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Saturday, 3 January 2015

The Three Hermits - Leo Tolstoy (1886)

Hi dear friends and followers. today I have mythical story containing some humorous undertones. Enjoy the read.

The Three Hermits - Leo Tolstoy (1886)

'And in praying use not vain repetitions, as the Gentiles do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking. Be not therefore like unto them: for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask Him.' -- Matt. vi. 7, 8.

A BISHOP was sailing from Archangel to the Solovétsk Monastery; and on the same vessel were a number of pilgrims on their way to visit the shrines at that place. The voyage was a smooth one. The wind favourable, and the weather fair. The pilgrims lay on deck, eating, or sat in groups talking to one another. The Bishop, too, came on deck, and as he was pacing up and down, he noticed a group of men standing near the prow and listening to a fisherman who was pointing to the sea and telling them something. The Bishop stopped, and looked in the direction in which the man was pointing. He could see nothing however, but the sea glistening in the sunshine. He drew nearer to listen, but when the man saw him, he took off his cap and was silent. The rest of the people also took off their caps, and bowed.

'Do not let me disturb you, friends,' said the Bishop. 'I came to hear what this good man was saying.'

'The fisherman was telling us about the hermits,' replied one, a tradesman, rather bolder than the rest.

'What hermits?' asked the Bishop, going to the side of the vessel and seating himself on a box. 'Tell me about them. I should like to hear. What were you pointing at?'

'Why, that little island you can just see over there,' answered the man, pointing to a spot ahead and a little to the right. 'That is the island where the hermits live for the salvation of their souls.'

'Where is the island?' asked the Bishop. 'I see nothing.'

'There, in the distance, if you will please look along my hand. Do you see that little cloud? Below it and a bit to the left, there is just a faint streak. That is the island.'

The Bishop looked carefully, but his unaccustomed eyes could make out nothing but the water shimmering in the sun.

'I cannot see it,' he said. 'But who are the hermits that live there?'

'They are holy men,' answered the fisherman. 'I had long heard tell of them, but never chanced to see them myself till the year before last.'

And the fisherman related how once, when he was out fishing, he had been stranded at night upon that island, not knowing where he was. In the morning, as he wandered about the island, he came across an earth hut, and met an old man standing near it. Presently two others came out, and after having fed him, and dried his things, they helped him mend his boat.

'And what are they like?' asked the Bishop.

'One is a small man and his back is bent. He wears a priest's cassock and is very old; he must be more than a hundred, I should say. He is so old that the white of his beard is taking a greenish tinge, but he is always smiling, and his face is as bright as an angel's from heaven. The second is taller, but he also is very old. He wears tattered peasant coat. His beard is broad, and of a yellowish grey colour. He is a strong man. Before I had time to help him, he turned my boat over as if it were only a pail. He too, is kindly and cheerful. The third is tall, and has a beard as white as snow and reaching to his knees. He is stern, with over-hanging eyebrows; and he wears nothing but a mat tied round his waist.'

'And did they speak to you?' asked the Bishop.

'For the most part they did everything in silence and spoke but little even to one another. One of them would just give a glance, and the others would understand him. I asked the tallest whether they had lived there long. He frowned, and muttered something as if he were angry; but the oldest one took his hand and smiled, and then the tall one was quiet. The oldest one only said: "Have mercy upon us," and smiled.'
While the fisherman was talking, the ship had drawn nearer to the island.

'There, now you can see it plainly, if your Grace will please to look,' said the tradesman, pointing with his hand.

The Bishop looked, and now he really saw a dark streak -- which was the island. Having looked at it a while, he left the prow of the vessel, and going to the stern, asked the helmsman:

'What island is that?'

'That one,' replied the man, 'has no name. There are many such in this sea.'

'Is it true that there are hermits who live there for the salvation of their souls?'

'So it is said, your Grace, but I don't know if it's true. Fishermen say they have seen them; but of course they may only be spinning yarns.'

'I should like to land on the island and see these men,' said the Bishop. 'How could I manage it?'

'The ship cannot get close to the island,' replied the helmsman, 'but you might be rowed there in a boat. You had better speak to the captain.'

The captain was sent for and came.

'I should like to see these hermits,' said the Bishop. 'Could I not be rowed ashore?'

