Wednesday, August 24, 2016

A favorite Tennyson Poem


By Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)

(Stanzas 45-60 of Section III and Stanzas 75-80, Section IV)

Oh yet we trust that somehow good 
Will be the final goal of ill 
To pangs of nature, sins of will, 
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; 

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed, 
Or cast as rubbish to the void, 
When God hath made the pile complete; 

That not a worm is cloven in vain; 
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivell’d in a fruitless fire, 
Or but subserves another’s gain. 

Behold, we know not anything; 
I can but trust that good shall fall 
At last—far off—at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring. 

So runs my dream: but what am I? 
An infant crying in the night: 
An infant crying for the light: 
And with no language but a cry.

I falter where I firmly trod, 
And falling with my weight of cares 
Upon the great world’s altar-stairs
That slope thro’ darkness up to God, 

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, 

And gather dust and chaff, and call 
To what I feel is Lord of all, 
And faintly trust the larger hope.

Monday, August 15, 2016

Late June - July 2016 Family Fun

Alex styling and profiling in front of church on day of Clarice's baptism.

Mimi and Clarice

New kitty cat, Stephen Olford Luigi Arnold.

Kitty loves to lounge on the river rocks from Elk River.

The Arnold family