The Light of Common Day

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;--

The other day I was sitting at a stop light and I noticed a tall pine tree by itself on the corner. It was so tall and straight, and its bark was so distinctive that I really focused on it for a few seconds. I thought how odd that something so beautiful would be in front of a junky car repair shop near a chain-link fence. It was a stalwart tower of the forest and should be on the edge of a meadow near a stream; the discards of modern life were too prosaic to be near poetry. Then I realized I had become one of those annoying people who don't watch the light every moment in order to go the identical second it turns green. It had already changed, and I needed to be an adult.

--But there's a tree, of many, one,
A single Field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

(Poetry quotes from Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth. Sentimental drivel provided by Yours Truly. I seem to be going through a foofy romantic stage. I understand these things pass if you just ignore them. But hey, it's kinda fun. ;o)

Give Me The Wings of Faith

Give me the wings of faith to rise
Within the veil, and see
The saints above, how great their joys,
How bright their glories be,
How bright their glories be.

Once they were mourning here below,
Their couch was wet with tears;
They wrestled hard, as we do now,
With sins and doubts and fears,
With sins and doubts and fears.

We ask them whence their victory came:
They, with united breath,
Ascribe their conquest to the Lamb,
Their triumph to his death,
Their triumph to his death.

They marked the footsteps that he trod,
His zeal inspired their breast,
And, following their incarnate God,
Possess the promised rest,
Possess the promised rest.

Our glorious Leader claims our praise
For his own pattern given;
While the long cloud of witnesses
Show the same path to heaven,
Show the same path to heaven.

--Isaac Watts

We first heard this song on a CD made by a young friend from church. He is not a professional singer, but a young man who, his entire life, has been taught singing in a congregational and family setting; he has a strong, versatile voice and a thoughtful musical instinct. We listen to Brother Dan's CD often, and this is my current favorite song. I love the hope and faith expressed in the words, and the music makes me think of sweet, watchful patience.

Masterly Inactivity for the Younger Set

So six-year-old Cornflower picked up the Mad Libs this afternoon because she likes to feel as big as her sisters. She began shooting me questions: "Mom, plural noun! Adjective!" (Reading has just begun to make sense to her in the last couple of months and it is still a novelty.) I played one game with her and then said I couldn't participate anymore. So she meandered around the house trying to figure out the different parts of speech. Mariel, who was supposed to be doing a copywork assignment, tried to help by singing grammar songs. Then Cornflower asked the meaning of plural. I explained how when you add 's' a noun becomes more than one.

Her eyes lit up and she said, "You mean every time I want to say 'more than one plant' I add an 's'?"

"Yes," I said.

"Every time I want to have more than one anything I add 's'?"

"Well, most of the time."

So now she is wandering all over the house making things plural. Hee hee. I just love this homeschooling gig.