Broad is the road that leads to death
And thousands walk together there;
But wisdom shows a narrow path
With here and there a traveler.
“Deny thyself, and take thy cross,”
Is the Redeemer’s great command;
Nature must count her gold but dross
If she would gain this heav’nly land.
[The fearful soul that tires and faints
And walks the ways of God no more
Is but esteemed 'almost a saint',
And makes his own destruction sure.]
Lord, let not all my hopes be vain:
Create my heart entirely nеw;
Which hypocrites could ne’er attain
And falsе apostates never knew.
I REALLY wish we still got snow days--February would've been nearly as much vacation as work, this year. :P
Just in time, too--our front lawn was starting to show grass again. It's all safely covered up now!
- William Shakespeare
Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
O know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument,
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent:
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told.
Hail blessed morn, see the great Mediator
Down from the regions of glory descend;
Shepherds go worship the babe in the manger:
Lo, for HIs guard the bright angels ascend!
Brightest and best of the sons of the morning;
Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid;
Star of the East, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our infant Redeemer was laid.
Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining;
Low lies His bed with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,
Wisemen and shepherds before him do fall.
[Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion,
Odors of Edom and offerings divine?
Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine?]
Vainly we offer each ample oblation,
Vainly with gifts would His favor secure;
Richer by far is the heart’s adoration,
Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.