One day some of the other teachers and I decided to go on a trip to 14,000-foot Pikes Peak. We hired a prairie wagon. Near the top we had to leave the wagon and go the rest of the way on mules. I was very tired. But when I saw the view, I felt great joy. All the wonder of America seemed displayed there, with the sea-like expanse.



Katherine Lee Bates, a prolific poet and a professor of English Literature at Wellesley College, died on this date in 1929. She is the author of the poem which was first published in The Congregationalist on July 4, 1895 and for which more than sixty musical settings have since been composed. The national hymn of the United States.



America The Beautiful



O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain,

For purple mountain majesties

Above the fruited plain!

America! America!

God shed his grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea!



O beautiful for pilgrim feet

Whose stern, impassioned stress

A thoroughfare for freedom beat

Across the wilderness!

America! America!

God mend thine every flaw,

Confirm thy soul in self-control,

Thy liberty in law!



O beautiful for heroes proved

In liberating strife,

Who more than self the country loved,

And mercy more than life!

America! America!

May God thy gold refine

Till all success be nobleness

And every gain divine!



O beautiful for patriot dream

That sees beyond the years

Thine alabaster cities gleam

Undimmed by human tears!

America! America!

God shed his grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea!

Daniel Patrick Moynihan, scholar, author, public servant, controversialist, a man of great gifts and of strong convictions, has died. Some of the positions that he took, especially in the later stages of his career, were a matter of deep disappointment but he was also, in the course of his long public life, a stalwart defender of many noble causes. He was a worthy occupant of the Senate seat from the state of New York held before him by, most recently, Kenneth Keating, Robert Kennedy, and James Lane Buckley, and he shares with Jacob Javits the record for length of service as Senator from the Empire State.



Here are the concluding paragraphs of the Commencement Address Moynihan delivered at Harvard University on 6 June 2002.



Last February, some 60 academics of the widest range of political persuasion and religious belief, a number from here at Harvard, including Huntington, published a manifesto: "What We're Fighting For: A Letter from America."



It has attracted some attention here; perhaps more abroad, which was our purpose. Our references are wide, Socrates, St. Augustine, Franciscus de Victoria, John Paul II, Martin Luther King, Jr., Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.



We affirmed "five fundamental truths that pertain to all people without distinction," beginning "all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights."



We allow for our own shortcomings as a nation, sins, arrogance, failings. But we assert we are no less bound by moral obligation. And finally, ...reason and careful moral reflection ... teach us that there are times when the first and most important reply to evil is to stop it.



But there is more. Forty-seven years ago , on this occasion, General George C. Marshall summoned our nation to restore the countries whose mad regimes had brought the world such horror. It was an act of statesmanship and vision without equal in history. History summons us once more in different ways, but with even greater urgency. Civilization need not die. At this moment, only the United States can save it. As we fight the war against evil, we must also wage peace, guided by the lesson of the Marshall Plan -- vision and generosity can help make the world a safer place.



Requiescat in pace.

Richard Allen, founder and first Bishop of the African Methodist Episcopal Church and among the most distinguished men in a Philadelphia crowded with them, died on this date in 1831.

Well, here's an interesting idea and collection, although I can't claim familiarity with many of the songs. Songs Inspired By Literature, the entries confirmed either through album liner notes or interviews that specifically mention the artist's sources of inspiration.



Link from Bookfilter, by way of Andrew at Bloggedy Blog.

The Gospel is the book of the life of our Lord, and it does not exist to be read, but to be received by us. Each of its words is Spirit and life...



When we hold the Gospel in our hands, we should consider that the Word is dwelling in it, and that it wants to become incarnate in us, wants to take hold of us, so that we begin His life anew, in a different place, at a different time, His heart implanted in ours, His Spirit penetrating ours.



--- Madeleine Delbrêl

Update: Dave King at IdeaJoy, one of the Canadian brethren, kindly notes in a comment on the previous entry that he's posted a follow-up. And very interesting it is. I'd not seen before the full text of Saint Jean de Brebeuf's Christmas carol in the Huron language, which Dave links to at Bruce Cockburn's site.

In commenting on a post on the memorial of Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha last July, Joel Garver spoke of the North American Martyrs and I remarked that stories of their heroism were staples of my early school days. They were men of quite extraordinary dedication and strength, preaching the Gospel, learning tribal languages and customs, enduring privation and brutal weather, sharing the faith: heroic witnesses even to the point of cruel and tortured deaths.



