January in The City of Angels

Saturday, January 31, 2009

This is one of the benefits of living in the City of Angels. In January, we had heavy rain and cool weather. Never mind that today is hot and sunny and the clothes are drying quickly on the clothesline. The boon is that the garden is bursting with pansies, snap dragons and petunias. These were planted  just after the garden beds were cleaned up from our summer crops. They suffered a bit through November and December, but now the beds are bursting with color.

Venus And The Moon

Friday, January 30, 2009

From The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

The moving Moon went up the sky.
And nowhere did abide;
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside-

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)


Cloony The Clown by Shel Silverstein

I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown
Who worked in a circus that came through town.
His shoes were too big and his hat was too small,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes,
He had a green dog and a thousand balloons.
He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
And every time he did a trick,
Everyone felt a little sick.
And every time he told a joke,
Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.
And every time he lost a shoe,
Everyone looked awfully blue.
And every time he stood on his head,
Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!"
And every time he made a leap,
Everybody fell asleep.
And every time he ate his tie,
Everyone began to cry.
And Cloony could not make any money
Simply because he was not funny.
One day he said, "I'll tell this town
How it feels to be an unfunny clown."
And he told them all why he looked so sad,
And he told them all why he felt so bad.
He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,
He told of Darkness in his soul,
And after he finished his tale of woe,
Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,
They laughed until they shook the trees
With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees."
They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,
They laughed all day, they laughed all week,
They laughed until they had a fit,
They laughed until their jackets split.
The laughter spread for miles around
To every city, every town,
Over mountains, 'cross the sea,
From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.
And soon the whole world rang with laughter,
Lasting till forever after,
While Cloony stood in the circus tent,
With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.
And while the world laughed outside.
Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.

Maybe this is not quite what I meant by funny... There are funny parts. Although I can see that the overall message is a wee bit sad. I will keep working on it.

I Wish I Had A River

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
But it don't snow here
It stays pretty green...

At one point, after college, I had to stop listening to Joni Mitchell. She has always had a profound effect on me. I haven't been listening to her songs too much lately, but this one creeps in every once and awhile. I no longer live by a river. The ocean is a bit of a drive.  Not only does it stay pretty green, but it was 80 degrees here today. I even put the air conditioner on in the car. Sorry to all of you east coasters. I have had the words of this song running through my mind recently. I seem to hear them whenever I am feeling blue or confused or lost. I can't seem to shake the sadness. I really wish there was a frozen river, snaking through the bare, gnarled branches of silhouetted trees, that I could skate away on.

Oh, I know, my situation will remain the same, regardless of the shore I land upon, but it feels good to imagine the escape. I have always been a trooper, a doer, I never rested for a moment. But this, this period seems long and just sad. I hate that I can't push through this quickly, that I am doomed(allowed,) to feel every tinge of this point of my life. I am having a hard time having faith, trusting my instincts. I am trying not to be surprised by what the future brings and holds. I know my future is out in front of me, I just need to walk toward it. Can I do it with my eyes closed, like a roller coaster, or a scary movie?

I hope you all have not run away. I started this blog because I was feeling so isolated and lonely. Your positive comments have been so reassuring. I already feel a camaraderie from those who have left comments or sent personal emails. All of them have helped. Immensely. 

My ocean is not frozen over, the only frozen things around are the ice cubes in my freezer. No skating away. Just living. opening my eyes each day, making the best of it. I promise, the next post will be lighter, funny even. Clowns? Improv? I will keep you guessing!

Jam Pot

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

A few Sundays ago, we were driving along Colorado Boulevard. As we passed the large parking lot of the community college, I noticed that it was filled with vendors. We have lived in Southern California for some time now and we are in close proximity to two large flea markets. I went to the Rose Bowl Flea Market the first year we lived here. Although it was fun and I found a few nice items, the crowds put me off. 

I avoid traffic at all costs. I deplore driving around looking for a spot to park. Even being of simple means, I will pay for parking in a big city or at a large shopping center before roaming the slow moving aisles of the asphalt parking lot. 

So, back to our Sunday drive. I screamed in the car, "A flea market! Stop!" My sweetheart, always accommodating and willing to put my desires before his, DID NOT STOP! "Turn around, please..." I begged. He looked at me quizzically and asked if I was serious. Was I SERIOUS? Of course I was serious. Sheesh.

