Depths of the Sea

Who is a God like unto thee,

that pardoneth iniquity,

and passeth by transgressions?

Thou retainest not thine anger

for ever because thou

dost delight in mercy.

Thou wilt turn again,

thou wilt have compassion on us;

thou wilt subdue our iniquities;

and thou wilt cast all our sins

into the depths of the sea.

~Micah 7:18-19

Peace

My soul, there is a country,
Afar beyond the stars,
Where stands a wingèd sentry,
All skillful in the wars.
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles,
And One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.

He is thy gracious Friend
And (O my soul, awake!)
Did in pure love descend,
To die here for thy sake.

If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of peace,
The rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress, and thy ease.

Leave, then, thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure
But One, Who never changes,
Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure.

It Is Well, acoustic guitar

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea-billows roll,
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to know:
"It is well, it is well with my soul."

Tho' Satan should buffet, tho' trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed his own blood for my soul.

My sin - oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin - not in part but the whole -
Is nailed to His cross, and I bear it no more;
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, oh, my soul.

And, Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll,
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend;
"Even so - it is well with my soul."

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live,
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,
Thou shalt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

~Horatio Spafford, 1873

We Are Not Our Thoughts

If we can just rest on a regular basis for twenty to thirty minutes without thinking, we begin to see that we are not our thoughts.  We have thoughts, but we are not our thoughts.  Most people suffer because they think that they are their thoughts and if their thoughts are upsetting, distressing, or evil, they are stuck with them.  If they just stopped thinking for awhile every day as a discipline, they would begin to see that they do not have to be dominated by their thoughts.

~Thomas Keating, Intimacy With God

art, Morning Prayer, Jean-Baptiste Greuze

Immaculata

Madonna Natura

I love and worship thee in that thy ways
Are fair, and that the glory of past days Haloes thy brightness with a sacred hue.
Within thine eyes are dreams of mystic things,
Within thy voice a subtler music rings Than ever mortal from the keen reeds drew;
Thou weav'st a web which men have callèd Death
But Life is in the magic of thy breath.

The secret things of Earth thou knowest well;
Thou seest the wild bee build his narrow cell, The lonely eagle wing through lonely skies,
The lion on the desert roam afar,
The glow-worm glitter like a fallen star, The hour-lived insect as it hums and flies
Thou seest men like shadows come and go,
And all their endless dreams drift to and fro.

In thee is strength, endurance, wisdom, truth:
Thou art above all mortal joy and ruth, Thou hast the calm and silence of the night:
Mayhap thou seest what we cannot see,
Surely far off thou hear'st harmoniously Echoes of flawless music infinite,
Mayhap thou feelest thrilling through each sod
Beneath thy feet the very breath of God.

Madonna Natura, fair and grand and great,
I worship thee, who art inviolate: Through thee I reach to things beyond this span
Of mine own puny life, through thee I learn
Courage and hope, and dimly can discern The ever noble grades awaiting man:
Madonna unto thee I bend and pray---
Saviour, Redeemer thou, whom none can slay!

No human fanes are dedicate to thee,
But thine the temples of each tameless sea, Each mountain-height and forest-glade and plain:
No, priests with daily hymns thy praises sing,
But far and wide the wild winds chanting swing, And dirge the sea-waves on the changeless main,
While songs of birds fill all the fields and woods,
And cries of beasts the savage solitudes.

Hearken, Madonna, hearken to my cry;
Teach me through metaphors of liberty, Till strong and fearing nought in life or death
I feel thy sacred freedom through me thrill,
Wise, and defiant, with unquenched will Unyielding, though succumb the mortal breath---
Then if I conquer, take me by the hand
And guide me onward to thy Promised Land!

Wm. Sharp, 'Earth's Voices', 1884