The memorial for these French Jesuit missionaries is observed on 19 October, but one of their number, Saint Jean de Brebeuf, was born in Normandy on this solemn Feast of the Annunciation in 1593. Among the gifts of his exemplary ministry is the Huron Christmas hymn 'Twas In The Moon Of Wintertime.





’Twas in the moon of wintertime,

When all the birds had fled,

That mighty Gitchi Manitou

Sent angel choirs instead;

Before their light the stars grew dim,

And wondering hunters heard the hymn:



Refrain



Jesus your King is born,

Jesus is born,

In excelsis gloria.



Within a lodge of broken bark

The tender babe was found,

A ragged robe of rabbit skin

Enwrapped His beauty round;

But as the hunter braves drew nigh,

The angel song rang loud and high:



Refrain



The earliest moon of wintertime

Is not so round and fair

As was the ring of glory on

The helpless Infant there.

The chiefs from far before Him knelt

With gifts of fox and beaver pelt.



Refrain



O children of the forest free,

O seed of Manitou,

The holy Child of earth and heav’n

Is born today for you.

Come kneel before the radiant Boy,

Who brings you beauty, peace and joy.



Refrain

The traditional Roman calendar celebrated the feast of Gabriel the Archangel on this date, the day before the solemn Feast of the Annunciation. The angelic messenger -- whose name means "the strength of God" and who spoke, in the description by the prophet Daniel, with the "sound of his words like the voice of a multitude" -- appears twice in the Book of Daniel and, in the New Testament, as the herald to Zachary of the birth of John the Baptist as well as in the annunciation of our salvation to the Virgin Mary.



There is a sense in which Gabriel is the patron of each of us as we work to fulfill the command of the Great Commission and it's particularly fitting that we also observe today the anniversary of the birth of Frances Jane Crosby at Putnam County, New York in 1820. Fanny Crosby, who described her salvation experience as a "floodtide of celestial light" and whose poetry has been a source of enlightenment for millions, was blind from the age of six weeks. In her long and fruitful life, she was the author of more than 9000 hymns, a messenger of the faithfulness of God and of salvation in Jesus Christ.



Tell Me The Story Of Jesus



Tell me the story of Jesus,

Write on my heart every word.

Tell me the story most precious,

Sweetest that ever was heard.

Tell how the angels in chorus,

Sang as they welcomed His birth.

“Glory to God in the highest!

Peace and good tidings to earth.”



Refrain



Tell me the story of Jesus,

Write on my heart every word.

Tell me the story most precious,

Sweetest that ever was heard.



Fasting alone in the desert,

Tell of the days that are past.

How for our sins He was tempted,

Yet was triumphant at last.

Tell of the years of His labor,

Tell of the sorrow He bore.

He was despised and afflicted,

Homeless, rejected and poor.



Refrain



Tell of the cross where they nailed Him,

Writhing in anguish and pain.

Tell of the grave where they laid Him,

Tell how He liveth again.

Love in that story so tender,

Clearer than ever I see.

Stay, let me weep while you whisper,

Love paid the ransom for me.



Refrain

Today is the anniversary of the birth of the transcendent genius Johann Sebastian Bach at Eisenach in 1685.

Charles Davis Tillman, who was born at Tallassee, Alabama on this date in 1861, and who died in 1943, was a singing evangelist and a publisher of Gospel music and camp meeting songs. He was also himself the author of a number of Gospel songs that are still familiar today. I've never had to bear the labor or know the arduous toil that might justify the expression of weariness that it contains, but I know the assured hope that it conveys, and the following is a favorite of mine, recorded most recently, and movingly, by the gifted, kind, and generous Lynda Tait Randle.



When I Get To The End Of The Way



The sands have been washed of the footprints

Of the Stranger on Galilee’s shore;

And the voice that subdued the rough billows

Will be heard in Judea no more,

But the path of that lone Galilean,

With joy I will follow today,



Refrain



And the toils of the road will seem nothing

When I get to the end of the way,

The toils of the road will seem nothing

When I get to the end of the way.



There are so many hills to climb upward,

I often am longing for rest;

But He Who appoints me my pathway,

Knows just what is needful and best.

I know in His Word He hath promised

That my strength it shall be as my day;



Refrain



He loves me too well to forsake me,

Or give me a trial too much;

His people have been dearly purchased,

And Satan can never claim such.

By and by I shall see Him and praise Him,

In the city of unending day;



Refrain



When the last feeble steps have been taken,

And the gates of that city appear,

And the beautiful songs of the angels

Float out on my listening ear;

When all that now seems so mysterious,

Will be bright and as clear as the day,



And the toils of the road will seem nothing

When I get to the end of the way,

Then the toils of the road will seem nothing

When I get to the end of the way.

