Benjamin Pratt: Why do we gather together?

February 14, 2016 by

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Benjamin Pratt returns to the weekly pages of ReadTheSpirit magazine at the start of Lent 2016 with this column that explores a question millions of us are asking today: Why do we go to church? In fact, our Cover Story this week is about a Pew Research Center study exploring that question through 35,000 interviews with Americans. So, why do we gather together? One basic reason: We need to be fed. And while that is a spiritual metaphor for millions of us, Ben Pratt reminds us at the start of Lent that our quest for sustenance this year should move us to remember the countless families for whom that is a literal need. 

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Why do we gather?

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By BENJAMIN PRATT

5:45 AM
16 degrees
More than two feet of snow blankets the area. Black ice streaks the slim pathway plowed through our church parking lot.

I shuffle cautiously toward the door to greet the 50 guests who have spent the night at the hypothermia shelter. I’m on duty to serve breakfast at 6 AM. It’s not an unpleasant job. I’m a necessary part of the team.

These encounters always confront my assumptions. Gathering with the guests, I become more aware of the thin line that divides those who arrive at our church as guests and those who arrive to serve them.

I have noticed many times that the guests guard their property with their lives—yet they freely help each other in unexpected ways. They quibble, jostle, cajole, comfort, assist and express gratitude.

If I blink at that thin dividing line, I wonder: These behaviors aren’t really that different than our own, are they?

And when it comes to eating? We all have our preferences, don’t we? When I began as a volunteer, I never imagined that persons living on the streets would have dietary restrictions. For some reason, I imagined they would eat whatever they were offered.

I would hold my serving spoon expectantly with a cheery: “May I serve you some delicious casserole made with eggs, mushrooms and sausage?”

More than once, I heard: “No thank you, sir, I’m vegetarian.”

Or: “Sir, no thank you if it’s pork sausage; I don’t eat pork”.

Of course, we had other options. They all were fed.

One of the big learnings for many of us who assist at the hypothermia shelter is the number of guests who have jobs! Many have a car and need to eat breakfast before driving to work. They live on the fine line of having work, purpose, dignity, gratitude and not enough money to have a residence.

How different are we? How thin is that line? And I wonder: How close to needing this shelter are others in our community? Have I even checked on … and my mind turns to this woman—or  that man.

I served myself breakfast at the end of the shift and asked permission of four guests to sit with them. The two women told their stories about how life had led them to this place. One had lost her children. The other had taken leave from her work to care for her dying mother. Her funds dwindled and her job was not available by the time her mother died. Debt and her own poor health left her on the street. Yet, she expressed constant gratitude to the people who were assisting her.

Yes, mental health issues are obvious. Depression is palpable, but, I see that among so many people in my daily life. These people we so dismissively label “homeless” are not so different than … and my mind turns to this woman—or that man. Have I checked on them this winter?

“There but for the grace of God go I,” is attributed to the Rev. John Bradford, (1510-1555) as he watched prisoners go to the galley, a fate which became his own before he finally was burned at the stake. This proverb-like phrase is an expression of humility in which the speaker acknowledges factors beyond self, such as God’s grace, one’s upbringing or just good luck. I, too, acknowledge to myself that I might well have had the fate of these folks with whom I was sharing breakfast.

This time, sharing breakfast at the hypothermia center brought one vivid, poignant memory of another close friend—a man I’ve known since we were in seminary many years ago. Jimmy and I were among a large group of clergy who participated in a civil rights vigil in front of the White House in the early 1960s. Following the vigil, the clergy overcrowded St. John’s Episcopal Church, across Lafayette Park from the White House, for a prayer service.

Midway through the service, as we began to sing a hymn, a “street person” strode to the front of the sanctuary and repeatedly shouted, “I want to pray!” He was ignored as we clergy pulled hymnals closer to our faces and sang louder as we tried to drone out the intruder.

Suddenly, from the far side of the sanctuary came my friend Jimmy. He worked his way to the front and put his arm around the man appealing for prayer. They knelt before the altar and prayed.

Why do we gather together?

Somehow for all of our studying at seminary, Jimmy glimpsed this truth even before I did. Why do we gather?

All of us need to be fed.

FROM MATTHEW CHAPTER 15:

“I have compassion for these people; they have already been with me three days and have nothing to eat. I do not want to send them away hungry, or they may collapse on the way.”

