Abigail's Birthday



Abigail Christiana is my youngest daughter (unless our unborn child usurps that role), and she is three years old today. God be praised for her: she is a joy to her family. As some of you know, I have been in the habit of writing poems or stories for the kids and my wife on their birthdays. In honor of Abigail, and in thanksgiving to God for my child, I thought I'd post the poem I wrote for Abigail today.


As background, you should know that Abigail, almost from the time she was born, has identified herself as a princess. I even recall one afternoon when she was...ah, when she was...well, receiving the due reward for her misdeeds, shall we say. As the moment of temporal justice neared, she filed various appeals with the Court, all to no avail. And just as she found herself bent over the parental knee, she made one last attempt to escape her fate by saying, "but I'm a princess!"


Needless to say, this last appeal was also denied by the Court, though the Court very much appreciated it on other terms. But it was with such memories as these that I wrote Abigail's birthday poem, which is as follows:

Princess Abigail

By Her Father, on Her Third Birthday

16 August 2011

I sometimes wonder why it is that little girls are all

United in desire to be a princess at a ball?

Why is it, though they disagree on fifty other things,

All see themselves as daughters born of Emperors or Kings?

Now Abigail, my youngest-born, is princess through and through;

And so upon her birthday I have authored this review

Of that which true nobility on noble lives lays claim,

That those who would be princesses may not be put to shame.

A princess, first, is under Law; for Law has given her

The name of "Princess" (which she could not on herself confer);

Thus princesses must early learn to honor and obey

Their Father-Kings and Mother-Queens; renewed in love each day.

A noble princess next must learn the art of sacrifice:

For Love and Truth and Honor all exact a royal price.

A princess endures hardship, loss, and danger valiantly,

And of the treasure of her heart, she gives abundantly.

Her merry heart is quick to laugh, no less in days of want,

When meals are thin, and treasure scarce, and faces pale and gaunt.

A princess scorns the company of fashion-monging boys

(Or girls), and is not much impressed with adolescent toys.

She seeks the friendship of the Wise, to learn their holy ways;

And loves her God above all else; her lips are quick to praise.

A noble daughter; someday, by God's grace, a noble wife;

For Goodness, Truth, and Beauty are the canon of her life.

So Abigail, my princess, learn to love all that is good,

And hate all that is evil, as a noble princess should.

Then, though your father may not be the image of a king,

The praises of his princess he will never cease to sing.

Anniversary

Today is the eighteenth anniversary of my marriage to Angela, my glorious bride. Truly I was blessed far beyond my deserving in this marriage, and I thank God from my heart for her. I have written a number of anniversary poems for my wife over the years. This year’s poem is somewhat different, and I don’t think I’ll publish it here. However, in honor of Angela, here’s one I wrote for our fifteenth anniversary three years ago.

Fortune’s Fool

A Poem for Angela on our Fifteenth Wedding Anniversary

By Her Husband

Alas for me! For I am Fortune’s Fool;

The Slave of Fate, of Circumstance a Tool;

A blind and stupid Stumbler in the dark,

Whose eyes have never noticed Wisdom’s spark.

Yet on the Day whereof Today doth speak,

The Fool found joy he’d had no sense to seek;

And Blessing fell upon a witless head,

Upon the Day when thou and I were wed.

Though foolish still, I know enough to see

The Providential Hand—Divine Decree

That gives to Fools that which we sorely need:

To know ourselves for Fools—poor fools, indeed!

And so I bless the One whose Blessing gave

Thy jewelled heart unto a prating knave;

And so ennobled thy poor husband’s span,

That others see a wise and noble man.

14 August, 2008

Little Dragon Eyes: A Poem for Abigail

Here's my last post for Abigail's birthday. This is her new poem, just written the other day for her second birthday. It's very different from the usual sort of thing I've written for birthdays and anniversaries, but expresses the burdens of the hour for me. Time is an important underlying theme of the poem, and I was hearing a clock ticking in my head while writing it, which accounts both for some of the wording and the rhythm of the poem. Though it may not be obvious at first, the basic idea of the poem was inspired by recent readings of the Puritan John Owen (The Mortification of Sin) and the Poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Idylls of the King). I don't usually explain this much with my poems, but I feel compelled to point out that the creatures mentioned herein are symbolic of sins or sinful tendencies; and their size is indicative of the fact that such sins can seem small and harmless (even cute) in our little ones, but they grow into quite ugly son of a guns.

