THE APOLOGISTS'S EVENING PRAYER

From all my lame defeats and oh! much more
From all the victories that I seemed to score;
From cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf
At which, while angels weep, the audience laugh;
From all my proofs of Thy divinity,
Thou, who wouldst give no sign, deliver me.

Thoughts are but coins.  Let me not trust, instead
Of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.
From all my thoughts, even from my thoughts of Thee,
O thou fair Silence, fall, and set me free.
Lord of the narrow gate and the needle's eye,
Take from me all my trumpery lest I die.

*  *  *

FOOTNOTE TO ALL PRAYERS

He whom I bow to only knows to whom I bow
When I attempt the ineffable Name, murmuring Thou,
And dream of Pheidian fancies and embrace in heart
Symbols (I know) which cannot be the thing Thou art.
Thus always, taken at their word, all prayers blaspheme
Worshipping with frail images a folk-lore dream,
And all men in their praying, self-deceived, address
The coinage of their own unquiet thoughts, unless
Thou in magnetic mercy to Thyself divert
Our arrows, aimed unskillfully, beyond desert;
And all men are idolators, crying unheard
To a deaf idol, if Thou take them at their word.

Take not, oh Lord, our literal sense.  Lord, in Thy great,
Unbroken speech our limping metaphor translate.

*  *  *

AFTER PRAYERS LIE COLD

Arise my body, my small body, we have striven
Enough, and He is merciful; we are forgiven.
Arise small body, puppet-like and pale, and go,
White as the bed-clothes into bed, and cold as snow,
Undress with small, cold fingers and put out the light,
And be alone, hush'd mortal, in the sacred night,
--A meadow whipt flat with the rain, a cup
Emptied and clean, a garment washed and folded up,
Faded in colour, thinned almost to raggedness
By dirt and by the washing of that dirtiness.
Be not too quickly warm again.  Lie cold; consent
To weariness' and pardon's watery element.
Drink up the bitter water, breathe the chilly death;
Soon enough comes the riot of our blood and breath.

"Come forth, ye blossoms! --over hill and lea,
A breathe of sweetness wantons with the sea;
And mid the smiles and tears of tender Spring,
On dripping boughs I heard the throstle sing:
Ye cups and stars that strew the fair, green field,
Ye wings of gold the prickly gorses yield;
Ye pensive bells to purple pageants born,
Ye milk-white may-buds of the mantling thorn,
Ye violet gems and eyes of sapphire blue;
Wan, flushing wind-flowers and shy elfin crew
Of every crannied wall, --come forth!-- and fling
Your vernal showers around me while I sing;"

'A Song of Salutation'  E.M.Holden

If thou indeed derive thy light from Heaven,
Then, to the measure of that heaven-born light,
Shine, Poet! in thy place, and be content: —
The stars pre-eminent in magnitude,
And they that from the zenith dart their beams,
(Visible though they be to half the earth,
Though half a sphere be conscious of their brightness)
Are yet of no diviner origin,
No purer essence, than the one that burns,
Like an untended watch-fire on the ridge
Of some dark mountain; or than those which seem

Humbly to hang, like twinkling winter lamps,
Among the branches of the leafless trees.
All are the undying offspring of one Sire:
Then, to the measure of the light vouchsafed,
Shine, Poet! in thy place, and be content.

~William Wordsworth

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Before the throne of God above
I have a strong and perfect plea.
A great high Priest whose Name is Love
Who ever lives and pleads for me.
My name is graven on His hands,
My name is written on His heart.
I know that while in Heaven He stands
No tongue can bid me thence depart.

When Satan tempts me to despair
And tells me of the guilt within,
Upward I look and see Him there
Who made an end of all my sin.
Because the sinless Savior died
My sinful soul is counted free.
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me.

Behold Him there the risen Lamb,
My perfect spotless righteousness,
The great unchangeable I AM,
The King of glory and of grace,
One in Himself I cannot die.
My soul is purchased by His blood,
My life is hid with Christ on high,
With Christ my Savior and my God!

