Glorious Autumn

No melancholy days are these!

     Not where the maple changing stands,

Not in the shade of fluttering oaks,

            Nor in the bands

Of twisting vines and sturdy shrubs,

     Scarlet and yellow, green and brown,

Falling, or swinging on their stalks,

            Is Sorrow’s crown.

The sparkling fields of dewy grass,

     Woodpaths and roadsides decked with flowers,

Starred asters and the goldenrod,

            Date Autumn’s hours.

The shining banks of snowy clouds,

     Steadfast in the aerial blue,

The silent, shimmering, silver sea,

            To Joy are true.

My spirit in this happy air

     Can thus embrace the dying year,

And with it wrap me in a shroud

            As bright and clear!

- Autumn 

by Elizabeth Drew Stoddard

The Books Our Mothers Read

We search the world for truth, we cull

The good, the pure, the beautiful,

From graven stone and written scroll,

And all old flower-fields of the soul;

And, weary seekers of the best,

We come back laden from our quest,

To find that all the sages said

Is in the Book our mothers read.

John Greenleaf Whittier

I hope that I am reading the Book that will give them everything they need for life and godliness, and learning from it, that they might read my life and see Him.

In Acceptance Lieth Peace

www.allposters.com

Didn't mean to post twice today.

I have been going through some challenges lately - I will just leave it at that for now.

I believe in a sovereign God, I believe that He allows all things for my good, to refine me and get rid of the dross...

This poem challenges me to see God's bigger plan for my life than what I can see...

In acceptance lieth peace,

O my heart be still;

Let thy restless worries cease

And accept His will.

Though this test be not thy choice,

It is His—therefore rejoice.

In His plan there cannot be

Aught to make thee sad:

If this is His choice for thee,

Take it and be glad.

Make from it some lovely thing

To the glory of thy King.

Cease from sighs and murmuring,

Sing His loving grace,

This thing means thy furthering

To a wealthy place.

From thy fears He’ll give release,

In acceptance lieth peace.

—Hannah Hurnard

Heart Of Home

Lord, let our house be something more

Than just a shelter with a door;

May its windows glow with light,    

Shedding radiance through the night.

Not just a glitter of glass and chrome,

But give it the "feel" of a happy home.                                  

Let it have flowers, a well-loved book,

Soft cushions in a quiet nook.

                                          

 May it be more than downey bed,

  Or snowy cloth with silver spread;

  Lend it some smiles, warm sympathy.

 With kindly thought, true charity - 

 That all may recall, though far they roam,

 That God was there - in the heart of home

                                              Christine White

God Bless Your Home

www.allposters.com

God Bless Your Home

God bless your home
And all within,
The friends who come;
Your kith and kin;
Your shelt'ring roof,
Your homely fare,
Your place of rest,
Your toil and care.
Bless absent ones
And those you love,
And guard and guide
Them from above.
And grant that soon
Sweet peace will reign
In this and ev'ry land again.

Anonymous

This poem says alot. Our oldest one is going to be an absent one soon. He is moving out next week. We think this is good, on many levels, but our hearts are heavy, for reasons I won't go into. Pray for us as we all adjust to these changes, and for strengthened relationships and growth for us all.

Mother's Elbows on My Bed

This is a poem in a new book I purchased at the recent curriculum fair.

I was but a youth and thoughtless,
As all youths are apt to be;
Though I had a Christian mother
Who had taught me carefully,
But there came a time when pleasure
Of the world came to allure,
And I no more sought the guidance
Of her love so good and pure.
Her tender admonitions fell
But lightly on my ear,
And for the gentle warnings
I felt an inward sneer.
How could I prove my manhood
Were I not firm of will?
No threat of future evil
Should all my pleasure kill.
But mother would not yield her boy
To Satan's sinful sway,
And though I spurned her counsel
She knew a better way.
No more she tried to caution
Of ways she knew its pain.
And though I guessed her heartache
I could not know its pain.
She made my room an altar,
A place of secret prayer,
And there she took her burden
And left it in His care.
And morning, noon, and evening
By that humble bedside low,
She sought the aid of Him Who
Best can understand a mother's woe.
And I went my way unheeding,
Careless of the life I led,
Until one day I noticed
Prints of elbows on my bed.
Then I saw that she had been there
Praying for her wayward boy,
Who for love of worldly pleasure
Would her peace of mind destroy.
While I wrestled with my conscience,
Mother wrestled still in prayer,
Till that little room seemed hallowed
Because so oft she met Him there.
With her God she held the fortress,
And thought not a word she said,
My stubborn heart was broken
By those imprints on my bed.
Long the conflict raged within me,
Sin against my mother's prayers.
Sin MUST YIELD for MOTHER NEVER
While she daily met Him there.
And her constant love and patience
were like coals upon my head,
Together with the imprints
Of her elbows on my bed.
Mother-love and God-love
Are a combination rare,
And one that can't be beaten
When sealed by earnest prayer.
And so at last the fight was won,
And I to Christ was led,
And mother's prayers were answered
By her elbows on my bed.

Anonymous

May it be so......