Worth quoting

I bought this great magnet for my sister for Christmas, with a really great quote:

"barn's burnt down...now I can see the moon." (masahide)

I love this, and it reminds me of another poem I read for a literature class. (I also thought about this, because I just read an email from Heather saying our next women's study will be on contentment). I like reading, but mostly easy, fluff stuff, and usually not things written long ago. It sounds superficial, I know, but when it comes to my personal reading, I just don't want to work for it. But, I really love this poem, and I even saved it on my computer, I think because it's a great reminder of where my heart should be. The last two stanzas are my favorite.

“Upon the Burning of Our House” by Anne Bradstreet

In silent night when rest I took
For sorrow near I did not look
I wakened was with thund’ring noise
And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
That fearful sound of “Fire!” and “Fire!”
Let no man know is my desire.
I, starting up, the light did spy
And to my God my heart did cry
To strengthen me in my distress
And not to leave me succorless.
Then, coming out, beheld a space
The flame consume my dwelling place.

And when I could no longer look,
I blest His name that gave and took,
That laid my goods now in the dust.
Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just.
It was His own, it was not mine,
Far be it that I should repine;

He might of all justly bereft
But yet sufficient for us left.
When by the ruins oft I past
My sorrowing eyes aside did cast,
And here and there the places spy
Where oft I sat and long did lie:

Here stood that trunk, and there that chest,
There lay that store I counted best.
My pleasant things in ashes lie,
And them behold no more shall I.
Under thy roof no guest shall sit,
Nor at thy table eat a bit.

No pleasant tale shall e’er be told,
Nor things recounted done of old.
No candle e’er shall shine in thee,
Nor bridegroom’s voice e’er heard shall be.
In silence ever shall thou lie,
Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity.

Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide,
And did thy wealth on earth abide?
Didst fix thy hope of mold’ring dust?
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
That dunghill mists away may fly.

Thou hast an house on high erect,
Framed by thy mighty Architect,
With glory richly furnished,
Stands permanent though this be fled.
It’s purchased and paid for too
By Him who hath enough to do.

A price so vast as is unknown
Yet by His gift is made thine own;
There’s wealth enough, I need no more,
Farewell, my pelf, farewell my store.
The world no longer let me love,
My hope and treasure lies above.