Those Winter Sundays

By Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

speaking indifferently to him,
Who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
Of love's austere and lonely offices?

The Bond of Union of the First Unitarian Church of Rochester - 1892

In the Freedom of Truth, and in the spirit of Human Brotherhood, and to the end that the best meaning of these words may open in our hearts, and fill our lives, and make us strong to bear a helpful part in our community, we who here subscribe our names do by this act enter into a covenant of Love and Service and Right Endeavor with each other.

Our doctrinal beliefs we hold always open to restatement, as growing thought and purer life reveal new truth. We welcome to membership all who wish to join us in following after Righteousness and Love.

Readings of May 25, 2008