As Seasons Toss Their Manes...

 This poem's rhyme-scheme was inspired by this poem

(full copy below)

the old poems are as relevant today as they were over a century ago

 

The world groans in its strife

Like Woman giving birth

The tides of time run rife

Where ways and woes of life

Claw at the face of earth

As seasons toss their manes

Gold sun and gloss of rains

Glint on the brow of Day

That cleaves with Twilight’s knife

Both black and shining hour

The green leaf and full flow’r

Falls prey to Curtain Closed

Lack and glut juxtaposed

The truth of us disclosed

By what we give and keep

Where human-nature’s bent

Time cannot circumvent

The beast beneath exposed

By trouble’s test imposed

Baring the inner deep

And proving by reply

The heart of you and I

Tossed on turbulent sweep

The rebel riles the meek

That will inherit earth

That which we seek and speak

Pelf or eternal worth

Where grave is not the berth

Of That Which transcends Time

As dust to dust returns

Beneath a wreath of ferns

Delicate filigree

And fretwork of the tree

That spreads its leafy chime

Above death’s chilling clime

And life’s Great Mystery

While bulrush turns to froth

As Winter doffs its cloth

And warm winds woo to wake

The dormant copse and brake

Where ways and means of Want

Emboldens its pursuit

Drawn to forbidden fruit

Or deepens the defense

That keens the soul’s sixth sense

And braves the tempter’s taunt

And glitter of the loot

That soon reveals the truth

How the lean of the tree

And its stability

Begins in tender youth

Winter, spring, summer, fall

Is not nature’s roulette

On earth’s little blue ball

One God is over all

Aha, lest we forget

And fall prey to the dart

That petrifies the heart

And uproots the weak tree

Not upheld by faith’s pledge

Where by the water’s edge

The roots hold firm and deep

Though tempests wail and weep

Like a wolf among sheep

Scattering the flock

Not gathered in the fold

But ignorantly bold

Prefer pride’s haughty leap

(What we sow we will reap)

Pray we take somber stock

Of Soul’s immortal law

While Time’s moments still claw

At the face of the clock

The framework of thin air

Leaves nothing to sheer chance

We have time to prepare

By what its window grants

Before a loved one plants

A posy on our grave

And breath of man returns

Beyond earth’s wreath of ferns

Delicate filigree

And fretwork of the tree

As Soul alone will brave

That last cold tidal wave

Into eternity

© Janet Martin

Listening to Hank snow this afternoon:)

 Psalm 1

 Blessed is the man

who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked,

or set foot on the path of sinners,

or sit in the seat of mockers.

2But his delight is in the Law of the LORD,

and on His law he meditates day and night.

3He is like a tree planted by streams of water,

yielding its fruit in season,

whose leaf does not wither,

and who prospers in all he does.

4Not so the wicked!

For they are like chaff driven off by the wind.

5Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,

nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.

6For the LORD guards the path of the righteous,

but the way of the wicked will perish.

SAINT JOHN

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Ages come and go,

The Centuries pass as Years;

My hair is white as the snow,

My feet are weary and slow,

The earth is wet with my tears!

The kingdoms crumble, and fall

Apart, like a ruined wall,

Or a bank that is undermined

By a river's ceaseless flow,

And leave no trace behind!

The world itself is old;

The portals of Time unfold

On hinges of iron, that grate

And groan with the rust and the weight,

Like the hinges of a gate

That hath fallen to decay;

But the evil doth not cease;

There is war instead of peace,

Instead of Love there is hate;

And still I must wander and wait,

Still I must watch and pray,

Not forgetting in whose sight,

A thousand years in their flight

Are as a single day

The life of man is a gleam

Of light, that comes and goes

Like the course of the Holy Stream,

The cityless river, that flows

From fountains no one knows,

Through the Lake of Galilee,

Through forests and level lands,

Over rocks, and shallows, and sands

Of a wilderness wild and vast,

Till it findeth its rest at last

In the desolate Dead Sea!

But alas! alas for me

Not yet this rest shall be!

What, then! doth Charity fail?

Is Faith of no avail?

Is Hope blown out like a light

By a gust of wind in the night?

The clashing of creeds, and the strife

Of the many beliefs, that in vain

Perplex man's heart and brain,

Are naught but the rustle of leaves.

When the breath of God upheaves

The boughs of the Tree of Life,

And they subside again!

And I remember still

The words, and from whom they came,

Not he that repeateth the name,

But he that doeth the will!

And Him evermore I behold

Walking in Galilee,

Through the cornfield's waving gold

In hamlet, in wood, and in wold,

By the shores of the Beautiful Sea

He toucheth the sightless eyes;

Before him the demons flee;

To the dead He sayeth: Arise!

To the living: Follow me!

And that voice still soundeth on

From the centuries that are gone,

To the centuries that shall be!

From all vain pomps and shows,

From the pride that overflows,

And the false conceits of men;

From all the narrow rules

And subtleties of Schools,

And the craft of tongue and pen,

Bewildered in its search,

Bewildered with the cry:

Lo, here! lo, there, the Church!

Poor, sad Humanity

Through all the dust and heat

Turns back with bleeding feet,

By the weary road it came,

Unto the simple thought

By the great Master taught,

And that remaineth still:

Not he that repeateth the name,

But he that doeth the will!