just off the porch of 7H
I love to think of them at dawn
Beneath the pale, pink sky,
Casting their nets in Galilee,
And fish hawks circling by.
They cast their nets in Galilee
Just off the hills of brown;
Such happy, simple fisherfolk
Before the Lord came down.
Contented, peaceful fishermen,
Before they ever knew
The peace of God that filled their hearts
Brimful, and broke them too.
Young John, who trimmed the flapping sail
Homeless in Patmos died.
Peter, who hauled the teeming net,
Head down was crucified.
The peace of God, it is no peace,
But strife closed in the sod.
Yet let us pray for but one thing:
The marvelous peace of God.
“His Peace”
William Alexander Percy, 1924
Yes, I realize I print Percy's poem here too frequently, but this is my blog, and there was a Time when it was a favorite hymn. We sang it in seminary, and the Lutherans had a really great tune and it was as glorious as singing "Jesus calls us, o'er the tumult of our life's wild restless sea" - - itself only to the good ole tune "Galilee," that arrogant musicians dropped and substituted a couple of their own garbage tunes. For the hymn, the first verse is dropped, but that's okay if for no other reason than remind us to be careful about beginning hymns, or indeed anything, with the word "I" - -
In discussion, there is always quibbling about what's "closed in the sod" - - which is perfectly clear to anyone who has ever officiated, or even attended, a country funeral where friends and family don't leave it to the undertaker's crew but stay on to lovingly shovel dirt onto the coffin: the peace of God will torment you until you die.
Strife, closed in the sod.
++++++++++
In retirement we live in a place as close to anyone's idea of Heaven as I ever need or want to be. Here in 7H, the north windows look out on downtown St Andrews, where, starting work in my father's fish house at age nine, I grew up. South windows and the porch look out on a Bay that means life itself to me for all kinds of reasons, some of them expressed here in the going on thirteen years I've been writing this almost daily Nonsense. I don't have to go anywhere to reclaim my memories, most of them are right here. I pray you are so fortunate, blessed would be the word if I believed that God singled me out for special gifts when people are homeless, dying of starvation, being forced by authoritarian leaders to live by the beliefs of others,
As with many roads less traveled, lucking into it was a pure fluke from an event that at the Time was annoying and even seemed disastrous, yet here we are. Every good road and every bad road brought us here. Again, I hope when you reach this age you feel as good about life and Time as I do. I think it's nonsense, but maybe we do have guardian angels?
Anyway, that's enough, eh. RSF&PTL
T
Pic snapped at six o'clock this morning as fishermen cast for mullet just below me. As I stood at the rail and watched the fishermen cast their nets, an osprey dove, lifted from the Bay clutching a long silver mullet, circled high over the boat that's to the right in my photo, then flew down to water top level and out of sight. Simultaneously, a ship entered through the Pass, and its red pilot boat sped across the scene and back to its base. Friend, life don't git no better'nis-shere.
"Frost's poem "The Road Not Traveled" posits that the small choices we make each and every day also have big impacts on our lives. Each decision we make sets us upon a path that we may not understand the importance of until much, much later. This theme is reflected throughout the poem." I personally sat in an auditorium and heard Robert Frost himself read and comment on the poem, which I'd learned at Bay High. I might say that it's been my entire philosophy of life. T
Can't help printing this poem again too
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost