I’ve been researching the history of my organization, CBMC (I’m a designer at the national service center). We put out a magazine for decades called CBMC Contact, and I found this poem on the back cover of a 1952 issue. It’s cute, and cute things should be blogged (within certain strict guidelines).
The Typographical Error
The typographical error is a slippery thing and sly;
You can hunt til you are dizzy, but it somehow will get by.
Til the forms are off the presses, it is strange how still it keeps;
It shrinks down in a corner and it never stirs or peeps.
That typographical error, too small for human eyes,
Til the ink is on the paper, when it grows to mountain size.
The boss, he stares with horror, then he grabs his hair and groans;
The copyreader drop his head upon his hands and moans–
The remainder of the issue may be clean as clean can be,
But the typographical error is the only thing you see.
I put these words to a 15th Century hymn tune, which is often sung as “Sing We Now of Christmas.” You can listen to a good midi version through that link. I also found part of it sampled from this choral album. It has that beautifully ancient quality I admire in many hymns.
Glory to our God who reigns over everything.
He rebuilds our hearts to give us mind to sing
Of Him, the I Am
Our hope in heaven’s Lamb,
His redemptive choice, and eternal blessing.
The Lord gives His blessing to all who receive
By the mouth confessing, by the heart believe
That Jesus is Lord
And from the grave restored,
That all who come believing may His life receive.
To Love’s gracious call we could not answer then;
For as Adam’s children, we were dead in sin.
But Jesus, our Lord,
Had chosen us before
He set the planets spinning in the solar wind.
A Psalm of David, when he fled from Absalom his son.
O LORD, how many are my foes!
Many are rising against me;
many are saying of my soul,
there is no salvation for him in God. Selah
But you, O LORD, are a shield about me,
my glory, and the lifter of my head.
I cried aloud to the LORD,
and he answered me from his holy hill. Selah
I lay down and slept;
I woke again, for the LORD sustained me.
I will not be afraid of many thousands of people
who have set themselves against me all around.
Arise, O LORD!
Save me, O my God!
For you strike all my enemies on the cheek;
you break the teeth of the wicked.
Salvation belongs to the LORD;
your blessing be on your people! Selah
(Psalm 3, English Standard Version)
I love these lines from an Aline Kilmer poem:
When people inquire I always just state:
“I have four nice children and hope to have eight.
Though the first four are pretty and certain to please,
Who knows but the rest may be nicer than these?”
Even if they aren’t nicer, they will be my children, and I will love them better, I hope, than I have in the past.