Where God's lights are always on

We close our eyes, but for a moment
To open them in Heaven's brightness
Where God's lights are always on.
Nettie Flagg Cooke


See the rest of the poem at . . .
Filiopietism Prism: Matrilineal Monday

Time that is gone

I am leaving behind me fifty years of memory.

Memory . . . Who shall say what is real and what is not? 

Can I believe my friends all gone when their voices are a glory in my ears? 

No. 

And I will stand to say no and no again, for they remain a living truth within my mind. 

There is no fence nor hedge around time that is gone. 

You can go back and have what you like of it . . . 

So I can close my eyes on my valley as it was . . . 

from Huw's opening monologue in the movie, How Green Was My Valley

Easy to Go Home

The other day I passed a place
you always liked to go,
And I picked up the phone because
I thought you'd want to know;
But I forgot that you weren't there,
Oh, I miss you so these days,
But I'm reminded of your smile
and the funny things you'd say.

You left a grieving family,
and friends who love you, too,
Though I have felt you many times,
And know you saw me through;

I always long to feel your arms
and look into your eyes,
And talk forever me and you
somewhere in Paradise.


Knowing we can spend a lifetime
reminiscing on the past,
Knowing I will see your face again
where tender moments last;

It makes me want to be there
knowing I won't be alone,
Knowing you'll be there
makes it easy to go Home.


Performed
by
Guy Penrod

Wordless Wednesday: An Old Clipping From Reader's Digest

This was shared at Genealojournal by Lisa Wallen Logsdon . . .

Where one of my favorite quotes came from, as seen on my blog 'Old Stones Undeciphered" and on my Facebook Profile and on my Find A Grave Bio  Quote by:  Mavis Fruge

A hundred years ago

. . . Who peopled all the city streets,

A hundred years ago?

Who tilled the church with faces meek

A hundred years ago?

The sneering tale

Of sister frail,

The plot that work'd

A brother's hurt—

Where, O where, are plots and sneers.

The poor man's hopes, the rich man's fears,

That lived so long ago ?

Where are the graves where dead men slept,

A hundred years ago ?

Who when they were living, wept

A hundred years ago ?

By other men that knew not them

Their lands are tilled, their graves are filled

Yet nature then was just as gay,

And bright the sunshine as to-day,

A hundred years ago.

How Green Was My Valley

I saw behind me those who had gone, and before me, those who are to come. 

I looked back and saw my father, and his father, and all our fathers, and in front, to see my son, and his son, and the sons upon sons beyond. 

And their eyes were my eyes.

As I felt, so they had felt, and were to feel, as then, so now, as tomorrow and forever. 

Then I was not afraid, for I was in a long line that had no beginning, and no end, and the hand of his father grasped my father's hand, and his hand was in mine, and my unborn son took my right hand, and all, up and down the line that stretched from Time That Was, to Time That Is, and Is Not Yet, raised their hands to show the link, and we found that we were one . . .

written by Richard Llewellyn
How Green Was My Valley