::'~ Charitie L. Bancroft, 1863

Photo: morning scribbles with my new colored chalk from Ana

Help Me Sing 376

.
Ye souls, who are bound unto Canaan,
Come, join in and help me to sing
The praises of my loving Jesus,
My Prophet, my Priest and my King.
His name is most sweetly melodious,
‘Twill help you most swiftly to move,
While Jesus Himself is the leader,
We’re bound by the cords of His love.
.


* * * * *

Help Me to Sing (Disc 2: Help Me to Sing)

You haven't heard this song sung until you've heard Mac Powell's arrangement (just my personal opinion, though). I have it repeating in my itunes library. It is ministering to my soul. From the CD "Awake My Soul & Help Me to Sing (the Original Soundtrack)".

"Help Me To Sing" sung here on YouTube

Nearer

Oh Jesus, draw nearer,
And make Thyself dearer,
I yearn, I am yearning for Thee;
Come take for Thy dwelling,
The heart that is swelling
With longings Thy beauty to see!

How languid and weary,
How lonely and dreary,
The days when Thou hidest Thy face;
How sorrow and sadness
Are turned into gladness,
By a glimpse of its love and its grace.

Come nearer, come nearer,
And make Thyself dearer,
Thou joy, Thou delight of my heart.
Close, close to Thee pressing
I long for Thy blessing,
I cannot without it depart.

~From Golden Hours: Heart-Hymns of the Christian Life by Elizabeth Payson Prentiss~

Little Blue Pigeon

Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings--
Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;
Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging--
Swinging the nest where her little one lies.

Away out yonder I see a star--
Silvery star with a tinkling song;
To the soft dew falling I hear it calling--
Calling and tinkling the night along.

In through the window a moonbeam comes--
Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;
All silently creeping, it asks, "Is he sleeping--
Sleeping and dreaming while Mother sings?"

Up from the sea there floats the sob
Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore,
As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning--
Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.

But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings--
Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;
Am I not singing? --see I am swinging--
Swinging the nest where my darling lies.

~Eugene Field

My little Greta Rosebud is teething already and likes to rocky-rock in the rocking chair with Mama to go to sleep these days.

Advent

"O Source of all good,
What shall I render to thee for the gift of gifts, thine own dear Son...
Herein is wonder of wonders:
he came below to raise me above,
was born like me that I might become like him...
O God, take me in spirit to the watchful shepherds,
and enlarge my mind:
let me hear good tidings of great joy,
and hearing, believe, rejoice, praise, adore,
my conscience bathed in an ocean of repose,
my eyes uplifted to a reconciled Father;
place me with ox, ass, camel, goat,
to look with them upon my Redeemer's face,
and in him account myself delivered from sin;
let me with Simeon clasp the new-born child
to my heart,
embrace him with undying faith,
exulting that he is mine and I am his.
In him thou hast given me so much
that heaven can give no more."

~ From The Valley of Vision

The reason for eternal thanksgiving!

The Supper of Thanksgiving

by Horatius Bonar (1801-1889)

For the bread and for the wine,

For the pledge that seals Him mine,

For the words of love divine,

We give Thee thanks, O Lord.

For the body and the blood,

For the more than angel's food,

For the boundless grace of God,

We give Thee thanks, O Lord.

For the chalice whence we sip

Moisture for the parched lip,

For the board of fellowship,

We give Thee thanks, O Lord.

For the feast of love and peace

Bidding all our sorrows cease,

Earnest of the kingdom's bliss,

We give Thee thanks, O Lord.

For the paschal lamb here given,

For the loaf without the leaven,
For the manna dropt from heaven,

We give Thee thanks, Oh Lord.

Only bread and only wine,

Yet to faith the solemn sign

Of the heavenly and divine!

We give Thee thanks, O Lord!

Remember

This is a poem written by a sister in Christ in UT for another sister in Christ named Li Ying who has been imprisoned in China for Jesus' sake since 2001.

Read. Remember. Pray for these people.

How exquisite the fragrance that fills the air

Of darkened halls of shame and fear.

Among the guilty and profane

A sweet flow'r blooms amidst the pain.

Silently her cries ascend to God

Unheard, unheeded, so it seems.

Yet angels weep and wipe away her tears

Bring hope amid the questions and the fears.

Her crown is woven by her trials

Her tears are captured in God's vial.

Though justice is denied her here

Her cause is not forgotten there.

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this good day

If rain clouds come
or the cold winds blow
You're the one
who goes before me
and in my heart I know

This good day
it is a gift from You
The world is turning in its place
because You made it to
I lift my voice
to sing a song of praise
on this good day

~Fernando Ortega "This Good Day" from Cd "Home"

Doe the Nexte Thyng

From an old English parsonage down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, as it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the hours the quaint words ring
Like low inspiration--
"Doe the Nexte Thyng"

Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by Moment, let down from from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrow, Child of the King,
Trust them with Jesus,
"Doe the Nexte Thyng"


Do it immediately; do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His Hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe 'neath His wing,
Leave all resultings
"Doe the Nexte Thyng"

Looking to Jesus, ever serener
(Working or suffering) be thy demeanor
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing,
Then, as He beckons thee,
"Doe the Nexte Thyng"


~Author Unknown

So Be It

So be it; 'tis Thy plan not mine,
And being Thine is good;
My God, my will shall yield to Thine
Ere it is understood.

So be it; I a child of dust
Will not oppose Thy way,
Move on, mysterious Will, I trust,
I love, and will obey.

So be it; and do Thou, my heart,
No childish questions ask,
Thou in God's counsels hast no part,
Crave not so hard a task.

So be it; yes, so be it, Lord,
No word have I to say--
O be Thy gracious name adored--
I love and will obey.

~Elizabeth Payson Prentiss, Golden Hours

Monday

"Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,
While the white foam raises high,
And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,
And fasten the clothes to dry;
Then out in the free fresh air they swing,
Under the sunny sky."

~Louisa May Alcott, "A Song from the Suds"









Listening to "Peace Like a River"

May

‘While Earth herself is adorning
This sweet May morning,
And the children are culling
On every side
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm
And the Babe leaps up on its mother’s arm—

Then sing ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song
And let the young lambs bound as to the tabor’s sound
We in thought will join your throng
Ye that pipe and ye that play
Ye that through your hearts today
Feel the gladness of the May.’

~‘Ode’ W.Wordsworth~

Poetry selection and illustration from The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady by Edith Holden

~poem~

We Have Not Known Thee As We Ought

* * *

We have not known thee as we ought,

Nor learned thy wisdom, grace, and power;

The things of earth have filled our thought,

And trifles of the passing hour.

Lord, give us light thy truth to see,

And make us wise in knowing thee.

* * *

We have not feared thee as we ought,

Nor bowed beneath thine awful eye,

Nor guarded deed, and word, and thought,

Remembering that God was nigh.

Lord, give us faith to know thee near,

And grant the grace of holy fear.

* * *

We have not loved thee as we ought,

Nor cared that we are loved by thee;

Thy presence we have coldly sought,

And feebly longed thy face to see.

Lord, give a pure and loving heart

To feel and own the love thou art.

* * *

We have not served thee as we ought;

Alas! the duties left undone,

The work with little fervor wrought,

The battles lost, or scarcely won!

Lord, give the zeal, and give the might,

For thee to toil, for thee to fight.

* * *

When shall we know thee as we ought,

And fear, and love, and serve aright!

When shall we, out of trial brought,

Be perfect in the land of light!

Lord, may we day by day prepare

To see thy face, and serve thee there.

~*~

~Thomas Benson Pollock, 1889

Make Me Thy Fuel

From prayer that asks that I may be

Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee,

From fearing when I should aspire,

From faltering when I should climb higher,

From silken self, O Captain, free

Thy soldier who would follow Thee.

~*~

From subtle love of softening things,

From easy choices, weakenings,

(Not thus are spirits fortified,

Not this way went the Crucified)

From all that dims Thy Calvary,

O Lamb of God, deliver me.

~*~

Give me the love that leads the way,

The faith that nothing can dismay,

The hope no dissapointment tire,

The passion that will burn like fire;

Let me not sink to be a clod:

Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God.

~Amy Carmichael

~*~ poem ~*~

A poem to consider by John Donne (1572-1631)~

Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for you
As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp’d town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth’d unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~