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| The Farmer's Daughter by Elizabeth Gardner Bouguereau |
Today's piece by Ludwig Van Beethoven is called Moonlight. Can you "hear" moonlight when you listen to this piece?
You can listen to it at the following link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Tr0otuiQuU&feature=related or watch it played here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NqjOQIwKsGA
Amy Carmichael poems for this week are:
THE KING IN THE MANGER
When the morning stars sang together, and all
The sons of God shouted for joy,
He was there--who was laid in a manger made
For teh little calves of the stall:
The king, the King of Eternity,
Laid His glory by for thee and for me.
Who hung the round world upon nothing--He lay
A babe on His mother's lap.
Who made of the clouds swaddling bands for the sea,
Her gentle hands did Him wrap:
The King, the King of Eternity,
Laid His glory by for thee and for me.
Oh, well may we love our kingly Lord,
Oh, well may we love our King
Who for love of us all became weak and small
As any baby thing.
The King, the King of Eternity,
Laid His glory by for thee and for me.
ANTS: A CHILD'S QUESTION
Each has its little life to live;
Each has its death to die.
But each is such a minute speck of life
That though we may fervently try,
We cannot concern ourselves very much
Whether it live of die.
Are we as minute to the angels who look
Down from their place in the sky?
Do the great people there
Very greatly care
Whether we laugh or cry?
To them are we mere little atoms of life
That are born, grow old, and die?
No, no.
It is not so:
For One who is higher than they
Took flesh of our flesh and stooped to die
In pitiful, human way.
And ever since that wonderful day
When the Highest lifted us high,
To the angels we are not common clay,
Not morsels and motes to come and to go,
But beings beloved, in whom they know
Is the mystic seed of eternity:
They see in us that which yet shall be.
Amy Carmichael poems for this week are:
THE KING IN THE MANGER
When the morning stars sang together, and all
The sons of God shouted for joy,
He was there--who was laid in a manger made
For teh little calves of the stall:
The king, the King of Eternity,
Laid His glory by for thee and for me.
Who hung the round world upon nothing--He lay
A babe on His mother's lap.
Who made of the clouds swaddling bands for the sea,
Her gentle hands did Him wrap:
The King, the King of Eternity,
Laid His glory by for thee and for me.
Oh, well may we love our kingly Lord,
Oh, well may we love our King
Who for love of us all became weak and small
As any baby thing.
The King, the King of Eternity,
Laid His glory by for thee and for me.
ANTS: A CHILD'S QUESTION
Each has its little life to live;
Each has its death to die.
But each is such a minute speck of life
That though we may fervently try,
We cannot concern ourselves very much
Whether it live of die.
Are we as minute to the angels who look
Down from their place in the sky?
Do the great people there
Very greatly care
Whether we laugh or cry?
To them are we mere little atoms of life
That are born, grow old, and die?
No, no.
It is not so:
For One who is higher than they
Took flesh of our flesh and stooped to die
In pitiful, human way.
And ever since that wonderful day
When the Highest lifted us high,
To the angels we are not common clay,
Not morsels and motes to come and to go,
But beings beloved, in whom they know
Is the mystic seed of eternity:
They see in us that which yet shall be.
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