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New blog post: Daily Digest for September 8th http://bit.ly/BB80k [deacon_jim]
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Listened to 2 songs.
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Joye in the risinge of our orient starr,
That shall bringe forth the Sunne that lent her light;
Joy in the peace that shall conclude our warr,
And soone rebate the edge of Satan’s spight;
Load-starr of all engolfd in worldly waves,
The card and compasse that from shipwracke saves.The patriark and prophettes were the floures
Which Tyme by course of ages did distill,
And culld into this little cloude the shoures
Whose gracious droppes the world with joy shall fill;
Whose moysture suppleth every soule with grace,
And bringeth life to Adam’s dyinge race.For God, on Earth, she is the royall throne,
The chosen cloth to make His mortall weede;
The quarry to cutt out our Corner-stone,
Soyle full of fruite, yet free from mortall seede;
For heavenly floure she is the Jesse rodd
The childe of man, the parent of God.
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New blog post: Daily Digest for September 7th http://bit.ly/sJGCH [deacon_jim]
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Listened to 2 songs.
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Peoples of the world, together
Join to serve the common cause!
So it feeds us all for ever
See to it that it’s now yours.Forward, without forgetting
Where our strength can be seen now to be!
When starving or when eating
Forward, not forgetting
Our solidarity!Black or white or brown or yellow
Leave your old disputes behind.
Once start talking with your fellow
Men, you’ll soon be of one mind.Forward, without forgetting
Where our strength can be seen now to be!
When starving or when eating
Forward, not forgetting
Our solidarity!If we want to make this certain
We’ll need you and your support.
It’s yourselves you’ll be deserting
if you rat your own sort.Forward, without forgetting
Where our strength can be seen now to be!
When starving or when eating
Forward, not forgetting
Our solidarity!All the gang of those who rule us
Hope our quarrels never stop
Helping them to split and fool us
So they can remain on top.Forward, without forgetting
Where our strength can be seen now to be!
When starving or when eating
Forward, not forgetting
Our solidarity!Workers of the world, uniting
That’s the way to lose your chains.
Mighty regiments now are fighting
That no tyranny remains!Forward, without forgetting
Till the concrete question is hurled
When starving or when eating:
Whose tomorrow is tomorrow?
And whose world is the world?
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New blog post: Daily Digest for September 6th http://bit.ly/QUfBL [deacon_jim]
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And from that time, that is, more or less from the middle of the last century, begins the organization of workers on a larger scale in the name of the rights of man, in the name of the value and worthiness of labor. Everything that workers did in the name of their slogans was good.
And today one may say boldly that the cause of labor is the most important one, and that progress, the development and happiness of the whole nation, of all mankind, depends on its just resolution. Workers today have more privileges than they have ever had.
In this reasonable and just struggle for rights, bread for the family and education for children, for common control of the wealth created by the worker, our holy Church stands before the worker like a pillar of tire, and the hand of Christ blesses him in his work.
From an address by Bishop Francis Hodur at a reception for Maciej Leszczyński held in Scranton’s town hall on November 30, 1919. Mr. Leszczyński was in the United States as a delegate to the International Conference of Workers.
The struggle for the protection of workers rights continues. I urge my readers to look into the issue of wage theft and other abuses that are occurring at an alarming rate. Abuses as grave as virtual slavery and forced child labor still occur. Unfortunately, and I know this from first hand experience, this is not history but is happening down the street today. The pictures of abused workers from the early 1900’s are just as real today.
The cry of the abused worker struggling to feed his family, to obtain health care, to actually get paid for the value of his work echos the words from Deuteronomy 26:5-9:
“And you shall make response before the LORD your God, `A wandering Aramean was my father; and he went down into Egypt and sojourned there, few in number; and there he became a nation, great, mighty, and populous.
And the Egyptians treated us harshly, and afflicted us, and laid upon us hard bondage.
Then we cried to the LORD the God of our fathers, and the LORD heard our voice, and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression;
and the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great terror, with signs and wonders;
and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.'”
May their cry be heard and may we as a Church respond and lift them up. Bishop Hodur led the effort to lift up our grandfathers and great-grandfathers from hard bondage and this is our heritage and our call. Let us not forget.
Sails stripped, snapped the rudder, and the squalls moan,
The crew’s anxious voices, the pumps’ baleful sounds,
The last lines wrestled from the sailors hands;
With blood-red sunset, the last hope is gone.Triumphant wind howled and on the high wave
Rising in tiers out of abyss deep,
Stepped the genius of death and walked to the ship
Like a broken bastion storming savage knave.This one is all but dead, the other, his hands wringing,
That one in friend’s arms as they last embraced,
Some praying before death, to chase death away.Aside, a lonely, silent traveler was thinking:
“Fortunate he, who is weak and dazed,
Who has someone to part with, or knows how to pray!”
