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A Mary T. Hoffman Commentary from


"Joyful Curmudgeon" An oxymoron?
No! I see all the beauty of God's creation and I'm joyful.  At the same time, I see all the suffering and corruption going on in the world, and feel called to help expose and end it so that we may have true peace and compassion.


VENI CREATOR – 3 May 2008
By Mary T. Hoffman

I found this poem by Bliss William Carman in a book of religious poetry published in 1926. Born 15 April 1861 in Fredericton, New Brunswick, Carman was descended from American Loyalists, and became known as the foremost lyric poet of Canada. He attended the University of New Brunswick, Harvard University, and the University of Edinburgh. After moving to New York, he was an influential editor and writer of literary journals. In 1928 he was awarded the Lorne Pierce Gold Medal by the Royal Society of Canada. He died 8 June 1929.

By Bliss Carman
Canadian poet and author
(15 April 1861- 8 June 1929)


Lord of the grass and hill,
Lord of the rain,
White Overlord of will,
Master of pain,

I who am dust and air
Blown through the halls of death,
Like a pale ghost of prayer, –
I am thy breath.

Lord of the blade and leaf,
Lord of the bloom,
Sheer Overlord of grief,
Master of doom,

Lonely as wind or snow,
Through the vague world and dim,
Vagrant and glad I go;
I am thy whim.

Lord of the storm and lull,
Lord of the sea,
I am thy broken gull,
Blown far alee.

Lord of the harvest dew,
Lord of the dawn,
Star of the paling blue
Darkling and gone,

Lost on the mountain height
Where the first winds are stirred,
Out of the wells of night
I am thy word.

Lord of the haunted hush,
Where raptures throng,
I am thy hermit thrush,
Ending no song.

Lord of the frost and cold,
Lord of the North,
When the red sun grows old
And day goes forth,

I shall put off this girth, –
Go glad and free,
Earth to my mother earth,
Spirit to thee.


Lord of my heart’s elation,
Spirit of things unseen,
Be thou my aspiration
Consuming and serene!

Bear up, bear out, bear onward
This mortal soul alone,
To selfhood or oblivion,
Incredibly thine own, –

As the foamheads are loosened
And blown along the sea,
Or sink and merge forever
In that which bids them be.

For a collection of poems and stories, visit:

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