Telling the Truth

Here’s a happy poem from Amy Carmichael.  It reminds me of creation, Sabbath rest, children, and what it takes to survive in a sometimes desolate landscape.  These bluebells are in the British Isles.  Amy grew up in Ireland, and doubtless enjoyed bluebells like these when she was growing up.

Texas bluebells, the state’s flower, were one of Diane’s favorites.  On one of my spring trips to Houston, which happily included our daughter, Diane and her family drove us out into the country to view spectacular Texas bluebells.  This post is in honor of Diane, whose eyes were as blue as the bluebells of Texas.

I think Amy wrote this poem especially for children, of which she was one at least in spirit.  You might try reading it out loud–just for fun!

Bluebells 

Once in a granite hill
God carved a hollow place,
Called the blue air, and said, “Now fill
This emptiness of space.” 

Or was it angels came,
And set among the fells
A crystal bowl, and filled the same
With handfuls of bluebells? 

Hot hours walked overhead;
Our valley grew more sweet,
Though elsewhere gentle colors fled
Fearing those burning feet. 

Those burning feet—the fells
Are withered where they go,
But still the misty blue bluebells
Only the bluer blow. 

O God, who made the bowl
And filled it full of blue,
Canst Thou not make of this, my soul,
A vase of flowers, too? 

Let not the hot hours make
Thy child as withered fells,
But fill me full, for love’s dear sake,
With blue as of bluebells. 

Amy Carmichael, Mountain Breezes:
The Collected Poems of Amy Carmichael, pp. 132-33
© 1999, The Dohnavur Fellowship, published by Christian Literature Crusade.
Published in Pans (prior to 1917) and Made in the Pans (1917)

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 24 January 2015
Photo credit:  http://www.loweswatercam.co.uk