Repetition
Now that we've seen the whole scale, let us go back to doe. It's going to repeat, one note higher this time, in what is called a whole octave from where it began. This repetition based on the octave forms something known as a scale. If I put many of these octaves together, you would get the full range of the human voice as well as most musical instruments. It would at least cover the ones known to man anyway. No matter if I take my voice down deep like a man and growl in the lion tongue or if I go way up high and chirp like a bird, these basic notes remain the foundation of my song. This holds true in most cultures too, unless of course, the notation or the remembrance of the song is different.
Keeper
On the ocean
Heart wide open
Trapped in
Perpetual motion.
God of yesterday
Unto whom we pray;
Sacred moments
Forever locked away.
Keeper of all my time,
Maker, hearts chime
Lest to you I should
Offer too small a rhyme.
There's glory streaming down
On this small unworthy town;
To all a cross
With him a crown.
If
If I could fall so far in love
If I could fly so high above.
Darling, I know I'd be
After all that we see
Somewhere waiting for you.
Darling, if our love is true
We need not fear the end
For someone our faithful friend,
A guide to come for you then.
Though I know not when
This heart will finally mend
As at last I'll see you again.
Jars of Clay
A small, wet lump of clay
Dripping and useless lay
Beside a potter's wheel
Hardly noticed amid the real
Beautiful jars – princes in their realm.
Surely, he would choose them.
But instead of those vessels fine,
Perfectly whole in the latest design,
He picked up the lump
And gently pressed it onto the hump
Of the master's wheel.
The clay could feel
Those skillful, loving hands
As they gently smoothed out rough edges.
The wheel turned faster
But still his hands were there.
It was held tightly within his perfect care
Shaping here, a chisel there
Smoothing, tempering roughness everywhere.
Soon the clay was formed
From lump to green ware transformed.
Still, it was only soft, useless clay
And so, his handiwork to refine
He placed it in the fire.
Surely the clay must have feared
The end or so it appeared.
Within the flames burned brighter
Where heat was applied.
But always water for refreshing he supplied
To cool the fires and give relief
From the trying oven's grief.
At last, the thing emerged from the kiln
A clay lump no longer but a vase
Used to decorate the master's place.
Filled with his beauty for all the world to see
What the Master has wrought in me.
My Need
Sometimes the night
Is long.
It seems the right
So wrong
And so I plead.
I can stay here awhile
Before you
Upon my need.
Oh Lord I know
you're always
There for me
That I see
And so I plead.
I can stay here awhile
Adoring you
Before my need.
Sometimes I keep
Holding on
As night gives
Way to song.
For this I plead.
I can stay here awhile
With you
No more my need.
It's time to
Keep moving on
Feel weak
Am strong
And so this time
I'm getting up
Up off my knees.