My Wishes for You

Happiness deep down within.
Serenity with each sunrise.
Success in each facet of your life.
Family beside you.
Close and caring friends.
Health, inside you.
Love that never ends.
Special memories of all the yesterdays.
A bright today with much to be thankful for.
A path that leads to beautiful tomorrows.
Dreams that do their best to come true.
Appreciation of all the wonderful things about you.
Author Unknown

Christmas Sermon by Robert Ingersoll (1891)

The good part of Christmas is not always Christian – it is generally Pagan; that is to say, human, natural.

            Long before Christ was born the Sun-God triumphed over the powers of Darkness.  About the time that we call Christmas the days begins perceptibly to lengthen.  Our barbarian ancestors were worshippers of the sun, and they celebrated his victory over the hosts of night.  Such a festival was natural and beautiful.  The most natural of all religions is the worship of the sun.  Christianity adopted this festival.  It borrowed from the Pagans the best it has.

            I believe in Christmas and in every day that has been set apart for joy.  We in America have too much work and not enough play.  We are too much like the English.

            I believe it was Heinrich Heine who said that he thought a blaspheming Frenchman was a more pleasing object to God than a praying Englishman.  We take our joys too sadly.  I am in favor of all the good free days – the more the better.

            Christmas is a good day to forgive and forget – a good day to throw away prejudices and hatreds – a good day to fill your heart and your house, and the hearts and houses of others, with sunshine.

The Christmas Bells

The Christmas Bells (1864)

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
    And wild and sweet
    The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
    Had rolled along
    The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
    A voice, a chime,
    A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
    And with the sound
    The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
    And made forlorn
    The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
    “For hate is strong,
    And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
    The Wrong shall fail,
    The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

The Winter Heart . . .

The Winter Heart

Wish but one wish when winter comes,
Dream but one dream of the past.
The light from a fire is in all our homes
But the flames from the hearth won't last.

For faint and few are the embers,
Snuggle up and keep on your gloves;
What the Winter Heart always remembers
Is the warmth of a heart that loves.

The Arrow and the Song

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Whom Will You Cry To, Heart?

Whom will you cry to, heart?  More and more lonely,

your path struggles on through incomprehensible

mankind.  All the more futile perhaps

for keeping its own direction,

keeping on toward the future,

toward what has been lost.

Rainer Maria Rilke

(translated from German)

Winter

Summer has doft his latest green,

And Autumn ranged the barely-mows.

So long away when have you been?

Are you coming back to close

The year?  It sadly wants repose.

W.D. Landor 

The Day Is Done

The day is done, and the darkness
  Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
  From an eagle in flight.

I see the lights of the village
  Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes over me
  That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
  That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
  As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
  Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
  And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
  Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
  Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
  Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
  And tonight I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
  Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
  Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
  And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
  Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
  The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
  That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
  The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
  The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
  And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
  And as silently steal away.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Something Told The Wild Geese

Something told the wild geese
It was time to go
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered "snow."

Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned "frost."

All the sagging orchard
Steamed with amber spice
But each wild breast stiffened
At remembered ice.

Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly
Summer sun was on their wings
Winter in their cry!

 Rachel Lyman Field