Saturday, June 30, 2012
Some photos of my friend Mike Abrams
The loss of a friend is like that of a limb; time may heal the anguish of the wound, but the loss cannot be repaired.
by Robert Southey
Friday, June 29, 2012
Mortality
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
He passes from life to his rest in the grave.
The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
Be scattered around, and together be laid;
And the young and the old, the low and the high,
Shall molder to dust, and together shall lie.
The infant a mother attended and loved;
The mother that infant's affection who proved;
The husband, that mother and infant who blessed;
Each, all, are away to their dwelling of rest.
The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure - her triumphs are by;
And the memory of those who loved her and praised,
Are alike from the minds of the living erased.
The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne,
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn,
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.
The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap,
The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep,
The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.
The saint, who enjoyed the communion of Heaven,
The sinner, who dared to remain unforgiven,
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.
So the multitude goes - like the flower or the weed
That withers away to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes - even those we behold,
To repeat every tale that has often been told.
For we are the same that our fathers have been;
We see the same sights that our fathers have seen;
We drink the same stream, we feel the same sun,
And run the same course that our fathers have run.
The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think;
From the death we are shrinking, our fathers would shrink;
To the life we are clinging, they also would cling -
But it speeds from us all like a bird on the wing.
They loved - but the story we cannot unfold;
They scorned - but the heart of the haughty is cold;
They grieved - but no wail from their slumber will come;
They joyed - but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.
They died - aye, they died - we things that are now,
That walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
And make in their dwellings a transient abode,
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.
Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain;
And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge,
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.
'Tis the wink of an eye - 'tis the draught of a breath -
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
He passes from life to his rest in the grave.
The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
Be scattered around, and together be laid;
And the young and the old, the low and the high,
Shall molder to dust, and together shall lie.
The infant a mother attended and loved;
The mother that infant's affection who proved;
The husband, that mother and infant who blessed;
Each, all, are away to their dwelling of rest.
The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure - her triumphs are by;
And the memory of those who loved her and praised,
Are alike from the minds of the living erased.
The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne,
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn,
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.
The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap,
The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep,
The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.
The saint, who enjoyed the communion of Heaven,
The sinner, who dared to remain unforgiven,
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.
So the multitude goes - like the flower or the weed
That withers away to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes - even those we behold,
To repeat every tale that has often been told.
For we are the same that our fathers have been;
We see the same sights that our fathers have seen;
We drink the same stream, we feel the same sun,
And run the same course that our fathers have run.
The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think;
From the death we are shrinking, our fathers would shrink;
To the life we are clinging, they also would cling -
But it speeds from us all like a bird on the wing.
They loved - but the story we cannot unfold;
They scorned - but the heart of the haughty is cold;
They grieved - but no wail from their slumber will come;
They joyed - but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.
They died - aye, they died - we things that are now,
That walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
And make in their dwellings a transient abode,
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.
Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain;
And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge,
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.
'Tis the wink of an eye - 'tis the draught of a breath -
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Caoineadh cu Chulainn
A lament for you dear brother across the sea.
I come to You to be my life and guide
I come to you to take me home.
I will come now and live
I will come now and give my all to you.
so take me and use me as your own
I come to you to fill my heart and soul
I come to you to be my all in all
So take me now Lord
So take my life and do what'ere you want
I need to know I am your.
So take me
So take me now to be your faithful child
So take me
So take me now to be your own
I want to serve you all my days
I'm here Lord to give you my heart and soul
I'm here Lord so take me to Thy throne
Goodbye Mike
I lost a very dear friend today. Mike Abrams was a gentleman and an inspiration to me with his knowledge of music and love for Scotland. R.I.P. Mike you were my hero.
Happy We Are Thegither
Here around the ingle bleezin',
Wha see happy and see free?
Tho' the northern wind blaws freezin',
Frien'ship warms baith you and me.
Wha see happy and see free?
Tho' the northern wind blaws freezin',
Frien'ship warms baith you and me.
Happy we are a' thegither,
Happy we'll be, ane an' a';
Time shall see us a' the blyther
Ere we rise to gang awa'.
Happy we'll be, ane an' a';
Time shall see us a' the blyther
Ere we rise to gang awa'.
See the miser o'er his treasure
Gloatin' wi' a greedy ee!
Can he feel the glow o pleasure
That around us here we see?
Gloatin' wi' a greedy ee!
Can he feel the glow o pleasure
That around us here we see?
Thus then let us a' be tassin'
Aff our stoups o gen'rous flame;
And while roun' the board 'tis passin',
Raise a sang in frien'ship's name.
Aff our stoups o gen'rous flame;
And while roun' the board 'tis passin',
Raise a sang in frien'ship's name.
Frien'ship maks us a' mair happy'
Frien'ship gies us a' delight;
Frien'ship consecrates the drappie,
Frien'ship brings us here the night.
Frien'ship gies us a' delight;
Frien'ship consecrates the drappie,
Frien'ship brings us here the night.
Happy we are a' thegither,
Happy we've been, ane an' a';
Time shall find us a' the blyther
Ere we rise to gang awe.
Happy we've been, ane an' a';
Time shall find us a' the blyther
Ere we rise to gang awe.
Meaning of unusual words:
Thegither=together
ingle bleezin=blazing fire
blyther=happier
awa=away
ee=eye
tassin'=drinking
stoups=tankard
a'=all
Thegither=together
ingle bleezin=blazing fire
blyther=happier
awa=away
ee=eye
tassin'=drinking
stoups=tankard
a'=all
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Lamp and Table come home...
Thursday, June 21, 2012
My Other Bike
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Thursday, June 7, 2012
This is my new (old) Bike.
My 1972 Raleigh Superbe made in England
The "Superbe" was a deluxe veariant of the Raleigh Sports. The Superbe usually came with a DynoHub, lighting system, key locking fork, luggage carrier and upgraded saddle (Brooks B66 instead of the B72 used on the Sports.
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