Fum Fum Fum

 

On December 25th** sing

Fum, fum, fum*.

On December 25th sing

Fum, fum, fum.

He is born of God's pure love,       

The Son of God, the Son of God;

He is born of Virgin Mary

On this night so cold** and dreary.

Fum, fum, fum.

     

Birds of every forest grove sing

Fum, fum, fum. 

Birds of every forest grove sing

Fum, fum, fum. 

All your fledglings on the bough,

Oh, leave them now, oh, leave them now;

For to make a downy cover

For our Jesus, round Him hover.

Fum, fum, fum.  

Shining stars from heav'n above, sing

Fum, fum, fum. 

Shining stars from heav'n above, sing

Fum, fum, fum. 

Oh, come rejoice, oh, come rejoice;

Come and light the night's obscureness

With your light and dazzling pureness.

Fum, fum, fum.    

--Traditional Spanish Catalan carol (one of many translations)  

*"Fum" [pronounced "foom"], an imitation of strumming guitars and other stringed instruments; possibly also suggesting the rocking of the cradle.

**We don't know what date or time of year Jesus was born.  (Some modern writers assert it was in August, due to supposed clues in the text, but this is not known for sure.)  This date was chosen to give people who converted to Christianity an opportunity to carry on old light festivals with new meanings.  Many carols reflect their European settings far more than the realities of 1st century Bethlehem.

Fum Fum Fum: Cedarmont Kids Version

All Things Bright & Beautiful

 

Refrain: 

All things bright and beautiful,  

 All creatures great and small, 

All things wise and wonderful, 

The Lord God made them all. 

Each little flow'r that opens,

Each little bird that sings, 

He made their glowing colors, 

He made their tiny wings. [Refrain]  

The purple-headed mountain 

The river running by,

The sunset and the morning 

That brightens up the sky. [Refrain]  

The cold wind in the winter, 

The pleasant summer sun, 

The ripe fruits in the garden: 

He made them every one. [Refrain] 

He gave us eyes to see them, 

And lips that we might tell 

How great is God Almighty, 

Who has made all things well. [Refrain]

-Cecil Frances Alexander, 1848 [female]

Cecil Frances Alexander

Trees

 

I think that I shall never see

A poem [as] lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is presst

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair; 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

  ---Joyce Kilmer, 1915  

Poetry Foundation: Joyce Kilmer

The Months

 
January brings the snow,

Makes our feet and fingers glow.

February brings the rain*,

Thaws the frozen lake again.

March brings breezes large and shrill,

Stirs the dancing daffodil.

April brings the primrose sweet,

Scatters daisies at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs,

Skipping by their fleecy damns.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses,

Fills the children's hands with posies.

Hot July brings cooling showers,

Apricots and gillyflowers**.

August brings the sheaves of corn***,

Then the harvest home is borne.

Warm September brings the fruit,

Sportsmen then begin to shoot.

Fresh October brings the pheasants,

Then to gather nuts is pleasant.

Dull November brings the blast,

Then the leaves are whirling fast.

Chill December brings the sleet*,

Blazing fire and Christmas treat. 

     ---Sara Coleridge (1802-1852)

     English writer Sara Coleridge is most known as the only daughter of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and an editor of his work, particularly after her father and her husband died.  However, she was an author and translator in her own right.

     In the 21st century, a discovery of over 100 of her unpublished poems was made.  A lecturer at University College, London, Dr. Swaab, discovered them in the Coleridge manuscripts and published them in 2007.

*Many places in the northern hemisphere will still snow in December & February. The British Isles, being smallish and surrounded by water, do not always have the conditions for snow.

**Gillyflowers:  most often, another term for "carnations", though the term may be applied to other flowers,

***Corn: old-school, Old World, meant "wheat" (whereas New World "corn" was called some variant of "maize.")

****Though this poem is not overtly religious, Sara was.  She opposed the Oxford Movement (Tractarian Movement), in the 1840s.  The movement led to an Anglican Church that was more "high church" or more similar to Roman Catholicism, as opposed to other protestant ideas present in England.  [Gerard Manly Hopkins, whose work is featured elsewhere in this blog, did approve of the Tractarian Movement.  Eventually he went so far as to formally become Roman Catholic.]

Winter in All Our Lives

[winter 2022-23 has been very wet and snowy or rainy throughout much of the US]

There is a winter in all of our lives,

a chill and darkness that makes us yearn
for days that have gone
or put our hope in days yet to be.
Father God, you created seasons for a purpose.

Spring is full of expectation
buds breaking
frosts abating and an awakening
of creation before the first days of summer.
Now the sun gives warmth
and comfort to our lives
reviving aching joints
bringing colour, new life
and crops to fruiting.

Autumn gives nature space
to lean back, relax and enjoy the fruits of its labour
mellow colours in sky and landscape
as the earth prepares to rest.
Then winter, cold and bare as nature takes stock
rests, unwinds, sleeps until the time is right.

An endless cycle
and yet a perfect model.
We need a winter in our lives
a time of rest, a time to stand still
a time to reacquaint ourselves
with the faith in which we live.
It is only then that we can draw strength
from the one in whom we are rooted
take time to grow and rise through the darkness
into the warm glow of your springtime
to blossom and flourish
bring colour and vitality into this world
your garden.
Thank you Father
for the seasons of our lives.

- Author Unknown

Ending 2021

As another year was drawing to a close, we spent some time in Northern Arizona.  It snowed almost the entire time.  If you look close in some of the photos, you will see the mountains.  You can see the snowflakes as they fall, too.

The gazebo at night

Easter Week

 

See the land, her Easter keeping,
Rises as her Maker rose.
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
Burst at last from winter snows.
Earth with heaven above rejoices;
Fields and gardens hail the spring;
Shaughs* and woodlands ring with voices,
While the wild birds build and sing.

You, to whom your Maker granted
Powers to those sweet birds unknown,
Use the craft by God implanted;
Use the reason not your own.
Here, while heaven and earth rejoices,
Each his Easter tribute bring-
Work of fingers, chant of voices,
Like the birds who build and sing.

--Charles Kingsley (1819-1875)

*archaic term for small woods, thicket

Moisture Comes to Arizona

Rain, Rain,

Came again,

Came to ease our climate's pain.

Cloud, Cloud,

You're no shroud;

You're a joy to have around.

Snow, Snow,

Do not go:

Beautify us here below.

"Cleanse me with hyssop,

And I shall be clean;

Wash me,

And I shall be whiter than snow."  (Psalm 51:7)*

Grey, Grey,

Gone away:

Would you stay another day?

Sun, Sun,

Elsewhere fun,

Here you give our drought a run.

Rain, Rain,

Come again:

Leave us not with hopes in vain.

"'For just as the rain comes down

And snow from the heavens

And does not return there

Without watering the earth...

Thus is My Word

Which goes forth from my mouth:

It does not return to Me void.'"  (from Isaiah 55:10-11)*

--C. Marie Byars, (c) 2021

*original retranslations of the Bible from Hebrew

 

This poem is fourth in a series of drought & rain across Arizona.  These are the other three:

What Color is Your Christmas?

Rain Redux

Perspectives

The below links show pictures of the author (and family) sledding in the US Southwest across the past several years.

More Sledding, More Snow

Sledding

 

 

What Color Is Your Christmas?

Customs say that Christmas colors

Feature red and green:

Reams and reams of dusty paper

Tell what these hues mean.

Newer en vogue Christmas pallettes

Favor blue and silver-- 

Mildest hints of bracing cold,

Tinselly chills with frosty lure.

"I'm dreaming of a...

    ...blue, blue Christmas."

Irving wrote of Christmas white,

Decked in sparkling snow;

Here an unplanned black-eyed Susan

Joins planned lemons dressed in yellow.

"Susan" on December 1st

Lemons on December 17th
Photo by my husband

Others might await their snow:

Winters here bring liquid flow.

Yet our rain has gone away--

Still not back this holiday.

If the rain falls on us all,

Good and evil both the same*,

What does this prolonged' drought

Say of our respective blame?

Christmas comes, Christmas goes,

Elsewhere as they brave the snows.

Christ's love blankets all our sin:

Someday all that's right will win.

--C. Marie Byars; (c) December, 2020

*Matthew 5:45

This poem forms a triptych with two other poems on our lack of rain:

Rain Redux

Perspectives

It partially "twins" with the black-eyed Susan poem below and forms a partial "triptych" with the visuals in all three of these posts:

Black-Eyed Susan (poem)

Black-Eyed Susans (homegrown images)

 

More Sledding... More on Seasons

December 2019 just south of Pine, AZ  (north of Payson)

Yes, Arizona!!!

 

After the flood, God told Noah:

"Through all the days of the earth,
Seedtime and Harvest,
Cold and Heat,
Summer and Winter.
Day and Night
Will not take rest 
[cease, pause, have a 'Sabbath'.] "
  
  ---Genesis 8:22; original translation

This is but one of our seasons as we move through time.

Past Sledding Post 

Sledding

2006, Northern Arizona

2012, East of Albuquerque

2017, Yellowstone

Snowcoaching

Jan, 2019 near Grand Canyon

Feb, 2019 N. AZ

Sledding in summer clothes?  Fooled you.

