Diary of an Old Soul

Two selections from George MacDonald's work, Diary of an Old Soul.

January 1st

LORD, what I once had done with youthful might,

Had I been from the first true to the truth,

Grant me, now old, to do--with better sight,

And humbler heart, if not the brain of youth;

So wilt thou, in thy gentleness and ruth,

Lead back thy old soul, by the path of pain,

Round to his best--young eyes and heart and brain.

May 26th

My prayers, my God, flow from what I am not;

I think thy answers make me what I am.

Like weary waves thought follows upon thought,

But the still depth beneath is all thine own,

And there thou mov'st in paths to us unknown.

Out of strange strife thy peace is strangely wrought;

If the lion in us pray--thou answerest the lamb.

George MacDonald

 

I Asked the Lord That I Might Grow

John Newton

by John Newton

I asked the Lord that I might grow
In faith, and love, and every grace;
Might more of His salvation know,
And seek, more earnestly, His face.

’Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust, has answered prayer!
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favored hour,
At once He’d answer my request;
And by His love’s constraining pow’r,
Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, He made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart;
And let the angry pow’rs of hell
Assault my soul in every part.

Yea more, with His own hand He seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe;
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

Lord, why is this, I trembling cried,
Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?
“ ’Tis in this way,” the Lord replied,
“I answer prayer for grace and faith.

These inward trials I employ,
From self, and pride, to set thee free;
And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
That thou may’st find thy all in Me.”

“I Asked The Lord” — by Indelible Grace

The Hollow of His Hand

The storm clouds gather around my soul
And buffet me within.
The ocean churns, the waters foam
And drown me in my sin.
I see far off almost out of view
A peaceful happy land
Where all are safe within His care:
In the Hollow of His Hand.

My Savior Lord—O Sovereign King—
Forgive me for I've sinned:
I've looked away from Thy gracious face
And now my sight is dimmed.
Restored to me the joy, dear Lord—
Thy Mercy is so Grand.
Please keep me there within Thy care:
In the Hollow of Thy Hand.

The raging storm around me blows
But sheltered I am here.
The waters rush and floods may rise
But still there is no fear.
For God Above in Gentle Love
Has all things in His Plan.
Thus safe am I within His Care:
In the Hollow of His Hand!

- D. Benning

09-May-1983

Summer's Requiem

One of my favorite poems is Caedmon's Hymn
                         You can listen to the old poem here.....

Ruins of Whitby Abbey, where Caedmon lived and worked.

Isn't that rich?     :-)

Now we must praise Heaven-kingdom's Guardian,
The Maker's might and his mind-thoughts....

I love the imagery; 
     I love the alliteration; 
          I love the cadence and the crunchiness of the language.


We, however, don't speak Old English anymore.... 
The closest would be the folks in Iceland. 
                                                            Seriously!

But we can use these techniques in modern poetry.  Old English poems were composed of lines divided in half by a break, a caesura, a marked pause.  Then instead of rhymes, alliteration was the key to how the ancient bards crafted their words.  They also had a rich stock of word images called kennings.  For example, instead of referring to the ocean or the sea, they would call it the whale-road.

Fall foliage at peak in Pocahontas County, W.Va.

Here is an attempt, written after seeing pictures of the first fall colors touching the woods back east and the auroras lighting up the skies in the north.

Summer’s Requiem 

Now I will tell,        icy tintinnabulations,
Mighty mysteries,        bitter majesties,
Aerie’s icy displays;        autumn advances
On wintry wings,        whispering in silence.
Summer’s salvo        long silenced;
Flowers fade,        long nights fall.
Nightlights’ silent scream        nature’s darkly flowers,
Auroral displays,        breath-taking sky dancers,
Drape heaven’s roof,        Raven’s road,
With majesty and wonder,        mighty Lord’s Mantle;
Then kisses icy kinfolk,        snow-bound kith,
And sings remembering—        Summer’s requiem.

 

- D. Benning

Full sky aurora over Norway, early 2015, by Sebastian Voltmer
Source: http://dailyawesomeness.com/a-full-sky-aurora-over-norway/

 

Some say "Autumn"

Glade Creek Grist Mill, Babcock State Park, WVa.

Some say "Autumn" as a special word: "Autumn!"— 
   a joyous, gaudy, rainbow-sparkled display of excessiveness; 
   a right regal regaling of sight and sound, sense and smell—
and they would be right.

For off in the forested hills and hollows, ridges and rills 
   the sharp, crisp breath of Summer’s End comes, 
    tickling, trickling, traipsing, trilling round each leaf and limb,
        sheaf and stem,
   till Autumn’s playful palette paints the earth.

But some say "Fall" as a synonym— 
    and mean that Autumn merely is a time for leaves to drop,
         to plop, to droop, to tiredly slump,
   then mass together in ignoble heaps upon the lawn—
and they would be right.

For in the sun-encrusted valleys of the Far Out West, 
   Summer’s End comes not with biting breath,
   Summer’s End comes not with wintry whispers.
Rather Summer over stays her welcome.
Leaves grow tired and yellow, dusty and brown, 
    mottled, molded, mangy skeletons
                 of Spring’s once bright display, 
   each longing to shrink, shrivel, fade and drop,
   or be driven hard upon a dry north wind.

Yet here and there, and sometimes in between,  
   a sigh of "Autumn" comes and touches tenderly a tree or two, 
   and kisses hedge or  bush,     
        leaving blush and hush and innuendo of Summer’s Grand Adieu.

Some say "Autumn" and then say "Fall"
                   as if there is no difference there at all. 
    But rosy cheeks and jewel-struck hills
                  speak loudly to correct that error.
As Summer retires, renouncing and relinquishing her reign,    
    Autumn proudly receives honor from lesser Fall.
     —And that would be right!

- D. Benning

 ___________________________________________________

 

This Poem set and performed in Aug, 2013.

Ohiopyle Park, Pennsylvania.  Photo by Michael McCumber.
http://www.michaelmccumber.com/pictures/ohiopyle-autumn20/