The captain tried to dissuade him.

'Of course it could be done,' said he, 'but we should lose much time. And if I might venture to say so to your Grace, the old men are not worth your pains. I have heard say that they are foolish old fellows, who understand nothing, and never speak a word, any more than the fish in the sea.'

'I wish to see them,' said the Bishop, 'and I will pay you for your trouble and loss of time. Please let me have a boat.'

There was no help for it; so the order was given. The sailors trimmed the sails, the steersman put up the helm, and the ship's course was set for the island. A chair was placed at the prow for the Bishop, and he sat there, looking ahead. The passengers all collected at the prow, and gazed at the island. Those who had the sharpest eyes could presently make out the rocks on it, and then a mud hut was seen. At last one man saw the hermits themselves. The captain brought a telescope and, after looking through it, handed it to the Bishop.

'It's right enough. There are three men standing on the shore. There, a little to the right of that big rock.'

The Bishop took the telescope, got it into position, and he saw the three men: a tall one, a shorter one, and one very small and bent, standing on the shore and holding each other by the hand.

The captain turned to the Bishop. 'The vessel can get no nearer in than this, your Grace. If you wish to go ashore, we must ask you to go in the boat, while we anchor here.'

The cable was quickly let out, the anchor cast, and the sails furled. There was a jerk, and the vessel shook. Then a boat having been lowered, the oarsmen jumped in, and the Bishop descended the ladder and took his seat. The men pulled at their oars, and the boat moved rapidly towards the island. When they came within a stone's throw they saw three old men: a tall one with only a mat tied round his waist: a shorter one in a tattered peasant coat, and a very old one bent with age and wearing an old cassock -- all three standing hand in hand.
The oarsmen pulled in to the shore, and held on with the boathook while the Bishop got out.

The old men bowed to him, and he gave them his benediction, at which they bowed still lower. Then the Bishop began to speak to them.
'I have heard,' he said, 'that you, godly men, live here saving your own souls, and praying to our Lord Christ for your fellow men. I, an unworthy servant of Christ, am called, by God's mercy, to keep and teach His flock. I wished to see you, servants of God, and to do what I can to teach you, also.'

The old men looked at each other smiling, but remained silent.

'Tell me,' said the Bishop, 'what you are doing to save your souls, and how you serve God on this island.'

The second hermit sighed, and looked at the oldest, the very ancient one. The latter smiled, and said: 'We do not know how to serve God. We only serve and support ourselves, servant of God.'

'But how do you pray to God?' asked the Bishop.

'We pray in this way,' replied the hermit. 'Three are ye, three are we, have mercy upon us.'

And when the old man said this, all three raised their eyes to heaven, and repeated: 'Three are ye, three are we, have mercy upon us!'

The Bishop smiled. 'You have evidently heard something about the Holy Trinity,' said he. 'But you do not pray aright. You have won my affection, godly men. I see you wish to please the Lord, but you do not know how to serve Him. That is not the way to pray; but listen to me, and I will teach you. I will teach you, not a way of my own, but the way in which God in the Holy Scriptures has commanded all men to pray to Him.'

And the Bishop began explaining to the hermits how God had revealed Himself to men; telling them of God the Father, and God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.

'God the Son came down on earth,' said he, 'to save men, and this is how He taught us all to pray. Listen and repeat after me: "Our Father."'
And the first old man repeated after him, 'Our Father,' and the second said, 'Our Father,' and the third said, 'Our Father.'

'Which art in heaven,' continued the Bishop.

The first hermit repeated, 'Which art in heaven,' but the second blundered over the words, and the tall hermit could not say them properly. His hair had grown over his mouth so that he could not speak plainly. The very old hermit, having no teeth, also mumbled indistinctly.

The Bishop repeated the words again, and the old men repeated them after him. The Bishop sat down on a stone, and the old men stood before him, watching his mouth, and repeating the words as he uttered them. And all day long the Bishop laboured, saying a word twenty, thirty, a hundred times over, and the old men repeated it after him. They blundered, and he corrected them, and made them begin again.

The Bishop did not leave off till he had taught them the whole of the Lord's prayer so that they could not only repeat it after him, but could say it by themselves. The middle one was the first to know it, and to repeat the whole of it alone. The Bishop made him say it again and again, and at last the others could say it too.

