Saving Graces

new mercies each and every day

I cannot tell

May
28

I cannot tell to the tune of Londonderry Air this is one of my favourite hymns 😀

I cannot tell why He, whom angels worship,
Should set His love upon the sons of men,
Or why, as Shepherd, He should seek the wand’rers,
To bring them back, they know not how or when.
But this I know, that He was born of Mary,
When Bethl’hem’s manger was His only home,
And that He lived at Nazareth and laboured,
And so the Savior, Savior of the world, is come.

I cannot tell how silently He suffered,
As with His peace, He graced this place of tears,
Or how His heart upon the Cross was broken,
The crown of pain to three and thirty years.
But this I know, He heals the broken-hearted,
And stays our sin, and calms our lurking fear,
And lifts the burden from the heavy laden,
For yet the Savior, Savior of the world, is here.

I cannot tell how He will win the nations,
How He will claim His earthly heritage,
How to satisfy the needs and aspirations
Of east and west, of sinner and of sage.
But this I know, all flesh shall see His glory,
And He shall reap the harvest He has sown,
And some glad day His sun shall shine in splendour
When He the Savior, Savior of the world, is known.

I cannot tell how all the lands shall worship,
When, at His bidding, every storm is stilled,
Or who can say how great the jubilation
When all the hearts of men with love are filled.
But this I know, the skies will thrill with rapture,
And myriad, myriad human voices sing,
And earth to heaven, and heaven to earth, will answer:
At last the Savior, Savior of the world, is King.

Update:

 

About the harp

Jan
15

So did I tell you I broke my harp… well, it was wobbly on its little plastic platform since the one leg was broken… but I had had no issues with it being there… until mid-December. The wind, gale force in nature, through an open window, blew it over! The horror! The shock!

I actually managed to ignore it until this week because lessons were supposed to resume and my teacher, bless her soul, has found someone to fix it and given me one to continue practice with. Did I mention it is a rented harp? I’m lucky it’s a clean break on the join between the neck and the shoulder. The glue and wooden fixes came off and the neck itself is not broken 😀 the darker on is the one I have now from my teacher and the paler one the one going to Pretoria today to be fixed. And Steph has begun messing around on it…

14012010166 14012010167 14012010163 14012010165

Silent Monks singing!!!

Dec
03

Oh Golly Gosh… I’ve been too lazy to blog but this just had to be posted! It’s so good. Where there is a will! If silent monks ever wanted to sing along 🙂

Rosary Trimmin’s – poem

Oct
29

Love, Love, LOVE, this poem! got it from What Does Prayer Really Say:

THE TRIMMIN’S ON THE ROSARY by John O’Brien

Ah, the memories that find me now my hair is turning gray,
Drifting in like painted butterflies from paddocks far away;
Dripping dainty wings in fancy – and the pictures, fading fast,
Stand again in rose and purple in the album of the past.
There’s the old slab dwelling dreaming by the wistful, watchful trees,
Where the coolabahs are listening to the stories of the breeze;
There’s a homely welcome beaming from its big, bright friendly eyes,
With The Sugarloaf behind it blackened in against the skies;
There’s the same dear happy circle round the boree’s cheery blaze
With a little Irish mother telling tales of other days.
She had one sweet, holy custom which I never can forget,
And a gentle benediction crowns her memory for it yet;
I can see that little mother still and hear her as she pleads,
“Now it’s getting on to bed-time; all you childer get your beads.”
There were no steel-bound conventions in that old slab dwelling free;
Only this – each night she lined us up to say the Rosary;
E’en the stranger there, who stayed the night upon his journey, knew
He must join the little circle, ay, and take his decade too.
I believe she darkly plotted, when a sinner hove in sight
Who was known to say no prayer at all, to make him stay the night.
Then we’d softly gather round her, and we’d speak in accents low,
And pray like Sainted Dominic so many years ago;
And the little Irish mother’s face was radiant, for she knew
That “where two or three are gathered” He is gathered with them too.
O’er the paters and the aves how her reverent head would bend!
How she’d kiss the cross devoutly when she counted to the end!
And the visitor would rise at once, and brush his knees – and then
He’d look very, very foolish as he took the boards again.
She had other prayers to keep him. They were long, long prayers in truth;
And we used to call them “Trimmin’s” in my disrespectful youth.
She would pray for kith and kin, and all the friends she’d ever known,
Yes, and everyone of us could boast a “trimmin”’ all his own.
She would pray for all our little needs, and every shade of care
That might darken o’er The Sugarloaf, she’d meet it with a prayer.
She would pray for this one’s “sore complaint,” or that one’s “hurted hand,”
Or that someone else might make a deal and get “that bit of land”;
Or that Dad might sell the cattle well, and seasons good might rule,
So that little John, the weakly one, might go away to school.
There were trimmin’s, too, that came and went; but ne’er she closed without
Adding one for something special “none of you must speak about.”
Gentle was that little mother, and her wit would sparkle free,
But she’d murder him who looked around while at the Rosary:
And if perchance you lost your beads, disaster waited you,
For the only one she’d pardon was “himself” – because she knew
He was hopeless, and ‘twas sinful what excuses he’d invent,
So she let him have his fingers, and he cracked them as he went,
And, bedad, he wasn’t certain if he’d counted five or ten,
Yet he’d face the crisis bravely, and would start around again;
But she tallied all the decades, and she’d block him on the spot,
With a “Glory, Daddah, Glory!” and he’d “Glory” like a shot.
She would portion out the decades to the company at large;
But when she reached the trimmin’s she would put herself in charge;
And it oft was cause for wonder how she never once forgot,
But could keep them in their order till she went right through the lot.
For that little Irish mother’s prayers embraced the country wide;
If a neighbour met with trouble, or was taken ill, or died,
We could count upon a trimmin’ – till, in fact, it got that way
That the Rosary was but trimmin’s to the trimmin’s we would say.
Then “himself” would start keownrawning – for the public good, we thought –
“Sure you’ll have us here till mornin’. Yerra, cut them trimmin’s short!”
But she’d take him very gently, till he softened by degrees –
“Well, then, let us get it over. Come now, all hands to their knees.”
So the little Irish mother kept her trimmin’s to the last,
Every growing as the shadows o’er the old selection passed;
And she lit our drab existence with her simple faith and love,
And I know the angels lingered near to bear her prayers above,
For her children trod the path she trod, nor did they later spurn
To impress her wholesome maxims on their children in their turn.
Ay, and every “sore complaint” came right, and every “hurted hand”;
And we made a deal from time to time, and got “that bit of land”;
And Dad did sell the cattle well; and little John, her pride,
Was he who said the Mass in black the morning that she died;
So her gentle spirit triumphed – for ‘twas this, without a doubt,
Was the very special trimmin’ that she kept so dark about.

