Series

The South

The South
BY EMMA LAZARUS

Night, and beneath star-blazoned summer skies
Behold the Spirit of the musky South,
A creole with still-burning, languid eyes,
Voluptuous limbs and incense-breathing mouth:
Swathed in spun gauze is she,
From fibres of her own anana tree.

Within these sumptuous woods she lies at ease,
By rich night-breezes, dewy cool, caressed:
’Twixt cypresses and slim palmetto trees,
Like to the golden oriole’s hanging nest,
Her airy hammock swings,
And through the dark her mocking-bird yet sings.

How beautiful she is! A tulip-wreath
Twines round her shadowy, free-floating hair:
Young, weary, passionate, and sad as death,
Dark visions haunt for her the vacant air,
While noiselessly she lies
With lithe, lax, folded hands and heavy eyes.

Full well knows she how wide and fair extend
Her groves bright flowered, her tangled everglades,
Majestic streams that indolently wend
Through lush savanna or dense forest shades,
Where the brown buzzard flies
To broad bayous ’neath hazy-golden skies.

Hers is the savage splendor of the swamp,
With pomp of scarlet and of purple bloom,
Where blow warm, furtive breezes faint and damp,
Strange insects whir, and stalking bitterns boom—
Where from stale waters dead
Oft looms the great jawed alligator’s head.

Her wealth, her beauty, and the blight on these,—
Of all she is aware: luxuriant woods,
Fresh, living, sunlit, in her dream she sees;
And ever midst those verdant solitudes
The soldier’s wooden cross,
O’ergrown by creeping tendrils and rank moss.

Was hers a dream of empire? was it sin?
And is it well that all was borne in vain?
She knows no more than one who slow doth win,
After fierce fever, conscious life again,
Too tired, too weak, too sad,
By the new light to be or stirred or glad.

From rich sea-islands fringing her green shore,
From broad plantations where swart freemen bend
Bronzed backs in willing labor, from her store
Of golden fruit, from stream, from town, ascend
Life-currents of pure health:
Her aims shall be subserved with boundless wealth.

Yet now how listless and how still she lies,
Like some half-savage, dusky Indian queen,
Rocked in her hammock ’neath her native skies,
With the pathetic, passive, broken mien
Of one who, sorely proved,
Great-souled, hath suffered much and much hath loved!

But look! along the wide-branched, dewy glade
Glimmers the dawn: the light palmetto trees
And cypresses reissue from the shade,
And she hath wakened. Through clear air she sees
The pledge, the brightening ray,
And leaps from dreams to hail the coming day.

Life in Photos, November 25th

1. This weathered floor & floral rug.
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Wonderful time spent with visiting family in this home.

2. These dainty lights.
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Because who doesn’t love tiny lights all year round?

3. This vintage style lamp.
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Reminiscent of my old home in florida.

4. This lovely gift from a kind elderly woman.
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For the birth of my two sons.

5. This go-to hairstyle & flannel.
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Simple and easy always wins.

6. These handy little jars.
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Motherhood simplified.

7. Part of our Thanksgiving Day table.
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Our first time celebrating the holiday alone and as a family of four.

“Too Fragile, Too Fleeting, Too Magical”

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“Some moments are for Instagram, some are just for the moments itself. We’re encouraged to document everything important that happens to us. Birthdays, proposals, baby’s first this or that, crazy nights out when everyone’s outfit is on point. It’s cool, we all do it. What gets tricky is when something great happens and you didn’t capture it, then you feel this sense of loss. That sense of loss and anxiety that you didn’t get to your phone fast enough then completely overtakes the magic of the moment that just took place. So lately, I’ve learned to really live my life, and not worry so much about documenting every split second of it. The most magical, exquisite, spontaneous things happen when there is no time to grab your phone. The best moments of my life have been too fragile, too fleeting, too magical to even try to document them with a camera. And I wish you a lifetime of moments too beautiful to capture on film.” | Taylor Swift in Glamour UK: the lessons I’ve learned and how they empower me.

Beautifully said.

The King of Love & Grace

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The King of love my Shepherd is,
Whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am His
And He is mine forever.

Where streams of living water flow,
My ransomed soul He leadeth
And, where the verdant pastures grow,
With good celestial feedeth.

Amazing grace how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me,
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind but now I see.

And so, through all the length of days,
Thy goodness faileth never.
Good Shepherd, may I sing Thy praise
Within Thy house forever,
And He is mine forever.

The King of Love and Grace | H. Baker/J. Newton/St. Columbia/C. Aspaas

Living Waters

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I waited patiently for the Lord;
And He inclined to me,
And heard my cry.
He also brought me up out of a horrible pit,
Out of the miry clay,
And set my feet upon a rock,
And established my steps.
He has put a new song in my mouth—
Praise to our God;
Many will see it and fear,
And will trust in the Lord.

Psalm 40:1-3