Margaret’s Song

Image
  There was a king in Thule,  True even to the grave;  To whom his dying mistress  A golden beaker gave.  At every feast he drained it,  Naught was to him so dear,  And often as he drained it,  Gush’d from his eyes the tear.  When death came, unrepining  His cities o’er he told;  All to his heir resigning,  Except his cup of gold.  With many a knightly vassal  At a royal feast sat he,  In yon proud hall ancestral,  In his castle o’er the sea.  Up stood the jovial monarch,  And quaff’d his last life’s glow,  Then hurled the hallow’d goblet  Into the flood below.  He saw it splashing, drinking,  And plunging in the sea;  His eyes meanwhile were sinking,  And never again drank he. “Margaret’s Song” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) in “Faust. Part I.”

Driving Nails

I am mechanically declined, so I need a liscence to hold a screwdriver. At least I know how to drive nails: watch the nail, not the thumb. Why? Because you always hit what you watch, right?

So if Christ is our spiritual nail, why keep going for the "thumbs?"

Popular posts from this blog

Rock Me, Epictetus!

The Smooth-flowing Life