Here are two verses in the much longer poem, Ode to the Hills, by Archibald Lampman. I find it very soothing as well as picturesque. I think of the Rockies when I read this.
Empires have come and gone, And glorious cities fallen in their prime; Divine, far-echoing, names once writ in stone Have vanished in the dust and void of time; But ye, firm-set, secure, Like treasure in the hardness of God’s palm, Are yet the same for ever; ye endure By virtue of an old slow-ripening word, In your grey majesty and sovereign calm, Untouched, unstirred.
And yet not harsh alone, Nor wild, nor bitter are your destinies, O fair and sweet, for all your heart of stone, Who gather beauty round your Titan knees, As the lens gathers light. The dawn gleams rosy on your splendid brows, The sun at noonday folds you in his might, And swathes your forehead at his going down, Last leaving, where he first in pride bestows, His golden crown.
Many people have written about the joys of coming home, of rediscovering the treasures you were taking for granted, and one wise writer once declared that “HOME” is the nicest word. Yes, it was great to visit dear friends elsewhere, but now we are home again, and very glad to be here. 🙂
The Joy of Getting Home
by Edgar A. Guest
The joy of getting home again is the sweetest thrill I know. Though travelers by ship or train are smiling when they go, the eye is never quite so bright, the smile so wide and true, as when they pass the last home light and all their wandering’s through.
Oh, I have journeyed down to sea and traveled far by rail, but naught was quite so fair to me as that last homeward trail. Oh, nothing was in London town, or Paris gay, or Rome with all its splendor and renown so good to see as home.
‘Tis good to take these lovely trips, ‘tis good to get away, there’s pleasure found on sailing ships, but travel as you may you’ll learn as most of us have learned, wherever you may roam, you’re happiest when your face is turned toward the lights of home.
My first thought was of the way we English speakers use prepositions to add new meaning to verbs. So this little sort-of-tale will be my response to this prompt.
Blow up Tell off Tear up Stomp off Sober up Cool down Think through Grieve for ‘Fess up Make up Work out Carry on
My dear hubby told me yesterday that he’s having trouble adding an image to his post, so I’ll give it a try. (No problems here.) We’re finding that Word Press has been throwing some wrenches in our gears lately. How about you?
This photo comes from Pixabay, submitted by Steve Buissinne. The words are my adaptation of an old quote.
And now for one of the most misunderstood letters in the English language…
Accused of being HIGH-BROW or even HAUGHTY, the use of an H is at least controversial. Some groups of English speakers do an automatic delete, and for sure the French do. We can’t blame the use of H and TH on the Norman invaders. Lately I heard a Cockney speaker explaining that if you want to sound like them, “Get rid of the H’s. Don’t need ’em.” Ditto with the TH’s. “Oo needs an H? Ged along royt wew wivoud ’em, we can.”
The other linguistic foible is to stick them in where they don’t belong. “H’Irvin h’Armstrong was here today. He wanted to h’ask you h’if you’d gotten his message?”
But H is here to stay, because we need to HALF– so many things, and because it starts out so many short everyday words we can’t do without: HURT + HEAL HOLD + HURL HELP + HINDER HIM + HER
Doing some research on the origins of our letter H, I discovered that our H words are mostly Germanic in origin, that their roots go back to a common Indo-European language, and they mostly began with a k or kh sound. Here, Who, How < kho Hind (deer) < Kemi Hip < kheup Heart < kadia or kerd Hearth < kherthaz Help < kelp
The Japanese are fond of their H, giving us words like HONCHO and HAIKU, and who knows how many more if the current linguistic melange continues.
Dorothy Sayers, in her book, THE FIVE RED HERRINGS, waxed merry with various accents and dropped or added aitches in a realistic way. The book was published in 1931 and she died in 1957, so I’m hoping I’ll be okay reprinting this bit.
Investigating the suspicious death of Mr Campbell, Inspector Macpherson called on Mr. Gowan. When the haughty English butler opened the door, the Inspector asked to speak to the gentleman. “Mr Gowan is h’out. He’s gone to London.” In his Broad Scots accent, the inspector explains… “I will tell ye, wi’oot circumlocution, that there is mair than a suspeecion that the puir gentleman was murdered.” “So I h’understand.” “Your name is Halcock, is’t no?” The butler corrected him. “H’alcock,” he said, reprovingly. “H, a, double l?” “There is no h’aitch in the name, young man. H’ay is the first letter, and there is h’only one h’ell.”
