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If I could work with Joan Van Ark every day for the rest of my life I would.

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Afrikaans: Sterregordels, Stilsonjare, Tydsbroekspypdinge, Haarsliert

Sterregordels

Cosmology in Afrikaans is an ode to joy, the
terms form sing-song strings with delightful
sounds “ewigbewegende elektron”
continuously spinning electron

“elektron in die hart van die atoomkorrel”
electron in the centre of the atom particle
- what a song!

“Triljoene Melkwegstelsels waaromheen ons
Melkweg elke tweehonderdmiljoenjaar
wentel – ‘n mallemeule van sterregordels…”

“Dobberende patrone, mesone en elektrone,
'n konfigurasie van konvekse novae”…

- these terms are singing to me!

A merry-go-round of star systems

Quotes from Adriaan Snyman “Die Messias Kode” (The Messiah Code) pp.9,10


Bombardement Van Frekwensies (English Explanation)

Waarmee sal ek hierdie leë oomblikke,
ankerloos, betekenisloos; aan die ewigheid
vasmaak - die gevoelsruimte in my hart

Is leeg, alle gevoel en denke het gesamentlik
in die donker duisternis van my brein ingeval
‘n laserbrein wat die hologramwêreld

Self moet konsituteer uit ‘n bombardement
van betekenislose frekwensies – maar
vandag is die ligstraalfokus uit

My pendulumgedagtes swaai ongefokus rond
die opgerolde, ingevoude ses-en-twintig of
meer dimensies van die virtuele werklikheid

Wil nie vir my oopgaan nie…


All thought and feeling fell into the black hole in my brain and the twenty-six or more rolled-up frequencies of reality does not want to open for me today…


Geloof In Liefde - Faith In Love

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Ort Jan van Hunks

Many years back an old pirate
Ort Jan van Hunks lived in Cape Town
and he had gathered enough loot
to live an honest life.

Just above the company gardens
he bought some land
and he thought that trustful slaves
would do the work for him
while he would watch his vineyards grow
and it would be possible
to give attention to his weaknesses.

The loneliness caught up with van Hunks
and he got himself a wife
but in Cape Town
at that time the choices was slim
and he was married to a huge woman
that was so broad
that she could not enter a door
without turning sideways
but he thought that in the cold winter evenings
she would keep him warm.

The trouble with his wife
was that she was a strict person
who drove their slave girls
to polish everything,
she had driven him away
from his own fireplace
with a hard hitting elbow,
as she was scared
that the ash from his pipe
would fall on the beautiful yellow-wood floor.

At the trees high up against the saddle
where Devil's peak joins Table Mountain,
van Hunks found a big rock
that was flat like a settee
and there nobody would bother him
as the Citizens thought
that only a lunatic
would climb the peaks of Table Mountain.

With a barrel of rum and a heap of tobacco
that he had carried along secretary
van Hunks was dreaming
with his pipe in his mouth
while he saw the shadow
of the mountain

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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

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The Twin with the Purple Heart

One of the girls had unblemished skin,
One had a purple mark,
But for the stain on her shoulder there
You couldn't tell them apart.
While Jane was born at quarter to three
Joan was at ten to four,
Jane was destined for wealth and fame,
While Joan would be always poor!

As Joan had cried, the mother died,
The bombers were over the town,
The hospital where the daughters lay
Was hit, came tumbling down.
An aunt took Jane, and headed north,
A nurse took Joan due west,
So one was raised in a simple home,
The other had only the best.

The Marchioness of Huntingdon,
The title was left to Jane,
Along with a hundred thousand pounds,
A manor with moat, and game,
She'd heard that she had a twin out there
But lost in the war at the start,
She'd looked in vain, but the daughter Jane
Was the twin with the purple heart.

Her aunt had said, it marked her out,
The first born, and the heir,
To claim the entire inheritance,
Her sister had no share,
So Jane had put Joan out of her mind,
Grew arrogant, and vain,
If Joan turned up on her doorstep she
Would say that she had no claim!

She fell in love with a nobleman,
Impoverished though he was,
And he had envied the fortune that
His forebears long had lost,
He'd been betrothed to a simple girl
But said to return the ring,
A Baron wed to a Marchioness
Was a more exciting thing!

