A Psalm of Life

A couple of years ago, the administration of one of the really beautiful assisted living homes we visit decided to take their piano out of the activity room and put it in the dining room.   I did try to encourage them to not do that, but they were determined.  We tried moving our service to the dining room, but we were arriving at a time when the staff was setting up for lunch.  It simply did not work. We felt we were crowding God into a noisy corner.  Since a small group was gathering with us, we decided to simply come together to read scripture, and have some conversation, and prayer.  It has proven to be a very rich time for us all, including the pianist who at first expressed some discomfort at not having her usual role.  However, her faith runs deep, and she shares with us so much gentle wisdom that I cannot imagine her not being there.  At this point I do not think she can either.   

This week we began our monthly discussion by talking about Lent.  Olga spoke up and said she did not understand the statement about ashes to ashes and dust to dust.   As we talked about the impermanence of the body vs. the permanence of the soul, Olga gently said, "Oh, yes. Dust thou art, to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul."  To my surprised look she laughed and responded, "Longfellow.  I had to memorize Longfellow in school.  I know the poem is in a book in my book case.  I will be right back."  

 

To watch Olga move is to watch a body that looks like it could dramatically succumb to gravity at any moment.  She is not strong and her thin legs tend to move independently of the rest of her.  However, as she always does, she grabbed her walker, ratcheted her body into what was close to a standing position, and off she went in a sort of a slow lope.  The rest of us continued to talk.  In fairly short order, she returned with a well aged, but well cared for copy of 101 Best Loved Poems. In it she found what she was looking for:  A Psalm of Life.

 

Olga does not give up and seeing her determination to follow the thread of finding the poem gave me an insight to her longevity.   She is engaged with this life.  Her apartment is across the hall from the activity room and she and the assistant, who is now traveling in Mexico, have been practicing their Spanish together (Olga grew up in Chile).  "It is good for us both."  She always has a ready smile and I was surprised when she told me that was not always the case.  During her husband's illness and death, she said she expressed her extreme unhappiness at every available opportunity, and often quite sharply.  Finally, her caregiver gently spoke up.  Olga listened, and now it is her daily goal to always look for something positive.  She does not gloss over her struggles, but she does not forget to note the blessings either.  It makes a difference, not only in her life, but the lives of those around her.   

   

That day, we all read Longfellow's poem together, and we decided that, for the most part, there was much wisdom in the words.  While it is obvious that he was not yet old when he wrote the poem, the vitality that is expressed is one that the elders understood, perhaps especially because the poem ends with the word, "wait."  Yes, some of the language is quite dated - the poem was first published in 1839.  It is also the first poem I have ever read that includes the word bivouac.  Fortunately, Longfellow did not need to find something to rhyme with it.     

 

May your Lenten journey be filled with surprising conversations, a new old poem or two, and a sturdy bivouac in case of rain.   

 

A Psalm of Life

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow