Ode to Joseph

Our brother, our friend
The heavens are quiet now
Your countenance graces us no more

Our brother, our friend
What is man that Thou art mindful of him?
Vestiges of divine power reside in us,
Yet some souls more luminous
Solicit our respect, even adulation.

Our brother, our friend
You – our Lightning from heaven
We waited for you like fuel
Then we too would flame

We loved you, for you loved us first
We knew your spirit; it swelled wide,
Wide as eternity for the whole human family –
Let them now know and love

Our brother, our friend
Yours was communion with Father and Son
You our advocate, our fearless prophet
Constant commander, constant friend

Let me stand by you
I’m small, but can hold a sword
As in days of old and days to come
We overcome by faith

Our brother, our friend
Let us round up our shoulders
And be true men – like you
My brother, my friend – faithful to the end

Defenestration

Homeward Bound

In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed, when the sparrows stop their singing and the sky is clear and red. When the summer’s ceased its gleaming, when the corn is past its prime, when adventure’s lost its meaning, I’ll be homeward bound in time.

Bind me not to the pasture; chain me not to the plow. Set me free to find my calling and I’ll return to you somehow.

If you find it’s me you’re missing, if you’re hoping I’ll return. To your thoughts I’ll soon be listening, in the road I’ll stop and turn. Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its end. And the path I’ll be retracing when I’m homeward bound again.

Bind me not to the pasture; chain me not to the plow. Set me free to find my calling and I’ll return to you somehow.

In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed, When the sparrows stop their singing, I’ll be homeward bound again.

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Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae