J

Joy Comes Unbidden

Is it the same with you? Does Beauty come

Unheralded as birds and sunsets do,

A voice that but a moment since was dumb.

A rift of sudden sunlight breaking through?

All unexpectedly the winter's spring:

 

Surprisingly from where your foot has trod

A bidden lark will rise and soar and sing

And bear the soul before the face of God!

Or one may walk alone among the trees

And catch the laughter on the lips of day

Unwarned, amid such a sudden joy will seize

The being as will take the breath away.

 

Nor rhyme nor reason cites the time or place

Where lilting joy reveals unveiled her face.

             

Dorothea Spears


Joy in Autumn

What way was there of knowing, when I woke

And saw the morning shrouded in its cloak

Of gray, that joy was overflowing? Oak

And pine and poplar wept when day broke.

The children of the day, its minutes, hours

And seconds passed unsmiling through the bowers

Of dahlia and chrysanthemum, the flowers

Beloved of Autumn, when the sun cowers

And mountains hide their faces in a veil

Of mist. And melancholy winds wail

A warning to adorning blossoms frail

Defiant, fearless though the skies pale.

On such a day, what way was there of knowing

The fount of joy would fill to overflowing?

      Dorothea Spears


Joy of Autumn

Let me live to the full this glorious May,

From the moment morning opens its shining eyes

To greet a sparkling world with renewed surprise!

Let me gather the bloom from the cheeks of day

Before the ardent sun has kissed away

Her innocence. This year let me be wise

From the minute the blushing mountain heralds the rise

Of the laggard sun, for beauty will not stay!

 

Let me be a gourmet, an epicure,

Savouring to the full each burning tree,

Drinking in each day with ecstasy

Of being alive, for Beauty will not endure!

Let me so mingle this Autumn with my breath

That nothing can take it from me… Nothing, but death.

 

1944


Jubilate

There are so many ways

Of giving praise

There is the way of beauty,

And the way of scent

(Beloved of the flowers)

There is the way of duty

And the still way of content:

One does not need a voice

To rejoice…

There are so many ways

Of giving praise!


July

The mercury in the mute glass falls –

This is the month of sudden squalls!

 

This is the month of sullen seas

And sodden earth and naked trees

And leaden skies and screaming gales!

 

This is the month when old Sol pales

And hides his kingly head in gloom

While clouds join battle in his room.

 

Their forces clash in clamorous brawl

And burst on torrents over all;

O’er rich and poor, and young and old

They pour their waters manifold –

 

This is the month of wind and rain.

Tom-boy July is here again!

 

“Dawn”, Silwood Rd

Rondebosch, Cape


June Night

I would that you had stood with me

That sweet, soft night in June,

When all the earth and sea and sky

Were perfectly atune:

Dark mountains merging into dark sky;

Dark waters to dark land;

Above, the moonlit canopy,

By southern breezes fanned.

And in the valley far below,

And all along the bay,

The city lights, agleam like stars

Along the milky way.

I would that you had stood with me

All in that soft June night,

To see the handiwork of God,

And know His ways are right.

 

Cape Town South Africa.

Dorothea Graham Botha

The Epworth Press 1925


Just

There is no cause without effect

And there can be no effect without cause.

Is not this the basic truth

Underlying all laws?

And those Great Laws which guide the Universe −

When he has disobeyed them

Dare man call his punishment a curse,

Who might have stayed them?

And snivel like a weakling making moan,

Impugning God when he must reap

Effects that spring from causes he has sown.

If man were puppet in the hands of Fate

Then might he question.   But he was designed

To have dominion over earth's estate

To loosen and to bind.

And if in arrogance he chose

The way of separation

Should he not take the consequence that flows

Inexorably from his determination? −

 

If we must blame a God for earthly ill

Let the blame be for giving man free will.

Dorothea Spears

 

 

 

© Rosalind Spears 2021