Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Sing to the Lord a New Song

From the other room Alfred hears the voice of Mother raised in song, “Sing to the Lord a new song,* for he has done marvelous things.”  He picks up his Namiki Falcon fountain pen and begins to inscribe a sonnet in his Moleskin notebook; which for Alfred is much wiser than rushing in where angels fear to tread.

Is This the Sound of Singing That I Hear?

Is this the sound of singing that I hear?
A sweet melody lights upon my ear;
Melodious notes floating in the air,
Oh sweet joy now joyous beyond compare.
How I tremble lest I should dissemble
And by too ready hope disassemble
Pulling petals from the rose ere it may bloom
In my eagerness to try its sweet perfume.
How patiently we must meekly stand and wait
While grace alone determines another’s fate.
To surrender even now my own true hope
And not intrude beyond my proper scope.
For my eager heart might too rashly act,
And kill the blossom by a lack of tact.

Having so far restrained himself, Alfred sat back in his chair, tamped some Captain Black into his Meerschaum pipe, lit it, and blew one perfect smoke ring in the air and thought of Biblo Baggins sitting on his bench outside Bag End in Hobbiton.  Then he recalled the advice of Gildor the Elf lord to Frodo, “It is not wise to meddle in the affairs of wizards.” It occurred to Alfred that it really wasn’t wise to meddle in the affairs of the Spirit of Grace either; especially where Mother was concerned.

Agnes Findlay appeared at the door of his study with a tea tray and a small plate of McVities Digestive Biscuits, “Ach!” she said, “I dinna ken, when I’ve heard the Missus quite so happy.”

“You are right, Agnes,” said Alfred, “But I dare not spoil the mood by being over inquisitive.  I’ve discovered that it’s sometimes better to let things rest a while before intruding.”

“You’re right about that, Colonel,” answered Agnes.  “It’s like making tea.  It takes patience.  First you measure the tea, one teaspoon for each cup and one for the Brown Betty, then you start to bring the water to a boil, swirl a little in the bottom of the Brown Betty, pour it out, and while the water is just coming to a boil you pour it in the pot.  Then you wait.”  Too much haste and you will spoil the tea.”

“So right you are Agnes,” said Alfred.  “Sometimes we spoil another’s mood by rushing in before due time.”

Mother appeared at the door humming “Jesu, Jesu, Fill Us With Your Love,” then she broke off saying, “That was a wonderful choir hymn sing and party here last night Alfred.  And Father Goodfellow’s wife Cecilia is a dear.  Grace Whittington and I had such a lovely talk with her after the hymn sing.  I’m so glad we joined the parish.”

“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures for ever.” Psalm 136:1


No comments:

Post a Comment