Death Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so:
For those who thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much more pleasure than from thee must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go---
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than they stroke. Why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more: Death thou shalt die!
---John Donne (alt.)

Easter

Break the box and shed the nard*;
Stop not now to count the cost;
Hither bring pearl, opal, sard;
Reck not what the poor have lost;
Upon Christ throw all away:
Know ye, this is Easter Day.

Gather gladness from the skies;
Take a lesson from the ground;
Flowers do ope their heavenward eyes
And a Spring-time joy have found;
Earth throws Winter's robes away,
Decks herself for Easter Day.

Seek God's house in happy throng;
Crowded let His table be;
Mingle praises, payer and song,
Singing to the Trinity.
Henceforth let your souls alway
Make each morn an Easter Day.
---Gerard Manley Hopkins

*the woman in the Gospels who anointed Jesus's feet with expensive perfume

Queen Creek near Globe, AZ

Crossing the Bar*

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar*,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home**.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell;
When I embark;

For thou' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far**;
I hope to see my Pilot*** face to face
When I have crossed the bar.*
---Alfred, Lord Tennyson

*Sandbar; when a ship leaves the deep water to go towards shore, it can actually be hazardous and perilous
**After a long-life's journey, some of which may unfortunately have taken us further away from God at times, the Christian longs to "go home to God"
***A nautical pilot guides water craft safely through harbors and to shore; Jesus is that pilot.

The World is Too Much with Us

[Technically, the poet doesn't write this one in a Christian vein. He even borrows pagan mythology. But Wordsworth was Christian, and this is a great commentary on modern materialism.]

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

The sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune,
It moves us not. ---Great God! I'd rather be
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn.

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn."
--William Wordsworth, published 1807

Clouds & Scripture

"See, [Jesus] comes with the clouds,
And every eye shall see Him,
even as many as pierced Him;
And all the tribes of the earth shall mourn." (Revelation 1:7)

"See, He will advance like the clouds,
And His chariots like a whirlwind,
His horses are swifter than eagles.
Woe to us, for we are plundered!" (Jeremiah 4:13)
"You have clothed Yourself with a cloud
So that prayer cannot get through." (Lamentations 3:44)
"'I [God] have swept away as a cumulus cloud your offenses
And as a cloud your sins.
Return to Me,
For I have redeemed you.'" (Isaiah 44:22)
---original translations

The Spirit & Nature in Scripture

"By the word of Yahweh were the heavens made,
And all their hosts by the Spirit of His mouth." (Psalm 33:6)
"You send forth Your Spirit, they are created;
And You renew the face of the earth." (Ps. 104:30)
-----original translations

Fairest Lord Jesus

Fair are the meadows,
Fair are the woodlands,
Robed in flow'rs of blooming spring;
Jesus is fairer;
Jesus is purer;
He makes our sorr'wing spirits sing.
---ancient hymn text

Violet

Daffodil