September, 2001 Monthly Feature : Each month I have been putting together some of my favourites to share with you. Archives
Lament
| [Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man? |
Wordsworth ]
I grieve, we all grieve, for the death of innocents and and the loss of innocence.
Throughout the day of 11 September, a sense of unreality kept us focused on television sets, reliving the moment again and again while trying to assimilate the idea that this is not a movie, but a monstrous reality only a short car trip away from our home. Those first few days were spent blinking back sudden tears and swallowing through tightened throats at odd moments of the day as awareness crept up on us again. Mundane activities like eating, working, and sleeping, and normal pleasures like laughing and making love seemed an affront to those who died. Each day new faces become familiar to us through photographs pressed to loved one's chests - mothers, brothers, lovers, sons and daughters all asking "Have you seen?" Their grief is our own, as the churches are flooded with mourners and all flags fly at half-mast. Our grief is not only for them - the victims and their loved ones, but for ourselves as well - for the invulnerability we used to feel, for the assurances we can't give our children, for the nights we knew we'd sleep through and the world we used to wake up to.
5,670 individuals died that day, and so did the surety of 285,189,546 Americans. We mourn the passing of an era.
K.M.G.
|
| Blessed Are They That Mourn |
Oh, deem not they are blest alone Whose lives a peaceful tenour keep; The Power who pities man, has shown A blessing for the eyes that weep. The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears; And weary hours of wo and pain Are promises of happier years. There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night; And grief may bide, an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light. And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier, Sheddest the bitter drops like rain, Hope that a brighter, happier sphere, Will give him to thy arms again. Nor let the good man's trust depart, Though life its common gifts deny, Though with a pierced and broken heart, And spurned of men, he goes to die. For God has marked each sorrowing day And numbered every secret tear, And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay For all his children suffer here. William Cullen Bryant |
1In MP3 format. If you are unable to play this file, check out WINAMP. This is a very good MP3 player from Nullsoft, Inc. that you can download today.
