The time is nigh

Veni, Veni Emmanuel,
Captivum solve Isreal
Qui gemit in exilio,
Privatus Dei Filio,
Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel
Nascetur pro te, Isreal.
(Oh Come oh come, Emmanuel, English hymn
Latin translation Germany 1710 /
musical tune, French 15ht century)

(inner working of victorian clock / Julie Cook / 2014)

In the bleak midwinter
by Christina Rossetti

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

Sweet and fair

I plucked a honeysuckle where The hedge on high is quick with thorn, And climbing for the prize, was torn, And fouled my feet in quag-water; And by the thorns and by the wind The blossom that I took was thinn’d And yet I found it sweet and fair.
Christina G. Rossetti

Sweet and fair—that is what the sight and scent of honeysuckle truly is—the precious thoughts its image conjures up from the storage of my treasured memories of childhood, often long forgotten or buried….
To see, to smell, to taste of the honeysuckle, plucked from a lazy summer afternoon…school is out, the days are long, bare feet, under the veil of a bright sun, puffy white clouds set against and azure blue sky. Breathing deeply, almost gasping for the heavy perfumed air.
I am free and at great peace. At this moment, is there anything better? To gently tear off the base of the honeysuckle’s blossom with one’s front teeth and suck out the tiny drop of hidden sweet…is this what the bees are fighting me for…how many blossoms must they visit?
This sudden rush of a the past is instantly palpable just seeing this wealth of vine growing on an old fence post—an overgrown growth of vegetation to the landowner—sweet innocent childhood to me.