To-day is the sort of day in which one feels quite drowsy- but in a fine way. I have no schedule to-day, no appointments to keep, and the sky is gray and rain-washed, and the air cold- quite a development, I might say, as it has been warm and muggy lately about here. I suppose a cold front has swept through, and swept the mugginess with it.

This morning my Scripture reading passed over the first chapter of I Timothy, which is a delightful book to me- it seems to be addressed particularly towards me, what with its exhortations in the keeping of strong doctrine and faith. Timothy, I understand, was a young man (though young in his society was probably a bit older than we would have it), and had the rather singular distinction among New Testament folk of having been brought up in Christianity from a fairly young age. Paul's encouragement to Timothy in the keeping of good doctrine and not backing away from the truth has come recently as a strong encouragement to me, as I am not the sort who relishes fiery confrontation. I have a tendecy to avoid difficult confrontation, not out of a fear of not being able to hold my ground- I'm apt enough at that- but more of not offending others, or slipping into sinful derision for derision's sake. That, and I can rarely bring myself to say anything harsh to someone whose face I have staring at me {I can chew you out well enough via correspondence though}. However, when one has the Truth, one should not be worried about offending- if the Truth is brought in love {which, if one truly has the Truth, one can't help but bring it in love}. The Truth is a glorious thing- actually, Truth is a Man, and is living: for in Christ is Truth embodied, and His Word is embodied to us through Scriptural form. It is through Him- Truth incarnate through Himself, His Word, His Spirit- that men are set free.

      Stars of the Grass-Bents



A shawl-net was spun and cast last night

Over nodding grass and sedge on wold-bent

To catch earth-flung jeweled stars yare-sent

Scintillating now in earthen-brow strands

               Dipping dropping groundwards

A clear translucent burden of shining unburning fire

Stars wrung by God from the gray skies

Wrought in secret heights and earth-flung

In pale gray rain dropping quick and stinging

Under pale gray skies and pale gray light.

But now the storm is faded and

A quiet shifting living glow is settled

Along the earth-hems of the sky

And the earth-flung stars in nets of

Finest weave and form

Hold of light light glaiking bright

Light twice reflected and shining still clear

Hung upon a firmament of silver and soil.