Tuesday 9 July 2013

Till The Storm Passes By

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The situation in Germany is serious but not hopeless; the situation in Austria is hopeless but not serious.
-          Austrian proverb collected by Franklin Pierce Adams, 1881-1960.


   When I was about twelve years old and living with my family in Randgate, South Africa, I used to hide away in my room while the storm lashed our little mining village as if to wrung its neck and finally wreck it completely. However, an hour or two later, after the storm had finally dissipated and the family had emerged unscathed after all, I then used to run down to a quaint, tranquil little lake, not far from our home, to visit some of my favourite exploration and meditation spots.  This lake was surrounded by magnificent woodlands (actually, neglected 'plantations')  of  aromatic eucalyptus, lofty pine and giant poplar, and I would run into the woods to follow the dark, wet and sometimes quite ominous trail to the most robust of streams and rapids formed by the sudden onrush of summer rain and the lake’s overflow of surplus water.
   Had I been astute and resourceful enough, I probably would have discovered my father's inscription of his initials where he had carved it into the bark of the young eucalyptus trees as a child decades before, many metres (or yards) higher up where I also had recently carved 'P.S. Loves L.B.' in 1960.  These were magical moments, alone in the woods on an overcast summer-afternoon with the rain still drizzling harmlessly in the aftermath of the violent storm, and with the exquisite bohemian scent of eucalyptus, pine, poplar and rotten mulch from falling leaves, flush with a rush of fresh oxygen from the rejoicing trees, incredibly invigorating to body and soul.  There I used to sit on a tree-stump and listen to raindrops, glistening like rare jewels on the leaves and dripping on the water-soaked mat below, just staring into the agitated eddies in the water while soaking in the moment with its haunting Lord Of The Rings ambience.  
   It was a strange, primordial biological world, almost as anachronistically out of place as Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost Word in the nineteenth century, caught in its most pristine of moments, yet, ironically, a world so long forgotten by the busy shopkeepers of our little village and the wealthy mining moguls and technocrats of the Witwatersrand's* main reef area, one of the richest gold reefs ever struck in modern mining history. 
   Obviously some storms can be devastating, even lethal, but milder storms can also sometimes bring great beauty to enhance the splendour of Nature exponentially and add indescribably to the flavour of life. In fact, in those woods one could almost have expected the relic of some lost live dinosaur to pounce on you at any moment. During the rainy summers of 1960 I never felt so close to the original creation and to the august Creator behind it in those woods in my entire (short and nondescript) life.  Even today I still prefer to walk into the botanical gardens and manicured parks of our cities only in the aftermath of a decent, respectable downpour. 
   Sad to say, the wheels of progress have cleared up the greater part of those woods to leave only a few token patches of trees fringing the lake, probably because of an increase in criminal activity in the area. The coldblooded and senseless murder by a gun-wielding fiend of a little girl picnicking with her family at the lake a few years back (apparently in a botched assault and robbery gone wrong) has left the villagers devastated.  To add further insult to injury, the new Lakeview-mall is going up on the spot where I used to roam as a child, finally bringing down the curtain on the fond memories of the place I used to hold dear.     
   This song by stalwart Mosie Lister is one of those songs that gives the impression to the first time reader that it was specially written for him or her … how on Earth could this man have known me (and my intimate concerns) so well? 

*'White Waters' Ridge' or 'Ridge of White Waters' 
   

YouTube 

Till The Storm Passes By

(Mosie Lister, b.1921)

In the dark of the midnight have I oft hid my face,
While the storm howls above me and there’s no hiding place.
Mid the crash of the thunder precious Lord hear my cry
Keep me safe till the storm passes by.

When the long night has ended and the storms come no more,
Let me stand in Thy presence on that bright peaceful shore.
In that land where the tempest never comes Lord may I
Dwell with Thee till the storm passes by.

CHORUS
Till the storm passes over
Till the thunder sounds no more
Till the clouds roll forever from the sky.
Hold me fast, let me stand, in the hollow of Thy hand.
Keep me safe till the storm passes by!



Piet Stassen

Bibliography

1.  Andrews, Allen (1969) Quotations For Speakers And Writers. Hamlyn Publishing Group Ltd. London.
2.  BoothBrothersFan.‘Mosie Lister’.  Accessed At <http://boothbrothersfan.com/images/MosieListerPic.jpg>
3.  SweetLyrics. ‘Till The Storm Passes By’. Accessed At <http://www.sweetslyrics.com/1021976.Bill%20And%20Gloria%20Gaither%20-%20Till%20The%20Storm%20Passes%20By.html> [online] 2013.

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