Showing posts with label george matheson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label george matheson. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

George Matheson's Story

If you are one of the many who come this way looking to find out about hymn writer George Matheson, can I suggest you go here. Start at the bottom of the page and read to the top. Great stuff.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

weight loss and george matheson




























I've been studying my blog stats. It seems that the best way to get hits is to write posts on George Matheson (a scottish hymn writer) and weight loss.

I'd combine the two and write on George Matheson's approach to weight-loss, except it would all be pure conjecture.

Did GM have a weight problem? Look at this picture (thanks wiki). Perhaps he did, but it might be just his robes. If he did need to shed a few kilos, he would probably have found exercise a challenge, being blind and all. Cooking would have had its challenges too.

Is that enough? Has Mr. Google led people to this pointless post?

Just in case, let me add a few more catch words: rainbow, hymn-writer, fat, diet, women. That should do it!

ps. If you're actually interested in George Matheson, let me point you to this great series of blog posts.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

trace the rainbow through the rain

UPDATE: IF YOU'VE EVER HEARD THIS HYMN SUNG YOU'LL NEED TO FORGET THE TUNE IN ORDER TO APPRECIATE THE WORDS. ANDREW JUST GAVE ME A RENDITION. EW.

O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go

O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.

George Matheson (1842-1906)


And this from a blind man!