Sometimes, when I have sleepless periods in the night, I find myself lying quietly with a mind filled with gratitude. I don't know why this may be, except for the enormous support and prayers from so many. At such times, an old collect often comes to mind. It is a prayer I have used most frequently at the grave side for committal services. Yet it seems to be a prayer for all times and stages of life. It is comforting to me to acknowledge God's support in all the phases and experiences of life.
O Lord, support us all the day long,
until the shadows lengthen,
and the evening comes,
and the busy world is hushed,
and the fever of life is over,
and our work is done.
Then in thy great mercy,
grant us a safe lodging,
and a holy rest,
and peace at the last;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
Thank you Connie.
I love Jane Kenyon and have often used this poem as a gentle metaphor of the gathering in of death. "Let Evening Come" has the same gentle message.
Emergency Haying
In the Nursing Home
She is like a horse grazing
a hill pasture that someone makes
smaller by coming every night
to pull the fence in and in.
She has stopped running wide loops,
stopped even the tight circles.
She drops her head to feed: grass
is dust, and the creekbed's dry.
Master, come with your light
halter. Come and bring her in.
Jayne Kenyon, "Otherwise: New and Selected Poems", Graywolf Press, 1997
Posted by: Donel McClellan at April 16, 2005 10:11 PMIt was wonderful to have a small visit with you and your family, Donel. We fly out this morning to Ft Lauderdale, but will carry with us great memories, not the least of which were apple pie and ice cream.
Our love,
Gordon and Marilyn
Dear Don,
One of the things you and I share (besides our California roots) is a love of poetry. Here is one you may know, but if you don't, I hope you enjoy it. Your latest entry brought it to mind.
If you've never been to this site, try poets.org, the Academy of American Poets.
With love and prayers,
Connie (see below)
Let Evening Come
By Jane Kenyon
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.
Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don't
Posted by: Connie Eggers at April 16, 2005 06:13 PMbe afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.