prayer
The Rosary
Not on the lute, nor harp of many strings
Shall all men praise the Master of all song.
Our life is brief, one saith, and art is long;
And skilled must be the laureates of kings.
Silent, O lips that utter foolish things!
Rest, awkward fingers striking all notes wrong!
How from your toil shall issue, white and strong,
Music like that God’s chosen poet sings?
There is one harp that any hand can play,
And from its strings what harmonies arise!
There is one song that any mouth can say, —
A song that lingers when all singing dies.
When on their beads our Mother’s children pray
Immortal music charms the grateful skies.
– Joyce Kilmer
The Boy And The Angel
Morning, evening, noon and night,
“Praise God!; sang Theocrite.
Then to his poor trade he turned,
Whereby the daily meal was earned.
Hard he laboured, long and well;
O’er his work the boy’s curls fell.
But ever, at each period,
He stopped and sang, “Praise God!”
Then back again his curls he threw,
And cheerful turned to work anew.
Said Blaise, the listening monk, “Well done;
“I doubt not thou art heard, my son:
“As well as if thy voice to-day
“Were praising God, the Pope’s great way.
“This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome
“Praises God from Peter’s dome.”
Said Theocrite, “Would God that I
“Might praise him, that great way, and die!”
Night passed, day shone,
And Theocrite was gone.
With God a day endures alway,
A thousand years are but a day.
God said in heaven, “Nor day nor night
“Now brings the voice of my delight.”
Then Gabriel, like a rainbow’s birth,
Spread his wings and sank to earth;
Entered, in flesh, the empty cell,
Lived there, and played the craftsman well;
And morning, evening, noon and night,
Praised God in place of Theocrite.
And from a boy, to youth he grew:
The man put off the stripling’s hue:
The man matured and fell away
Into the season of decay:
And ever o’er the trade he bent,
And ever lived on earth content.
(He did God’s will; to him, all one
If on the earth or in the sun.)
God said, “A praise is in mine ear;
“There is no doubt in it, no fear:
“So sing old worlds, and so
“New worlds that from my footstool go.
“Clearer loves sound other ways:
“I miss my little human praise.”
Then forth sprang Gabriel’s wings, off fell
The flesh disguise, remained the cell.
‘Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome,
And paused above Saint Peter’s dome.
In the tiring-room close by
The great outer gallery,
With his holy vestments dight,
Stood the new Pope, Theocrite:
And all his past career
Came back upon him clear,
Since when, a boy, he plied his trade,
Till on his life the sickness weighed;
And in his cell, when death drew near,
An angel in a dream brought cheer:
And rising from the sickness drear
He grew a priest, and now stood here.
To the East with praise he turned,
And on his sight the angel burned.
“I bore thee from thy craftsman’s cell
“And set thee here; I did not well.
“Vainly I left my angel-sphere,
“Vain was thy dream of many a year.
“Thy voice’s praise seemed weak; it dropped—
“Creation’s chorus stopped!
“Go back and praise again
“The early way, while I remain.
“With that weak voice of our disdain,
“Take up creation’s pausing strain.
“Back to the cell and poor employ:
“Resume the craftsman and the boy!”
Theocrite grew old at home;
A new Pope dwelt in Peter’s dome.
One vanished as the other died:
They sought God side by side.
– Robert Browning
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Different Countries, But Still Children
Different countries, but still children from the soil
Lord creator of heaven and earth
Thank you for the beauty of our land
This is for sure Africa is in Your hands
Open spaces far a field, pureness of thee eye
Countries shape like a puzzle on your belly
Rich in diamonds, gold and iron
We love this nature, we love this land
Pink, green, blue and yellow
colours from thee flowers
All created by YOUR hands all in shape none out of place
We are the children from this land
Mother Africa, we are the children from your soil
Like tears rolling down my eyes
So does God, pouring out blessings of rain down from the sky
Wetting the core of thee earth and depths of her heart
Mother Africa, we are the children from your soil
She brings forth food with love from her soil
Providing for the needs of all
Mama Africa we are the soil from your belly
Children of Africa
Blessings to our God
Blessings to our King
We as the off spring of Africa
Thank you Lord for everything
For the beautiness of this land
Africa and all is in your hand
Countries far away divided by oceans and borders of shame
We are the children from your soil
Mama Africa, oh Africa
– Karel Maans
http://www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk
We are the children from the soil
AFRICA, AFRICA
Prayer For Peace
We pray for all whose lives
have been touched by tragedy,
whether by accident
or a deliberate act.
For those who mourn,
immerse them in your love
and lead them through this darkness
into your arms, and light.
For those who comfort,
be in both the words they use
and all that’s left unspoken;
fill each heart with love.
We ask this through Jesus Christ,
whose own suffering brought us life,
here and for eternity.
– John Birch
http://www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk
The Coffee Prayer
Caffeine is my shepherd; I shall not doze.
It maketh me to wake in green pastures:
It leadeth me beyond the sleeping masses.
It restoreth my buzz:
It leadeth me in the paths of consciousness for its name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of addiction,
I will fear no Equal:
For thou art with me; thy cream and thy sugar they comfort me.
Thou preparest a carafe before me in the presence of The Starbucks:
Thou anointest my day with pep; my mug runneth over.
Surely richness and taste shall follow me all the days of my life:
And I will dwell in the House of Mochas forever.
– Author Unknown
aromaticcoffees 