Little Dragon Eyes

A Poem for Abigail on Her Second Birthday

Given By Her Father

16 August 2010

 

Tick-tock, one clock, there upon the wall;

You’re there—beware: some desire your fall.

Dark spies, red eyes, little dragons wait;

Bick’ring, Snick’ring, planning out your fate.

What now? But how? You are only two!

Would they? Could they? They are after you!

Creping, peeping, “Get them while they’re young!”

Find you, bind you: heart, and eyes, and tongue.

Heart’s door: watch for little dragon eyes;

Find them, bind them, lest they spread their lies;

Each day: fight, pray; mortify your sin;

They knock, you lock: never let them in.

Tick-tock, one clock, time is not your friend,

If they do stay, growing without end;

But they’ll grow pale, sicken, pass away,

If you vow to hasten their decay.

Here now, I vow, on your birthday morn,

That I will die for my youngest born;

And live to give light to pierce the guise:

Expose all those little dragon eyes.

A Birthday Poem for Abigail

That's Abigail in the picture above, climbing our Magnolia tree at home. Continuing with celebrating the birthday of my two-year-old daughter (let’s see if I can get this right, Homeschool Moms: dd2?), here’s the poem I wrote for her on her first birthday (for those of you just waking up, that would be last year). Around the time this was written, I was reading N.D. Wilson's Notes From the Tile-a-Whirl, which I highly recommend to you. The ideas in my poem were influenced by his book, which in turn was very deeply influenced by my favorite writer, G. K. Chesterton (who I would recommend to you, if there was any point; but if you've never read Chesterton, there's just no hope for you!). 

Hokay, Jupe, here we go:

Abigail’s First Poem

Given on Her First Birthday

By Her Father

Your hair is curled, your eyes are blue,

You love to dance, for you are you.

You might have been another child,

Who hated dance and seldom smiled;

Or one with hair that doesn’t curl;

Or one who’s even not a girl;

Or doesn’t eat each thing she finds;

Or one of many other kinds.

But you are you, I say again:

Your Maker thought you should have been.

And so you’re here, for all to see,

He spoke, and you could not not be.

You’re learning words (at least a few),

But listen: this is strange, but true:

You are yourself a spoken word

(And one I’m very glad I’ve heard).

Your God is talking all the time:

Sometimes in prose, sometimes in rhyme,

His words, unlike the ones we say,

Turn into worlds, make Night and Day;

His words are hills and skies and wood;

And boys and girls (the bad and good).

His words are sharp, like sword or knife;

His words are real, they come to life;

His words are Story, spinning tales,

Of love and war, and crosses’ nails.

And you, my daughter, you yourself

Are in His Book—but on no shelf:

This Story’s always being told;

We watch each day the Tale unfold.

Which character is Abigail?

A faithless girl who won’t prevail?

Or will you be a noble lass,

Whose virtue no one can surpass?

Will you be mean? Or true and kind?

A noble woman who can find?

Your story’s still in Chapter One:

The scene is set, the tale’s begun.

Another Birthday Poem

Continuing with posting things I've written for William (whose birthday was yesterday, you'll recall), here's a poem I wrote for William two years ago, when he turned five. His mother put on a "Robin Hood" themed birthday party for him; thus the subject matter of this poem. If you read yesterday's poem, you will note, after reading this one, a theme of nobility running through them. My heart's desire is that my children will be noble - by which I mean godly, Christlike, honorable, chivalrous, brave - now, not just when they grow up. It seems we always expect kids to be bad, but hope they'll grow up to be good. Then we're surprised when they don't.

I am nowhere near the father I want to be; I am merely sharing my desires, the things I am aiming for. And what I aim for is children who, young though they be, can withstand such pressures and temptations as their tender ages may encounter. That they will not be deceived by the same foolish lies that other children their age believe; that they will not be enamored of the same pathetic music and pop stars of their peers; that they will be repulsed by the same evils that attract many children of our culture. That they will love with fierce loyalty all that is good, true, and beautiful; and, of necessity, that they will hate all that is evil, false, and ugly. That is the motivation behind my writing for them. In this poem, I hope to provide another hero to inspire William's loyalty: Robin Hood, defender of the weak, loyal to the true king, enemy of the tyrant. These things I want and expect and look for in my children, even now, in their childhood. May God in His kindness grant these things to my family and to yours.

William Hood
A Poem For William on His Fifth Birthday

His King’s away, or so they say,
Yet I am not so sure…
That knight in black—is Richard back
From yon Crusading tour?

