I have a poem that I am going to share with you in this column since tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and our thoughts naturally turn to romance, love, and sweethearts. Isn’t it nice that in the middle of winter we have such a special day that always warms one’s heart as thoughts of “first love,” and life-long love, flood one’s mind? It was 59 years ago this summer that Ellen and I sealed our love with sacred vows, and at a holy altar promised ourselves each to the other. The memory of that night in North Carolina, in that little white-steepled church where we joined hands and hearts in a lifetime journey, is etched into the deepest recesses of my mind and heart. It will be with me as long as I am able to have conscious thoughts.
So I cherish every opportunity to reflect upon that day and all the days that have ensued since—with births, marriages, birthdays, Christmases and, yes, sadly so, even some funerals: all part and parcel of a life adventure that started with young love and longings and matured into a full-bloomed, nurturing love one for the other. It is now, more than half a century later, a love that is still with pleasure yet not without pain, drawing our souls, minds, and hearts ever-more tightly together into that perfect bond of “oneness.”
The poem that follows, “Two Lovers,” speaks to this maturing bonding of a perfect love:
Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:
They leaned soft cheeks together there,
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.
O budding time!
O love's blest prime!
Two wedded from the portal stept:
The bells made happy carolings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway slept.
O pure-eyed bride!
O tender pride!
Two faces o'er a cradle bent:
Two hands above the head were locked:
These pressed each other while they rocked,
Those watched a life that love had sent.
O solemn hour!
O hidden power!
Two parents by the evening fire:
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!
O tender strife!
The two still sat together there,
The red light shone about their knees;
But all the heads by slow degrees
Had gone and left that lonely pair.
O voyage fast!
O vanished past!
The red light shone upon the floor
And made the space between them wide;
They drew their chairs up side by side,
Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"
O memories!
O past that is!
O memories! O past that is!
(The author of this poem, “Two Lovers,” was a woman named Mary Ann Evans (1819-1880), who used the pen name “George Eliot” so that her poetry would be more widely read and accepted in 19th century England.)
Ellen and I wish you all a happy, love-filled Valentine’s Day! (O memories! O past that is!)
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven…He hath made every thing beautiful in His time.” (Eccl. 3:1,11)
YOU and GOD 