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Care to read more?

Benjamin Pratt is the author of three books and has contributed to others. If you like his Lenten reflections, then consider ordering a copy of Short Stuff from a Tall Guy. That book includes some columns Ben wrote for this season in earlier years. Also consider: Ben is a sought-after speaker, teacher and retreat leader. Email us at [email protected] to inquire further.

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Salty Gratitude: Where are winds blowing you this December?

December 5, 2015 by

By BENJAMIN PRATT
Author and Columnist

Gulf breezes blew gently across Destin Harbor and through the open windows of Harbor Docks restaurant, blending with the sweet and savory smells of the Thanksgiving Day Benefit Dinner.

Charles and Carla Morgan and the Harbor Docks team have once again, as every year since 1994, donated the meal, preparations and the restaurant to the entire community for a traditional Thanksgiving feast with all the trimmings. This meal is the largest fundraiser of the year for Habitat for Humanity in Okaloosa County and for Destin Harvest, a local supplier to area food banks. This year the Morgans and their staff, along with 200 plus volunteers, served 2012 meals and raised $24,072.71. By any measure, this is a gracious, generous celebration of gratitude.

This is the season of gratitude. Every year, the period from Thanksgiving through New Years Day is a special time when millions of Americans feel moved to join the volunteer workforce assuring that all are fed.

This year our family gathered for a reunion in Destin, FL, for Thanksgiving week. We had our own gratitude feast on Wednesday and volunteered for the Habitat fundraiser for four hours on Thanksgiving afternoon. Twelve of us from OH, CA, VA, TX and FL served as waiters, runners, busboys, kitchen staff and all around workers of the endless jobs that it takes to feed and nourish folks. We added our voices to chatter that raised the decibel levels to match the smells of salt air and traditional feast. We went to be gracious and to express our gratitude for the bounty in our lives.

It was hard work, rewarded by numerous expressions of gratitude, graciousness and generosity. But, there was unexpected ingratitude.

There, in the midst of abundance, free food, sweet and savory smells, laughter and cheers—even there, some guests were surly, rude and ungracious. One volunteer waitress returned to our staging area after serving a family gesturing that she was about to pull her hair out. She was bewildered and angry.

One of the children at the table, an elementary age boy, had mumbled, “Yuck, I don’t like that!” as she placed his plate before him.

The waitress smiled and said, “Oh, you are welcome!”

The boy stuck out his tongue at her. The parents said nothing to the boy nor expressed any thanks for the delicious food. Other volunteers shared some similar stories. These experiences were infrequent, but they set us off balance in the midst of the prevailing generosity and gratitude.

As I’m prone to do, I kept pondering the rude boy and his ungrateful family. But, I moved beyond my immediate irritation to empathy, I got a salty tear in my eye thinking about this family, who in the midst of such bounty, exhibited rudeness, entitlement and ingratitude. Is there no gratitude in their souls, no moral compass, no respectful manners?

What could be the ache in their souls? Not mine to know.

SALTY GRATITUDE

Everyday I feel deeply grateful for life, love, family, friends, safety, a purpose larger than myself, and more. But my gratitude is never pure nor perfect.

Like love and hope, it is always blended with my awareness of aching bodies and souls around our world. I never want to live without the salty tear of compassion blended with gratitude and hope.

But, enough said. Let me end with one story which captures the prevailing beauty and gratitude of our Thanksgiving Day experience.

I was close enough to watch and hear the following exchange between a gentleman and my 12 year old grandson, Zachary. The gentleman, sitting at table with his wife, called Zachary to say, “I’ve been noticing how hard you are working. You haven’t stopped once.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Zach as he grinned, bowed his head, turned in his toes, and raised his heels.

“I have one more job for you,” said the gentleman. “Please put this check in the donation box. I wish I could give it to you for working so hard.”

Zach looked the smiling gentleman in the eye and said, “Yes, Sir, it is hard work but it’s for a good cause—for people who need it.”

Zach’s old PopPop felt such grateful pride—perhaps he could see the tears on my face.

Truly salty gratitude.

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AND THE SALTY TRUTH: WHY THEY CARE …

If you’ve enjoyed my story—think about your own. As we all approach the year-end holidays, thankfulness and generosity are emphasized in our culture. So, what’s the salty truth about your community? Why do you care about the men, women and children who live in your corner of the world?