I spent many happy and instructive afternoons cataloguing pamphlets and other material in the Department of Rare Books and Manuscripts at the University of Virginia, working under the direction of L. Gayle Cooper, the very knowledgeable head cataloguer of Special Collections, who had done much of her training at the Library Company of Philadelphia. During a project to make a collection of broadsides more accessible, and on an afternoon when much of the material was of primarily local interest, I came unexpectedly to a playbill for a performance of Our American Cousin at Ford's Theatre. And the playbill had a banner note: "This evening the performance will be honored by the presence of President Lincoln."



It's difficult to describe, but I've never forgotten, the rush of emotion I felt at having such an artifact suddenly before me. A vivid link to that great man and to that Good Friday in 1865. And I continue to be grateful for the experience, even though the playbill proved to be, in fact, only one of the many reprints and forgeries issued after the assassination of President Lincoln.



What's brought the memory to me today was the news that North Carolina's copy of the Bill of Rights, stolen that same day at the close of the Civil War, has been recovered in Philadelphia. The Philadelphia Inquirer covered the story. Here's an excerpt.



Sting Nets Stolen Piece of History



By Joseph A. Slobodzian

Inquirer Staff Writer



It's Good Friday, April 14, 1865, five days after Gen. Robert E. Lee surrendered the Confederacy at Appomattox, Va. Abraham Lincoln has just hours left to live.



In North Carolina, Union Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman's troops have arrived in Raleigh on the way home from their fiery march through the South. An obscure Ohio soldier helps himself to a souvenir: North Carolina's copy of the Bill of Rights.



Yesterday, 138 years after it was looted from North Carolina's capitol, the faded, handwritten relic of the nation's founding was again on public view, in Philadelphia. It was recovered in a dramatic FBI sting that involved Gov. Rendell, officials of the National Constitution Center, and one of the city's preeminent lawyers.

The Church also calls upon him as her Protector because of a profound and most present desire to reinvigorate her ancient life with true evangelical virtues, such as shine forth in Saint Joseph. Finally, the Church invokes him as her Patron and Protector through her unshakeable trust that he to whom Christ willed to confide the care and protection of His own frail human childhood, will continue from heaven to perform his protective task in order to guide and defend the Mystical Body of Christ Himself, which is always weak, always under attack, always in a state of peril. Finally, we call upon Saint Joseph for the world, trusting that the heart of the humble working man of Nazareth, now overflowing with immeasurable wisdom and power, still harbours and will always harbour a singular and precious fellow-feeling for the whole of mankind. So may it be.



Pope Paul VI



Saint Joseph, Guardian of the Redeemer, Pillar of families, Solace of the wretched, Hope of the sick, Patron of the dying, Terror of demons, Protector of Holy Church, pray for us.

Thomas Ken, scholar of Winchester College and New College, Oxford, Anglican Bishop of Bath and Wells, died on this date in 1711. He was a man of scrupulous principle, a prolific poet and the author of several fine hymns, among which is the following, written as a morning hymn for the boys of Winchester and sung also at Ken's funeral, held at sunrise. It has several musical settings, and its last stanza, set to the "Old 100th" of the Genevan Psalter of Louis Bourgeois, is almost universally known.



AWAKE, MY SOUL, AND WITH THE SUN



Awake, my soul, and with the sun

Thy daily stage of duty run;

Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise,

To pay thy morning sacrifice.



Thy precious time misspent, redeem,

Each present day thy last esteem,

Improve thy talent with due care;

For the great day thyself prepare.



By influence of the Light divine

Let thy own light to others shine.

Reflect all heaven’s propitious ways

In ardent love, and cheerful praise.



In conversation be sincere;

Keep conscience as the noontide clear;

Think how all seeing God thy ways

And all thy secret thoughts surveys.



Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart,

And with the angels bear thy part,

Who all night long unwearied sing

High praise to the eternal King.



All praise to Thee, Who safe has kept

And hast refreshed me while I slept

Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake

I may of endless light partake.



Heav’n is, dear Lord, where’er Thou art,

O never then from me depart;

For to my soul ’stis hell to be

But for one moment void of Thee.



Lord, I my vows to Thee renew;

Disperse my sins as morning dew.

Guard my first springs of thought and will,

And with Thyself my spirit fill.



Direct, control, suggest, this day,

All I design, or do, or say,

That all my powers, with all their might,

In Thy sole glory may unite.



Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him, all creatures here below;

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Let us not then be ashamed to confess the Crucified. Be the Cross our seal made with boldness by our fingers on our brow, and on everything; over the bread we eat, and the cups we drink; in our comings in, and goings out; before our sleep, when we lie down and when we rise up; when we are in the way, and when we are still. Great is that preservative; it is without price, for the sake of the poor; without toil, for the sick; since also its grace is from God. It is the Sign of the faithful, and the dread of devils: for He triumphed over them in it, having made a show of them openly; for when they see the Cross they are reminded of the Crucified; they are afraid of Him, who bruised the heads of the dragon. Despise not the Seal, because of the freeness of the gift, but the more greatly give praise and honor to thy Benefactor.



Saint Cyril of Jerusalem, Bishop and Doctor of the Church, whose memorial is today.

And the letters were sent by posts into all the king's provinces, to destroy, to kill, and to cause to perish, all Jews, both young and old, little children and women, in one day, even upon the thirteenth day of the twelfth month, which is the month Adar, and to take the spoil of them for a prey.



Esther 3:13



Commemoration of The Fast of Esther concludes and The Feast of Purim, celebrating deliverance of the Jewish people from the base machinations of a powerful man, begins at sundown.

Saint Patrick's Breastplate



I bind unto myself today

The strong Name of the Trinity,

By invocation of the same

The Three in One and One in Three.



I bind this today to me forever

By power of faith, Christ’s incarnation;

His baptism in Jordan river,

His death on Cross for my salvation;

His bursting from the spicèd tomb,

His riding up the heavenly way,

His coming at the day of doom

I bind unto myself today.



I bind unto myself the power

Of the great love of cherubim;

The sweet ‘Well done’ in judgment hour,

The service of the seraphim,

Confessors’ faith, Apostles’ word,

The Patriarchs’ prayers, the prophets’ scrolls,

All good deeds done unto the Lord

And purity of virgin souls.



I bind unto myself today

The virtues of the star lit heaven,

The glorious sun’s life giving ray,

The whiteness of the moon at even,

The flashing of the lightning free,

The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,

The stable earth, the deep salt sea

Around the old eternal rocks.



I bind unto myself today

The power of God to hold and lead,

His eye to watch, His might to stay,

His ear to hearken to my need.

The wisdom of my God to teach,

His hand to guide, His shield to ward;

The word of God to give me speech,

His heavenly host to be my guard.



Against the demon snares of sin,

The vice that gives temptation force,

The natural lusts that war within,

The hostile men that mar my course;

Or few or many, far or nigh,

In every place and in all hours,

Against their fierce hostility

I bind to me these holy powers.



Against all Satan’s spells and wiles,

Against false words of heresy,

Against the knowledge that defiles,

Against the heart’s idolatry,

Against the wizard’s evil craft,

Against the death wound and the burning,

The choking wave, the poisoned shaft,

Protect me, Christ, till Thy returning.



Christ be with me, Christ within me,

Christ behind me, Christ before me,

Christ beside me, Christ to win me,

Christ to comfort and restore me.

Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,

Christ in hearts of all that love me,

Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.



I bind unto myself the Name,

The strong Name of the Trinity,

By invocation of the same,

The Three in One and One in Three.

By Whom all nature hath creation,

Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:

Praise to the Lord of my salvation,

Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

James Waddel Alexander was born at Hopewell, Virginia on this date in 1804, the younger brother of Joseph Addison Alexander, the biblical scholar, and both later held professorships at Princeton Theological Seminary, James as Professor of ecclesiastical history, church government and sacred rhetoric. He served also as pastor at Presbyterian congregations in New Jersey and New York during his relatively short life and, among his other distinctions, made very fine translations of both the Stabat Mater of the 13th century Franciscan Jacopone da Todi and of the Salve Caput Cruentatum attributed to Saint Bernard of Clairvaux.



O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,

Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;

How pale Thou art with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!

How does that visage languish, which once was bright as morn!



What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners’ gain;

Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.

Lo, here I fall, my Savior! ’Tis I deserve Thy place;

Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.



Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee, Thou noble countenance,

Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee and flee before Thy glance.

How art thou pale with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!

How doth Thy visage languish that once was bright as morn!



Now from Thy cheeks has vanished their color once so fair;

From Thy red lips is banished the splendor that was there.

Grim death, with cruel rigor, hath robbed Thee of Thy life;

Thus Thou hast lost Thy vigor, Thy strength in this sad strife.



My burden in Thy Passion, Lord, Thou hast borne for me,

For it was my transgression which brought this woe on Thee.

