Quote of the Week XXXIII

What the hand is to the lute,
What the breath is to the flute,
What is fragrance to the smell,
What the spring is to the well,
What the flower is to the bee,
That is Jesus Christ to me.

What's the mother to the child,
What the guide in pathless wild,
What is oil to troubled wave,
What is ransom to the slave,
What is water to the sea,
That is Jesus Christ to me.
- C.H. Spurgeon

I measure every grief...

It is sometimes a truly wondrous thing how poetry can express what prose cannot. Grief is a hard thing that every man has to deal with in their lives. If you choose not to deal with your grief (whatever that may be), you condemn yourself to more misery. Artists tend to have more experience with expressing grief- but don't let that fool you... that does not mean they know how to deal with it...

I measure every grief I meet
With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.

I wonder if they bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.

I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.

I wonder if when years have piled--
Some thousands--on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause;

Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love.

The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,--
Death is but one and comes but once
And only nails the eyes.

There's grief of want, and grief of cold,--
A sort they call 'despair,'
There's banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.

And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,

To note the fashions of the cross
Of those that stand alone
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.

- Emily Dickinson

It is a strange comfort to know that you are not alone. I wish that I could really convey my gratitude to all the people (strangers and friends alike) who God has used to show me that I am not alone in my struggles- not alone in my grief. I'll start with the dead... Thank you Emily, I mean that.

A Precursor To A Rough Draft

It's what I long for now
It's what I need right now
I never really got it
I never really understood...

Finding it is not so easy
Losing it is not so hard
Starting it is so much simpler
Holding on is quite another thing.

One is hard-pressed to rise without it
One is hard put to lay down in its absence
"It is not good..."
Ain't that the truth...

Where are there boundaries?
Where are there rules?
Why am I on my own in this?
When I can barely stand without it.

Having it is like a drug
But one that leads to health and not to shame
Living it is like a dream
It takes away so much sorrow even when it brings its own pain.

Who am I to question God?
Who am I to think I know better?
Who am I to think I cannot be blessed?
How dare I...?

I do not know what will come tomorrow
I do not know what will come today
I am not full of joy right now
And maybe that is ok...

New Link- "Poem Hunter"

I put a new link called Poem Hunter some of you might find useful at the bottom on the right under "Other Resources." It is a site with (among other things) a searchable poetry database. I recommend checking it out if you either have an interest in poetry, or are trying to find a poem or poet that is on the tip of your tongue, but that you can't quite remember. Cheers.