. . . . .

But the years have crowded past us, and the fledglings all have flown,
And the nest beneath The Sugarloaf no longer is their own;
For a hand has written “finis” and the book is closed for good –
Here’s a stately red-tiled mansion where the old slab dwelling stood;
There the stranger has her “evenings,” and the formal supper’s spread,
But I wonder has she “trimmin’s” now, or is the Rosary said?
Ah, those little Irish mothers passing from us one by one!
Who will write the noble story of the good that they have done?
All their children may be scattered, and their fortunes windwards hurled,
But the Trimmin’s on the Rosary will bless them round the world.

Angelic music

Oct
20

I finally had my harp lesson last week on Thursday! It went well if I should say so myself! And Nya said the harp is an angelic instrument so she may be keen to learn :).  ‘Du came to visit on Saturday I hadn’t seen her in like forever and she loved the harp too!!! Now my fingers need to heal so I can practice more 😀

Music is Food for my Soul

Oct
05

I’m singing in the St. Johns youth band besides Holy Trinity Schola and I got my harp! YAY for me!!! All the music is so different, from practically contemporary Christian rock to Gregorian chant to classical. Good times. I really should have become a musician. then I wouldn’t be weird just an eccentric artist. Actually the eccentric would not even get mentioned, I’d just be an artiste!

I have heard enough coconut and Anglophile comments to last me a lifetime. The harp lessons may just prove a tad expensive. So we have a concert, battle of the bands thing happening this coming Saturday. Practice last Saturday only reiterated what I already know, I’m a perfectionist and a performer… sigh. Well I’m laying low and will see what happens on Saturday, reigning me in so I don’t step on toes is a full time job!

Good Friday is nigh…

Apr
09

Good Friday photo

Good Friday is upon us. I have been coming across this verse so often it has finally dawned on me that the Holy Spirit must be trying to get my attention. Now to only figure out what He wants me to do…

“My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.
Stay here and keep watch with me.”

I so hope that I am able to watch at least one hour with Him…

On Saturday for the first time, I am going to a vigil mass with baptisms and all. I can’t wait!! I am also practically wetting my pants thinking of the Psalms I have to chant solo, of which I can only partially remember one tune thereof…

 

Carols

Dec
19


I am going to carols tonight and will be singing a duet with Nya, Panis Angelicus… I know it’s not a carol but it is or so beautiful and do-able when compared to opera of the bells 😀 and Gau’s wedding reception is tomorrow… so I try on the blouse that goes with my saree… and discover I now look like a hippo… last time I wore my saree I had to reduce and pull in the openings… I may have to let out a seam or two today here’s hoping I have fun though! My saree is black with blue edging similar to the photo. Mmm, maybe I must get pictures to put up.

And on carols again I found this wonderful video on YouTube here

fotos of old

Oct
13

I came across some photos from chamber choir… just remembered what bliss uni was:)

Rihanna – Unfaithful

Oct
12

I love the tune to this song, but the lyrics are so sad, so raw. Why do we hurt each other so much?

Story of my life
Searching for the right
But it keeps avoiding me
Sorrow in my soul
Cause it seems that wrong
Really loves my company
He’s more than a man
And this is more than love
The reason that the sky is blue
The clouds are rolling in
Because I’m gone again
And to him I just can’t be true
And I know that he knows I’m unfaithful
And it kills him inside
To know that I am happy with some other guy
I can see him dying
I don’t wanna do this anymore
I don’t wanna be the reason why
Every time I walk out the door
I see him die a little more inside
I don’t wanna hurt him anymore
I don’t wanna take away his life
I don’t wanna be
A murderer
I feel it in the air
As I’m doing my hair
Preparing for another date
A kiss upon my cheek
As he reluctantly
Asks if I’m gonna be out late
I say I won’t be long
Just hanging with the girls
A lie I didn’t have to tell
Because we both know
Where I’m about to go
And we know it very well

Cause I know that he knows I’m unfaithful
And it kills him inside
To know that I am happy with some other guy
I can see him dying

I don’t wanna do this anymore
I don’t wanna be the reason why
Every time I walk out the door
I see him die a little more inside
I don’t wanna hurt him anymore
I don’t wanna take away his life
I don’t wanna be
A murderer

Our love, his trust
I might as well take a gun and put it to his head
Get it over with
I don’t wanna do this
Anymore
Uh
Anymore (anymore)

I don’t wanna do this anymore
I don’t wanna be the reason why
And every time I walk out the door
I see him die a little more inside
And I don’t wanna hurt him anymore
I don’t wanna take away his life
I don’t wanna be
A murderer (a murderer)

No no no no

Yeah yeah yeah yeah