Susan's Thursday morning note January 25, 2024 Child’s view of siblings buried by William Wordsworth (1798)
Good morning! Complete stillness except for steam rising from my morning coffee and the sound of clicking on my keyboard as I try to warm my fingers to help them write for you. My morning angel faithfully arrives barely noticed because of the fog. Kindly greeting me with the gift of this day along with the promise that spring flowers are busy underground writing their script. Their preparation knowing that the curtain will open to reveal their act in our play. Our play called life.
This week I reread a poem originally published in 1798 by William Wordsworth on a little child’s account of family members including siblings that had died. This poem is beautiful. We are Seven – a conversation between a little girl and an adult on their two perceptions of a family count. On the child’s ability to merge the scene of her siblings in heaven with her life on earth.
We are Seven by William Wordsworth A simple child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? I met a little cottage girl: She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair; Her beauty made me glad. “Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?” “How many? Seven in all,” she said, And wondering looked at me. “And where are they? I pray you tell.” She answered, “Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea; “Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother.” “You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be.” Then did the little maid reply, “Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie Beneath the churchyard tree.” “You run about, my little maid; Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five.” “Their graves are green, they may be seen,” The little maid replied: “Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door, And they are side by side." “My stockings there I often knit; My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, And sing a song to them." “And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there." “The first that died was Sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain; And then she went away." “So in the churchyard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I." “And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side.” “How many are you, then,” said I, “If they two are in heaven?” Quick was the little maid’s replyy: “O Master! we are seven.” “But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!” - ‘Twas throwing words away; for still The little maid would have her will, And said, “Nay, we are seven!”
I think of the beatitude, “Blessed are the children, for they see God.” They see. They see heaven on earth. “Nay, we are seven!” Not questioned. Believed. She understood the soul. The eternal soul. Her eyes still sparkled. She still took picnics and went on with her routine, yet she saw through child eyes heaven and earth together. Today we have the sand going ever so quickly through our timers of life. Will we train our minds to be able to mentally capture morsels as they go through and stop the moment in a picture we take with us? Will we notice the beautiful little purple wildflower when she makes her debut after she waits patiently through this long winter, preparing underground now before she enters the play? She entered. She gives her beauty at the exact time allotted her by the writer of the play.
Our coming little wildflower will never see the entire play from her perspective on my lawn, but she trusts the script and her role is beautiful, even if short-lived. She gives us the strength to enter this day. This little one-inch purple flower we can picture now on the coldest weeks of winter. Little does she know that her coming role in creation gives hope through bleak days of winter. “Nay, we are seven.” Beautiful words to enter today with. Beautiful gift of today. Thank you for letting me again enter your Thursday morning. Tonight we will have the chance to write words for our epitaph of today. Will we have any words worth carving in stone? Will we look into eyes? Will we hear the birdsongs? Will we look up to the heavens? The promise of strength is there. A glance away. Susan
Latin for this week: coelum – heaven, sky liberi mei anima mea – my children, my soul pueri visum – child’s view pueri prospectu – child’s perspective Maxima debetur puero reverentia– We owe the greatest respect to a child respice adimendum orbem terrarum cum pueri oculus – look at the world with a child’s eye memoratus in aeternum – forever remembered Mortem vincit amor– love (amor) survives/prevails (vincit) even after the death (mortem) of someone close.