MARBLE HALLS

I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls 

With vassals and serfs at my side

And of all who assembled within those walls

That I was the hope and the pride.

I had riches all too great to count

And a high ancestral name.

I dreamt that suitors sought my hand,

That knights upon the bended knee

And with vows no maiden's heart could withstand,

They pledged their faith to me.

And I dreamt that one of that noble host

Came forth my hand to claim.

But I also dreamt which pleased me most

That you loved me still the same,

That you loved me

You loved me still the same.

- Roma Ryan

THE CHARGE OF ANGELS

"Now this is the truth. We humble people; we who feel ourselves sometimes so worthless, so good-for-nothing; we are not so worthless as we think. There is not one of us but what God's love has been expended upon. There is not one of us that He has not cared for and caressed. There is not one of us that He has not desired to save, and that He has not devised means to save. There is not one of us that He has not given His angels charge concerning.We may be insignificant and contemptible in our eyes, and in the eyes of others, but the truth remains that we are the children of God, and that He has actually given His angels - invisible beings of power and might - charge concerning us, and they watch over us and have us in their keeping......"

(Collected Discourses, Vol. 2, George Q. Cannon, November 1890)

HER FATHER'S TEARS

She was always embarrassed
When her father cried
For it was so unmanly
And she always knew
When it would happen.

When he read the note
From Mrs. Lewis
Saying what a joy she was
To have in class
And how proud of her
He must be.

When they brought in
A fifty-candled cake
And sang him a surprise

When the six o'clock news
Showed the kidnapped returned
Or the hostage released
Or the flag at half mast

He would reach for his handkerchief
Folded and white
And dab his left eye
Then his right
And she would just die!

She grew up, of course, and would now
If she could reach across the years
Fill a flask
With the holy water
Of her father's tears.

- Carol Lynn Pearson

PERHAPS LOVE

Perhaps love is like a resting place,
A shelter from the storm.
It exists to give you comfort,
It is there to keep you warm.
And in those times of trouble,
When you are most alone,
The memory of love will bring you home.

Perhaps love is like a window,
Perhaps an open door,
It invites you to come closer,
It wants to show you more.
And even if you lose yourself
And don't know what to do,
The memory of love will see you through.

Love to some is like a cloud,
To some as strong as steel,
For some a way of living,
For some a way to feel.
And some say love is holding on
And some say letting go.
Some say love is everything,
Some say they don't know.

Perhaps love is like the ocean,
Full of conflict, full of change.
Like a fire when it's cold outside,
Or thunder when it rains.
If I should live forever
And all my dreams come true,
My memories of love will be of you.

-  John Denver

THE NIGHT

Grief
Is a narrow thing,
Tight against
My breath -
Begging an answer
To unanswerable
Death.

I'm remembering
A sunrise.
I saw the bright
Quick streams of light
Sing gold across
The Sky.
And it came to me then
How essential
Is the night:
For only from dark
Do we know dawn
At all.

The memory lets
One small solace in.
If we must
Endure an end
To know the endless -
Oh, gladly
I will let you go:
That when I see you
Standing at the door
To that more
Permanent place,

How quickly
I'll recognize
The eternal
In your embrace.

- Carol Lynn Pearson

HEREDITY

I am the family face;

Flesh perishes, I live on,

Projecting trait and trace

Through time to times anon,

And leaping from place to place

Over oblivion.

The years - heired feature that can

In curve and voice and eye

Despise the human span

Of durance - that is I;

The eternal thing in man,

That heeds no call to die.

-  Thomas Hardy

HE THOUGHT OF ME

I am worth the coming down,
the silence
in return for mockery.
I am worth the thorns,
the bleeding back,
the wincing, weakening steps to Calvary.
He suffered these and thought of me.
He could have halted soldiers
with a fiery eye,
And pronounced death
in words that rang
from marble palace walls,
And in the garden dreamed instead of prayed.
But as the glistening crimson beads
slipped from his face,
He thought that I was worth the price he paid.
I'm blind to what
he sees in me,
Yet I know thorns
and what it is
to wince and weaken.
Gethsemane and Calvary-
He suffered so
and thought of me.

- Margery Stockseth