From the death of the old the new proceeds, and the life of truth from the death of creeds.
Beauty seen is never lost, God's colors all are fast.
Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck,And hear a cry from a reeling deck!
At what point does a man turn into a monster? I donâ€™t believe that itâ€™s when he does horrible things, but when he accepts that heâ€™s able to do them, and that he does them well.
And let these altars, wreathed with flowers And piled with fruits, awake again Thanksgivings for the golden hours, The early and the latter rain!
Freedom's soil hath only place For a free and fearless race!
A little smile, a word of cheer, A bit of love from someone near, A little gift from one held dear, Best wishes for the coming year. These make a merry christmas!
God's providence is not blind, but full of eyes.
Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn!
Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps, Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers!
Give fools their gold, and knaves their power; let fortune's bubbles rise and fall; who sows a field, or trains a flower, or plants a tree, is more than all.
No lance have I, in joust or fight, To splinter in my lady's sight; But, at her feet, how blest were I For any need of hers to die!
Somehow, not only for Christmas but all the long year through, The joy that you give to others Is the joy that comes back to you. And the more you spend in blessing The poor and lonely and sad, The more of your heart's possessing Returns to you glad.
The Fates are just: they give us but our own; Nemesis ripens what our hands have sown.
When earth as if on evil dreams Looks back upon her wars, And the white light of Christ outstreams From the red disc of Mars, His fame, who led the stormy van Of battle, well may cease; But never that which crowns the man Whose victory was peace.
God fills the gaps of human need, Each crisis brings its word and deed.
Green calm below, blue quietness above.
Our toil is sweet with thankfulness, Our burden is our boon; The curse of earth's gray morning is The blessing of its noon.
Formed on the good old plan, A true and brave and downright honest man! He blew no trumpet in the market-place, Nor in the church with hypocritic face Supplied with cant the lack of Christian grace; Loathing pretence, he did with cheerful will What others talked of while their hands were still.
The still, sad music of humanity.
I'll lift you and you lift me, and we'll both ascend together. John Greenleaf Whit
Few have borne unconsciously the spell of loveliness.
Before me, even as behind, God is, and all is well.
No cloud above, no earth below, A universe of sky and snow.
Despair is infidelity and death.
To be saved is only this-salvation from our own selfishness.
O Time and change! - with hair as gray as was my sire's that winter day, how strange it seems, with so much gone of life and love, to still live on!
What is really momentous and all-important with us is the present, by which the future is shaped and colored.
The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.
For still the new transcends the old In signs and tokens manifold; Slaves rise up men; the olive waves, With roots deep set in battle graves!