Friday, June 20, 2014

Psalm 127

Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the LORD keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.

It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.

Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.

As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.

Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.

Monday, June 16, 2014

Dormant (Latent) Appetite for Knowledge

I have read Volume 3 at least twice from cover to cover, but only today did I actually grasp the following delightful anecdote from Chapter 20, given to remind us to avoid drilling our children on their understanding of the things they read.  We are laying a foundation for future connections.


As a girl of twelve or so the writer browsed a good deal on Cowper's poems and somehow took an interest in Mrs. Montague's Feather Hangings. Only the other day did the ball to fit that socket arrive in the shape of an article in The Quarterly on 'The Queen of the Bluestockings.' Behold, there was Mrs. Montague with her feather hangings! The pleasure of meeting with her after all these years was extraordinary; for in no way is knowledge more enriching than in this of leaving behind it a, so to speak, dormant appetite for more of the kind. Vol. 3 pages 223-224

I think she means dormant in the sense of latent:  (of a bud, resting stage, etc.) lying dormant or hidden until circumstances are suitable for development or manifestation (Google)

Later she says:

Not what we have learned, but what we are waiting to know, is the delectable part of knowledge.

Friday, April 25, 2014

Daffodils (William Wordsworth)



I WANDERED lonely as a cloud 
 That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
 When all at once I saw a crowd, 
 A host, of golden daffodils; 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle on the milky way, 
 They stretched in never-ending line 
 Along the margin of a bay: 
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

 The waves beside them danced; but they 
 Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: 
 A poet could not but be gay, 
 In such a jocund company: 
 I gazed--and gazed--but little thought 
 What wealth the show to me had brought: 

 For oft, when on my couch I lie 
 In vacant or in pensive mood, 
 They flash upon that inward eye 
 Which is the bliss of solitude; 
 And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
 And dances with the daffodils. 

Note:  the flowers in the above pictures are actually jonquils, but they look like tiny daffodils, don't they?  The little girl is Aravis, lo, these many years ago...