They wed in the Spring in a stately home,
His spurned ex-love had cried,
She kept the newspaper cuttings of
The bridegroom and the bride,
She swore she'd get her revenge one day,

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John Milton

Paradise Lost: Book X

Thus they in lowliest plight repentant stood
Praying, for from the Mercie-seat above
Prevenient Grace descending had remov'd
The stonie from thir hearts, and made new flesh
Regenerat grow instead, that sighs now breath'd
Unutterable, which the Spirit of prayer
Inspir'd, and wing'd for Heav'n with speedier flight
Then loudest Oratorie: yet thir port
Not of mean suiters, nor important less
Seem'd thir Petition, then when th' ancient Pair
In Fables old, less ancient yet then these,
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha to restore
The Race of Mankind drownd, before the Shrine
Of Themis stood devout. To Heav'n thir prayers
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious windes
Blow'n vagabond or frustrate: in they passd
Dimentionless through Heav'nly dores; then clad
With incense, where the Golden Altar fum'd,
By thir great Intercessor, came in sight
Before the Fathers Throne: Them the glad Son
Presenting, thus to intercede began.
See Father, what first fruits on Earth are sprung
From thy implanted Grace in Man, these Sighs
And Prayers, which in this Golden Censer, mixt
With Incense, I thy Priest before thee bring,
Fruits of more pleasing savour from thy seed
Sow'n with contrition in his heart, then those
Which his own hand manuring all the Trees
Of Paradise could have produc't, ere fall'n
From innocence. Now therefore bend thine eare
To supplication, heare his sighs though mute;
Unskilful with what words to pray, let mee
Interpret for him, mee his Advocate
And propitiation, all his works on mee
Good or not good ingraft, my Merit those
Shall perfet, and for these my Death shall pay.
Accept me, and in mee from these receave
The smell of peace toward Mankinde, let him live
Before thee reconcil'd, at least his days
Numberd, though sad, till Death, his doom (which I
To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse)
To better life shall yeeld him, where with mee
All my redeemd may dwell in joy and bliss,
Made one with me as I with thee am one.
To whom the Father, without Cloud, serene.
All thy request for Man, accepted Son,
Obtain, all thy request was my Decree:
But longer in that Paradise to dwell,
The Law I gave to Nature him forbids:
Those pure immortal Elements that know

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Work To Make It Work

(r palmer)
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve it
Push it along
It's all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you can't deal with
Ain't no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy
Ah push
Work work work to make it work push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Don't confine your dreams to bed
You'll get scared if you get lazy
If you can't take enough to satisfy yourself
Then you'll go crazy
Wont do no good thinking
You got to do it
So it don't come easy the first time
Practice makes perfect, you know that i'll try hard
Use it or lose it
You got to put your heart and soul into it
Yeaheheh
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
It's all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you can't deal with
Ain't no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy forget wishful thinking
You can do it
You just need a push to make a start
If you don't succeed the first time
Try and try again
Use it or lose it
You got to put your back into it
Work work work to make it work
Push it along

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Payment

A tortuous path of neurons arced a call: ‘Awake! ’
I did; in rising, peering, stretching, bearing,
Pained anticipation saw it all:
Foretold, another filthy day.

I drew the drape: diluvian lay the ground
Beneath a lazy leaden cloud – apissing out
The puddles; irksome on the roof –
The drumming drops of bitter glee
Were hounding out a hapless me –
Reinforcing doubt that I am sound.

I left the house
to go to work
to earn a crust
without a perk
then on to bust
another straining vessel.

Trudging on thro’ mud and clay, I pondered:
‘Why a drought of happy times?
Auspicious climes were
Old and fusty books
Atop a dusty shelf
Inside a morgue-of-a-room,
Somewhere in a long-forgotten library
Down a lane without a way.’

I thought again: ‘And still I pay.’

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010


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Joan and Romeo's Juliet

Once upon a time,
There was a Romeo and a Juliet
But Juliet was really Joan
who left Romeo to lead the captives to victory
Then captured and put on trial for heresy
After judgment was rendered, but before being burned at the stake,
a peasant girl loosened Joan's chains and won her heart
They Escaped to France to
live happily ever after in eachother's arms

Romeo got elected to congress
And as he rose in power,
He set out to win back Juliet
Only to find that his efforts were in vain
So on one very dark day,
He stole Juliet's lover away…

Joan offered ransom for her lover
Romeo gave a counter-offer
And in France at sunset
Romeo and Joan met
Over coffee
To negotiate the heart of Romeo's discontent
An offer to let Joan's lover go
In exchange for Joan to return as Juliet
And it was so
That her lover was let go...

