Let Children Sing

Hope Abides

https://youtu.be/Zq4g_HfFqoY

Wintry and Wistful

Hide Not O God

All alone I wait for You

Wait for your face to see

On bended knee I plead for you

Mercy rain on me     

Mercy rain on me

My brittle bones they ache for You

For You these bones surely long

My lips cry out for just a drop of your well spring

from which my hope is drawn

From which my hope is drawn

Hide not oh God

Hide not oh God

Hide not your face from me

Turn not Your head

Save me instead

Hide not your face from me

Hide not your face from me

This fragile soul cries out for You

Cries out for You oh draw near

Pour out your balm on this Gilead

There's no physician here

There's no physician here

Heal me I pray oh precious Lord

Heal these deep wounds I pray

But should you tarry my sovereign Lord

Glory to you each day

Glory to you each day

Hide not oh God

Hide not oh God

Hide not your face from me

Turn not Your head

Save me instead

Hide not your face from me

Hide not your face from me

The Perfect Game

Boys were men and men were boys that night.

Early on we sat, more than casual onlookers, but not all in either. Longing to believe, but too afraid to invest.

Years of heartbreak will do that.

Each pitch brought our bodies further to the edge of our seats, and our hearts one beat closer.

To what we did not know.

The gray specter of rain hung in the air like an anvil, eager to smash the moment to bits, and end our fairy tale unhappily ever after.

The rain came, but too late to carry out its sinister plan.

By night’s end we stood transfixed.

And changed.

A childhood dream come true.

Joyously spent, we lingered long after. The scattered pale beams of the streetlights cast their patchy glow on the now empty lot, just a schoolboy’s throw from where it happened.

Feebler arms launched a soggy tennis ball back and forth through the wet night, cutting the air.

Like a windswept balloon.

Bare hands fumbled, a bit less graceful than the men before.

And older.

Light conversation. No need for more.

We felt like heroes because they were heroic.

We became lore because they became legend.

History will stop short of calling it perfection.

We boys know otherwise.

I Remember

brick and mortar and dust and rock

blood and ash and dirt and shock

fire and smoke and pain and death

hurt and sorrow and gasping breath

sadness and hatred and bitterness and shame

vengeance and anger and wrath and blame

fact and fiction and truth and lies

fear and confusion and empty skies

courage and valor and grit and fight

heroism and selflessness and sacrifice and might

young and old and famous and plain

innocence and brokenness and character and gain

faith and hope and love and opportunity

patriotism and flags and commitments and unity

pledges and promises and sunshine and September -

Live and grieve and pray and remember.

Moonlight

Moonlight bathes a finite earthen canvas

Not light of day
Nor black of night

The glorious moonlight

Darkness recoils in reluctant admiration

Not his this blessed night
Nor he the victor of this fight

The glorious moonlight

To lonely shadows death dost flee

Away oh cursed wretched foe

Gone be thou from sight of
The glorious moonlight

Rise expectant hopeful eyes

Not to the ground direct thy gaze
Nor left or right be coyly drawn - but affixed upon

The glorious moonlight

While I in mortal cloak do dwell
While on rugged pitted path I tread
While for the coming ray I long

With unfettered awe do I submit to the transcendent spell of
The glorious moonlight