Literature

I lived with Pride; the house was hung
with tapestries of rich design.
Of many houses, this among
Them all was richest, and 'twas mine.
But in the chambers burned no fire,
Tho' all the furniture was gold:
I sickened of fulfilled desire,
The House of Pride was very cold.

I lived with Knowledge; very high
Her house rose on a mountain's side.
I watched the stars roll through the sky,
I read the scroll of Time flung wide.
But in that house, austere and bare,
No children played, no laughter clear
Was heard, no voice of mirth was there,
The House was high but very drear.

I lived with Love; all she possessed
Was but a tent beside a stream.
She warmed my cold hands in her breast,
She wove around my sleep a dream.
And One there was with face divine
Who softly came, when day was spent,
And turned our water into wine,
And made our life a sacrament.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod - by Eugene Field

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe, --
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.

"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,"
    Said Wynken,
    Blynken,
    And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
That lived in the beautiful sea.
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,--
Never afeard are we!"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
    Wynken,
    Blynken,
    And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam,--
Then down from the skies came the wooden
shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home:
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
As if it could not be;
And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd
dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea;
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
    Wynken,
    Blynken,
    And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen
three,--
    Wynken,
    Blynken,
    And Nod.

One Little Rose -unknown

I would rather have one little rose
From the garden of a friend
Than to have the choicest flowers
When my stay on earth must end.

I would rather have one pleasant word
In kindness said to me
Than flattery when my heart is still
And life has ceased to be.

I would rather have a loving smile
From friends I know are true
Than tears shed round my casket
When this world I've bid adieu.

Bring me all your flowers today

Whether pink, or white, or red;

I'd rather have one blossom now

Than a truckload when I'm dead

Mr. Meant - To -unknown

Mr. Meant - To has a comrade,

And his name is Didn't - Do;

Have you ever chanced to meet them?

Did they ever call on you?

These two fellows live together

In the house of Never-Win,

And I'm told that it is haunted

By the ghost of Might-Have-Been.

Hymn of Promise by Natalie Sleeth

In the bulb there is a flower
In the seed, an apple tree;
in cocoons, a hidden promise;
butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of winter
there's a spring that waits to be,
unrevealed until its season,
something God alone can see.

There's a song in every silence,
seeking word and melody;
there's a dawn in every darkness
bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future;
what it holds, a mystery,
unrevealed until its season
something God alone can see

In our end is our beginning;
in our time, infinity;
in our doubt there is believing
in our life, eternity
In our death, a resurrection,
at the last, a victory,
unrevealed until its season,
something God alone can see.

The World We Make by Alfred Grant Walton

we make the world in which we live

by what we gather and what we give,

by our daily deeds and the things we say,

by what we keep and we cast away.

we make our world by the beauty we see

in a skylark's song or a lilac tree,

in a butterfly's wing, in the pale moon's rise,

and the wonder that lingers in midnight skies.

we make our world by the life we lead,

by the friends we have , by the books we read,

by the pity we show in the hour of care,

by the loads we lift and the love we share.

we make our world by the goals we pursue,

by the heights we seek and the higher view,

by hopes and dreams that reach the sun

and a will to fight till the heights are won.

what is the place in which we dwell,

a hut or a palace, a heaven or hell

we gather and scatter, we take and we give,
we make our world - and there we live.

Take Time by B.J. Morbitzer

Take time to think -

it is the source of power.

Take time to read -

it is the foundation of wisdom.

Take time to play -

it is the secret of staying young.

Take time to be quiet -

it is the opportunity to seek God.

Take time to be aware -

it is the opportunity to help others.

Take time to love and be loved -

it is God's greatest gift.

Take time to laugh -

it is the music of the soul.

Take time to be friendly -

it is the road to happiness.

Take time to dream -

it is what makes the future.

Take time to pray -

It is the greatest power on earth

There is a time for everything.

On a Gravestone at a Cathedral ... (author unknown)

Remember Man, as you pass by,

As you are now, so once was I,

As I am now, so you must be,

Prepare, therefore, to follow me.

(...comment written in chalk on the back of the stone):

To follow you, I'm not content

Until I know which way you went.

By Leigh Hunt ( 1784-1859)

Abou Ben Adhem

Abou Ben Adhem ( may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold: -
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room, he said,
"What writest thou?" - The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, " I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow man."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

From a Railway Carriage by Robert Louis Stevenson

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,

Bridges and houses , hedges and ditches;

And charging along like troops in a battle,

All through the meadow the horses and cattle:

All of the sights of the hill and the plain

Fly as thick as driving rain;

And ever again, in the wink of an eye,

Painted stations whistle by.

Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,

All by himself in the gathering brambles;

Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;

And there is the green for stringing daisies!