It was getting dark, and the moon was appearing over the water, before the Bishop rose to return to the vessel. When he took leave of the old men, they all bowed down to the ground before him. He raised them, and kissed each of them, telling them to pray as he had taught them. Then he got into the boat and returned to the ship.

And as he sat in the boat and was rowed to the ship he could hear the three voices of the hermits loudly repeating the Lord's prayer. As the boat drew near the vessel their voices could no longer be heard, but they could still be seen in the moonlight, standing as he had left them on the shore, the shortest in the middle, the tallest on the right, the middle one on the left.

As soon as the Bishop had reached the vessel and got on board, the anchor was weighed and the sails unfurled. The wind filled them, and the ship sailed away, and the Bishop took a seat in the stern and watched the island they had left. For a time he could still see the hermits, but presently they disappeared from sight, though the island was still visible. At last it too vanished, and only the sea was to be seen, rippling in the moonlight.

The pilgrims lay down to sleep, and all was quiet on deck. The Bishop did not wish to sleep, but sat alone at the stern, gazing at the sea where the island was no longer visible, and thinking of the good old men. He thought how pleased they had been to learn the Lord's prayer; and he thanked God for having sent him to teach and help such godly men.

So the Bishop sat, thinking, and gazing at the sea where the island had disappeared. And the moonlight flickered before his eyes, sparkling, now here, now there, upon the waves. Suddenly he saw something white and shining, on the bright path which the moon cast across the sea. Was it a seagull, or the little gleaming sail of some small boat? The Bishop fixed his eyes on it, wondering.

'It must be a boat sailing after us,' thought he 'but it is overtaking us very rapidly. It was far, far away a minute ago, but now it is much nearer. It cannot be a boat, for I can see no sail; but whatever it may be, it is following us, and catching us up.'

And he could not make out what it was. Not a boat, nor a bird, nor a fish! It was too large for a man, and besides a man could not be out there in the midst of the sea. The Bishop rose, and said to the helmsman: 'Look there, what is that, my friend? What is it?' the Bishop repeated, though he could now see plainly what it was -- the three hermits running upon the water, all gleaming white, their grey beards shining, and approaching the ship as quickly as though it were not moving.

The steersman looked and let go the helm in terror. 'Oh Lord! The hermits are running after us on the water as though it were dry land!'

The passengers hearing him, jumped up, and crowded to the stern. They saw the hermits coming along hand in hand, and the two outer ones beckoning the ship to stop. All three were gliding along upon the water without moving their feet.

Before the ship could be stopped, the hermits had reached it, and raising their heads, all three as with one voice, began to say:
'We have forgotten your teaching, servant of God. As long as we kept repeating it we remembered, but when we stopped saying it for a time, a word dropped out, and now it has all gone to pieces. We can remember nothing of it. Teach us again.'

The Bishop crossed himself, and leaning over the ship's side, said:
'Your own prayer will reach the Lord, men of God. It is not for me to teach you. Pray for us sinners.

And the Bishop bowed low before the old men; and they turned and went back across the sea. And a light shone until daybreak on the spot where they were lost to sight.

Thank you again for dropping by dear friends for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. have a great Sunday.
ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Friday, 2 January 2015

Frizzy Lizzy

Hi dear friends and followers, yes this is Saturday at Frizzy Lizzy's time.

Lynn! It's such a treat to see you again! I haven't had you at my table since last fall! Thank you for your Christmas card. Pull up a chair and pour yourself a coffee and you can help me to enjoy a chocolate cheesecake.

How are the boys? They are where? Switzerland and South Africa - on vacation? They sure know how to get away from being stuck in the snow, don't they? How's that again? Their girlfriends' families paid their way? You don't say? I should be so lucky.

I really can't complain about luck in the pure sense of winning something. I won something twice that I can recall. I won a component stereo system (remember those?) back in 1980 in a radio contest and two tickets to see the play "Woman of the Year" with Lauren Bacall at the Kennedy Center in Washington when I was living in Virginia. How long ago was that? Let me see, I had just started seeing Frank a few months before, so I would guess that it was 1983.

