No Occupation

She rises up at break of day,
And through her tasks she races;
She cooks the meal as best she may
And scrubs the children's faces;
While schoolbooks, lunches, ribbons too,
All need consideration,
And yet the census man insists
She has "no occupation."

When breakfast dishes all are done,
She bakes a pudding, maybe;
She cleans the rooms up one by one,
With one eye watching baby;
The mending pile she then attacks
By way of vatiation,
And yet the census man isists
She has "no occupation."

She irons for a little while,
Then presses pants for daddy;
She welcomes with a cheery smile
Returning lass and laddie.
A hearty dinner next she cooks
(No time for relaxation),
And yet the census man insists
She has "no occupation."

For lessons that the children learn
The evening scarce is ample;
To "mother dear" they always turn
For help with each example.
In grammar and geography
She finds her relaxation,
And yet the census man insists
She has "no occupation."

Elsie Duncan Yale

One Day

I have spread wet linen
On lavender bushes,
I have swept rose petals
From a garden walk.
I have labeled jars of respberry jam,
I have baked a sunshine cake;
I have embroidered a yellow duck
On a small blue frock.
I have polished andirons,
Dusted the highboy,
Cut sweet peas for a black bowl\,
Wound the tall clock,
Pleated a lace ruffle...
To-day
I have lived a poem.
Ethel Romig Fuller

A Thing of Beauty

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.

John Keats

Stuff

No progress on the Living Room yesterday. My time was consumed by a sick baby and piles of ironing.

But I found this great poem in Reader's Digest. Huge run-on sentence, and not quite a Christian perspective, but I could just feel the tranquility sinking into my pores. Enjoy!

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry

From Evangeline

Talk not of wasted Affection! affection never was wasted;
If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning
Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment:
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

From 'Evangeline' by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow