Vagabond’s House (Don Blanding Poems)
When I have a house . . . as I sometime may . . .I'll suit my fancy in every ...
When I have a house . . . as I sometime may . . .I'll suit my fancy in every ...
Stop, oh my friends, let us pause to weep over the remembrance of my beloved.Here was her abode on the ...
The barbed-wire fences rust As their cedar uprights blacken After a night of rain. Some early, innocent lust Gets me ...
Let you not say of me when I am old,In pretty worship of my withered handsForgetting who I am, and ...
710The Sunrise runs for Both-The East-Her Purple TrothKeeps with the Hill-The Noon unwinds Her BlueTill One Breadth cover Two-Remotest-still-Nor does ...
883The Poets light but Lamps-Themselves-go out-The Wicks they stimulate-If vital LightInhere as do the Suns-Each Age a LensDisseminating theirCircumference-(Emily Dickinson)
Part First Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door. A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind Swirled through the trees, ...
Since shed or cottage I have none, I sing the more, that thou hast one; To whose glad threshold, and ...
As has always been whether or not we like this as Christ told us directly not for us to know ...
Time set apart drinking the living waters immersed in your scripture drenched in your word Rekindle our gifts sharpen our ...
Called like the shepherds bringing our worship to the manger to his bedside in his infancy Called like the fishermen ...
As their names were read a chime from the pipes pealing in the congregation Lighting their wicks the light of ...
The seeds of faith planted in their hearts the smaller lights growing growing ever in You We are the ones ...
Oh so casually practiced really they were, bringing the light up into the chancel relighting the wicks so they could ...
flickering wicks cannot still the light they carried to Your altar guiding the trembling flames from their young hands to ...
In that holy place, on that Oh Holy Night we rose as a family, to the chancel rail into the ...
The Sunrise runs for Both -- The East -- Her Purple Troth Keeps with the Hill -- The Noon unwinds ...
The Poets light but Lamps -- Themselves -- go out -- The Wicks they stimulate -- If vital Light Inhere ...
'What have I earned for all that work,' I said, 'For all that I have done at my own charge? ...
There were still shards of an ancient pastoral in those shires of the island where the cattle drank their pools ...
Let you not say of me when I am old, In pretty worship of my withered hands Forgetting who I ...
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