Bring Him Home - From "Les Miserables"
If - Rudyard Kipling
How Do I Love Thee? - Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost
A Red, Red Rose - Robert Burns
We Are All Here - Benjamin F. Sheidler
Slow Me Down - Wilferd A. Peterson
Lead Kindly Light - John Henry Newman
Love - Roy Croft
Dad's Hands - Norris Packer
Dreams
John Packer
Shouting for joy to be set free,
The angles chose a mortal spree.
Who will drink the bitter cup?
Only one chose to sup.
For us to be a natural heir
We should remember and declare:
When half through life's battlefield,
The perfect man is half revealed.
Bring Him Home
From "Les Miserables"
Lyrics by Herbert Kretzmer and Alain Boublil
God on high
Hear my prayer
In my need
You have always been there
He is young
He's afraid
Let him rest
Heaven blessed.
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.
He's like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son.
The summers die
One by one
How soon they fly
On and on
And I am old
And will be gone.
Bring him peace
Bring him joy
He is young
He is only a boy.
You can take
You can give
Let him be
Let him live.
If I die, let me die
Let him live, bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.
If
Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!
How Do I Love Thee?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
A Red, Red Rose
Robert Burns
Oh my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
Oh my luve is like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
We Are All Here
by Benjamin F. Sheidler
We are all here, Father, mother, sister, brother,
All who hold each other dear.
Let gentle peace assert her power,
And kind affection rule the hour.
We are all--all here.
We are not all here,
Some are away, the dead ones dear
Who thronged with us this ancient hearth,
And gave the hour to guiltless myrrh.
Fate with a stern relentless hand,
Looked in and thinned our little band.
The quiet grave-yard, some lie there,
And cruel ocean has his share.
We are not all here.
We are all here,
Even the dead so dear,
Fond memory, to her duty true,
Brings back their faded forms to view.
It may not long of us be said,
Soon must we Join the gathered dead,
And by the hearth we now sit 'round,
Some other circle will be found.
So in the world to follow this
May we repeat in words of bliss
"We Are all--all here."
Slow Me Down
Wilferd A. Peterson
Slow me down, Lord!
Ease the pounding of my heart
By the quieting of my mind.
Steady my harried pace
With a vision of the eternal reach of time.
Give me,
Amidst the confusions of my day,
The calmness of the everlasting hills.
Break the tensions of my nerves
With the soothing music
Of the singing streams
That live in my memory.
Help me to know
The magical power of sleep,
Teach me the art
Of taking minute vacations
Of slowing down
To look at a flower;
To chat with an old friend
Or make a new one;
To pat a stray dog;
To watch a spider build a web;
To smile at a child;
Or to read a few lines from a good book.
Remind me each day
That the race is not always to the swift;
That there is more to life
Than increasing its speed.
Let me look upward
Into the branches of the towering oak
And know that it grew great and strong
Because it grew slowly and well.
Slow me down, Lord,
And inspire me to send my roots deep
Into the soil of life's enduring values
That I may grow toward the stars
Of my greater destiny.
Lead Kindly Light
John Henry Newman
One of my (Norris) favorite hymns is “Lead Kindly Light: written by a priest, John Henry Newman, in 1832.
John Henry Newman (1801–1890) studied at Trinity College, Oxford, and held a fellowship at Oriel College, where he became tutor (1826) after his ordination (1824) in the Church of England. In 1832 he resigned his tutorship after a dispute over his religious duties and went on a Mediterranean tour. While traveling in Italy John Newman fell ill and stayed at Castle Giovanni almost three weeks. Then he was ready to continue his journey.
“Before starting from my inn, I sat down on my bed and began to sob bitterly. My servant, who had acted as my nurse, asked what ailed me. I could only answer, ‘I have a work to do in England.’ I was aching to get home, yet for want of a vessel I was kept at Palermo for three weeks. I began to visit the churches, and they calmed my impatience, though I did not attend any services. At last I got off in an orange boat, bound for Marseilles. We were becalmed for whole week in the Straits of Bonifacio, and it was there that I wrote the lines, “Lead, Kindly Light,” which have since become so well known.”
The Columbia Encyclopedia, Sixth Edition. 2001-07.
Imagine the way he must have felt. He had just recovered from being very sick. He was troubled over his religious duties and challenges, and he wanted to return home to England. He was stranded on a merchant ship that wasn’t moving and was likely surrounded by fog. It was in these circumstances that he wrote this pleading prayer.
Lead, Kindly Light
1. Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom;
Lead thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
Lead thou me on!
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene—one step enough for me.
2. I was not ever thus, nor pray’d that thou
Shouldst lead me on.
I loved to choose and see my path; but now,
Lead thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years.
3. So long thy pow’r hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on
O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone.
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!
Text: John Henry Newman, 1801–1890
Music: John B. Dykes, 1823–1876
My favorite line from this hymn is “I do not ask to see the distant scene – one step enough for me.” As we approach our Heavenly Father, I think it is good for us to remember that we may not have the need to see everything, to have all of the answers. While it is good to seek for greater perspective and understanding, we must be humble, patient and allow him to show us just one step at a time.
Love
Roy Croft
I love you,
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.
I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.
I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.
I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.
I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good,
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.
You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.
Dad's Hands
Norris Packer - 1994
I remember looking at Dad's hands and thinking, "I hope my hands look like that someday." - big, strong, yet safe and gentle, just like him.
I can still picture his hands, fixing a fence, dribbling a basketball, or carving the turkey at Thanksgiving. And I remember thinking, I hope my hands can do that someday."
I've seen his hands clenched in prayer, for his family, and for those less fortunate. I've felt his hands as they were placed on my head to give the priesthood or a healing blessing. And I remember thinking, "I hope my hands can do that someday."
I've always liked to hold Dad's hands. They're the hands of a surgeon, gentle, firm and steady. It seems like everyone likes Dad and wants to shake his hands. I liked Dad's hands, and I thought to myself, I hope my hands and I hope that I can be like that someday."
I remember Dad's hands digging a garden, or holding his hands when I was scared. His hands truly were great hands. They provided, comforted, soothed, constructed, and played. I remember thinking, "I hope my hands and my life can be like Dad's.
As my daughter takes my own hands and, without thought, gently feels the lines on my hands and softly tugs at the hairs on the back of my hand, I look down and realize, with great surprise, "My hands look like Dad's hands after all."