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Yeah I’m up a little later than normal, but it’s always important to remember that there will always be a new headline and a new annoyance in the news to opine about on the hour ever hour, but the wife next to you is a precious gift.
Never forget that when you make a tweet and a snark more important that the person who shares your bed, eventually you will share it only with your laptop and the people you speak to from afar.
Ian Rutherford tells us a bit about the site Aquinas and more the “largest online Catholic store
If you live in an area where you don’t have access to a Catholic store this is a site for you. They also have a blog here.
You know I belong to a very active parish with a large close knit parish community. It is something that a lot of people don’t have and I’ve never been more conscious of that than since the cnmc conference.
…as Muslims around the world feast in preparation for the fast of Ramadan.
After my post on the local mosque I picked up quite a few readers from the Ahmadiyya Muslim community. To those new readers and to Muslims everywhere I wish a happy feast and a blessed Ramadan.
I often read from the 1936 Volume The Best loved Poems of the American People. It’s amazing how much quality poetry has likely been forgotten by my generation.
So in that spirit I’d like over the next month or two share a few poems for the next few Tuesdays. Let’s start with Myra Brooks Welch
The Touch of the Masters Hand
Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
thought it scarcely worth his while to waste much time on the old violin,
but held it up with a smile;
“What am I bidden, good folks,” he cried,
“Who’ll start the bidding for me?” “A dollar, a dollar”; then two!” “Only
two? Two dollars, and who’ll make it three? Three dollars, once; three
dollars twice; going for three..”
But no, from the room, far back, a
gray-haired man came forward and picked up the bow; Then, wiping the dust
from the old violin, and tightening the loose strings, he played a melody
pure and sweet as caroling angel sings.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer, with a voice that was quiet and low,
said; “What am I bid for the old violin?” And he held it up with the bow.
A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two? Two thousand! And who’ll make
it three? Three thousand, once, three thousand, twice, and going and
gone,” said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried, “We do not
quite understnad what changed its worth.” Swift came the reply: “The touch
of a master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune, and battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd, much like the old violin
, A “mess of pottage,” a glass of wine; a game – and he travels on. “He is
going” once, and “going twice, He’s going and almost gone.” But the Master
comes, and the foolish crowd never can quite understand the worth of a soul
and the change that’s wrought by the touch of the Master’s hand.
