Trust Jesus

The Children's Hour

Between the dark and the daylight,

When the night is beginning to lower,

Comes a pause in the day's occupation,

That is know as the children's hour.

I hear in the chamber above me

The patter of little feet,

The sound of a door that is opened,

And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,

Descending the broad hall stair,

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,

And Edith

Christmas Begins with Christ

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I Always Learn Something

I always know when I am speaking under the influence of the Holy Ghost because I always learn something from what I have said. -President Marion G. Romney

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Good Things to Come

Don't give up. Don't you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead... You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust in God and believe in good things to come. -Jeffrey R. Holland, An High Priest of Good Things to Come, October 1999

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Very Different Scale

The Lord uses a scale very different from the world's to weigh the worth of a soul. -Dieter F. Uchtdorf

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Better Things Ahead

That Women Are But Men's Shadows

Follow a shadow, it still flies you;Seem to fly it, it will pursue:So court a mistress, she denies you;Let her alone, she will court you.Say, are not women truly thenStyled but the shadows of us men?At morn and even shades are longest,At noon they are or short or none;So men at weakest, they are strongest,But grant us perfect, they're not known.Say, are not women truly thenStyled but the shadows

A Form Of Women

I have come far enoughfrom where I was not beforeto have seen the thingslooking in at me from through the open doorand have walked tonightby myselfto see the moonlightand see it as treesand shapes more fearfulbecause I fearedwhat I did not knowbut have wanted to know.My facd is my own, I thought.But you have seen itturn into a thousand years.I watched you cry.I could not touch you.I wanted very

Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women

Perhaps I was born kneeling,born coughing on the long winter,born expecting the kiss of mercy,born with a passion for quicknessand yet, as things progressed,I learned early about the stockadeor taken out, the fume of the enema.By two or three I learned not to kneel,not to expect, to plant my fires undergroundwhere none but the dolls, perfect and awful,could be whispered to or laid down to die.Now

Harp Song of the Dane Women

What is a woman that you forsake her,And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,To go with the old grey Widow-maker?She has no house to lay a guest in--But one chill bed for all to rest in,That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.She has no strong white arms to fold you,But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you--Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.Yet, when the signs of summer

The South Wind Say So

IF the oriole calls like last yearwhen the south wind sings in the oats,if the leaves climb and climb on a bean polesaying over a song learnt from the south wind,if the crickets send up the same old lessonsfound when the south wind keeps on coming,we will get by, we will keep on coming,we will get by, we will come along,we will fix our hearts over,the south wind says so.

There's Wisdom In Women

"Oh love is fair, and love is rare"; my dear one she said,"But love goes lightly over". I bowed her foolish head,And kissed her hair and laughed at her. Such a child was she;So new to love, so true to love, and she spoke so bitterly.But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known,And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own,Or how should my dear one, being ignorant and

Countrywomen

These be twoCountrywomen.What a size!Grand big armsAnd round red faces;Big substantialSit-down-places;Great big bosoms firm as cheeseBursting through their country jackets;Wide big lapsAnd sturdy knees;Hands outspread,Round and rosy,Hands to holdA country posyOr a baby or a lamb--And such eyes!Stupid, shifty, small and slyPeeping through a slit of sty,Squinting through their neighbours' plackets.

The Life of Love XVI

SpringCome, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls, For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys. Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw Inspiration high above the cool green plains. Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and They

After the Battle

Night closed around the conqueror's way,And lightnings show'd the distant hill,Where those who lost that dreadful dayStood few and faint, but fearless still.The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal,For ever dimm'd, for ever crost --Oh! who shall say what heroes feel,When all but life and honour's lost?The last sad hour of freedom's dream,And valour's task, moved slowly by,While mute they watch'd,

All In a Family Way

My banks are all furnished with rags,So thick, even Freddy can't thin 'em;I've torn up my old money-bags,Having little or nought to put in 'em.My tradesman are smashing by dozens,But this is all nothing, they say;For bankrupts, since Adam, are cousins,So, it's all in the family way.My Debt not a penny takes from me,As sages the matter explain; --Bob owes it to Tom and then TommyJust owes it to

Song: The Charms of Lovely Davies

O HOW shall I, unskilful, try
The poet's occupation?
The tuneful powers, in happy hours,
That whisper inspiration;
Even they maun dare an effort mair
Than aught they ever gave us,
Ere they rehearse, in equal verse,
The charms of lovely Davies.

Each eye it cheers when she appears,
Like Phoebus in the morning,
When past the shower, and every flower
The garden is adorning:
As the wretch looks o'er

Death and Dr. Hornbook

SOME books are lies frae end to end,And some great lies were never penn�d:Ev�n ministers they hae been kenn�d,In holy rapture,A rousing whid at times to vend,And nail�t wi� Scripture.But this that I am gaun to tell,Which lately on a night befell,Is just as true�s the Deil�s in hellOr Dublin city:That e�er he nearer comes oursel��S a muckle pity.The clachan yill had made me canty,I was na fou, but

Stanzas to a Friend

AH! think no more that Life's delusive joys,Can charm my thoughts from FRIENDSHIP'S dearer claim;Or wound a heart, that scarce a wish employs,For age to censure, or discretion blame. Tir'd of the world, my weary mind recoilsFrom splendid scenes, and transitory joys;From fell Ambition's false and fruitless toils,From hope that flatters, and from bliss that cloys. With THEE, above the taunts of

Friendships Mystery, To My Dearest Lucasia

Come, my Lucasia, since we see That miracles Men's Faith do move,By wonder and by prodigyTo the dull angry World let's proveThere's a Religion in our Love. For Though we were design'd t'agree,That Fate no liberty destroys,But our Election is as freeAs Angels, who with greedy choiceAre yet determin'd to their joys. Our hearts are doubled by the loss,Here Mixture is Addition grown;We both diffuse,

Friendship After Love

After the fierce midsummer all ablazeHas burned itself to ashes, and expiresIn the intensity of its own fires, There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin daysCrowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze.So after Love has led us, till he tiresOf his own throes, and torments, and desires, Comes large-eyed Friendship: with a restful gaze.He beckons us to follow, and acrossCool verdant vales we

Repression of War Experience

Now light the candles; one; two; there's a moth;
What silly beggars they are to blunder in
And scorch their wings with glory, liquid flame'
No, no, not that, it's bad to think of war,
When thoughts you've gagged all day come back to scare you;
And it's been proved that soldiers don't go mad
Unless they lose control of ugly thoughts
That drive them out to jabber among the trees.

Now light

The Black Hawk War of the Artists

Hawk of the Rocks,Yours is our cause to-day.Watching your foesHere in our war array,Young men we stand,Wolves of the West at bay. Power, power for war Comes from these trees divine; Power from the boughs, Boughs where the dew-beads shine, Power from the cones Yea, from the breath of the pine! Power to restoreAll that the white hand mars.See the dead eastCrushed with the iron cars�Chimneys

The War Films

O living pictures of the dead, O songs without a sound, O fellowship whose phantom tread Hallows a phantom ground -- How in a gleam have these revealed The faith we had not found. We have sought God in a cloudy Heaven, We have passed by God on earth: His seven sins and his sorrows seven, His wayworn mood and mirth, Like a ragged cloak have hid from us The secret of his birth. Brother of men, when

On The Hurricane

You have obey'd, you WINDS, that must fulfill The Great Disposer's righteous Will; Throughout the Land, unlimited you flew, Nor sought, as heretofore, with Friendly Aid Only, new Motion to bestow Upon the sluggish Vapours, bred below, Condensing into Mists, and melancholy Shade. No more such gentle Methods you pursue, But marching now in terrible Array, Undistinguish'd was your Prey: In vain the

Inspiration

How often have I started outWith no thought in my noodle,And wandered here and there about,Where fancy bade me toddle;Till feeling faunlike in my gleeI've voiced some gay distiches,Returning joyfully to tea,A poem in my britches.A-squatting on a thymy slopeWith vast of sky about me,I've scribbled on an envelopeThe rhymes the hills would shout me;The couplets that the trees would call,The lays the

Kings Must Die

Alphonso Rex who died in RomeWas quite a fistful as a kid;For when I visited his home,That gorgeous palace in Madrid,The grinning guide-chap showed me whereHe rode his bronco up the stair.That stairway grand of marbled might,The most majestic in the land,In statured splendour, flight on flight,He urged his steed with whip in hand.No lackey could restrain him forHe gained the gilded corridor.He

Your little voice...

your little voiceOver the wires came leapingand i felt suddenlydizzyWith the jostling and shouting of merry flowerswee skipping high-heeled flamescourtesied before my eyesor twinkling over to my sideLooked upwith impertinently exquisite facesfloating hands were laid upon meI was whirled and tossed into delicious dancingupUpwith the pale importantstars and the Humorousmoondear girlHow i was crazy

Morning Glories

Blue and dark-bluerose and deepest rosewhite and pink they are everywhere in the diligent cornfield rising and swaying in their reliablefinery in the littlefling of their bodies their gear and tackle all caught up in the cornstalks. The reaper's story is the story of endless work of work careful and heavy but the reaper cannot separate them out there they are in the story of his life bright

The Bight

At low tide like this how sheer the water is.White, crumbling ribs of marl protrude and glareand the boats are dry, the pilings dry as matches.Absorbing, rather than being absorbed,the water in the bight doesn't wet anything,the color of the gas flame turned as low as possible.One can smell it turning to gas; if one were Baudelaireone could probably hear it turning to marimba music.The little

By All Love's Soft, Yet Mighty Powers

By all love's soft, yet mighty powers,It is a thing unfit,That men should fuck in time of flowers,Or when the smock's beshit.Fair nasty nymph, be clean and kind,And all my joys restore;By using paper still behind,And sponges for before.My spotless flames can ne'er decay,If after every close,My smoking prick escape the fray,Without a bloody nose.If thou would have me true, be wise,And take to

The Imperfect Enjoyment

Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,I filled with love, and she all over charms;Both equally inspired with eager fire,Melting through kindness, flaming in desire.With arms,legs,lips close clinging to embrace,She clips me to her breast, and sucks me to her face.Her nimble tongue, Love's lesser lightening, playedWithin my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyedSwift orders that I should prepare to

An Allusion to Horace

Well Sir, 'tis granted, I said Dryden's Rhimes,Were stoln, unequal, nay dull many times:What foolish Patron, is there found of his,So blindly partial, to deny me this?But that his Plays, Embroider'd up and downe,With Witt, and Learning, justly pleas'd the Towne,In the same paper, I as freely owne:Yet haveing this allow'd, the heavy Masse,That stuffs up his loose Volumes must not passe:For by that

To A World-Reformer

"I Have sacrificed all," thou sayest, "that man I might succor;Vain the attempt; my reward was persecution and hate."Shall I tell thee, my friend, how I to humor him manage?Trust the proverb! I ne'er have been deceived by it yet.Thou canst not sufficiently prize humanity's value;Let it be coined in deed as it exists in thy breast.E'en to the man whom thou chancest to meet in life's narrow pathway

The Lover in Hell

Eternally the choking steam goes up
From the black pools of seething oil. . . .
How merry
Those little devils are! They've stolen the pitchfork
From Bel, there, as he slept . . . Look! -- oh look, look!
They've got at Nero! Oh it isn't fair!
Lord, how he squeals! Stop it . . . it's, well -- indecent!
But funny! . . . See, Bel's waked. They'll catch it now!

. . . Eternally that stifling

Full Fathom Five

Old man, you surface seldom.Then you come in with the tide's comingWhen seas wash cold, foam-Capped: white hair, white beard, far-flung,A dragnet, rising, falling, as wavesCrest and trough. Miles longExtend the radial sheavesOf your spread hair, in which wrinkling skeinsKnotted, caught, survivesThe old myth of orginsUnimaginable. You float nearAs kneeled ice-mountainsOf the north, to be steered

The Pangolin

Another armored animal--scalelapping scale with spruce-cone regularity until theyform the uninterrupted centraltail-row! This near artichoke with head and legs and grit-equippedgizzard,the night miniature artist engineer is,yes, Leonardo da Vinci's replica--impressive animal and toiler of whom we seldom hear.Armor seems extra. But for him,the closing ear-ridge--or bare ear lacking even this

Geraint And Enid

O purblind race of miserable men, How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves, By taking true for false, or false for true; Here, through the feeble twilight of this world Groping, how many, until we pass and reach That other, where we see as we are seen! So fared it with Geraint, who issuing forth That morning, when they both had got to horse, Perhaps because

Longing

Could I from this valley drear,Where the mist hangs heavily,Soar to some more blissful sphere,Ah! how happy should I be!Distant hills enchant my sight,Ever young and ever fair;To those hills I'd take my flightHad I wings to scale the air.Harmonies mine ear assail,Tunes that breathe a heavenly calm;And the gently-sighing galeGreets me with its fragrant balm.Peeping through the shady bowers,Golden

Ainsi Va le Monde

O THOU, to whom superior worth's allied,Thy Country's honour�and the MUSES' pride;Whose pen gives polish to the varying lineThat blends instruction with the song divine;Whose fancy, glancing o'er the hostile plain,Plants a fond trophy o'er the mighty slain; I Or to the daisied lawn directs its way,Blithe as the songstress of returning day;Who deign'd to rove where twinkling glow-worms leadThe

