Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Faith
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(See it on Flickr)
Detail:
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(See it on Flickr)I took this picture inside Cologne's famous cathedral.
Please, see my huge 360 degrees panorama of Cologne.
Please, see my huge 360 degrees panorama of Cologne.
Detail:
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The Lamp of LifeBy Amy Lowell
Always we are following a light,
Always the light recedes; with groping hands
We stretch toward this glory, while the lands
We journey through are hidden from our sight
Dim and mysterious, folded deep in night,
We care not, all our utmost need demands
Is but the light, the light! So still it stands
Surely our own if we exert our might.
Fool! Never can'st thou grasp this fleeting gleam,
Its glowing flame would die if it were caught,
Its value is that it doth always seem
But just a little farther on. Distraught,
But lighted ever onward, we are brought
Upon our way unknowing, in a dream.
(Poem's source: Americanpoems.com)
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The Deserted Village
The Deserted Village
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By Oliver Goldsmith
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, where every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er your green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene;
How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made;
How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree:
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;
And still as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown
By holding out to tire each other down!
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong look of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:
These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these,
With sweet succession, taught even toil to please;
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,
These were thy charms -But all these charms are fled.
(Read the full poem)
PS : I took the picture
in Saint Léon, France
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Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, where every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er your green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene;
How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made;
How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree:
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;
And still as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown
By holding out to tire each other down!
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong look of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:
These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these,
With sweet succession, taught even toil to please;
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,
These were thy charms -But all these charms are fled.
(Read the full poem)
PS : I took the picture
in Saint Léon, France
.
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A Little Country Church
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By Pearlie Duncan Walker
‘Twas a little frame Country Church, standing over there.
Many times, I walked this way, under parents' loving care.
We had a special pew, room enough for a babe to have a bed,
As we sat quietly and listened to what the preacher said.
He was a man of God. The Spirit of God, through him, truly ran.
God’s words he spoke to us. He was a Godly man.
We would sing the songs of old, about our Savior’s love
And how awesome it would be when we get to Heaven above.
Our Church was out in the country, beside a lovely wood.
We’d listen to the gentle breeze blowing through the trees, as oft as we could.
It seemed so peaceful, the little Church ever so full of Grace.
Wouldn’t it be a wonder, someday, just to go back and see this place?
I can almost hear the singing now, about how amazing was God’s love;
How the river of life was ever flowing in Heaven, there, above.
When a soul was saved by grace, the Angels would shout and sing
For the victory of our Savior, to Heaven, more souls to bring.
There aren’t as many little Churches, today, standing closely by.
We would have to go back to yesterday, maybe break down and cry.
But those days are gone forever. For, now, we have Churches of brick and stone.
But if we can still, in our hearts go back, then it’s never really gone.
(The poem appeared on Abundantfun.com)
PS : I took the picture in Saint Leon, France
.
A Little Country Church
.
By Pearlie Duncan Walker
‘Twas a little frame Country Church, standing over there.
Many times, I walked this way, under parents' loving care.
We had a special pew, room enough for a babe to have a bed,
As we sat quietly and listened to what the preacher said.
He was a man of God. The Spirit of God, through him, truly ran.
God’s words he spoke to us. He was a Godly man.
We would sing the songs of old, about our Savior’s love
And how awesome it would be when we get to Heaven above.
Our Church was out in the country, beside a lovely wood.
We’d listen to the gentle breeze blowing through the trees, as oft as we could.
It seemed so peaceful, the little Church ever so full of Grace.
Wouldn’t it be a wonder, someday, just to go back and see this place?
I can almost hear the singing now, about how amazing was God’s love;
How the river of life was ever flowing in Heaven, there, above.
When a soul was saved by grace, the Angels would shout and sing
For the victory of our Savior, to Heaven, more souls to bring.
There aren’t as many little Churches, today, standing closely by.
We would have to go back to yesterday, maybe break down and cry.
But those days are gone forever. For, now, we have Churches of brick and stone.
But if we can still, in our hearts go back, then it’s never really gone.
(The poem appeared on Abundantfun.com)
PS : I took the picture in Saint Leon, France
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