Then the Inspector goes on to question Hammond, Mr Gowan’s chauffeur, described as a small, perky man, mongrel in speech, but betraying a strong streak of the fundamental cockney.
“Did ye drive Mr. Gowan onywhere on Monday last?” “Drove ‘im ter Dumfries. Mr. Alcock comes down when I was ‘avin’ me supper, and says Mr. Gowan wanted the saloon round at 8 o’clock ter tike ‘im ter Dumfries. And I says, ‘Right-oh!’ I says, ‘an’ I can pick up them there pitchers at the same time.’ That’s what I says and that’s what I done.”
As I understand Cockney, this would have sounded like, ” ‘At’s Royt. Drove ‘im ter Dumfries. Mr. Alcock comes down when Oy was ‘avin’ me suppah and says Mr. Gowan wanted the saloon round at oyt o’clock… ‘at’s wha’ Oy says and ‘at’s wha I dun.”
(The WordPress Spell-checker doesn’t like this colloquial post. There are red lines everywhere!)
This time we call EASTER, or PASQUE (Peace) in Latin countries, and in particular this day, is the main event Christianity hinges on: the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Most anyone will say Jesus was a wonderful example by the way He lived, by the things He taught. Philosophers and holy men of all kinds, even atheists quote his words and cite his examples. His death was cruel and needless, the outcome of putrid jealousy. But it’s his rising from the grave that has become the cornerstone of Christianity. This belief/fact has changed the course of our world. Two thousand years later people are still talking about God’s plan and believing it.
I just listened to a church group singing the song, “Have you found rest and peace within, rolled far away your load of sin? Stepped from the old life to the new? Tell what the Lord has done for you.” (From a poem by Lizzie DiArmond) This is not ancient history. New life through Jesus is a constantly current thing. Today the Lord gives peace and rest within, or so believers claim.
I ponder the questions: Why did God enact such an odd plan to redeem man? Why does man need to be “saved”? Why did Jesus have to die as a sacrifice? Why must a price be paid? Why doesn’t God just take everyone to heaven – or at least the basically good people? “Grading on the curve,” some wise soul has called it. As a human being I’m okay with a few faults.
Why did the divine Creator and Father come up with a scheme human minds can barely grasp, a story people are constantly stumbling over? He could have chosen a simpler way than faith in Jesus? He could just appear to each one of us and set us straight. “Here I am; believe me or else.” As a human being I respect force. A little jolt from above when we say or do the wrong thing might make it easier to know and obey his wishes.
Yet the Eternal, all-wise God says people shall have a free choice; He won’t force us to believe him. He allows that, as we go through life, we’ll get enough prompts that we can each decide to believe or reject his plan. Jesus says, “Ask and it shall be given you; seek and ye shall find.” The choice is ours to seek, to ask, to believe, to reject.
I came across the following old poem by Dora Greenwell (1821-1882) that expresses my musings quite well:
I AM NOT SKILLED TO UNDERSTAND
I am not skilled to understand what God hath willed, what God hath planned; I only know at His right hand stands One who is my Saviour.
I take Him at his word indeed: “Christ died for sinners,” this I read and in my heart I find a need of Him to be my Saviour.
And was there then no other way for God to take? I cannot say; I only bless Him, day by day, who saved me through my Saviour.
Yes, living, dying, let me bring my strength, my solace from this spring: that He who lives to be my King once died to be my Saviour.
Reading Dale’s response to Crimson’s Creative Challenge has inspired me to have a go at it as well. Like Dale wrote, it’s been awhile since I’ve done one of these. You can read all about the CHALLENGE here, and this is the photo meant to inspire us:
And here’s my 150-word true-to-life tale:
“Mom, why’s that duck’s head and front blue? Did somebody dye it?” “Why doesn’t the other have a blue head, too? Are they different kinds?” “How come the one’s beak is yellow?” “Why’s the brown duck’s feathers sticking up like that? Is it mad?” “If they aren’t mad at each other, why aren’t they swimming together?” “Why are the ducks only here in summer?” “What do ducks eat when there’s no popcorn?” “Where do ducks sleep at night?” “If they fall asleep in the water, will they drown?” “Why aren’t there any baby ducks? And why…”
Randi was trying her best to answer Frankie’s many questions as they strolled along the creek, but was feeling rather brain-strained when an older woman approached them on the walk.
The elderly lady gave Frankie a big smile and told Randi, “Someday you’ll think of this as the best time of your life.”
Christine's Collection 