At dawning, Christ is with me, as I begin my day.
Through all life’s trials He will lead me.
However rough the way at midday, He is present
No matter where I am. He’s the kind shepherd watching
Over His straying lamb, and in the hush of twilight,
When blooms and leaves are still, when birds to nest
Have taken and the sun is beyond the hill, I walk the
Garden pathways as drowsy night draws nigh,
Alone, it seems to others, yet not alone am I.
For with me walks the Savior. I feel His presence near,
Assuring with His promise to free my heart from fear.
No human friend or loved one, however close they be,
Provides the peace and solace that Jesus does for me.
- George Morrison, June 2006*
Through all life’s trials He will lead me.
However rough the way at midday, He is present
No matter where I am. He’s the kind shepherd watching
Over His straying lamb, and in the hush of twilight,
When blooms and leaves are still, when birds to nest
Have taken and the sun is beyond the hill, I walk the
Garden pathways as drowsy night draws nigh,
Alone, it seems to others, yet not alone am I.
For with me walks the Savior. I feel His presence near,
Assuring with His promise to free my heart from fear.
No human friend or loved one, however close they be,
Provides the peace and solace that Jesus does for me.
- George Morrison, June 2006*
*I know George Morrison, although I never met him. His daughter, Jeanne, is Cecelia’s friend, and through Jeanne Cecelia got to know George in his last days, as he suffered manfully with cancer and saying goodbye to all this.
He was a life-affirming person, and Cecelia had some great tales to tell me of a couple of Connecticut casino trips with the Morrison’s. George had taken a highway in life, from Texas, to the Army toward the end of WWII and coming up on Korea. He brought up a family with his wife Mary, eventually to come to Hyannis on the Cape for many years where he ran Honest George’s Taxi service.
Honest George was a name he lived by. At his funeral, the spirit and stories flowed, and as we went to the Bourne veterans’ cemetery, I felt George’s presence every bit of the time, as the State Police made our way, as the usual day transpired beyond the envelope of the motorcade.
George was looking at the end in the days when Cecelia met with him, and I was especially touched by a poem he wrote, that was published in the funeral prayer card, a poem that is really a prayer. It reminds me of St. Patrick’s Prayer/Poem – of course though it is from George Morrison. Person walking earth with us until a day in July.
People usually fail at prayer writing these days. O Lord bless our distinguished alumni, bless our humble legislators as they struggle for the light, bless our pastor’s new SUV, and so forth. I think this one stands in time, and speaks for George’s Holy Spirit, and speaks for itself better than I do. It seems pretty clear that he saw God as Provider, and tried to provide in his turn as best he could, certainly for a family, and for customers, and now for the people who read what he has written. – Jack Vaughan
He was a life-affirming person, and Cecelia had some great tales to tell me of a couple of Connecticut casino trips with the Morrison’s. George had taken a highway in life, from Texas, to the Army toward the end of WWII and coming up on Korea. He brought up a family with his wife Mary, eventually to come to Hyannis on the Cape for many years where he ran Honest George’s Taxi service.
Honest George was a name he lived by. At his funeral, the spirit and stories flowed, and as we went to the Bourne veterans’ cemetery, I felt George’s presence every bit of the time, as the State Police made our way, as the usual day transpired beyond the envelope of the motorcade.
George was looking at the end in the days when Cecelia met with him, and I was especially touched by a poem he wrote, that was published in the funeral prayer card, a poem that is really a prayer. It reminds me of St. Patrick’s Prayer/Poem – of course though it is from George Morrison. Person walking earth with us until a day in July.
People usually fail at prayer writing these days. O Lord bless our distinguished alumni, bless our humble legislators as they struggle for the light, bless our pastor’s new SUV, and so forth. I think this one stands in time, and speaks for George’s Holy Spirit, and speaks for itself better than I do. It seems pretty clear that he saw God as Provider, and tried to provide in his turn as best he could, certainly for a family, and for customers, and now for the people who read what he has written. – Jack Vaughan
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