Translated by Stefan Golston
Zdarto żagle, ster prysnął, ryk wód, szum zawiei,
Głosy trwożnej gromady, pomp złowieszcze jęki,
Ostatnie liny majtkom wyrwały się z ręki,
Słońce krwawo zachodzi, z nim reszta nadziei.Wicher z tryumfem zawył. a na mokre góry
Wznoszące się piętrami z morskiego odmętu
Wstąpił genijusz śmierci i szedł do okrętu,
Jak żołnierz szturmujący w połamane mury.Ci leżą na pół martwi, ów załamał dłonie,
Ten w objęcia przyjaciół żegnając się pada,
Ci modlą się przed śmiercią, aby śmierć odegnać.Jeden podróżny śledział w milczeniu na stronie
I pomyślił: szczęśliwy, kto siły postrada,
Albo modlić się umie, lub ma z kim się żegnać.
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New blog post: Daily Digest for September 4th http://bit.ly/hb5rI [deacon_jim]
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New blog post: Off to Złot http://bit.ly/1fvbmj [deacon_jim]
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Listened to 6 songs.
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New blog post: Daily Digest for September 5th http://bit.ly/2fhw33 [deacon_jim]
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New blog post: September 5 – The Race by D. H. Groberg http://bit.ly/12jwtM [deacon_jim]
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New blog post: Daily Digest for September 4th http://bit.ly/hb5rI [deacon_jim]
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New blog post: Off to Złot http://bit.ly/1fvbmj [deacon_jim]
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Listened to 6 songs.
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Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us,
looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. — Hebrews 12:1-2
I
—Quit! Give Up! You’re beaten!—
They shout at me and plead.
—There’s just too much against you now.
This time you can’t succeed.—And as I start to hang my head
In front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by
The memory of a race.And hope refills my weakened will
As I recall that scene;
For just the thought of that short race
Rejuvenates my being.II
A children’s race – -young boys, young men –
How I remember well.
Excitement, sure! But also fear;
It wasn’t hard to tell.They all lined up so full of hope
Each thought to win that race
Or tie for first, or if not that
At least take second place.And fathers watched from off the side
Each cheering for his son.
And each boy hoped to show his dad
That he would be the one.The whistle blew and off they went
Young hearts and hopes afire
To win and be the hero there
Was each young boy’s desire.And one boy in particular
Whose dad was in the crowd
Was running near the lead and thought:
—My dad will be so proud!—But as they speeded down the field
Across a shallow dip.
The little boy who thought to win
Lost his step and slipped.Trying hard to catch himself
His hands flew out to brace,
And mid the laughter of the crowd
He fell flat on his face.So down he fell and with him hope
– He couldn’t win it now – –
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished
To disappear somehow.But as he fell his dad stood up
And showed his anxious face.
Which to the boy so clearly said,
—Get up and win the race.—He quickly rose, no damage done,
– Behind a bit, that’s all – –
And ran with all his mind and might
To make up for his fall.So anxious to restore himself
– To catch up and to win – –
His mind went faster than his legs:
He slipped and fell again!He wished then he had quit before
With only one disgrace.
—I’m hopeless as a runner now;
I shouldn’t try to race.—But in the laughing crowd he searched
And found his father’s face;
That steady look which said again:
—Get up and win the race !—So up he jumped to try again
– Ten yards behind the last – –
—If I’m to gain those yards.— he thought.
—I’ve got to move real fast.—Exerting everything he had
He regained eight or ten.
But trying so hard to catch the lead
He slipped and fell again!Defeat! He lied there silently
– A tear dropped from his eye – –
—There’s no sense running any more;
Three strikes: I’m out! Why try!—The will to rise had disappeared;
All hope had fled away;
So far behind, so error prone;
A loser all the way.—I’ve lost, so what’s the use.— He thought
—I’ll live with my disgrace.—
But then he thought about his dad
Who soon he’d have to face.—Get up.— An echo sounded low.
—Get up and take your place;
You were not meant for failure here.
Get up and win the race——With borrowed will get up.— it said
—You haven’t lost at all.
For winning is no more than this:
To rise each time you fall.—So up he rose to run once more.
And with a new commit
He resolved that win or lose
At least he wouldn’t quit.So far behind the others now,
– The most he’d ever been – –
Still he gave it all he had
And ran as though to win.Three times he’d fallen, stumbling;
Three times he rose again;
Too far behind to hope to win
He still ran to the endThey cheered the winning runner
As he crossed the line first place
Head high, and proud, and happy;
No falling, no disgrace.But when the fallen youngster
Crossed the line last place.
The crowd gave him the greater cheer,
For finishing the race.And even though he came in last
With head bowed low, unproud.
You would have thought he’d won the race
To listen to the crowd.And to his dad he sadly said,
—I didn’t do too well.—
—To me, you won.— His father said.
—You rose each time you fell.—III
And now when things seem dark and hard
And difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy
Helps me in my race.For all of life is like that race.
With ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win.
Is rise each time you fall.—Quit! Give up! You’re beaten!
They still shout in my face
But another voice within me says;
—GET UP AND WIN THE RACE!—