And it seems both universally used and universally loathed. But I refuse to dismiss this one out of hand. Sorry, folks. More after the lyrics, which I encourage you to read, not sing:. Come, sing a song with me, come, sing a song with me, come, sing a song with me, that I might know your mind. Come, dream a dream with me, come, dream a dream with me, come, dream a dream with me, that I might know your mind.
musings on Estonian, English, paganism, nature, poetry
We sang this hymn at Sunday service today. Everything looks dead. The days are short, and frequently dark and cloudy. The sunlight that reaches us is thin and weak, like watery tea. Too many people are suffering.
The Musings of a Unitarian Universalist Minister
I have to admit that has never been one of my favorite hymns. The melody is simple, almost sing-song, far perkier than I usually feel at this time of the year. And I flinch at the image of a perfect rose — grown somewhere far away under who knows what kind of labor and environmental conditions and imported for out-of-season retail sale — as a midwinter expression of love and beauty. If there must be flowers, I prefer them local and home grown, thanks.
I am not quite a spouse of a doctor. How would that motivate you to work out every day to get a girl. I'm the overly busy person. I'd rather marry a rich doctor and let him have his affair s on the side just so long as I don't have to work anymore. I noticed that in Asia they care much more about language skills than here. You'll know pretty quick where she stands.