ANOTHER SUNRISE, RANDOMLY Offered by Doug Blair, Waterloo ON, 2020
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Thou Makest the Outgoings of the Morning and Evening to Rejoice JULY 27, 2014​ /
A radiant glow
As day begins
And dew creeps from the barley
And songsters pipe
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And smells ignite
And workers up right early.
What news they ask
How fares the world
And will it note my passing?
Few bob to earn
Few friends to greet
But nothing spare amassing.
And soon ’tis gone
The clock rolls on
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And muscles ache and falter.
Will Ted be missed?
A grand-son kissed
And christened at the altar.
And evening’s glow
Helps us to know
A shadow world is creeping.
But not for long
Hope’s glowing song…
The Son will raise the sleeping.
(suggested by Psalm 65: 8b)
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Place of Lost Battles Posted on ​June 14, 2020
What a place this is Lifeless Buzzing with insects Other scavengers Sad battlefield And a lost battle. Fallen ones decaying And nothing, absolutely nothing Of good has come here since.
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No new developments, births No singing or graceful dance. No planting, building. Just putrefaction. Pity. But a word from Heavenlies Has pronounced Breathe upon all of this By faith. It’s God’s Word. Trust and breathe again Child. That is your part In all of this. Glorious new life coming. Warriors beginning to re-shape Into comeliness. Waiting now for the orders To Love. To care. To help.
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(​Note: Maybe this is a household, a nation, a church assembly, a relationship. Only believe and breathe. Read Ezekiel 37)
Up and Gone
I dreamed of a City Which had stretched To the point of bursting. Its new zones Boasted two-by-four, truss, Storm-pipe and cable. Its old zones, their High-rises and Desperate renewal. Smog, signs and noisemakers Were everywhere.
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Traffic constituted The armoured blood Of its arteries. Milling crowds, the corpuscles. Birds were not to be found. They had left abruptly For some remote wood-lots And fields Unsuitable for construction. Few spoke of their Departure. Life was just too busy, Scheduled, connected, Multi-tasking. But occasionally, I made contact with An old-timer, In one of the sterile Paving-stone parks. His eyes would flash with glee As he remembered the comic Antics of the skipping sidewalk sparrow. Beautiful purple of a Grackle on freshly cut lawn. Tapping of industrious downy Woodpecker on the old oak. White shower of Pigeon wings at the Civic fountain. Crimson explosion of Cardinal at top-of-tree, Caroling with water-pipe Clarity. 8
Scolding of blue-jay In some territory dispute With a squirrel. Persistent gutturals Of fledgling crows Awaiting lunch from mother. Dipping gold Of finches over a Field of milkweed. Stunning red-wing Perched on cat-tail and Swaying in the streamside breeze. Linear procession of Mother Mallard and Six youngsters, stopping traffic. Robin Red-breast, Trotting lordly over his sod, Intent upon worm-sounding. Love-bird doves, Shoulder-to-shoulder On high-wire, Cooing at close of day. The old-timer, invariably, Would apologize About ‘going on so, And taking up my time.’ True, I had many Things on my day-minder. And the trip across The park was meant only As a short-cut. But his tale Of the birds, 9
Departed feathered friends, Registered in me A heavy sense of loss: We had robbed their peace. We had chased them out. We had cropped their trees. We had trimmed their turf. We had sullied their skies. We had filled their ponds. We had invited them to leave. The silence eloquent. Our souls were impoverished!
Psalm Sixty-Three
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(David Flees Absalom and is Cursed by Shimei) Just such a sunrise I’d head to the Place Where priests and Levites Launched their day The crackling of fires The bleating of lambs The worshippers keen On their way.
For me it was song That opened the heart And beckoned sweet thoughts Of your love The lute and timbrel The pounding of drum The cooing of small Birds above.
And now an exile I run from my son With treachery’s price On my head A stark camp protects A quick chill awakes And sun-up, my hope Is near dead.
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But Glory I’ve seen In your Holy Place You can’t shut me out For too long A day comes and soon To cherish your face And thrill once again In the song.
1.O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is; 2. To see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary.
The Laughing Morning MARCH 28, 2014 /
I’ll just come and sit
In this pew behind you
Thought I’d find you here
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Hospital chapel; quiet
Alone with your thoughts, puzzlement.
While that loved one fights for life
Three stories up.
Don’t blame God, Bud.
This mess is all our own doing.
You can see it in traffic
At the bustling workplace
In halls of power.
We do it to ourselves.
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Starts with the “Me first” speech.
And God wants to hear you say,
“You first Lord…you first.
It’s worth the adventure.”
Don’t know what else to say Bud
Just sitting right here
Hand on your shoulder.
Available.
Caring.
Knowing most assuredly
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God is three stories up
Doing His business
He is Father, and He is Love.
Lean on that.
Take it to the bank willya?
The laughing Morning is coming.
Til Morning Comes
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Sing little heart
Yes even when you’re hurting
Make breath an arrow
Let fly at Satan’s plot.
His plan despair
And faithless disconcerting
Hints at unworthy
Child, even when you’re not.
You have the voice
And faith and memories lifting
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Calling to mind
Deliverance of the past.
Sing of God’s grace
And closeness in the moonlight
Sing of His love
‘Til morning comes at last.
Promise of the Morning NOVEMBER 27, 2013 /
The clear, pure light of the morning made me long for the truth in my heart, which alone could make me pure and clear as the morning, tune me up to the concert-pitch of the nature around me. And the wind that blew from the sunrise made me hope in the God who had first breathed into my nostrils the breath of life; that He would at length so fill me with His breath, His mind, His Spirit, that I should think only His thoughts, and live His life, finding therein my own life, only glorified infinitely. What should we poor humans do without our God’s nights and mornings? —George MacDonald
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Psalm 19: 1-5
(Almost a Gregorian chant at “Lauds”)
Joy in the Morning An honest recollection of inadequacy and the arrival of the Saviour’s sufficiency. In the waiting There were riches That our God Had kept delayed I reminded Him Of promises His precious Word had made 18
And I focused On a Father Who could not Desert His child And I shouldered Dreadful burdens That had hit me Cruel and wild. Came the morning At His pleasure When the sun Was warm and kind And new currency Of courage And my dread Left far behind.
Psalm 27 13 ​I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. 14 ​Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.
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