Liberty

New Castle, July 4, 1878Or a hundred years the pulse of timeHas throbbed for Liberty;For a hundred years the grand old climeColumbia has been free;For a hundred years our country's love,The Stars and Stripes, has waved above.Away far out on the gulf of years--Misty and faint and whiteThrough the fogs of wrong--a sail appears,And the Mayflower heaves in sight,And drifts again, with its little

In Former Songs

1IN former songs Pride have I sung, and Love, and passionate, joyful Life, But here I twine the strands of Patriotism and Death. And now, Life, Pride, Love, Patriotism and Death, To you, O FREEDOM, purport of all! (You that elude me most�refusing to be caught in songs of mine,)I offer all to you. 2�Tis not for nothing, Death, I sound out you, and words of you, with daring tone�embodying you, In

The Vision

THE SUN had clos�d the winter day,The curless quat their roarin play,And hunger�d maukin taen her way,To kail-yards green,While faithless snaws ilk step betrayWhare she has been.The thresher�s weary flingin-tree,The lee-lang day had tired me;And when the day had clos�d his e�e,Far i� the west,Ben i� the spence, right pensivelie,I gaed to rest.There, lanely by the ingle-cheek,I sat and ey�d the

The Patriot

An Old Story

I

It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
A year ago on this very day!

II

The air broke into a mist with bells,
The old walls rocked with the crowds and cries.
Had I said, "Good folks, mere noise repels
But give me your sun from yonder skies!"
They had

The Gardener LXI: Peace, My Heart

Peace, my heart, let the time forthe parting be sweet.Let it not be a death but completeness.Let love melt into memory and paininto songs.Let the flight through the sky endin the folding of the wings over thenest.Let the last touch of your hands begentle like the flower of the night.Stand still, O Beautiful End, for amoment, and say your last words insilence.I bow to you and hold up my lamp to

The Price of Peace

Peace without Justice is a low estate,--A coward cringing to an iron Fate!But Peace through Justice is the great ideal,--We'll pay the price of war to make it real.

Peace XVIII

The tempest calmed after bending the branches of the trees and leaning heavily upon the grain in the field. The stars appeared as broken remnants of lightning, but now silence prevailed over all, as if Nature's war had never been fought. At that hour a young woman entered her chamber and knelt by her bed sobbing bitterly. Her heart flamed with agony but she could finally open her lips and say, "

Women

Women have no wilderness in them, They are provident instead, Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts To eat dusty bread. They do not see cattle cropping red winter grass,They do not hear Snow water going down under culverts Shallow and clear. They wait, when they should turn to journeys, They stiffen, when they should bend. They use against themselves that benevolence To which no man is

Women And Roses

I.I dream of a red-rose tree.And which of its roses threeIs the dearest rose to me?II.Round and round, like a dance of snowIn a dazzling drift, as its guardians, goFloating the women faded for ages,Sculptured in stone, on the poet's pages.Then follow women fresh and gay,Living and loving and loved to-day.Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens,Beauties yet unborn. And all, to one cadence

Ungrateful Fish

It Causes Miracles

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I'm Possible

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Sacred Time

Family time is sacred time and should be protected and respected. -Boyd K. Packer

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Act In His Doctrine

True Conversion brings a change in one's beliefs, heart, and life to accept and conform to the will of God and includes a conscious commitment to become a disciple of Christ and to act in His doctrine." -David A Bednar, Act In Doctrine

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Ability to Start Over

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Of Shout Outs, Wet Babies, & Living Water

Think the Best of Each Other

"Think the best of each other, especially of those you say you love. Assume the good and doubt the bad." 

~Jeffrey R. Holland

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You Can Be Excellent

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Walk and Our Talk

Love should be our walk and our talk. -Dieter F. Uchtdorf

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Won't Satisfy You

You can never get enough of what you don't need because what you don't need won't satisfy you. -Dallin H. Oaks

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Don't Stumble

Don't stumble over something behind you.

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Watch Your Step

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The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. So watch your step. -Jeffrey R. Holland

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You Who Blooms

When you plant a seed of love, it is you that blooms. -Ma Jaya Sati Bhagavati

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Forgiving the Person in the Mirror

I think you still love me, but, by Haruki Murakami

I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was wrong.”
by Haruki Murakamiextracted from South of the Border

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