October's Party ~ George Cooper

October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came—
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.

The Chestnuts came in yellow,
The Oaks in crimson dressed;
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners,
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Then, in the rustic hollow,
At hide-and-seek they played,
The party closed at sundown,
And everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder;
They flew along the ground;
And then the party ended
In jolly "hands around."

A Heavenly Romp!

I was reminded of this poem yesterday when my sister posted another one by the same author on her facebook page. They are both about heaven - hers is rather poignant while this one is more fun. But both of them make me think of my grandma and the wonder of her now being in heaven. I don't know exactly what she is doing there, but I like to think that she's having a heavenly romp.

Heavenly Playground
Oh God, I'm not anxious to snuff it,
but when the Grim Reaper reaps me,
I'll try to rely on
my vision of Zion,
I know how I want it to be.

As soon as you greet me in Heaven,
and ask what I'd like, I shall say,
"I just want a chance
for my spirit to dance,
I want to be able to play."

Tell the angels to build a soft playground,
designed and equipped just for me,
with a vertical slide
that's abnormally wide,
and oceans of green PVC.

There'll be reinforced netting to climb on,
and rubberized floors that will bend,
and no one can die,
so I needn't be shy
if I'm tempted to land on a friend!

I'm gonna go mad in the soft, squashy mangle,
and balmy with balls in the swamp,
colored and spherical,
I'll be hysterical!
I'll have a heavenly romp!

There'll be cushions and punch bags and tires
in purple and yellow and red,
and a mushroomy thing
that will suddenly sing
if I kick it or sit on its head.

There'll be fountains of squash and ribena
to feed my continual thirst,
and none of that stuff
about "You've had enough,"
surely heavenly bladders won't burst.

I suppose I might be too tall for the entrance,
but Lord, chuck the rules in the bin.
If I am too large,
tell the angel in charge
to let me bow down and come in.

~Adrian Plass

Welcome, Fall!

TO AUTUMN ~ John Keats

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

My Father's World

This morning on my bike ride, the hymn This Is My Father's World kept popping into my head. The scenery was so beautiful. It was impossible not to see God's hand in the creation of it all.

I couldn't remember all the words, so when I got home I looked them up. I was surprised to see that the hymn comes from a much longer poem. Here it is in its entirety.

My Father’s World ~ Maltbie Davenport Babcock

This is my Father’s world.
On the day of its wondrous birth
The stars of light in phalanx bright
Sang out in Heavenly mirth.

This is my Father’s world.
E’en yet to my listening ears
All nature sings, and around me rings
The music of the spheres.

This is my Father’s world.
I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas,
His hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father’s world.
The birds that their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white,
Declare their Maker’s praise.

This is my Father’s world.
He shines in all that’s fair.
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass,
He speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father’s world.
From His eternal throne,
He watch doth keep when I’m asleep,
And I am not alone.

This is my Father’s world.
Dreaming, I see His face.
I ope my eyes, and in glad surprise
Cry, “The Lord is in this place.”

This is my Father’s world.
I walk a desert lone.
In a bush ablaze to my wondering gaze
God makes His glory known.

This is my Father’s world.
Among the mountains drear,
‘Mid rending rocks and earthquake shocks,
The still, small voice I hear.

This is my Father’s world.
From the shining courts above,
The Beloved One, His only Son,
Came-a pledge of deathless love.

This is my Father’s world.
Now closer to Heaven bound,
For dear to God is the earth Christ trod,
No place but is holy ground.

This is my Father’s world.
His love has filled my breast,
I am reconciled, I am His child,
My soul has found His rest.

This is my Father’s world.
A wanderer I may roam,
Whate’er my lot, it matters not,
My heart is still at home.

This is my Father’s world.
O let me ne’er forget
That tho’ the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.

This is my Father’s world.
The battle is not done.
Jesus who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and Heaven be one.

This is my Father’s world.
Should my heart be ever sad?
The lord is King-let the Heavens ring
God reigns-let the earth be glad.



The pictures are from my bike ride. The poem is from Thought For Everyday Living by Maltbie Davenport Babcock.