In the dark times will there also be singing? Yes, there will also be singing. About the dark times. —Bertolt Brecht
Hymnological Rabbit Trail
Restore my soul, O God. There are green pastures around me for which my eye has no lens; there are quiet waters beside me for which my ear has no chord; restore my soul. The path on which I go is already the path of your righteousness; open my eyes, that I may behold its windows. The place I call dreadful is even now the house of the Lord; the heavens shall cease to hide you when you have restored my soul. May I be content to know your goodness and mercy shall follow me without waiting to see them in advance of me. Amen. – George Matheson
I came across this passage in a devotional book this morning and decided to look up the author. He was a Scottish minister in the 19th century, but what puts this passage in a new light is that he went blind at age 20. He was engaged to be married at the time, but when his fiancee learned he was going completely blind and there was nothing that could be done, she broke off the engagement.
About twenty years later, on the eve of his sister’s wedding, he penned “O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go” which is, of course, what he is best known for. He said “I am quite sure that the whole work was completed in five minutes, and equally sure that it never received at my hands any retouching or correction. I have no natural gift of rhythm. All the other verses I have ever written are manufactured articles; this came like a dayspring from on high.”
I’ve always found the line “I trace the rainbow through the rain” a touch treacly, but now knowing the backstory I may have to change my mind.
He never married.
“A poet is a man who is glad of something, and tries to make other people glad of it, too.” – George MacDonald
South Carolina. The once-every-three-years ice/snow storm brings out a member of the neighborhood to plow with his own tractor. He wears shorts. Other members of the neighborhood get very angry that he is plowing and ruining the sledding hills and, thus, the childhoods of their children.
Train Dreams was not quite Malick, but Malickesque in a good way, so I’ll take it. Worth it for the beauty of the imagery.