To help you answer those questions, you might enjoy these three, one-minute videos in which the founder of Harbor Docks talks in—well, in truly salty terms about his passion for helping families along the Gulf Coast.

Go on! It’s only 1 minute per video. As you watch, think about what you’d say about the needs of people in your hometown.
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AND IN YOUR PART OF THE WORLD?

What do families need in your community?

What’s the salty truth about your community’s challenges as 2015 ends and 2016 emerges?

Did you enjoy this kind of thought-provoking story? Then, be sure to check out books by Benjamin Pratt.

 

Have you established a memorial? A sacred place in your heart?

May 21, 2015 by

By BENJAMIN PRATT

Memorial Day commemorates those who died while serving in our armed forces—but this special day also inevitably reminds us of other losses we’ve experienced. It’s healthy to pause and ponder the way we make sacred room for these memories.

One half-mile south of the Occoquan River on I-95 in Virginia, one of the busiest corridors in our nation, is a place lodged in my memory and heart. The roadway is different now. What was then four lanes, divided by a grassy hill, has become eight lanes of concrete, ramps, guard rails and, of course, speeding cars and trucks.

Decades ago, I was the founding pastor of a new church in a planned community adjacent to I-95. Four of us in that community—three clergy and one paid fireman—did most of the fire and rescue runs during the daylight hours from Volunteer Fire Co. 10. Many of our calls were in response to accidents on I-95. To this day, I never drive that highway without remembering the spot of two runs we made.

One was filled with sadness—one with joy.

A doctor and his wife had recently bought a Winnebago Camper. She and her teenage son were driving north on I-95 in the camper while her husband followed in another car. On a curve over a steep hill, she lost control and the camper toppled over the guardrail and down the hill, bursting into flames. A young marine jumped from his car and pulled the burned son to safety but was not able to save his mother. Our arrival on the scene was to provide transportation of the victims and support for the father who was crumpled in shock and sadness. The son was flown to a burn-trauma center. There are no markers, and the landscape has been altered beyond recognition, but deeply seated in my mind’s eye is the trauma and sadness of a family’s instant transformation.

There is a memorial in my heart for the family as well as for the caregivers, the first responders, who served them well.

And, then the other memory follows.

It had not rained for three weeks in late August and the road had developed a film of oil. During a sudden rain storm, a north-bound 18-wheeler hydroplaned and the truck toppled with its wheels pointing north and the whole vehicle lay horizontal across all lanes.

One more amazing detail. A Ford Mustang had slid under the truck’s trailer as it toppled, with only the hood sticking out between the wheels. The rest of the car was crumpled under the trailer. When rescue teams arrived, we assumed no one was alive in the Mustang. Someone crawled under the trailer and tapped on the door of the crushed car.

Someone tapped back! Amazing! How to get to them? The rear trailer door was opened to reveal a full load of green tomatoes. Folks poured out of the blocked cars and began unloading the tomatoes onto the median strip. Special saws cut out the side of the trailer, the top was lifted off the Mustang, and four adults and two children, all pocked from broken glass, emerged from the vehicle.

I cried. What a miracle. There are no markers and the landscape has been altered beyond recognition, but deeply seated in my mind’s eye is the joy of that miraculous moment.

Across our land are countless markers left by families and friends to remember loved ones lost in traffic accidents. Roadside shrines of all descriptions dot the landscape as memorials, but for many, like myself, the memorial is carried in our minds and hearts—and the site is never passed without a moment of remembrance.

I write this to lift up each of our sacred moments of remembrance and to also express gratitude to the caregiver and first responders, be they professional or volunteer.

Memorial Day is a fitting occasion to remember those who died in our armed forces. If you have a chance to speak to a veteran this weekend about brothers or sisters lost in battle—their stories are likely to be quite specific about the location of the loss. By acknowledging the person and place—by remembering and sharing our stories like this—we are setting aside sacred space in our hearts.

THE REV. DR. BENJAMIN PRATT is a pastoral counselor with 30 years of experience working with men and women facing a wide range of stresses and tragedies. He also is one of ReadTheSpirit’s most popular columnists on a wide range of issues. Learn more about his books in our bookstore.