But empty beds do lie a lover's soul
That cannot bear to take in the sunlight all alone
And so it was, that Joan's lover died of a broken heart
After coming home to find a note
'Had to return to Romeo. Love Joan xoxo'

Upon hearing her lover's fate
Joan, a version of her former Juliet self,
Took upon her lips a mix of poisons sure to set Joan free
From the Juliet of her Romeo
To live in heaven with her lover happily

Soon after, Romeo returned, anticipating a Juliet open and waiting
But saw instead that death had taken hold
Realizing too late - that Juliet was always Joan

And Romeo, who swore he would live with no other,
that he could never recover...indefinitely,
the very next day,
married his press secretary

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Soboba

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Work To Make It Work 99

Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve it
Push it along
Its all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you cant deal with
Aint no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy
Ah push
Work work work to make it work push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Dont confine your dreams to bed
Youll get scared if you get lazy
If you cant take enough to satisfy yourself
Then youll go crazy
Wont do no good thinking
You got to do it
So it dont come easy the first time
Practice makes perfect, you know that Ill try hard
Use it or lose it
You got to put your heart and soul into it
Yeaheheh
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Its all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you cant deal with
Aint no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy forget wishful thinking
You can do it
You just need a push to make a start
If you dont succeed the first time
Try and try again
Use it or lose it
You got to put your back into it
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it

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Ark Angel

Red ribbon rainbow
A garland of gold for your hair
Wherever you go
I see faith crush despair
In chaos find courage
The answer to my prayer
Lipstick... liner... perfume... soap
Wont scrub this city or give it hope
Youre the antidote... youre an...
Ark-angel
Do you dream about me too
Ark-angel
When I dream I dream of you
Ark-angel
But could I change this world for you
Ark-angel
You do... you do
Whisper it softly
Or scream your name out loud
God built an angel
In sun and sky and cloud
Then heaven sent vengeance
To a world that once stood proud
Lipstick... liner... perfume... soap
Wont scrub this city or give it hope
Youre the antidote... youre an...
Ark-angel
Do you dream about me too
Ark-angel
When I dream I dream of you
Ark-angel
But could I change this world for you
Ark-angel
You do... you do... you do
Icarus rising - flies to close to the sun
Icarus falling - a moral for everyone
Youre the only one... youre an...
Ark-angel
Do you dream about me too
Ark-angel
When I dream I dream of you
Ark-angel
But could I change this world for you
Ark-angel
Then fly... then fly... fly...

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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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First day

I see you found my underground
Help yourself to guns and ammo
Nothing here has ever seen the light of day
I leave it in my head

It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life

You'll remember me, for the rest of your life
You'll remember me, for the rest of your life

It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life

It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life

You'll remember me, for the rest of your life
You'll remember me, for the rest of your life

It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life

It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life

It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life
It's the first day of the rest of your life

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Eighth Book

ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.

The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:

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Byron

Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

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The Child Of The Islands - Winter

I.

ERE the Night cometh! On how many graves
Rests, at this hour, their first cold winter's snow!
Wild o'er the earth the sleety tempest raves;
Silent, our Lost Ones slumber on below;
Never to share again the genial glow
Of Christmas gladness round the circled hearth;
Never returning festivals to know,
Or holidays that mark some loved one's birth,
Or children's joyous songs, and loud delighted mirth.
II.

The frozen tombs are sheeted with one pall,--
One shroud for every churchyard, crisp and bright,--
One foldless mantle, softly covering all
With its unwrinkled width of spotless white.
There, through the grey dim day and starlit night,
It rests, on rich and poor, and young and old,--
Veiling dear eyes,--whose warm homne-cheering light
Our pining hearts can never more behold,--
With an unlifting veil,--that falleth blank and cold.
III.

The Spring shall melt that snow,--but kindly eyes
Return not with the Sun's returning powers,--
Nor to the clay-cold cheek, that buried lies,
The living blooms that flush perennial flowers,--
Nor, with the song-birds, vocal in the bowers,
The sweet familiar tones! In silence drear
We pass our days,--and oft in midnight hours
Call madly on their names who cannot hear,--
Names graven on the tombs of the departed year!
IV.