So we maneuvered our way back to the side street along the flea market. There was a parking spot right across the street. I always take this as a sign that I am supposed to be there. I used this method at a cute clothing boutique in Old Town Pasadena. It is a traffic and parking nightmare there most of the time. If I drove past the boutique and there was a parking spot in front, or near the shop, it was a good omen and permission to shop and purchase an item that day. This method worked many times and I have a closet filled with lovely linen skirts and blouses to prove this theory.

My sweetheart expertly parked the car and we made our way into the flea market. It was the perfect day to be wandering about outside. It had rained the day before, so the air was crisp and clear. The San Gabriel Mountains loomed overhead, sparkling from their shower, there was even a bit of snow on the tip top of the highest peak. We enjoyed wandering around and looking at all of the treasures. This was the day when I had to vow to no longer buy vintage linens. It was difficult, but I didn't even look at overflowing piles of vintage linens. Really. I was very proud of myself.

I did find some inexpensive silver cutlery with Bakelite handles, an iron doorstop and a beautiful etching of Jacob's Ladder. I had been looking for a painting to hang in an empty spot in the living room. My favorite find of the day was the jam jar... It was an afterthought. I saw it after I purchased a few silver spoons from a table laden with items. It was $5 AND  it was half off. Half off! 

At the end of the day, and having spent only $25, we made our way to the car. These are the days I treasure. It has been difficult lately, lonely and isolating of late. I live for the days when the children are home and my sweetheart is home. I forget about the days alone, I forget about the emotional burdens I have been trying to release. Every time I look at this jam jar on the sill, or when I scoop jam onto toast, I am able to remember that some days, have sunshine.


Friday, January 23, 2009

I have been fortunate in my life that each morning, without fail, the sun has risen. There was a time when I rose with that sun, joy-filled and with a spring in my step. I have always had a roof over my head, good, healthy food to eat and warm blankets when I was cold. I even had a fan when the temperature was too much to bear. In all, it has been a blessed life. 

We live simply. I have always thought our house was about 600 square feet. A carpenter friend was visiting and we were discussing the size of houses, he informed me that this house was probably a a bit less than 600 square feet. Oh, well. The yard is large and has fruit bearing trees, raised garden beds, lavender, rosemary, sage and mint in abundance. It also has a clothesline, my favorite part. One year I painted the posts hot pink and painted flowers and fairies all over them.

I have lived across the street from the Pacific Ocean in Hawaii, and I have lived in a deep green Hawaiian valley blessed with nightly rain and sunny days. I have lived on the ocean in a small hut on Kovalum Beach in South India, and in a small village along the Yamuna River in Uttar Pradesh. I have lived in a sweet and simple cottage amidst the vines of a Banyan Tree. In fact, one of the largest Banyan Trees on the Island of Oahu.

I have lived along the shores of the Williamette River in Oregon and my children spent many a day with their toes in the cool Northwest snowmelt. The shore was covered in chamomile and on a hot summer day, it smelled as though we were swimming in chamomile tea.

In Seattle, we rode the ferry atop the Puget Sound when the children were restless and walked around the large circumference of Green Lake each morning. We even rowed a boat in the deep green water in the warm cloudless days of a Pacific Northwest summer.

I guess I have always been a searcher. A wanderer. Yet, this wee home that I have made with my children is more like home than all of the amazingly diverse places we have been blessed to reside. It has been just the three of us, the three musketeers. We have slept each night to the rhythm of our heartbeats. There has been no privacy, just juicy togetherness. It has not been magical every moment. Sometimes the healthy food was hard to come by, or we had to save for the fan to cool the dry, hot of Los Angeles in July. But, the rent is affordable and in the end, I knew I could at least cover that, and the nights would be safe.

The shake down year of my back injury and what seems to be the loss of my career and community is putting all of these years into question. I am unsure of what my next step is, I am feeling lost. And although the sun keeps rising, the kick in my step is lost. I often find myself wishing I could sleep all day. Someone said the other day, what if you just stopped being depressed? Is that possible? Can you just stop? Can you turn it off, like a bad movie?

For today, I am going to remember that I have not always felt the way I am feeling today. There will be a light, it is coming, I can feel it. Until then, the sun continues to rise...

Nimble Fingers

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

I have been busy in doctor's waiting rooms, post offices and other places when I have a moment to spare. Much of the LOVE piece was done while our dear friend was playing the guitar at our table. Rhythmic creating as he put it.

The second is a new project on my mind. I have been embroidering silly quotes from movies onto vintage linens. In my rush to begin, I miswrote the quote by Blanche DuBois. I printed "relied" when it should have been "depended," bummer. I will be more careful next time.

