THE MOUNTAIN WITHOUT SLIDING ROCKS

purple bar

Still thinking of the fun I had on Pike’s Peak (that I wrote about yesterday).

pump organ 2
But today is today,   a Saturday in Lent, so I went to the piano and played some thoughtful Lenten songs.   I came across a song my Grandma and I used to sing, side by side, at her old pump organ, (Grandma had a bench, not a little stool like in the photo);  and then the words jumped right out at me as a kind of antidote to what I had written in the last posting about living on the “sliding rock pile”  of today’s uncertainties.

I give you tonight just the lyrics about, not Pike’s Peak,  but a different mountain:

There are things as we travel this earth’s shifting sands
That transcend all the reason of man.
But the things that matter the most in this world
They can never be held in our hand.

I believe in a hill called Mount Calvary
I’ll believe whatever the cost.
And when Time has surrendered and earth is no more,
I’ll still cling to that old rugged cross.

I believe that this life with its great mysteries
Surely some day will come to an end.
But faith will conquer the darkness and death
And will lead me at last to my Friend.

I believe in a hill called Mount Calvary
I’ll believe whatever the cost.
And when Time has surrendered and earth is no more,
I’ll still cling to that old rugged cross.
The song is sung slowly, thoughtfully, like a meditation, until you can finally realize that “cling” is a good word,  not a bad word;  it’s a good word that requires a lot of courage,  much like Rudyard Kipling wrote:  “If you can keep your head while everyone around you is losing theirs. . . .then you’ll be a man, my son.”      Courage, to think for yourself and choose not to follow the crowd, that has nothing solid to grasp on, slowly sliding down the mountain.

If you don’t know the melody and would like to hear it sung,  I can’t recommend any group better than the Gaithers.  You can find them on YouTube here.  

Enjoy!

____________________________________________________

 

 

“If”    (By Rudyard Kipling)

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
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