2009, White Sands, NM

November, 1851

[Autumn as death, the death of dreams and doubt]

What dost thou here, O soul,
Beyond thy own control,
Under the strange wild sky?
O stars, reach down your hands,
And clasp me in your silver bands,
I tremble with this mystery!-
Flung hither by a chance
Of restless circumstance,
Thou art but here, and wast not sent;
Yet once more mayest thou draw
By thy own mystic law
To the centre of thy wonderment.

Why wilt thou stop and start?
Draw nearer, oh my heart,
And I will question thee most wistfully;
Gather thy last clear resolution
To look upon thy dissolution.

The great God's life throbs far and free,
And thou art but a spark
Known only in thy dark,
Or a foam-fleck upon the awful ocean,
Thyself thy slender dignity,
Thy own thy vexing mystery,
In the vast change that is not change but motion.

'Tis not so hard as it would seem;
Thy life is but a dream-
And yet thou hast some thoughts about the past;
Let go, let go thy memories,
They are not things but wandering cries-
Wave them each one a long farewell at last:
I hear thee say-'Take them, O tide,
And I will turn aside,
Gazing with heedlessness, nay, even with laughter!
Bind me, ye winds and storms,
Among the things that once had forms,
And carry me clean out of sight thereafter!'

Thou hast lived long enough
To know thy own weak stuff,
Laughing thy fondest joys to utter scorn;
Give up the idle strife-
It is but mockery of life;
The fates had need of thee and thou wast born!
They are, in sooth, but thou shalt die.
O wandering spark! O homeless cry!
O empty will, still lacking self-intent!
Look up among the autumn trees:
The ripened fruits fall through the breeze,
And they will shake thee even like these
Into the lap of an Accomplishment!

Thou hadst a faith, and voices said:-
'Doubt not that truth, but bend thy head
Unto the God who drew thee from the night:'
Thou liftedst up thy eyes-and, lo!
A host of voices answered-'No;
A thousand things as good have seen the light!'
Look how the swarms arise
From every clod before thy eyes!
Are thine the only hopes that fade and fall
When to the centre of its action
One purpose draws each separate fraction,
And nothing but effects are left at all?
Aha, thy faith! what is thy faith?
The sleep that waits on coming death-
A blind delirious swoon that follows pain.
'True to thy nature!'-well! right well!
But what that nature is thou canst not tell-
It has a thousand voices in thy brain.
Danced all the leaflets to and fro?
-Thy feet have trod them long ago!
Sprung the glad music up the blue?
-The hawk hath cut the song in two.
All the mountains crumble,
All the forests fall,
All thy brethren stumble,
And rise no more at all!
In the dim woods there is a sound
When the winds begin to moan;
It is not of joy or yet of mirth,
But the mournful cry of our mother Earth,
As she calleth back her own.
Through the rosy air to-night
The living creatures play
Up and down through the rich faint light-
None so happy as they!
But the blast is here, and noises fall
Like the sound of steps in a ruined hall,
An icy touch is upon them all,
And they sicken and fade away.

The child awoke with an eye of gladness,
With a light on his head and a matchless grace,
And laughed at the passing shades of sadness
That chased the smiles on his mother's face;
And life with its lightsome load of youth
Swam like a boat on a shining lake-
Freighted with hopes enough, in sooth,
But he lived to trample on joy and truth,
And change his crown for a murder-stake!

Oh, a ruddy light went through the room,
Till the dark ran out to his mother Night!
And that little chamber showed through the gloom
Like a Noah's ark with its nest of light!
Right glad was the maiden there, I wis,
With the youth that held her hand in his!
Oh, sweet were the words that went and came
Through the light and shade of the leaping flame
That glowed on the cheerful faces!
So human the speech, so sunny and kind,
That the darkness danced on the wall behind,
And even the wail of the winter wind
Sang sweet through the window-cases!

But a mournful wail crept round and round,
And a voice cried:-'Come!' with a dreary sound,
And the circle wider grew;
The light flame sank, and sorrow fell
On the faces of those that loved so well;
Darker and wilder grew the tone;
Fainter and fainter the faces shone;
The wild night clasped them, and they were gone-
And thou art passing too!

Lo, the morning slowly springs
Like a meek white babe from the womb of night!
One golden planet sits and stings
The shifting gloom with his point of light!
Lo, the sun on its throne of flame!
-Wouldst thou climb and win a crown?*
Oh, many a heart that pants for the same
Falls to the earth ere he goes down!
Thy heart is a flower with an open cup-
Sit and watch, if it pleaseth thee,
Till the melting twilight fill it up
With a crystal of tender sympathy;
So, gently will it tremble
The silent midnight through,
And flocks of stars assemble
By turns in its depths of dew;-
But look! oh, look again!
After the driving wind and rain!
When the day is up and the sun is strong,
And the voices of men are loud and long,
When the flower hath slunk to its rest again,
And love is lost in the strife of men!

Let the morning break with thoughts of love,
And the evening fall with dreams of bliss-
So vainly panteth the prisoned dove
For the depths of her sweet wilderness;
So stoops the eagle in his pride
From his rocky nest ere the bow is bent;
So sleeps the deer on the mountain-side
Ere the howling pack hath caught the scent!

The fire climbs high till its work is done;
The stalk falls down when the flower is gone;
And the stars of heaven when their course is run
Melt silently away!
There was a footfall on the snow,
A line of light on the ocean-flow,
And a billow's dash on the rocks below
That stand by the wintry bay:-
The snow was gone on the coming night;
Another wave arose in his might,
Uplifted his foaming breast of white,
And died like the rest for aye!

Oh, the stars were bright! and thyself in thee
Yearned for an immortality!
And the thoughts that drew from thy busy brain
Clasped the worlds like an endless chain-
When a moon arose, and her moving chime
Smote on thy soul, like a word in time,
Or a breathless wish, or a thought in rime,
And the truth that looked so gloomy and high
Leapt to thy arms with a joyful cry!
But what wert thou when a soulless Cause
Opened the book of its barren laws,
And thy spirit that was so glad and free
Was caught in the gin of necessity,
And a howl arose from the strife of things
Vexing each other with scorpion stings?
What wert thou but an orphan child
Thrust from the door when the night was wild?
Or a sailor on the toiling main
Looking blindly up through the wind and rain
As the hull of the vessel fell in twain!

Seals are on the book of fate,
Hands may not unbind it;
Eyes may search for truth till late,
But will never find it-!
Rising on the brow of night
Like a portent of dismay,
As the worlds in wild affright
Track it on its direful way;
Resting like a rainbow bar
Where the curve and level meet,
As the children chase it far
O'er the sands with blistered feet;
Sadly through the mist of ages
Gazing on this life of fear,
Doubtful shining on its pages,
Only seen to disappear!
Sit thee by the sounding shore
-Winds and waves of human breath!-
Learn a lesson from their roar,
Swelling, bursting evermore:
Live thy life and die thy death!
Die not like the writhing worm,
Rise and win thy highest stake;
Better perish in the storm
Than sit rotting on the lake!
Triumph in thy present youth,
Pulse of fire and heart of glee;
Leap at once into the truth,
If there is a truth for thee.

Shapeless thoughts and dull opinions,
Slow distinctions and degrees,-
Vex not thou thy weary pinions**
With such leaden weights as these-
Through this mystic jurisdiction
Reaching out a hand by chance,
Resting on a dull conviction
Whetted but by ignorance;
Living ever to behold
Mournful eyes that watch and weep;
Spirit suns that flashed in gold
Failing from the vasty deep;
Starry lights that glowed like Truth
Gazing with unnumbered eyes,
Melting from the skies of youth,
Swallowed up of mysteries;
Cords of love that sweetly bound thee;
Faded writing on thy brow;
Presences that came around thee;
Hands of faith that fail thee now!

Groping hands will ever find thee
In the night with loads of chains!
Lift thy fetters and unbind thee,
Cast thee on the midnight plains:
Shapes of vision all-providing-
Famished cheeks and hungry cries!
Sound of crystal waters sliding-
Thirsty lips and bloodshot eyes!
Empty forms that send no gleaming
Through the mystery of this strife!-
Oh, in such a life of seeming,
Death were worth an endless life!

Hark the trumpet of the ocean
Where glad lands were wont to be!
Many voices of commotion
Break in tumult over thee!
Lo, they climb the frowning ages,
Marching o'er their level lands!
Far behind the strife that rages
Silence sits with clasped hands;
Undivided Purpose, freeing
His own steps from hindrances,
Sending out great floods of being,
Bathes thy steps in silentness.
Sit thee down in mirth and laughter-
One there is that waits for thee;
If there is a true hereafter***
He will lend thee eyes to see.

Like a snowflake gently falling
On a quiet fountain,
Or a weary echo calling
From a distant mountain,
Drop thy hands in peace,-
Fail-falter-cease.      

--George MacDonald  


*Christ wins the crown of salvation for us; we don't climb for it
**A type of feather for flight; a bird cannot fly if weighed down
***more doubt about the afterlife than I would entertain