Catch At Hope

De Profundis
Christina Rossetti

Oh why is heaven built so far,
Oh why is earth set so remote?
I cannot reach the nearest star
That hangs afloat.

I would not care to reach the moon,
One round monotonous of change;
Yet even she repeats her tune
Beyond my range.

I never watch the scattered fire
Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train,

He Giveth His Beloved Sleep

Be blessed, my beloved, and sleep.




It is in vain that you rise up early
and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
for he gives to his beloved sleep.
Psalm 127:2



The Sleep
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is,
For gift or grace, surpassing this--
     "He giveth His beloved, sleep"?

A Debt We Must All Pay

Man is born to trouble as surely as the sparks fly upward.--Eliphaz (to Job) ca A Long Time Ago



Our days on earth are like grass; like wildflowers, we bloom and die. The wind blows, and we are gone—as though we had never been here. -- King David ca 1000BC



Life is suffering.--Siddhartha Guatama, the Buddha ca 530BC



But learn that to die is a debt we must all pay. --Euripides ca 430 BC

Contemplative Bible Study

Don't we Americans often have a very goal-oriented approach to life? Every undertaking is evaluated based on the projected outcomes. We have all asked ourselves, "What did I expect would happen?"

This is good to an extent. We shouldn't be absolutely random in our approach to life.

But sometimes it doesn't seem to fit the situation. A man I know has decided to become my friend in order to get me to enter into a business with him. My entering will help him. He is being very goal-oriented. Very American. Very Western.

Translated Poetry

Poetry depends to such a large extent on the sounds of the words that to speak of translating it almost seems to be an oxymoron. Robert Frost once even defined poetry as "that which is lost in translation."

Yet people persist in translating it, and I read a great many poets in translation. Some translations work, some don't. I find that some Russian poets (Yevtushenko and Pushkin spring to mind) survive translation well, although the musical quality is lost or distorted. French poetry might as well remain French. Little comes through translation.

What would we have if Dr. Seuss were translated into German?