Tag: Christmas
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While shepherds watched their flocks . . .
While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground, The angel of the Lord came down, And glory shone around And glory shone around. “Fear not,” said he, for mighty dread Had seized their troubled minds; “Glad tidings of great joy I bring To you and all mankind To you and…
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An Architect of Happiness: Henry Van Dyke
“Dr. Van Dyke is the kind of a friend to have when one is up against a difficult problem. He will take trouble, days and nights of trouble, if it is for somebody else or for some cause he is interested in.” Helen Keller said of him. There are some long-dead men who follow their…
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“Melancholy were the sounds on a winter’s night.” Virginia Woolf
Winslow Homer “Sleigh Ride” (Clark Art Institute)
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Who Wrote The Night Before Christmas?
I never knew it was in dispute! Read all about it: THE DISPUTED AUTHORSHIP OF THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
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Holiday Gratitude: Chestnut Trees
The Village Blacksmith Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate’er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter’s voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother’s voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling,–rejoicing,–sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night’s repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought. LINKS: A GIANT AMERICAN…
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Holiday Gratitude: Husbands with Chainsaws
How nice it is to mention going sledding and having a husband who drops what he’s doing to sharpen his chainsaw the day before a snowstorm. Down came a few “ironwood” saplings (to be used for winter heating) and up we climbed the next day to have some fun. You’re never too old to coast…
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Good Night
Good Night Then the bright lamp is carried in, The sunless hours again begin; O’er all without, in field and lane, The haunted night returns again. Now we behold the embers flee About the firelit hearth; and see Our faces painted as we pass, Like pictures, on the window glass. Must we to bed indeed?…
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Cowboys Coming to Town for Christmas
Wishing you all a MERRY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY HOLIDAY SEASON! I’ll be trying to keep the cowboys from too much trouble during the next week so I may not be at the computer that much, but will be back full time in the new year. Love and blessings to you all~ Adrienne PS~I hope…
Author Adrienne Morris 