Sunday Quotes: A Short Rehearsal

“The days of the years of our lives are few, and swifter than a weaver’s shuttle. Life is a short and fevered rehearsal for a concert we cannot stay to give. Just when we appear to have attained some proficiency we are forced to lay our instruments down. There is simply not enough time to think, to become, to perform what the constitution of our natures indicates we are capable of.” 

 

-A.W. Tozer; Knowledge of the Holy 

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4 thoughts on “Sunday Quotes: A Short Rehearsal

  1. Beholding how each instant flies
    So swift, that, as we count, ’tis gone
    Beyond recover,
    Let us resolve to be more wise
    Than stake our future lot upon
    What soon is over.
    Let none be self-deluding, none,—
    Imagining some longer stay
    For his own treasure
    Than what today he sees undone;
    For everything must pass away
    In equal measure.

    Jorge Manrique

    1. Wow, thanks for posting that. It’s not often that people comment something that inspiring- so I really do appreciate it. How’d you stumble upon a 15th century poem?

      1. As a young man I read , and memorized (1440-1479)Jorge Manrique’s Coplas on the Death of His Father:
        A famous poem in Spanish early literature. What I send you is just a couple of verses, the whole poem is quite long, but very beautiful.

        Thank you for your interest, here is a little more:

        The Coplas on the Death of His Father,

        the Grand-Master of Santiago

        Let from its dream the soul awaken,
        And reason mark with open eyes
        The scene unfolding,—
        How lightly life away is taken,
        How cometh Death in stealthy guise,—
        At last beholding;

        What swiftness hath the flight of pleasure
        That, once attained, seems nothing more
        Than respite cold;
        How fain is memory to measure
        Each latter day inferior
        To those of old.

        Beholding how each instant flies
        So swift, that, as we count, ’tis gone
        Beyond recover,
        Let us resolve to be more wise
        Than stake our future lot upon
        What soon is over.

        Let none be self-deluding, none,—
        Imagining some longer stay
        For his own treasure
        Than what today he sees undone;
        For everything must pass away
        In equal measure.

        Our lives are fated as the rivers
        That gather downward to the sea
        We know as Death;
        And thither every flood delivers
        The pride and pomp of seigniory
        That forfeiteth;

        Thither, the rivers in their splendor;
        Thither, the streams of modest worth,—
        The rills beside them;
        Till there all equal they surrender;
        And so with those who toil on earth,
        And those who guide them.

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