This Is A Gift For All of You Freezing From Frigid Temps

I spent MLK day picking up trash along the ocean. Our President called us to duty and I was happy to respond. The thing is, I always pick up trash at the shore, but this day I did it with more purpose and felt a part of a community of people looking toward the future of our country. I feel grateful to live in a place that on January 20, the beach is filled with surfers, swimmers, lovers, new parents and pirates.

There were boats along the horizon and a warm wind blowing our hair. Off in the distance was Santa Monica Pier and a different kind of recreation, ferris wheels and roller coasters, you could hear the glee all the way down the beach. Holidays and sunshine, service and community, breath and life...

Sitting Alone On The Couch And Weeping Tears of Joy

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Praise Song for the Day

Each day
we go about our business,
walking past each other,
catching each other's eyes,
or not.
About to speak, or speaking.
All about us is noise.
All about us is noise and bramble,
thorn and din, each one of our ancestors
on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem,
darning a hole in a uniform.
patching a tire.
Repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom-box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, "Take out your pencils.

We encounter each other in words,
words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed.
Words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways
that mark the will of someone
and then others who said,
"I need to see what's on the other side.
I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe."
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: That many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks,
raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce,
built, brick by brick, the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle.
Praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thyself."
Others by "First, do no harm,"
or "Take no more than you need."
What if the mightiest word
is love?
Love beyond marital, filial, national.
Love that casts a widening pool of light.
Love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this
winter air, any thing can be made,
any sentence begun.
On the brink,
on the brim,
on the cusp,
praise song for walking forward in that light.

— Elizabeth Alexander

The Painting Begins

Sunday, January 18, 2009

We have had unseasonably warm weather here in the City of Angels. Bright and clear skies, there were numerous star sightings two nights ago. Not such a big deal in Montana, but here in the southern regions of California, a clear glimpse at Orion's belt is cause for pause. 

The warm winds are gently teasing the palm fronds and the last of the golden leaves are floating earthward. Even the heavy orange globes of the citrus tree are sighing with the passing of the wind. I have been taking advantage of the warm days and hanging the laundry out on the line. This is always a pleasure for me and I am always astounded that the sun has such power. The squirrels are busy scurrying up and down the twin palms in the yard while I attempt to rekindle my love of painting. I have never gone this long without brush in hand. The warm January sun is even a little hot on the back of my neck. I recently posted that I was afraid to paint. I still am, but I thought it would be best to simply begin. Take the first step.

While I waited for paint to dry, I was able to snap a few photos of the backyard. There is something in my soul that craves the simplicity of the 1940's. I know, they were hard times. I just have this yearning for a life colored in sepia, household items of wood and tin. Real materials to do my work, a worn bread board, a noisy flour sifter and time. Time to live into the day and into my work. To paint, to tend to the chores, to rest...

Joan de Arc

Friday, January 16, 2009

This is one of the last paintings I completed. I have had torn feelings about it. Did Joan succumb to the flames or did she transcend the flames? I feel as though I need to answer this question to find some peace in the turmoil of my own life. 

I would like to think that Joan walked out of the flames. Not physically, but spiritually. In the end, aren't the transformations we make spiritually even more important than the physical transformations? What is the mood we end up carrying with us through the rest of our days? If we transcend the flames instead of just physically walking out of the flames maybe we are less likely to walk into the flames again? Perhaps, we can put the lesson behind us. Hopefully we do not have to keep circling back around and repeating the same lesson.

So I think I believe that Joan walked out of the flames physically and spiritually. She was pretty clear about her intentions. She remained very focused throughout her ordeal. 

I just read that Joan was born on The Epiphany. Coincidence? I think not...Time to walk out of the flames.


I can never resist the green stalks of the daffodils at Trader Joe's. I don't even look at the price. I just buy three or four bundles at a time. There is something about the tightly closed buds that bloom into sunshine as soon as I get home and put them in a jug of water. The environmental activist in me cringes a little when I think of how far these flowers have traveled to reach me, all the petrol and resources, etc. Yet, that voice is silenced as I scoop up a handful of daffodils. After reading The Flower Confidential by Amy Stewart, I am ever mindful of what it takes for a bunch of flowers to travel to our local florist or supermarket. I try to fill the house with flowers and greens from the yard, but the daffodil, and the peony, always tug at my heart. So here are the first of the daffodils to grace our house this year. Enjoy!