What stories make a difference? The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

April 12, 2015 by

Popular author Benjamin Pratt kicked off a new series inviting you, our readers, to tell us about stories that have made a difference in your life. First, he wrote an homage to the children’s book Bambi, called “The Two of Us,” then he published a second column telling the dramatic story behind that nearly century-old children’s book.

This week, we’re featuring the story of a famous author has been telling readers for half a century that his vocation as a writer was shaped by books he read in his youth.

FREDERICK BUECHNER
and ‘THE WIZARD OF OZ’

The Vermont-based author Frederick Buechner will turn 90 in the summer of 2016 and has been an enormous influence on millions of Americans who enjoy the best in spiritual reading. In many of his dozens of books, he also has become a leading promoter of L. Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz, urging his readers to rediscover the classic Baum novels.

In the mid 1960s, he wrote about the importance of Oz in his memoir The Magnificent Defeat. In that book, Buechner calls Oz “not only the greatest fairy tale that this nation has produced, but one of its great myths.”

In 1982 in The Sacred Journey, Buechner explains that as a boy he spent most of one year in bed with an agonizing series of illnesses, including pneumonia and tonsillitis. During that awful time, he writes, “I lived, as much as I could be said to live anywhere, not in the United States of America but in the Land of Oz. One Oz book after another I read or had read to me until the world where animals can speak, and magic is common as grass, and no one dies, was so much more real to me than the world of my own room that if I had had occasion to be homesick then, it would have been for Oz, not home, that I would have been homesick for in a way I am homesick for it still.”

In 1996 in one of his most heart-felt memoirs, The Longing for Home, Buechner reveals that his most-loved Baum novel in the long Oz series is a fairly obscure book that Baum wrote toward the end of his life, Rinkitink in Oz. Buechner points out that Baum originally drafted this novel years earlier, then he rewrote and expanded it. He finally published Rinkitink in 1916 as part of his extremely popular Oz series. The Rinkitink story describes some of the most horrific violence ever to appear in the Oz series and one has to assume that Baum was well aware of the horrors of the First World War raging in Europe, including the 1915 sinking of the Lusitania, in which 1,200 perished after a German U-boat torpedoed the ocean liner.

Buechner argues that the Oz series—all the novels—shaped his life. But Rinkitink in particular has always been vividly in his memory.

Why? He finally puts his finger on the final song of celebration sung toward the end of the book, a song in which the heroes dream of a return, one day, to their beloved home island of Pingaree. It’s a longing echoed toward the end of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series.

The words Buechner quotes from Rinkitink:

We’re not afraid of anything,
So let us gayly laugh and sing
Until we seek repose.
So let’s forget the horrid strife
That fell upon our peaceful life
And caused distress and pain;
For very soon across the sea
We’ll all be sailing merrily
To Pingaree again.

AND NOW IT’S YOUR TURN

We’d like to hear from you: What stories make a difference in your life? They might be “children’s stories” like Bambi or The Wizard of Oz. But our series points out that these beloved books are far more than stories for children! Perhaps a book you read as a teen-ager shaped your life, or a book you picked up at college, or something you read in middle age.

Send us your story—and it need not be lengthy—about a book that shaped your life. David Crumm, the Editor of ReadTheSpirit online magazine, will consider these stories and will choose some for publication. To inspire you to get writing, the offer still stands that a couple of people could receive a signed copy of the new book, Short Stuff from a Tall Guy.

Email us at [email protected]

(Originally published at readthespirit.com, an online magazine covering religion, spirituality, values and interfaith and cross-cultural issues.)

What stories make a difference? ‘Bambi, a Life in the Forest’

April 4, 2015 by

By BENJAMIN PRATT

Worldwide, Christians and Jews are celebrating the stories that have defined and directed our lives through the centuries. Easter was Sunday and Passover continues through the evening of April 11 this year.

If you need fresh evidence of the worldwide love for these ancient religious stories—just open your eyes. Director Ridley Scott already has earned about $300 million for his recent Exodus: Gods and Kings. The movie was just released on DVD and millions of Americans are snapping it up. Then, last week, The National Geographic Channel set new viewership records for its TV drama, Killing Jesus. CBS retold the tragedy of the Jewish confrontation with the Roman army at Masada in The Dovekeepers and there’s more: After A.D., which debuted Sunday night on NBC is projected to continue through 12 episodes!