There lies the tender Mother, in whose heart
So many claimed an interest and a share!
Humbly and piously she did her part
In every task of love and household care:
And mournfully, with sad abstracted air,
The Father-Widower, on his Christmas Eve,
Strokes down his youngest child's long silken hair,
And, as the gathering sobs his bosom heave,
Goes from that orphaned group, unseen to weep and grieve.
V.

Feeling his loneliness the more this day
Because SHE kept it with such gentle joy,
Scarce can he brook to see his children play,
Remembering how her love it did employ

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Genesis BK XXI

l. 1327) Then our Lord said unto Noah:

(ll. 1328-1355) "I give thee My pledge, dearest of men, that thou
mayest go thy way, thou and the seed of every living thing which
thou shalt ferry through the deep water for many a day in the
bosom of the ship. Lead on board the ark, as I bid thee, thy
household, thy wife and thy three sons, and thy sons' wives with
thee. And take within that sea-home seven of every kind of
living thing that serve as food for men, and two of every other
kind. Likewise of all the fruits of the earth take food for the
company upon thy ship, who with thee shall be saved from the
flood! Care well for every creature until I shall cause food to
grow again beneath the heavens for the survivors of the ocean
floods. Depart now with thy household and thy host of guests,
embarking on the ship. I know that thou art good, and of a
steadfast mind. Thou art worthy of grace and mercy, thou and thy
children. Lo! for seven nights I shall let the rains descend
upon the face of the broad earth. Forty days will I visit My
wrath upon men, with a deluge destroying the riches of the world
and the tribes of men, save what shall be upon the ark when the
black floods begin to rise."

(ll. 1356-1371) And Noah departed, as the Lord commanded,
embarking his household upon the ark, leading up his sons into
the ship, and their wives with them. All that Almighty God would
have for seed went in under the roof of the ark unto their
food-giver, even according as the Mighty Lord of hosts gave
bidding by His word. And the Warden of that heavenly kingdom,
the God of victories, locked the door of the ocean-house behind
him with His hands, and our Lord blessed all within the ark with
His blessing. Now Noah, the son of Lamech, had lived six hundred
winters, wise and full of years, when he went up with the young
men, his beloved sons, into the ark, as God gave bidding.

(ll. 1371-1399) Then the Lord sent the rains from heaven, and
caused the black sea-streams to roar, and the fountains of the
deep to overflow the world. The seas surged up over the barriers
of the shore. Mighty in His wrath was He who rules the waters!
And He overwhelmed and covered the mortal sons of sin with a
black deluge, laying waste the native land and homes of men. God
visited their offences upon them. Forty days and forty nights
the sea laid hold on that doomed folk. Dire was that disaster
and deadly unto men. The stormy surges of the King of glory
quenched the life from out the bodies of that sinful host. The
flood, raging beneath the heavens, covered over all high hills
throughout the spacious earth, and lifted up the ark from the
earth upon the bosom of the waters, and all within the ark, whom
the Lord our God had blessed when He locked the door of the ship.
Then far and wide that best of ocean-houses and its burden
floated beneath the heavens over the compass of the sea. The

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Et Memoria [2]

Kom stap vanoggend deur my lewe
terwyl ons, ons gisters onthou,
‘n nuwe dag voor ons oopvou

en laat ‘n afdruk van jou
geskilder teen die seildoek van my gedagtes
want elke nuwe môre
word uit ons gisters gebore

en jy bly deel van my, al is
alles tussen ons nou verby,
sien ek jou in die glans van die son,
die dou wat blinkend op blare sit

en ek besef nou, dat liefde
in elke oomblik van onthou
weer van voor af begin

en hoe langsaam rek ek nog
oomblikke wat reeds verby is uit
asof dit altyd deel van my menswees is

maar ek is reeds daarvan bewus
dat dinge vêr by verby tussen ons is,
dat jy vanaand
hitte by iemand anders sal kry
asof ek, net nog
deel van ‘n dooie vlam is.


[Verwysing: Et Memoria deur Japie S. Strydom:

“Kom stap vanaand
deur my môre,
en blaai saam deur my drome,
teken jou liggaam hier
in my sagtebandboek aan,
want ons vandag is in gisters en more gebore:

jy is die ligflits van die son,
die môre-dag se dou;
‘n laat middag in my somer-drome,
‘n vroeë lente more –

Ek weet vanaand,
dat die dae van ons lewe (liefde?) ,
weer,
in elke nuwe onthou begin:

hoe langsaam het ek jou

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