"Daffodils" (1804)

I Wander'd 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 stretch'd 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.

By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).

Afraid To Paint

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

I have been suffering from extreme peaks and valleys of emotion. I never had this experience before. I have had others, but not this one. Some days I get out of bed and tend to chores and maybe even do a little handwork or sewing. Other days, the blueness sinks down into my soul and limbs and I find it hard to get out of bed. I sink down under the covers, surrounded by pillows and cover my face from the bright world outside of my window. I never want to leave the bed. I force myself into the shower as the hour approaches when everyone returns home. I try to look like I have been productive. Sometimes I make a nice dinner to fool everyone. After dinner it is all I can do to stay out of the bed. There have been many days when I look at the clock and think, "Is 6:30 too early to go to bed?"

Today was one of the later days. I had an appointment at 1:30 and was forced to leave the house. I showered and dressed and drove downtown. All I could think of was how I guilty I felt for wasting the day away. I should be sewing, or cleaning, or reading, or painting.

I had a terrifying realization today. I am afraid to paint. I am afraid of what I will paint. The last two major paintings I completed seemed to manifest themselves in my life. I painted the Crucifixion of Christ and The Burning of Joan Of Arc. I am afraid of what I will paint now. I have felt crucified recently, I have felt as though I have been burned at the stake. So, I am afraid. Afraid of what will come.

Maybe I will sew instead...

The Wolf Moon

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

We have been enjoying the full moon and how close it is to us the past few nights. This is often called the Wolf Moon, as this is the time of year when the wolves would gather outside the villages and howl at the moon. The wolves are silent here in the City of Angels these days and rarely travel in packs. However, I am still moved by the close proximity of the favorite of my celestial bodies. 

As women, we are closely linked to the moon and the effect it has on our bodies. When our cycles are off, you can leave a jar of water out in the full moon light. The next day, bring it in and take a sip of it everyday. I know it sounds loony, but it really does help connect us to the cosmos. To ignore our connection to the dome above us is to break our connection to nature. When my daughter was young we spent many days along the banks of the Williamette River and the shores of the Pacific Ocean. I always felt that the watery connection helped to bring us closer together. As women, it is important to embrace our connections to the natural world, it is these elements that strengthen us and keep our inner core bright and shining into the world.

I watched as the moon was rising from my bed last night. My heart felt heavy as I knew the moon would be making it's way away from the earth and would not swing this close for an entire year. As I began to live into the sadness, I gathered myself together, gazed at the night sky and tried to take in the powers of the moon and hold it to me, to take with me through the year. I hope to tap into this reserve when my womanhood feels threatened or weak. I hope to carry this violet light in my heart as I deal with friends and loved ones, strangers and those who wish ill of me and others. 

Thank You Notes, Art And Good Friends

Sunday, January 11, 2009

After a very trying day on Thursday, I spent the morning with my legs up and resting. There was tea and toast, long overdue thank you notes and a brief trip to the Norton Simon Museum. The afternoon ended with a dear, young poet singing his latest collection of songs at our table.

How blessed is life when our hearts are open? We only need to allow the sweetness in, call the sweetness to us, recognize when angels are in our midst. So a difficult day is followed by a day of enjoying the simple beauty of the blessedness of life. Blessings on your blessings this cool winter morning.

Feeling Empty

Friday, January 9, 2009

I am feeling stripped from the inside out this morning. I feel empty and torn and gray. What I know and have always known is that one must have courage for the truth. I have tried to walk this path for many a year. Have courage for the truth. Have courage for the truth. It is selfish really. Mostly, it is so I can review the end of my day and know that at least I tried to be truthful. I am certain, the truth is all that matters. It comes out, even when others lie and confidently spread falsehoods. Perhaps not everyone is able to see it or experience it, but one can feel it. You feel it so deeply in your soul that you cannot doubt the power of it, the truth.

Yesterday I was surrounded by individuals that I would otherwise choose to steer clear of in my daily life. Yet, somehow, my path is intersecting with theirs at this moment in time. My mantra is always, be full of grace, be full of grace. Yet, I was witness to so much bad behavior by adults. When did we humans begin to abandon the manners we learned as children. I was surrounded by professional adults who were rolling their eyes, guffawing, snickering and lying. At one point, I was fighting the desire to stand up and look at each of these grown-ups directly in the eye and say, "You have bad manners!"

