Cheap religion may

 

            give one a moral life;

 

It cannot

 

            give one eternal life.           

 

– eab, 12/31/09

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DECEMBER WOODS

December’s woods are cool woods. 

Woods are never cold –

Cold is impersonal. 

Woods have nature’s mold.

 

December’s woods are gray woods;

Gray – or are they brown?

Perhaps somewhere in between

The true hue can be found.

 

December’s woods are straight woods,

Bare and tall and straight.

Like the masts of sail boats,

Resting at harbor’s gate.

 

December’s woods are wet woods. 

Whither snow or sleet or rain,

They paint the trees darker shades,

Until sun blesses them again.

 

December’s woods are quiet woods,

Calm, tranquil, serene.

Palmates and pinnates rustle no more.

The twigs are all clean. [1]

          – eab, 12/30/77

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^[1] For some years December was my hunting month.

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William Orcutt Cushing

Ring the bells of Heaven! There is joy today,
For a soul, returning from the wild!
See, the Father meets him out upon the way,
Welcoming His weary, wandering child.

Refrain

Glory! Glory! How the angels sing:
Glory! Glory! How the loud harps ring!
’Tis the ransomed army, like a mighty sea,
Pealing forth the anthem of the free.

Ring the bells of Heaven! There is joy today,
For the wanderer now is reconciled;
Yes, a soul is rescued from his sinful way,
And is born anew a ransomed child.

Ring the bells of Heaven! Spread the feast today!
Angels, swell the glad triumphant strain!
Tell the joyful tidings, bear it far away!
For a precious soul is born again.

William Orcutt Cushing was born this date 12/31/1823, Hingham, Massachusetts.   He penned some 300 or more hymns and/or Gospel Songs.  These include “When He Cometh” “Under His Wings” and “Hiding in Thee.”  Cushing died 10/19/1902, at Lis­bon Cen­ter, New York.

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