Count your blessings! Name them one by four

 When upon life’s billows you are tempest tossed,

When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,

Count your many blessings name them one by one,

And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.

  Count your blessings, name them one by one;

Count your blessings, see what God hath done;

Count your blessings, name them one by one,

    And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.

Are you ever burdened with a load of care?

Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?

Count your many blessings, every doubt will fly,

And you will be singing as the days go by.

When you look at others with their lands and gold,

Think that Christ has promised you His wealth untold.

Count your many blessings, money cannot buy

Your reward in heaven, nor your Lord on high.

So amid the conflict, whether great or small,

Do not be discouraged, God is over all;

Count your many blessings, angels will attend,

Help and comfort give you to your journey’s end.

Braving the Blizzard for Bach

 

 

Cello

 

To thine own self be true

 And these few precepts in thy memory

Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,

Nor any unproportioned thought his act.

Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar.

Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,

Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel,

But do not dull thy palm with entertainment

Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware

Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,

Bear ’t that th’ opposèd may beware of thee.

Give every man thy ear but few thy voice.

Take each man’s censure but reserve thy judgment.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not expressed in fancy—rich, not gaudy,

For the apparel oft proclaims the man,

And they in France of the best rank and station

Are of a most select and generous chief in that.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be,

For loan oft loses both itself and friend,

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

This above all: to thine own self be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Virtual Job Hunting

 

What is Poetry, anyway?

"Poetry is the practice of creating artworks using language. Sculptors use marble, steel, cardboard, goose liver pate, whatever material they choose. Musicians use sound. Painters use paint. Furniture makers use woods and fabrics. And poets use language... Poets are interested in exploring experience through the written word. That includes any experience you can have as well as the experience through the written word. That includes any experience you can have as well as the world of your dreams and fantasies...The poet takes all these kind of experiences and the emotions and feelings they bring with them, and makes them into art through the way he uses language. And that - because you use language, too - gives you an instant link to poetry as well." Poetry for Dummies by The Poetry Center and John Timpane with Maureen Watts. 

If we don't teach the boys, the men won't know.

 

Future Men @Canon+

Poetry out Loud

 

The Recessional by Rudyard Kipling

21. Recessional from Verse: 1885-1918, 1902 Composed for Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee, 1897 God of our fathers, known of old, Lord of our far-flung battle line, Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine -- Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget! The tumult and the shouting dies; The Captains and the Kings depart: Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget! Far-called, our navies melt away; On dune and headland sinks the fire: Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget! If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe, Such boastings as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law-- Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget! For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard, All valiant dust that builds on dust, And, guarding, calls not Thee to guard; For frantic boast and foolish word-- Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

The Water is Wide @Folksongs

  

The water is wide I can't cross o'er

and neither have I wings to fly

Give me a boat that can carry two

And both shall row, my love and I

2. Oh, love is gentle and love is kind

The sweetest flower when first it’s new

But love grows old and waxes cold

And fades away like morning 

3. There is a ship and she sails the sea,

She’s loaded deep as deep can be,

But not as deep as the love I’m in,

I know not how I sink or swim.

4. The water is wide, I can’t cross o’er

And neither have I wings to fly.

Give me a boat that can carry two,

And both shall row, my love and I.

And both shall row, my love and I.