G.O.S.P.E.L.

G.O.S.P.E.L. from Humble Beast Records on Vimeo.

(HT: My bro-in-law)

The Charge Of The Light Brigade by Tennyson "Theirs but to do and die"

Real sacrifice is foreign to my own world.  Part of me longs for the nobility to storm the beaches at Normandy and yet, I know, I come from a different and more entitled age. Oh for a few of us to change...to usher in good through our sacrifice. Oh to resurrect the Light Brigade!

The Charge Of The Light Brigade

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Memorializing Events in the Battle of Balaclava, October 25, 1854

Written 1854

Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred:
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.


'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.


Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.


Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack; Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.


Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.


When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

Are their 600 left today who would make this Charge of the Light Brigade?

"The Deer's Cry" by Saint Patrick

As you iron your favorite green shirt and polish up your "Kiss Me I'm Irish" pin, may these resources and this poem by Patrick remind you of his central passion.

Resources
Reading
St. Patrick: One of the greatest missionaries who ever lived - from TheResurgence (great summary!)
The Confession of St. Patrick - his most famous work available at CCEL

Film
St. Patrick - The Apostle of Ireland
Patrick - 2004 docudrama narrated by Liam Neeson

THE DEER'S CRY
I arise to-day Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation.

I arise to-day Through the strength of Christ's birth with His baptism, Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial, Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension, Through the strength of His descent for the judgement of Doom.

I arise to-day Through the strength of the love of Cherubim, In obedience of angels, In the service of archangels, In hope of resurrection to meet with reward, In prayers of patriarchs, In predictions of prophets, In preachings of apostles, In faiths of confessors, In innocence of holy virgins, In deeds of righteous men.

I arise to-day Through the strength of heaven: Light of sun, Radiance of moon, Splendor of fire, Speed of lightning, Swiftness of wind, Depth of sea, Stability of earth, Firmness of rock.

I arise to-day Through God's strength to pilot me: God's might to uphold me, God's wisdom to guide me, God's eye to look before me, God's ear to hear me, God's word to speak for me, God's hand to guard me, God's way to lie before me, God's shield to protect me, God's host to save me From snares of devils, From temptations of vices, From every one who shall wish me ill, Afar and anear, Alone and in multitude.

I summon to-day all these powers between me and those evils, Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul, Against incantations of false prophets, Against black laws of pagandom, Against false laws of heretics, Against craft of idolatry, Against spells of women and smiths and wizards, Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.

Christ to shield me to-day Against poison, against burning Against drowning, against wounding, So that there may come to me abundance of reward. Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise. Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me, Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise to-day Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of the Creation.

SAINT PATRICK (c. 390 - c. 461)
Translators: Whitley Stokes, John Strachan, Kuno Meyer
Take from "The One-Year Book of Poetry"

Self- Acquaintance (read "Sin-Acquaintance") by William Cowper

Dear Lord! accept a sinful heart,
Which of itself complains,
And mourns, with much and frequent smart,
The evil it contains.

There fiery seeds of anger lurk,
Which often hurt my frame;
And wait but for the tempter's work
To fan them to a flame.

Legality holds out a bribe
To purchase life from Thee;
And discontent would fain prescribe
How Thou shalt deal with me.

While unbelief withstands thy grace,
And puts the mercy by,
Presumption, with a brow of bass,
Says, 'Give me, or I die!'

How eager are my thoughts to roam
In quest of what they love!
But ah! when duty calls them home,
How heavily they move!

Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood,
Transform me by thy power,
And make my Thy belov'd abode,
And let me roam no more.

WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800)

Additional Resources
Poetry at "...all things new"

Totally, like whatever... you know? Does that make sense?

A great commentary on the degradation of language. Check it.
HT (JT)

"The Altar" by George Herbert

A broken ALTAR, Lord, thy servant rears,

Made of a heart, and cemented with tears:

Whose parts are as thy hand did frame;

No workman's tool hath touched the same.

A HEART alone

As such a stone,

As nothing but

Thy power doth cut.

Wherefore each part

Of my hard heart

Meets in this frame,

To praise thy name.

That if I chance to hold my peace,

These stones to praise thee may not cease.

O let thy blessed SACRIFICE be mine,

And sanctify this ALTAR to be thine.

George Herbert (1593-1633)

Comments on this comparison between the heart and the altar of the Old Testament from "The One Year Book of Poetry" (October 24th);

"Herbert knew that his heart was so hard that only God's power could cut it. Attempting to use tools on his heart - such as self-denial, outward adjustments, or overt sanctity - would turn him into a performer rather than a worshiper.

Nothing we offer on or from the altar of our heart will curry God's favor, for God has already made the perfect offering for us - Jesus Christ. We simply need to accept his sacrifice for our sins.

...

God doesn't want us to work for his acceptance. We cannot make our heart - through self-effort - an altar that pleases him."

The Battle of Senses - a poem

Thinking is the battlefield

Senses take the stage

Fiery darts of Sight

Noble swords of Hearing

Volley

A heart is in play

seeing...
futility

hearing...
achievement (Gal. 6:9, Matt. 5:16, 2 Cor. 4:17)

seeing...
betrayal

hearing...
involvement (Heb. 12:7-8, Rom. 8:28)

seeing...
abandonment

hearing...
commitment (Ps 22:24, Heb. 13:5)

seeing...
failure

hearing...
triumph (2 Cor. 2:14)

seeing...
obscurity

hearing...
compassion (Ps 56:8, Heb. 6:10)

On the floor of Thought

Sight is conquered

Hearing the Word of Christ

2 Corinthians 5:7 & Romans 10:17

Moments (A Poem)

My heart tries to swell
at the sound of your voice
Rough cords entangle me
Sirens slow me
Everything I desire lies
quietly in your arms
And there are moments
there are moments
I rejoice
Sweet Liberty
in the song to a Father-King

Dark (a poem)

Evil is too cunning to be conspicuous
Evil sidles, smiles and asks for a drink
or a thought
Once the arm is exposed
the needle is planted firmly in the vein
Your bled
and then
poisoned in your sleep
The concrete aorta sets.
Evil smiles and whispers
“Would you like something for that?”