Here is a cart run away in the road;

Lumping along with man and load;

And here is a mill and there is a river:

Each a glimpse and gone forever!

by Grace Noll Crowell, (1877-1969)

Definition

I search among the plain and lovely words

to find what the one word "Mother" means. As well

Try to define the tangled song of birds,

The echo in the hills of one clear bell-

One cannot snare the wind - or catch the wings

Of shadows flying low across the wheat.

"Mother" - a word that holds the tender spell

Of all the dear, essential things of earth:

A home, clean sunlit rooms, and the good smell

Of bread, a table spread, a glowing hearth,

And love beyond the dream of anyone-

I search for words for her - and there are none.

Pilgrim

I shall plant the seed of this fruit on which I dine,

By the side of the road. Perhaps some day a tree

Will lift its leafy boughs, and its fruit will shine down a bleak

autumn evening goldenly.

I shall place these sticks together, and some gray day

One following me may see them and pause to start

A quick bright fire along his lonely way,

And its wind-blown flame may warm his hands and his heart.

I shall pencil a pointing finger where a spring

Leaps silverly among the rock-strewn grass;

Others will need its clear cold offering,

And perhaps they might fail to see it as they pass.

At the bend of the road I shall build a wayside shrine.

Stone by stone I shall rear it and leave it there.

It may be that someone whose need is as great as mine

May seek it and find new comfort and strength in prayer.

by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX, (1850-1919)

A Golden Year

Linger , linger , oh royal year!
For I grieve to see you dying.

Rest on the hilltops---loiter near;
Wait, O Time , in your flying.

For never, in all the twice ten years,
You have brought to build my twenty,

Never was one so free from tears--
So overflowing with plenty.

Filled to the brim with the purest draughts,
That I sip in fearless pleasure;

While an unseen spirit watches and laughs,
And again refills the measure.

My brightest dreams, and my fondest hopes,
The year has gathered together,

And right bountifully they have come to me,
From the Spring to the Autumn weather.

The rarest of flowers, subtle and sweet,
That grew in the world Ideal,

Have dropped their seeds in the soil at my feet,
And blossomed among the Real.

And Love, like a rose, still blossoms and blows,
Passion-hearted, yet tender.

And my path is strewn with the glories of June,
And I'm hedged about with its splendor.

Care flew over the hills , one day,
And I sang, as he swift retreated;

And Hope took his crown, and Joy settled down,
On the throne where Care had been seated.

Contentment hedged me all round about,
And Love built his blazing fire;

And Happiness poured his treasures out,
And left me with no desire.

I have walked breast high in a sea of bliss:
I have loved my God, and my brother.

There never before was a year like this--
There never can be another.

Linger, loiter, a little while,
For I grieve to see you dying!

But even in grief, I can only smile,
For my heart is too light for sighing.

- December, 1870

"The love we give away is the only love we keep" - Elbert Hubbard

"Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier" -Mother Teresa

"God determines who walks into your life...it's up to you to decide who you let walk away, who you let stay, and who you refuse to let go." -Unkown

"The best things in life aren't things." - Art Buchwald

"Cooperation is the thorough conviction that nobody can get there unless everybody gets there" - Virginia Burden

"You can complain because roses have thorns , or you can rejoice because thorns have roses." -Ziggy

"We don't receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us." -Marcel Proust

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." -Eleanor Roosevelt

"Life does not have to be perfect to be wonderful" - Annette Funicello

"Faith is an oasis in the heart which will never be reached by the caravan of thinking." -Kahlil Gibran

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive." - The Diary of Anais Nin

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart." - Helen Keller

"Old age is no place for sissies." -Bette Davis

"Never miss a chance to keep your mouth shut" - Robert Newton Peck

"There are many fine things which you mean to do some day, under what you think will be more favorable circumstances. But the only time that is yours is the present." - Grenville Kleiser

"To love someone is to see a miracle invisible to others" - Francois Mauriac

" Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." - Dr. Suess

"There is no disguise which can hide love for long where it exists, or simulate it where it does not." -François Duc de La Rochefoucauld

Your Poem
My poem may be yours indeed
In melody and tone,
If in its rhythm you can read
A music of your own;
If in its pale woof you can weave
Your lovelier design,
'Twill make my lyric, I believe,
More yours than mine.

I'm but a prompter at the best;
Crude cues are all I give.
In simple stanzas I suggest -
'Tis you who make them live.
My bit of rhyme is but a frame,
And if my lines you quote,
I think, although they bear my name,
'Tis you who wrote.

Yours is the beauty that you see
In any words I sing;
The magic and the melody
'Tis you , dear friend, who bring.
Yea , by the glory and the gleam,
The loveliness that lures
Your thoughts to starry heights of dream,
The poem's yours.

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From a Railway Carriage	The House of Pride	By Grace Noll Crowell
Take Time	On a Gravestone...
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod	Abou Ben Adhem

THAT'S ALL SHE QUOTE . . . a compilation of some of my favorite quotes.