I cast me down before Thee, wrath were my rightful lot;

Have mercy, I implore Thee; Redeemer, spurn me not!



What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,

For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?

O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,

Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.



My Shepherd, now receive me; my Guardian, own me Thine.

Great blessings Thou didst give me, O source of gifts divine.

Thy lips have often fed me with words of truth and love;

Thy Spirit oft hath led me to heavenly joys above.



Here I will stand beside Thee, from Thee I will not part;

O Savior, do not chide me! When breaks Thy loving heart,

When soul and body languish in death’s cold, cruel grasp,

Then, in Thy deepest anguish, Thee in mine arms I’ll clasp.



The joy can never be spoken, above all joys beside,

When in Thy body broken I thus with safety hide.

O Lord of Life, desiring Thy glory now to see,

Beside Thy cross expiring, I’d breathe my soul to Thee.



My Savior, be Thou near me when death is at my door;

Then let Thy presence cheer me, forsake me nevermore!

When soul and body languish, oh, leave me not alone,

But take away mine anguish by virtue of Thine own!



Be Thou my consolation, my shield when I must die;

Remind me of Thy passion when my last hour draws nigh.

Mine eyes shall then behold Thee, upon Thy cross shall dwell,

My heart by faith enfolds Thee. Who dieth thus dies well.

It's one of the great benefits of being in Philadelphia and a high point of the year, especially after a prolonged winter. I spent Thursday at The Philadelphia Flower Show of The Pennsylvania Horticultural Society, the largest and most important such show in the United States, and whose only world competition is The Chelsea Flower Show of the Royal Horticultural Society. There are two days left but, if you can't make it this weekend and be among the 285,000 visitors to the 2003 Festival de las Flores, plan a vacation around the 175th anniversary show in 2004.



Here's a link to a story on the creator of some of the most dramatic topiary around, with pictures of her work at this year's show.

If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent

If the unheard, unspoken

Word is unspoken, unheard;

Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,

The Word without a word, the Word within

The world and for the world;

And the light shone in darkness and

Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled

About the centre of the silent Word.



O my people, what have I done unto thee.



from Ash Wednesday



from Collected Poems 1909-1962 by T S Eliot, © T S Eliot 1963

The Talmud teaches there are three things which can change a person's life:



Teshuva

Correcting mistakes between you and the Almighty, and between you and your fellow man



Tefillah

Heartfelt prayer



Tzedakah

Acts of charity and righteousness

I am loathe to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.



The closing paragraph of the first Inaugural Address of President Abraham Lincoln, given on this date in 1861. It's not as penetrating and closely reasoned an analysis of events and disputes as his great exposition at the Cooper Union in Manhattan on 27 February 1860. Nor has it the sublime nobility of the Second Inaugural Address in 1865, among the greatest prose works in the history of the United States. But, especially in these closing words, it has a power and gravity that bring vividly to our mind the tortured year in which it was composed. And in the aching grace of those words is a message that speaks still to our heart.

Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and show thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not.



Jeremiah 33:3

The Anglican and the Lutheran calendars observe a joint memorial for John and Charles Wesley on 2 March, the date of John's death in London in 1791. This year also marks the tercentennial observance of John Wesley's birth. Here is one of their mighty hymns, on the text of Ephesians 6:13: Put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground.



Soldiers of Christ, Arise



Soldiers of Christ, arise, and put your armor on,

Strong in the strength which God supplies through His eternal Son

Strong in the Lord of hosts, and in His mighty power,

Who in the strength of Jesus trusts is more than conqueror.



Stand then in His great might, with all His strength endued,

But take to arm you for the fight the panoply of God;

That having all things done, and all your conflicts passed,

Ye may overcome through Christ alone and stand entire at last.



Stand then against your foes, in close and firm array;

Legions of wily fiends oppose throughout the evil day;

But meet the sons of night, and mock their vain design,

Armed in the arms of heavenly light, of righteousness divine.



Leave no unguarded place, no weakness of the soul,

Take every virtue, every grace, and fortify the whole;

Indissolubly joined, to battle all proceed;

But arm yourselves with all the mind that was in Christ, your Head.



Pray without ceasing, pray, (your Captain gives the word)

His summons cheerfully obey and call upon the Lord;

To God your every want in instant prayer display,

Pray always, pray and never faint, pray, without ceasing, pray.



From strength to strength go on, wrestle and fight and pray,

Tread all the powers of darkness down and win the well fought day.

Still let the Spirit cry in all His soldiers, “Come!”

Till Christ the Lord descends from high and takes the conquerors home.