Easter Sunday

On this most special of weekends, I have been reading one of my favourite poets – George Herbert. And with doom, anxiety and worry permeating much of my news feed this week, I settled on this beautiful reminder of Who is actually in charge.

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
    And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
And to remind me even more, I took my camera out on our beach walk this morning.
Waihi Easter 6-1
Waihi Easter 3-1
Waihi Easter 2-1
Waihi Easter 1-1
Waihi Easter 5-1