Category Archives: poetry

From the rising of the sun…

poetry, Psalms, , , , , ,

PSALM 112

Praise the Lord, O ye servants,
praise ye the Name of the Lord.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord
from henceforth and for evermore.

From the rising of the sun
unto the going down of the same,
the Name of the Lord is to be praised.

High above all the nations is the Lord,
above the heavens is His glory.

Who is like unto the Lord our God?
Who dwelleth on high
and looketh down on things that are lowly,
in heaven and on the earth.

Who raiseth up the poor man from the earth,
and from the dunghill lifteth up the pauper,

Who maketh the barren woman to dwell in a house
and be a mother rejoicing over children.

For this Resurrection Day.

church, poetry,

Because every Sunday is Resurrection Day, I give you a poem about Jesus Christ, who said, “I am the Resurrection and the Life.”

He is a path, if any be misled;
He is a robe, if any naked be;
If any chance to hunger, he is bread;
If any be a bondman, he is free;
If any be but weak, how strong is he!
To dead men, life is he; to sick men, health;
To blind men, sight; and to the needy, wealth;
A pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth.

-Giles Fletcher the Younger, d. 1623

(The work pictured at top is the poet’s most famous, very long poem.)

The rivers have lifted up their voices.

music, poetry, Psalms, , ,

PSALM 92

The Lord is King, He is clothed with majesty;
the Lord is clothed with strength
and He hath girt Himself.

For He established the world
which shall not be shaken.

Thy throne is prepared of old;
Thou art from everlasting.

The rivers have lifted up, O Lord,
the rivers have lifted up their voices.

The rivers will lift up their waves,
at the voices of many waters.

Wonderful are the surgings of the sea,
wonderful on high is the Lord.

Thy testimonies are made very sure.
Holiness becometh Thy house, O Lord,
unto length of days.

Headwaters of the Sacramento, May 2015

It is hard to hear.

poetry, trees, ,

THE REGION NOVEMBER

It is hard to hear the north wind again,
And to watch the treetops, as they sway.

They sway, deeply and loudly, in an effort,
So much less than feeling, so much less than speech,

Saying and saying, the way things say
On the level of that which is not yet knowledge:

A revelation not yet intended.
It is like a critic of God, the world

And human nature, pensively seated
On the waste throne of his own wilderness.

Deeplier, deeplier, loudlier, loudlier,
The trees are swaying, swaying, swaying.

-Wallace Stevens