Thursday, November 11, 2010

in memory, Dr. Vincent A. Das

psalm 84
How lovely is your dwelling place,
O Lord of hosts!
My soul longs, yes, faints
for the courts of the Lord;
my heart and flesh sing for joy
to the living God.

Even the sparrow finds a home,
and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may lay her young,
at your altars, O Lord of hosts,
my King and my God.
Blessed are those who dwell in your house,
ever singing your praise! Selah

Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
in whose heart are the highways to Zion.
As they go through the Valley of Baca
they make it a place of springs;
the early rain also covers it with pools.
They go from strength to strength;
each one appears before God in Zion.

O Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer;
give ear, O God of Jacob! Selah
Behold our shield, O God;
look on the face of your anointed

For a day in your courts is better
than a thousand elsewhere.
I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God
than dwell in the tents of wickedness.
For the Lord God is a sun and shield;
the Lord bestows favor and honor.
No good thing does he withhold
from those who walk uprightly.
O Lord of hosts, blessed is the
one who trusts in you!

a timbered choir: 1996, V
~wendell berry
Some Sunday afternoon, it may be,
you are sitting under your porch roof,
looking down through the trees
to the river, watching the rain. The circles
made by the raindrops' striking
expand, intersect, dissolve.

and suddenly (for you are getting on
now, and much of your life is memory)
the hands of the dead, who have been here
with you, rest upon you tenderly
as the rain rests shining
upon the leaves. And you think then

(for thought will come) of the strangeness
of the thought of Heaven, for now
you have imagined yourself there,
remebering with longing this
happiness, this rain. Sometimes here
we are there, and there is no death.

Monday, November 1, 2010

from Frans Wright. "Arkansas Good Friday: III"

"And I have heard God's silence like the sun
now I long to return to it.
no matter my infantile clinging
to this gorgeous material of such early wisteria and
lilacs, the wind
in the redbud and light-giving new heart-shaped leaves
music visible if completely unheard, I'll return.
The angel's going to raise his wings and sing that time is
no more
nor tears: that numbered
sea of them is gone--
now there is a new sea, new earth, new sky--
And I will know what to say at the end: what end?
And I can add I found this world sufficiently miraculous
for me, before I'm changed."