Norge

Norge

God works in a mysterious way 

Epitaph

What we gave, we have; What we spent, we had; What we kept, we lost. Epitaph (anon) for Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon (d. 1419) and his wife

Bells

WHAT master singer, with what glory amazed. 
Heard one day listening on the lonely air 
The tune of bells ere yet a bell was raised 
To throne it over field and flood ? Who dare 
Deny him demi-god, that so could win 
The music uncreate, that so could wed 
Music and hue — till, when the bells begin. 
Song colours, colour sings? Beauty so bred 
Enspheres each hamlet through the English shires. 
And utters from ten thousand peeping spires 
(Or huge in starlight) to the outmost farms 
Sweet, young, grand, old. The country’s lustiest 
arms 
Leap to the time till the whole sky retells 
That unknown poet’s masterpiece of bells

Edmund Blunden

Credo

 'Credo', says the heart, 

Upheld in cradling hands;

The heart has reasons 

No reason understands. 

Mind's flashing messages 

Fork and fall apart;

At the centre stillness 

'Credo', says the heart.

Robert Gittings

On the Sundial at Greys Court, Henley

A Carol Revived.

Occasionally one comes across an old hymn or carol and wonders why it ever went out of use.

 In this woke age the reason is usually obvious but this gem from Church Hymnary 2 is worth recording for posterity.CH3 had it.

Tune: CH2 #59 Newton Ferns, Samuel Smith 1821-1917

CH3 # 369 (Misplaced from Advent) Laus Deo( Redhead No 46) Richard Redhead 1820-1901 

God and Father, we adore Thee

For the Son, Thine image bright, 

In whom all thy holy nature

Dawned on our once hopeless night.

 Far from Thee our footsteps wandered

On dark paths of sin and shame;

But our midnight turned to morning

When the Lord of Glory came. 

Word Incarnate, God revealing,

Longed-for while dim ages ran,

Love Divine, we bow before Thee,

Son of God and Son of Man. 

Let our life be new created,

Ever-living Lord in Thee,

Till we wake with Thy pure likeness,

When Thy face in heaven we see;

Where the saints of all the ages,

Where our fathers glorified,

Clouds and darkness far beneath them,

In unending day abide.

God and Father, now we bless Thee

For the Son, thine image bright,

In whom all Thy holy nature

Dawns on our adoring sight. 

Verse 1 attributed to John Nelson Darby 1800-1882 (doubtful)

Verses 2-5 and adaptation of v6 Hugh Falconer 1859-1931

The Lay of The Discontented Christian

 This poem, a parody of a poem by Benjamin Franklin King (1857-1894), was displayed as a sampler at the house of Miss Margaret "Moggie" Sheddon in Swanage. 

THE LAY OF THE DISCONTENTED CHRISTIAN

Nothing to eat but food

Nothing but clothes to wear

Nothing to warm but heat

Nothing to breathe but air

Nowhere to live but home

Nowhere to sleep but bed

None to love but friends

Nothing but good to dread

Nothing but daily grace

And a Father’s constant love

And a life of prayer and faith

And a home prepared above

Was ever a life so tried

Was ever a heart so riven

With nothing on earth but good

And nothing at last but Heaven

Poem by Bishop Handley Moule

 Thish poem was often quoted by my late Grandmother, Agnes Emily Greeves.

I could not find it for ages because I was not putting the right words into Google.

I think it is worth preserving.

Not far away our blessed are, 

Though hidden from our famished eyes;

It is not in some distant star

Their happy paradise.

They are with Jesus - where he is:

And all the days he is with us - 

The Holy Place the Bower of Bliss

Is near, is present thus.

There in their perfect life unseen, 

No gulfs of space from us divide,

'Tis but the Lord who walks between,

And we his other side. 

Bishop H. Moule. c.1909