But since he left the throne bereft
Of lawful king and lord,
His brother John has set upon
The land with tax and sword.

Now Robin Hood, in green Sherwood,
Has taken vows to save
All poor and cursed—but fight and worst
The tyrant and the knave.

The Church—God’s Truth! he loves, forsooth,
As Friar Tuck has said
(Shalt bid that priest hold rite and feast
His Marian to wed!).

No more depart, great Lion-heart—
Return and hear us sing
Of one so good, our Robin Hood,
So loyal to his King.
 

***

Your King’s away, or so some say,
But don’t you be so sure!
Do you be good, my William Hood,
Be holy, brave, and pure.

Defend the weak, God’s blessing seek,
And knightly honour win;
Give every breath to fight to death
The tyrannies of sin.

In honour, dare, for Lady Fair,
And never trust to luck;
Your Marian you’ll marry in
The church of Friar Tuck!

With horn and drum, that Day will come—
Your King will reappear
To smite the foe, and overthrow
The overlords of fear.

Be valiant, son, till all is done,
Keep close your bow of wood;
An outlaw in this world of sin,
My noble William Hood.

By Alan-a-Dad

William's Birthday Poem

Today is the seventh birthday of my oldest son, William Alfred Alexander Newsom. Some years back I began a tradition of writing either a poem, song, or story for my wife and children on their birthdays. Throughout this week, I’ll be posting such poems and stories written for William (and maybe for some of the others). We’ll begin with this one, written for William’s seventh birthday today. This one is also for Nathanael, my younger son, who turned four on May 3. We’re doing combined birthday parties: one each year for the girls, one for the boys. So this year I combined Nathanael’s and William’s poems into one for the brothers.

As a side note, I encourage parents (especially Dads) to do something like this. You don’t have to be a great poet (if you read any poetry, you will quickly see that I am not) or storyteller. But just do this: write a simple story, whether in verse or prose, with one or more of your children as the protagonist (hero). Put them in situations in which they must choose to be noble in the face of temptations to do otherwise. You would be surprised how even the simplest tales take on new meaning to your children when they begin to see themselves as characters in the story. This is an important way to build a storytelling culture in your home, and, by doing so, to build character in the lives of your children. In a story-shaped home, the virtues, the fruits of the Spirit that you wish to see them develop will begin to seep into their bones. They will know them: not just the rote knowledge of memorization (important though that is), but a knowledge that is woven into their very souls.

Anyway, happy birthday to my son, William, who is growing into the noble boy I have always dreamed about.

Band of Brothers
A Poem for Nathanael, on the Occasion of His Fourth Birthday (May 3, 2010); and William, on the Occasion of his Seventh Birthday (July 19, 2010)
Given With Love, By Your Father

Nathanael:
Well, here we are, just me and you,
There’s only two of us.
We boys, I mean: there’s only two;
Two brothers: we are small and few;
Whatever can we hope to do?

William:
Now, don’t despair, don’t fuss!

It’s true that we’re not army-size:
We can’t besiege a town.
But like the knight who charges, dies,
With noble luster in his eyes,
That gold and silver never buys;
And takes the foeman down.

So you and I are richly blessed
With courage from our Lord;
I’ve seen you, brother, sorely pressed,
Yet rise with valor, meet the test;
And you and I shall meet this Quest,
Come fire, death, or sword.

Nathanael:
Thanks, brother; now I’m set to try
To take the heights above;
For just two brothers—you and I—
By God’s dear grace may crack the sky;
We may not win but we can die,
To save that which we love.

As Jonathan and his servant went
Against a mighty crew;
So now two brothers have been sent,
To force the wicked to relent;
‘Til all heart-treasures have been spent;
And hearts are piercéd through.

William:
Well said, my brother! Now look to
The sword of steel you wear;
Whatever can we hope to do?

Nathanael:
Nay, here were are, we happy few:
A band of brothers, small, but true;
A noble cross to bear.

Narrator:
Then bursting through the door to Hell,
Where Sorcery held sway,
Two brothers with a mighty yell,
Sent serpents spinning, beasts pell-mell;
And drave the Devil, tales do tell,
And nobly won the day.

Thus set they free their sisters twain,
Who, captured in the wood,
Refused the wizard’s cup to drain;
To keep their hearts from every stain;
And were enchanted for their pain,
For clinging to the Good.

And now the four walked hand in hand,
Walked in the dying gloam;
And knew not all that yet was planned:
Of twinkling stars and grains of sand;
That more would join their little band,
To grace their little home.