Whispers on the Wind, Edward Robert Hughes (1911)
Whispers on the Wind
The sun has retreated some hours ago,
Light by only the dark cloud filtered moon.
With daring walked where I nightly go,
Hoping to hear an answer very soon.
Stood motionless against the air so still.
Is this another night void of answer?
Just the thought gave a shaking deathly chill!
Need I fall to my knees as a beggar?
What must I do to secure such a place,
Where food nor water no longer needed.
To live forever by Your holy grace.
Please provide your word for I am frightened.
A soft warm wind began to move the cloud,
I heard a gently whisper on the wind.
As the cloud hovered over like a shroud,
Now knowing all my sins He did rescind.
I hear you Lord but fail to understand,
Do You wish not to provide a command?
Thomas Moran, Autumn Landscape (1867)
Being in the late autumn of my years,
Pushing off to start the final journey,
Without shedding of any fearful tears,
Or desirous to enter life’s tourney.
The river is calm as far as the bend,
Providing necessary confidence.
After that unknown what Nature shall send,
That decision belongs to Providence.
There is not a choice for what is in store,
Shall stay the course whatever it may be,
For once beginning there will be no shore.
Should the waters be rough I make no plea.
Through many turns the river has been long
To the end I ask His help to be strong.
Le lac de l’Eychauda, Laurent Guetal (1886)
Allegory of a Lake
Climbing rugged mountain, its peace I seek
To search its mirror at eight thousand feet
Journey certainly not for very meek
Upon arriving, my heart skips a beat
There’s an unsullied deafness in the air
The wind with its howling not to be found
Feet frozen still, at this beauty I stare
Feeling I get being on hallowed ground
Stepping to mirror’s very fragile edge
Careful not its reflective glass to break
Pretending to tread on unstable ledge
Being sure of any rock I may shake
In the mirror my future do I see
Bearing a happy smile upon my face
Again next year I shall thankfully be
Where my soul finds peace in a holy place
Rain, Ivan Ivanovich Endogurov (c. 1900)
A cold dismal wind blows from the north-east
History has told me that it meant rain
Or dark dreary devilish day the least
Giving many a reason to complain
Stood at the open back door for awhile
Feeling each gray drop land upon my face
The constant pummeling soon made me smile
Firmly grabbing the door jamb for my brace
Thinking I’m the fool getting soaking wet
By now my clothes beaten against my skin
Illness could possibly be a grave threat
Laughing now, all my clothes I did unpin
Rushed outside with head up to drink the tears
Felt good as they washed away all my fears
Image manipulated by author
Blood, sweat and dust mixes upon my head
Now at the demonic place of the skull
Soiled and tattered robe swiftly made to shed
Knocked to the hardened ground, there is a lull
The rope around my wrist and tree is tight
Is readying me for what is to pass
Point joggled and pressed between bones till right
With swift arc, action sounds like broken glass
Adrenaline rush due to the unknown
Then my scream from excruciating pain
For every heart beat comes a wincing groan
As my precious blood falls upon the plain
Father in Heaven Your will, will be done
Three days now I wait for the morning sun