I don't know how they slept last night. I didn't. I tried hard to release it, to decompress, but my back ached from sitting so long, from watching grown-ups strip away my hope in humanity. I would rather surround myself with children. They have manners, they usually speak the truth, at least the children I know. They could teach this group of grown-ups a thing or two regarding nobility, chivalry and having courage for the truth.

I am going to be kind to myself today. I will care for my aching, healing body. I will attempt to soothe my tattered insides and forgive myself for judging others so harshly. In the meantime, I turn to Miss Mary Oliver, who often helps to soothe my soul...

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

© Mary Oliver

In honor of the strength of truth and the human spirit to overcome even itself. 

Epiphany-The Day of Spiritual Revelations

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Today is the Feast of the Epiphany. I went to a Catholic school that was named in honor of this feast day. As a child, my impressions of the spiritual world were completely colored by the teachings of the Catholic faith. I must admit, there is a soft part of my heart that honors the ritual and pomp of organized religion. I adored going to church and continued to go alone after the rest of my family abandoned the Sunday morning ritual. I would walk to church alone, I would sit alone and I would pray so hard my face surely looked pinched from my concentration. I was a believer.

As I grew, my heart and mind began to explore other ways to obtain a relationship with God. I never doubted there is a God. My proof is in the beauty of the Passion Flower. That was my ah-ha moment. I must have been nine or ten years old, I saw a blooming Passion Flower on the vine behind our house. All I could think was, "Only God could design something this amazing." From that day on, I have been a believer, in many things.

I spent my twenties immersed in Hindu culture and lived in India with my daughter when she was just a year old. In many ways the Hindu culture is based on the same type of devotion and service to God as Catholicism. It was not a stretch for me. As the years wore on I was introduced to Anthroposophy. In many ways, Anthroposophy has made me search more deeply for what is true in me, what eternity for the soul really means and what our duty entails as a human being walking on this planet with other living beings.

My life has been enhanced through a deeper connection to these time honored festivals. Before many of these festivals were adopted by Christianity, human beings marked time and the passing of the earth based on these festivals, Michaelmas, Martinmas, Candelmas, May Day, Epiphany, the Solstices and the Equinoxes. These markers help us move through the year and allow us a time to reflect on the nature of humanity as we live on this planet. Recently, human beings have moved indoors, with the luxuries of electric lighting, heating and air conditioning, our lives do not necessarily have to reflect what is going on outside. This does not mean that these natural shifts do not occur. But are we aware of them?

We cannot argue that in the winter the days are shorter, the nights are longer. We cannot argue that in the height of summer we are able to reach toward the sky with outstretched arms. We can feast on the juicy fruits of summer, berry and peach nectar dripping down our chin. In the autumn it is natural for us bundle beneath our scarves, and crunch the leaves beneath our feet. The garden begins to bend back toward the earth, but what do our souls require in these transformative times? How do we mark these movements internally?

So this season, I embraced the darkness with bringing the light of candles into our home. We kept the house toasty warm and pushed our hands deep in our pockets as we walked in the velvety night. As the New Year approached I began a deep cleaning and clearing of our home. Yesterday, the last of the Twelve Holy Nights, the Eve of the Epiphany, I burned Arabian Frankincense and Amber. I smudged the corners of our home with sage and vocalized our intentions for the New Year. I kept all of the windows closed and gave the house a good smoke out. After the ritual, I flung all the doors and windows wide open, casting away the dust of the last year and welcoming the all the New Year has to offer!

I feel ready to make my first steps into the New Year. How about you?

All Packed Up And Put Away

Saturday, January 3, 2009

The tree has been recycled, the vintage ornaments are wrapped and tucked away. The nutcracker is back in his box and all the signs of the holiday are safely put away until next season. I must say, after a difficult Christmas last year, this season was filled with light and cheer. Last year I was confined to my bed, unable to walk and unsure of what was wrong. It has been such a joy to be an active participant in our life again.

The New Year approached quietly and was welcomed with a few sips of champagne and a few sweet kisses. It is indeed a more simple life. Those things that matter are now at the forefront. My children, semi-grown, were off celebrating in their own way. My son spent the night on the Rose Parade route with several thousand other people. I am glad he was able to experience this silly kind of fun, staying up all night, sleeping on Colorado Boulevard, these are only things one does one young. Sleeping on the sidewalk? No thank you.

This weekend, I plan to give the house a good thorough New Year cleaning, sweep out the old year and welcome in the bright and shiny New Year. I have a lot of emotional dust from the last year that I would rather not drag around with me. It is better to let it go, clean it out of the corners and make room for something new.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

-Alfred Tennyson