Stories are powerful! We know ourselves by our individual stories. Stories bring us together around tables and connect us with others who have gone before us as well as those who will come after us.

MY STORY; MY CHALLENGE

Recently, I published a challenge related to a prose-poem I wrote, called “The Two of Us.” I asked readers to identify the author and the title of the original book that inspired my contemporary story. I promised to mail a personally dedicated copy of Short Stuff. And, today, we have a winner!

The answer to my first challenge? Bambi, a Life in the Forest. The story first was published as a serial in Vienna’s most influential newspaper and finally was released as a book, in German, in 1923 by the Jewish writer and Zionist activist known by his pen name Felix Salten. Born Siegmund Salzmann in Hungary, Salten became a leading literary figure in Vienna and also devoted his talents to encouraging Zionism.

Right now, Ohio State University professor Paul Reitter is working on a book to be titled Bambi’s Jewish Roots. Reitter outlined some of those roots in the Jewish Review of Books this past winter. One theme Salten seems to have been exploring, when he wrote this forest story nearly a century ago, was whether European Jews should try to assimilate into popular culture of their day. In the novel, one question comes up again and again: Could the deer living in a forest ever trust that human hunters would let them live in peace? That echoes a haunting question for Jews in Europe in the 1920s, Reitter argues.

If you love the classic Disney movie, don’t worry. I’m not suggesting you can’t enjoy the beautiful cartoon feature that has caused millions of us to laugh—and to cry. What I am suggesting is: Stories are powerful and they shape lives in many ways, sometimes in ways we never imagined!

When the English translation of Bambi was published in 1928, The New York Times published a lengthy book review, praising the novel as a literary milestone—a deep reflection on the meaning of life. Reviewer John Chamberlain wrote in part:

“Felix Staten, in Bambi, takes you out of yourself. He has the gift of a tender, lucid style. His observation is next door to marvelous, and he invests the fruits of this observation with pure poetry. His comprehension makes his deer, his screech-owls, his butterflies, grasshoppers and hares, far more exciting to read about than hundreds of human beings who crowd the pages of our novels.”

Felix Salten eventually had to flee to Switzerland to escape the rise of Naziism. He died at age 76 in Switzerland just five months after VE Day, the end of the Third Reich.

Chapter 8 of the original Bambi novel is about two oak leaves facing the onset of winter. The entire dialogue in that chapter is from the perspective of those two final leaves, clinging to their branch after the others have already fallen. In that winter scene, the two leaves raise questions of mortality and afterlife: “Why must we fall?” and “What happens to us when we have fallen?”

My prose-poem, “The Two of Us,” which was written to honor Salten and his deeply moving eighth chapter, is rooted in my own life experiences. My story reflects the musings of my wife and me over the recent loss of a friend, the birth of a loved one’s child, and the awareness of our own mortality.

THE WINNER AND A NEW CHALLENGE

And, we have a winner to my first challenge! Many people tried to guess the title and author—but only one person, Andy Britt, correctly identified Bambi as the story I was reading that inspired my own poem. Andy tells me that he instantly recognized my source. He had read Bambi in college, loved and was moved by the story, and wrote two papers as reflections on his reading. He said he recently watched the film version, which is quite different than the novel, because he and his wife are expecting a child. Congratulations, Andy, and Blessings to you and your family. Your signed copy of Short Stuff from a Tall Guy shall arrive soon.

THE NEW CHALLENGE—What stories have made a difference in your life?

These two columns I have written are the start of a series in which we invite readers to tell us, like Andy did in his note to me, about stories they’ve remembered all their lives. Andy continues to be shaped by Bambi. How about you? Perhaps the story that shaped your life was also “a children’s book.” Perhaps you remember enjoying it with a parent. Or, perhaps it’s a book you read as a teen-ager, a college student or a young adult. Maybe it’s a book you read to youngsters as an adult.

It’s your turn. Stories are powerful—and shape our lives in many unexpected ways.

What stories have made a difference in your life?

Email us at [email protected]

BENJAMIN PRATT is the author of three books. The most recent is “Short Stuff from a Tall Guy.”

