Wake me when its over.

This Blog Will Be

 CLOSED

till 

FURTHER NOTICE

AND DOESN'T THIS SUM IT UP BRILLIANTLY?

HOW LONG COULD ANY ONE MAN BE EXPECTED TO HOLD OUT AGAINST 

SUCH AN ONSLAUGHT?

Could You Name Any of President Trump's Myriad Antagonists 

OMITTED in the Cartoon?

_____ AMERICA _____

My country, 'tis of thee,

Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing;

Land where my fathers died,

Land of the pilgrims' pride,

From ev'ry mountainside

Let freedom ring!

My native country, thee,

Land of the noble free,

Thy name I love;

I love thy rocks and rills,

Thy woods and templed hills.

My heart with rapture thrills

Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze

And ring from all the trees

Sweet freedom's song;

Let mortal tongues awake;

Let all that breathe partake;

Let rocks their silence break,

The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God, to thee,

Author of liberty,

To thee we sing;

Long may our land be bright

With freedom's holy light.

Protect us by thy might,

Great God, our King!

~ § ~

Text: Samuel F. Smith, 1808-1895

Music: From Thesaurus Musicus, London, 1744 

[known in England as “God Bless Our Native Land

 and in the United States as “America”]

America the Beautiful - YouTube

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America the Beautiful By Katharine Lee Bates, 1913. O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of ...

Lest we forget ...

Perhaps It Is In Darkness That We Are Most Aware of the 
Resurrection

APRIL 12, 2020 

by Kylee Zempel

A pandemic rages, and death is everywhere.

It looms overhead like a low, dark cloud. It drowns out our church bells and voices and mocks us. Everything bears its witness: empty halls and dark storefronts and absent grandparents and sterile shields where smiles used to be. Streets are too silent and thoughts are too loud. One, two, 800, 100,000 gone — the toll rise.

Friends and paychecks disappear, leaving only vices. Morale sinks low as screen time skyrockets. Another hour lost, another drink consumed. Goodbye to gyms, hello to binging.

One girl looks longingly at the cap and tassel she’ll never wear. A young man says goodbye to his father, so recently in remission. New parents weep quietly, separated from their little one in the NICU. A bride puts away her gown, and with it a lifelong dream. Only uncertainty is certain now. Only death seems to grant rest from the unrest.

Look for the light at the end of the tunnel — the conventional wisdom. But these are unconventional days. The tunnel extends on and on, growing darker with each lay-off, each citation, each cough, each headline. Where is the light?

Today, church gathering places are vacant. This holy day, light filters through stained glass and falls on empty pews, while brothers and sisters around the world are kept apart. Communion and fellowship are condemned. We know that love regards the health of others, but what about spiritual health? What about souls? We succumb to more darkness and more death.

But darkness has swallowed up the light before, when 2,000 years ago the Savior we celebrate was crucified. Sin and death prevailed that day. The earth shook, and the rocks split, and the grave swallowed the King. 

What weight and what dread that a longed-for Messiah would come only to die a gruesome death. So much for hope. So much for deliverance. The light at the end of the tunnel was snuffed out when the Light of the World was crucified.

But it was finished.

The grave could not defeat life. Darkness could not overcome Light. A beam pierced the black tomb as the stone was rolled away, revealing only grave clothes in the dust. “He is not here, for he is risen, as he said.”

He is risen indeed, sitting in glory next to the Father. The same power that raised him now lives in those who place their trust in him and yield to his will, longing for his imminent return. 

The Light of the World crushed sin and darkness, robbing their power and bringing new life to dead sinners without hope — and not only life, but life abundant and eternal.

Maybe it’s in the darkest of days that we’re most aware of the resurrection — and more in search of the Light.

Oh, death, where is your sting? Oh, hell, where is your victory?

Kylee Zempel is an assistant editor at The Federalist. Follow her on Twitter @kyleezempel.

Resurrection

Cold He lay behind the heavy stone,

Hidden there with broken hands and feet.

Ruthless powers crushed His flesh and bone.

It looked to be the ultimate defeat.

Sadly, in the dawn Saint Mary’s three

Trudged toward the tomb wherein He lay.

Instead of death, an angel helped them see,

Startled, that the stone was rolled away!

A risen Jesus stood! He still drew breath!

Radiance around Him warmed the air. 

In banks of lilies sweet we now see death

Stripped of terror. Life, eternal, fair,

Enjoins us all to claim His victory.

Naught could stop us save our vanity.

~ FreeThinke, The Sandpiper - Spring 1996

HAPPY

EASTER!!!

Olivier Messiaen - L'ASCENSION 

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Olivier Messiaen L'ASCENSION III. Transports de joie d'une âme devant la gloire du Christ qui est la sienne ...