God's Grandeur

God's Grandeur
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
   It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
   It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed.  Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
   And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
   And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
   There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
   Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
   World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

How Beautiful The Feet

How Beautiful The Feet
by Genevieve Glen, OSB

Along each dusty road and busy street
the gospel walks on tired and wounded feet
whose tread is steady though the road is long.
The sound of herald footsteps falls as song
on those who labor in the heavy heat
of life grown burdensome, which once was sweet.

A freshness follows when the footsteps come
and play surprising music through the hum
of boredom making noise to hide the sound
of fear that lurks behind the daily round
and whispers that of all life's hours the sum
is empty beating on a hollow drum.

The steps awaken hidden hymns of praise
which murmur, spring-like, at the heart of days
that suddenly remember hopes which grew
in future's endless fields when life was new.
Their seeds in dark earth stir and dare to raise
green shoots that startle jaded, jaundiced gaze.

The footsteps gather crowds that run behind,
astounded at the beauty that they find
in words that sing of other ways than those
that lead the disillusioned to suppose
there is no life beyond the dreadful grind
that starves the soul and stultifies the mind.

But no pied piper, this, with jaunty air
to lure us to the place where dreams despair
before the gates of death that once stood shut.
These footsteps that we follow, bleeding, cut
a passageway that leads us out to where
life's music catches fire -- for God is there.

[Oh, God bless Genevieve Glen!!!  Thank you, GG, for your inspiring and nourishing poetry!!!]

Dickens re Autumn and faded hopes

George Edmunds' Song

Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around he here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
How like the hopes of childhood's day,
Thick clust'ring on the bough!
How like those hopes in their decay-
How faded are they now!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!

Wither'd leaves, wither'd leaves, that fly before the gale:
Withered leaves, withered leaves, ye tell a mournful tale,
Of love once true, and friends once kind,
And happy moments fled:
Dispersed by every breath of wind,
Forgotten, changed, or dead!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!

Charles Dickens 

God's Wisdom

God's Wisdom spreads her table well
And bids her children in
To eat her bread and drink her wine
And leave the husks of sin.

She sends her servant out at dawn
And noon and set of sun
To call the weary, sore and sad,
And wand'rer every one.

Come, rest in Wisdom's house, they cry,
Come, eat and drink in peace,
For God will join you at the board
And share with you the feast.

~Genevieve Glen
(found in Magnificat August 2011 -- Vol. 13, No. 6)

Christ Comes

Christ comes, the promised peace of God,
His hands with healing filled,
In Him is brokenness made whole
And love from hate distilled.
And when He comes, for whom we long,
Then will all rage be stilled.

Christ comes, the promised hand of God,
To cast the veil aside
That shrouds the world in bitter grief,
Where none from death can hide.
And when He comes, for whom we long,
Then will all tears be dried.

Christ comes, the promise kept by God,
The faithful One, and true.
In Him is ev'ry hope confirmed
And ev'ry fear subdued.
And when He comes, for whom we long,
Then all will be made new.

~Genevieve Glen, O.S.B.



{Praise be His Holy Name! :))) }

There's A Certain Slant Of Light

There's a certain slant of light,


On winter afternoons,

That oppresses, like the weight

Of cathedral tunes.



Heavenly hurt it gives us;

We can find no scar,

But internal difference

Where the meanings are.



None may teach it anything,

'Tis the seal, despair,-

An imperial affliction

Sent us of the air.



When it comes, the landscape listens,

Shadows hold their breath;

When it goes, 't is like the distance

On the look of death.





~Emily Dickenson

All You Who Seek

All you who seek a comfort sure
In trouble and distress,
Whatever sorrow vex the mind,
Whatever griefs oppress,
Jesus, who gave Himself for you
Upon the cross to die,
Let there His heart for love be pierced:
Oh, to that heart draw nigh.

You hear how kindly He invites;
You hear His words so blest:
"All you what labor come to Me,
And I will give you rest."
Christ Jesus, joy of saints on high,
The hope of sinners here,
Attracted by those loving words
To you we lift our prayer.

Latin, 18th c., tr. by Edward Caswall, 1814-1878, public domain