What stories make a difference? ‘The Two of Us’

March 22, 2015 by

“Good media builds good community.” That’s as true today as it has been in our religious traditions for thousands of years. Now, you can play a role—and perhaps win a signed copy of my new book Short Stuff from a Tall Guy in the process. Below is a prose poem, based on a chapter from a classic novel published nearly a century ago. The story has shaped lives around the world.

YOUR CHALLENGE—Name the book and author. Because the following is a prose-poem based on and extending from one famous portion of the book, you can’t use Google to find the source of the following text. But, read the text and think about it! Talk to friends. You’re free to repost or to print out this text and share it in your small group. RESPOND by emailing your thoughts to [email protected]. From the emails that correctly identify the original book, I will draw a winner and mail out a personally dedicated copy of Short Stuff. Then, I will return online to talk more about how powerful stories shape our lives—and I will tell you the moving story behind the famous novel.

THE TWO OF US

By BENJAMIN PRATT

We cling to each other
like two oak leaves hanging on
against the chilling blast of
winter’s bitter bite.

It’s an ancient story;
yet only a day has passed since the latest news.
An old friend—
a beautiful, once-vibrant, gracious
breath of life—
fell.
Life’s winter season
racked body and soul.

The storyteller knows our questions:
“Why must we fall?”
And:
“What happens to us when we have fallen?”

We hold gloved hands
and lean into the bitter wind,
determined to complete our daily walk.
We shiver from the bitter news
as sleet begins to bite our faces.
Too cold to talk, our teeth chatter—
we surrender, return home
with heavy hearts and cold parts.

Off come the layers,
out spill the words,
“You never know who’s going to go next.”
For a moment we hold each other,
transferring tender warmth.

The phone rings and a new father bubbles:
“Our child is born!
“Mother and daughter are doing well.”
We laugh.
“Oh, such sweet news. Gentle kisses to
Momma and your new daughter.”

I mumble, “Others come to take our places when we’re gone and after them still others,
and more
and more.”

She says, “Which one of us will go first?”

“There’s still plenty of time to worry about that,” I say.

There is silence.
Then, she replies, “How kind you are.”

We hold each other and our questions:
Do you remember when we first met?
Do you remember how beautiful it was when…?
Do you remember the warm night on the sand when…?
Do you remember when we were so angry that…?

Finally I say it aloud: “Let’s remember.”

Do you remember?

NOW IT’S YOUR TURN …

Identify the original book and author. Email your thoughts to [email protected]

Good media builds good community. It’s a truth that touches the core of our spiritual traditions.

 

Wake up! ‘How far the unknown transcends …’

January 2, 2015 by

This entry is part 1 of 4 in the series Wake Up!

By BENJAMIN PRATT
Author, columnist and teacher

I have had surgery three times in my life. In my first two experiences, I was a reluctant child and the anesthesia had already sent me to sleep prior to entering the operating room.

In my most recent experience I was taken into the surgery fully awake, wholly reassured and comforted by the caring nurses. I looked around in awe at this inner sanctum of medical toys as the efficient nurses attended to the tasks of preparation.

As if taken by the hand, I was gently led to sleep, scarcely knowing if I wished to stay in awe of the objects of this unknown world or go into the darkness.

Darkness came quickly and without awareness. I surrendered, the mystery of trust mingling with sleep.

Then, suddenly, I was in an unexpected place, a familiar but long ago place. Chattering voices and gentle laughs formed the image of children standing in front of an ice cream truck, eagerly trying to place an order for their own frosty delight.

Groggy. Confused. I heard a warm voice proclaiming, “You did so well.”

I raised my hand and garbled, “At what?”

The woman with the welcoming voice gently took my hand and leaned down to give me a tender hug.

I blubbered: “Are you an angel?”

She laughed and continued to caress my hand. Slowly, I began to see, to understand, to remember. I started to smile, then to laugh and feel giddy. A deep gratitude filled my soul!

Even in this now commonplace experience, awakening from anesthesia, I imagined I had  experienced the miracle of grace that holds the mysterious promise of a time beyond my final sleep.

When our toys of life are taken away and we face the eternal sleep we are entering a realm that Longfellow once tried to describe as a powerful and progressive matter of “Nature.” With a glimpse of that journey in the surgery—gratitude shivers my aching bones.

Awakening is a grace-filled miracle.

NATURE

By HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

As a fond mother, when the day is o’er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

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