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The Word Of GodFrom desert cliff and mountaintop we trace the wide design, Strike-slip fault and overthrust and syn and anticline... We gaze upon creation where erosion makes it known, And count the countless aeons in the banding of the stone. Odd, long-vanished creatures and their tracks & shells are found; Where truth has left its sketches on the slate below the ground. The patient stone can speak, if we but listen when it talks. Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote the rocks.
There are those who name the stars, who watch the sky by night, Seeking out the darkest place, to better see the light. Long ago, when torture broke the remnant of his will, Galileo recanted, but the Earth is moving still High above the mountaintops, where only distance bars, The truth has left its footprints in the dust between the stars. We may watch and study or may shudder and deny, Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote the sky.
By stem and root and branch we trace, by feather, fang and fur, How the living things that are descend from things that were. The moss, the kelp, the zebrafish, the very mice and flies, These tiny, humble, wordless things -- how shall they tell us lies? We are kin to beasts; no other answer can we bring. The truth has left its fingerprints on every living thing. Remember, should you have to choose between them in the strife, Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote life.
And we who listen to the stars, or walk the dusty grade Or break the very atoms down to see how they are made, Or study cells, or living things, seek truth with open hand. The profoundest act of worship is to try to understand. Deep in flower and in flesh, in star and soil and seed, The truth has left its living word for anyone to read. So turn and look where best you think the story is unfurled. Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote the world. Recently Added- To A Friend
I ask but one thing of you, only one, That always you will be my dream of you; That never shall I wake to find untrue All this I have believed and rested on, Forever vanished, like a vision gone Out into the night. Alas, how few There are who strike in us a chord we knew Existed, but so seldom heard its tone We tremble at the half-forgotten sound. The world is full of rude awakenings And heaven-born castles shattered to the ground, Yet still our human longing vainly clings To a belief in beauty through all wrongs. O stay your hand, and leave my heart its songs! In Friendship - 108 days ago - The Eagle, The Sow, And The Cat
THE Queen of Birds, t'encrease the Regal Stock, Had hatch'd her young Ones in a stately Oak, Whose Middle-part was by a Cat possest, And near the Root with Litter warmly drest, A teeming Sow had made her peaceful Nest. (Thus Palaces are cramm'd from Roof to Ground, And Animals, as various, in them found.) When to the Sow, who no Misfortune fear'd, Puss with her fawning Compliments appear'd, Rejoicing much at her Deliv'ry past, And that she 'scap'd so well, who bred so fast. Then every little Piglin she commends, And likens them to all their swinish Friends; Bestows good Wishes, but with Sighs implies, That some dark Fears do in her Bosom rise. Such Tempting Flesh, she cries, will Eagles spare? Methinks, good Neighbour, you should live in Care: Since I, who bring not forth such dainty Bits, Tremble for my unpalatable Chits; And had I but foreseen, the Eagle's Bed Was in this fatal Tree to have been spread; I sooner wou'd have kitten'd in the Road, Than made this Place of Danger my abode. I heard her young Ones lately cry for Pig, And pity'd you, that were so near, and big. In Friendship this I secretly reveal, Lest Pettitoes shou'd make th' ensuing Meal; Or else, perhaps, Yourself may be their aim, For a Sow's Paps has been a Dish of Fame. No more the sad, affrighted Mother hears, But overturning all with boist'rous Fears, She from her helpless Young in haste departs, Whilst Puss ascends, to practice farther Arts. The Anti-chamber pass'd, she scratch'd the Door; The Eagle, ne'er alarum'd so before, Bids her come in, and look the Cause be great, That makes her thus disturb the Royal Seat; Nor think, of Mice and Rats some pest'ring Tale Shall, in excuse of Insolence, prevail. Alas! my Gracious Lady, quoth the Cat, I think not of such Vermin; Mouse, or Rat To me are tasteless grown; nor dare I stir To use my Phangs, or to expose my Fur. A Foe intestine threatens all around, And ev'n this lofty Structure will confound; A Pestilential Sow, a meazel'd Pork On the Foundation has been long at work, Help'd by a Rabble, issu'd from her Womb, Which she has foster'd in that lower Room; Who now for Acorns are so madly bent, That soon this Tree must fall, for their Content. I wou'd have fetch'd some for th' unruly Elves; But 'tis the Mob's delight to help Themselves: Whilst your high Brood must with the meanest drop, And steeper be their Fall, as next the Top; Unless you soon to Jupiter repair, And let him know, the Case demands his Care.
Oh! May the Trunk but stand, 'till you come back! But hark! already sure, I hear it crack. Away, away---The Eagle, all agast, Soars to the Sky, nor falters in her haste: Whilst crafty Puss, now o'er the Eyry reigns, Replenishing her Maw with treach'rous Gains. The Sow she plunders next, and lives alone; The Pigs, the Eaglets, and the House her own.
Curs'd Sycophants! How wretched is the Fate Of those, who know you not, till 'tis too late! In Friendship - 108 days ago
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