Little Golden Hair

Me, aged 2. Little Golden Hair investigating something.....

When I was a little girl I remember my Nanna would sometimes recite this poem to me as I sat on her knee. The images of her words would simply captivate me and even now I can still her her voice lulling me into a sense of peace and calm. I felt so loved.

Here is Nanna's version:

Golden Hair sat on her grandfather's knee

Dear little Golden Hair, tired was she

For she had been as busy as busy could be. 

Up in the morning as soon as t'was light

Up with the birds and the butterflies bright,

Flitting around till the coming of night. 

Grandfather toyed with the curls on her head,

"And what has my baby been doing?" he said

"Since she arose with the sun from her bed."

"Oh ever so much!" said the dear little one. 

"I have played with my toys and I played in the sun.

I read a long while in my picture book

And then I took Alice down to look

For some small stones by the brook.

And then I came home, just in time for tea

And I climbed upon my grandfathers knee

And I'm as tired as tired can be."

Nearer and nearer the little head pressed

Until it lay upon Grandfather's breast.

Dear little Golden Hair

Sweet be thy rest.

Nanna would always recount how she recited the poem to my mum once (or maybe it was me) and she laughed when Mum (or I) said, "Nearer and nearer the little pressed head," rather than "head pressed". 

On a whim I decided to Google the poem to see if I could find it. I did. It's somewhat different, so I guess my Nanna was just reciting from the way she remembered it.  I hope to pass both versions on to my grandchildren. I have such beautiful memories of this poem. I don't ever want it lost.

Little Goldenhair

Mrs F Burge Smith (1826 - 1900)

Goldenhair climbed up on grandpapa's knee;

Dear little Goldenhair! tired was she,

All the day busy as busy could be.

Up in the morning as soon as 't was light

Out with the birds and butterflies bright,

Skipping about till the coming of night.

Grandpapa toyed withthe curls on her head.

"What has my baby been doing," he said,

"Since she arose, with the sun, from her bed?"

"Pitty much," answered the sweet little one;

"I cannot tell so much things I have done, -

Played with my dolly and feeded my Bun.

"And I have jumped with my little jump-rope,

And I made out of water and soap

Bufitle worlds! mamma's castles of Hope.

"And I have readed in my picture-book,

And little Bella and I went to look

For some smooth stones by the side of the brook.

"Then I comed home and I eated my tea,

And I climbed up to my grandpapa's knee.

I jest as tired as tired can be."

Lower and lower the little head pressed,

Until it drooped upon grandpapa's breast;

Dear little Goldenhair! sweet be thy rest!

We are but children; the things that we do

Are as sports of a babe to the Infinite view

That sees all our weakness, and pities it too.

God grant that when night overshadows our way,

And we shall be called to account for our day,

He shall find us as guileless as Goldenhair's play!

And O, when aweary, may we be so blest

As to sink like the innocent child to our rest,

And feel ourselves clasped to the Infinite breast!

I think Nanna would have loved to read this version too.  

You Told Me

You told me to believe, have faith, trust.
You told me to ask, seek, knock,
You told me that the door would be opened.
You told me that I was loved so much that I was enough to die for.
You told me that heaven's riches were mine...
Health
Wholeness
Healing

Healing
healing...

That I only need ask
have faith
believe
You told me it would be mine.

You told me that I would not be given anything beyond what I could bear.
Endure.
Enduring
Endurance

You told me
I believed
trusted
hoped.

With the passage of time the endurance
and patience
and hope
and trust
Eroded and fell into the dust.
Pleading, ferverent prayer gave way to angry fists shaken at the silent heavens.
Heavens that offered no deliverance,
comfort,
solace
or relief.
Just the echoing silence of unanswered hope.

The anger burned and the fire raged,
pointless in it's severity.
For heaven was silent.
Even rage prompting no response.
Rage gave way to resignation.

The yoke was not easy as promised, nor the burden light.
Mine to carry, not His.

Wisdom was gleaned from the fathers of old
Those who went to the pits of hell
to wallow in the shit
for dreams never realised.
Abraham
             Isaac
                    Jacob
                            Joseph
                                      Moses
All believing in dreams
and dying without seeing them realised.
Never knowing if the dream was real or the delusions of madness.

Believing something contrary to ones own truth is madness.
Is it madness to believe in a benevolent god when the reality of existence screams the truth of the contrary?
To believe in divine healing in the face of death

Day
      after day
                  after day

A gamut of things contrary
                                          to
                                           what
                                                  one
                                                      has
                                                          been told.
Until I no longer believe in the goodness of the benevolent god
And it becomes easier.
logical
intellectual
to think of it all as meaningless and random
and the task is to let go
                                   enjoy
                                          and simply exist
                                                                   and end in blissful nothingness......
And yet...
When I let go of all you taught, told, insisted was true...

Something calls
Promising nothing
No visions of the future,
No riches
              nor health,
                             healing
                                       nor deliverance
Nothing.

Just the gentle calling of Spirit to spirit
Logic to logic
Heart to heart
Expecting nothing, assuring everything.
I breathe, slow, cease
and become part of something bigger than everything

Nothing is confusing or contrary.
I breathe and again face the reality that remains unchanged
but has somehow become less burdensome.
The yoke still not easy
nor the burden light,
but the delusions have gone;
the hopeless hope released and scattered to the four winds.
And I find peace in what is beauty in the journey.
Strength in the struggle.

Silence fading

The silence fades,

no longer the need to fill with noise.

 I turn to gentle tunes of those singing poetry;

thoughts to melody

wishes

longings

dreams.

In my silence I am reflective and pensive 

Wondering where to journey from here, doubting choices made

and unmade.

Embers burn from a long forgotten dream 

Or a dream that is yet taking form.

Wondering if to tread this well worn path 

even now rocky;

Or to venture to the one not known

but lonely.

Flickering doubt causes hesitation and I long for another with whom to share;

to unburden my heart of  insecurity and loss.

I turn to the melody 

and long for the sea, 

which soothes with it's tides and majesty,

like the steady beat of heart and breath and purpose.

It calls in a whisper from far off and my heart turns towards the call.

To find solace

Strength

Deliverance.