Sure, Lynn, it was wonderful to see the play in a venue like the Opera House at the Kennedy Center. There is no other place that I have ever been that is like the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. It's a one-of-a-kind place. And Lauren Bacall had such a commanding stage presence and mastery of her role that it was almost like we were in the same room as she was. She was truly magnificent that night. But I have to admit that I can pick them because it was Frank who stole the show.

I have pearls that are more cultured than Frank was. He had this attitude that the opera, musical concerts, and the theater were only for snooty, rich people who had nothing better to do. When I got the tickets I asked him if he wanted to go and he shocked me by saying "yes."

It wasn't hard to get him into a suit and a nice tie and polished shoes. He looked quite handsome when he was dressed-up. I had a nice dress and heels and a warm cape to wear from the car to the theater entrance. I didn't worry too much about walking because parking was in an underground garage.

So off we went in his blue 1977 Chevrolet Nova Concourse. He was so proud of that car! He called it the "Flying Cloud" because it rode so smoothly. We did not pay any mind to the weather because it was calling for snow. He was an experienced snow driver and nothing was falling from the sky as we drove from my home in Annandale, Virginia to Northwest Washington to the Kennedy Center.

We park the car and check our wraps and all is well. Frank steps out for a smoke and comes in and we take our seats for what turned out to be a stellar performance by the entire Broadway cast! What a treat that was! Frank seemed to be enjoying the show and he comported himself like a polished veteran of many a night at the theater. I was so relieved.

Intermission takes place and they open the bar on the terrace and Frank buys us something to drink and we sip our drinks, he has another smoke, and we are ready for the second part of the play. While he was outside he took note of the weather and still no snow.

I don't know how long the second part of the play was but it went by far too quickly in my estimation. We left our seats and took our time to get our wraps, walked leisurely to the Flying Cloud, and drove out of the parking garage and onto Virginia Avenue in Northwest Washington. The road seemed sort of wet.

We went up the George Washington Parkway and across the Key Bridge and into Arlington, Virginia, on our way west to Annandale. And that's where we began to see it: freezing rain! Parked cars were coated with it! It was on the sidewalks, but the streets looked like they were just wet.

Frank decided to drive a bit faster in the hope of getting me home before everything froze, so out Columbia Pike we went, doing the legal speed limit.

By the time we got to the intersection of Columbia Pike with Old Columbia Road (that was where my house was), there was a sheet of ice on everything!

We took the turn very slowly and very wide, sort of like we were in a ballet, but that didn't keep the car from slipping to the right, towards the entrance to to the gas station, as we made the left turn. Frank moved fast and the car was again going straight down Old Columbia Road toward my house.

We agreed that it was a close call but he felt rather confident about his skill as a winter driver.

My house was about a mile down the road from the intersection, on the left. The driveway had a short but steel incline and there was a stone wall on either side of the driveway. The road was narrow with no shoulder so there was no extra room to make a left turn. I knew that getting the car in the driveway would be like threading a needle correctly - on the first try!

Frank had this all figured out. He drove slowly and deliberately down the right-hand lane of the road. At a point that he judged to be correct, he took the car out-of-gear and coasted toward the place where he would start the left turn. Sure enough, he made the left turn and all was well until...the front of the car started to slide to the right and go toward the stone wall, by way of the big ditch between the road and the wall!

I was sure that the car was headed for the ditch when Frank put it in gear and revved the engine and it came flying out of the ditch and back on the road. We missed a wreck by about a foot.

As we drove around the block, I told him to park the car at the gas station, and that we could walk down the house from there. He went along with that.

When we got to the gas station there was but one space left: on an incline next to the building, between the washroom door and a light post. We pulled in there and slowly left the car. I bought all of my gas at that station so I was sure that they wouldn't mind Frank's car there until morning.

We were about 30 meters away from the car when I looked back and almost died at what I saw. There was Frank's beloved Flying Cloud, wheels still, parking brake on, moving sideways on the frozen pavement, sliding down the incline and right into the light pole! Frank yelled, "Oh shit!" so loudly that porch lights came on! The driver's side door of his beautiful blue car came to rest up against the light pole and the pole left a huge dent in its door. It was ruined! We had made it all that way on the ice and missed everything that was in our way only to have the car stopped safely in the gas station lot and slide into a light pole! What the hell kind of shit is that?

I didn't complain about my frozen feet as we walked to my house, nor did I feel badly about pouring Frank a good, stiff drink. I had one myself. And he didn't have to ask about staying for the night. I opened the sofa bed for him and put another log into the wood stove.

Thank you again for dropping by dear friends for this visit with Frizzy Lizzy. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. have a great Saturday

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Thursday, 1 January 2015

When the Storm God Rides

Hi dear friends and followers. 

This legend is from a collection of Native American lore from Texas focused on the Tejas, a Caddoan group which called itself the Hasinai. The term 'Tejas' is from a Caddoan word which means 'friend,' and it gave us the name of Texas. The Tejas lived between the Sabine and Trinity rivers, in modern south-east Texas. They were the furthest west of the Southeastern native groups, in close contact with the Plains tribes, so their folklore reflects both regions.

When the Storm God Rides is not a work of ethnology, but is based on genuine traditional folklore from the region. The material has been romanticized by the storyteller, and sometimes softened for the audience, although not to the point of becoming maudlin as often occurs in this kind of myth. However, since there is a paucity of material on the southeastern Native Americans, and specifically those from the Texas area, this fills a gap.

When the Storm God Rides

The shores of Texas along the Gulf of Mexico did not always have islands along them.

The Indians who lived a long time ago on the coast have left behind them the story of a god and his great black-winged thunder bird which he rode like a horse over the Gulf at certain times. He was the Storm God, and he made islands where none had been before. These islands were made as homes for the wild birds, the sea gulls, the big pelicans, the cranes and the herons.

The god of storms did not live among the Indians, but lived down in the warm seas below the Gulf of Mexico. And for this the Indians were glad, for his terrible
thunder bird, named Hurakan, filled the people with fear.

The tribes which lived near the Gulf only saw the mighty god when he rode his thunder bird through the skies. He visited their land when he wanted to get the white and colored feathers of birds living on the seashore for his cloak. The Indians could tell when he was on the way. As Hurakan, the thunder bird, came swiftly through the air over the gulf, the sky in front of him became filled with bits of white clouds sailing high over the beaches. Then the wind began to blow, first here, then there. At last came the great thunder bird in the shape of a cloud which closed the eye of the sun and made the land dark.

Then the wind grew strong and howled and blew as the god and his thunder bird came flying through the sky. The Indians ran into their wigwams and held them down as best they could while the storm god rushed by and snatched feathers from birds to put on his cloak. The Indians were happy when he was gone because Hurakan made them afraid. Even today Hurakan comes back once in a while in the shape of a storm which people call a hurricane.

There was a day when the peaceful tribes who fished in the Gulf were driven away from their homes by fierce tribes from the north. Unlike the Indians who lived on the coast these tribes liked to kill. When they saw the birds flying around, they shot them with arrows. They caught them on their roosts at night. They robbed their nests. The poor birds cried out at the tops of their voices for the storm god to save them.

Far off, down in his home in the warm seas, the god lifted his head and heard their cries. Quickly, he rose to his feet and shook himself. Thunder broke loose over his head, so angry was he. He ran and jumped upon the back of Hurakan. He shouted for Hurakan to hurry. Shooting fire like lightning from his eyes and shaking loose black clouds from the tips of his great wings the storm god's thunder bird flew toward the Texas coast. He and the god were wrapped in darkness, and as they flew across the sky the day became like night and the waters of the Gulf broke into white foam.

The Indians who were killing the birds saw the thunder god coming too late to get away. The sun was gone and the clouds were so thick that the day was like night. The wind from Hurakan's wings hit the Indians and blew them down when they tried to run. Behind them came the waters of the Gulf, pushed upon the land by the wind stirred up by the storm god's thunder bird. The wind blew the birds high in the air, but it drove the water into the camps of the bad Indians and scattered their homes and made the Indians climb into trees. The Gulf now poured far inland over the prairie, and the prairie was like the sea. Everywhere was rolling water, leaping waves, crying winds. High above the earth the storm god rode his thunder bird and shouted with joy while the wind blew his long hair loose through the flying clouds.

At last the god went away. As he left, the waters of the Gulf began to roll back from the land, and when they reached the ocean bed again they dropped the mud and sand they had torn loose from the land and brought with them. The mud and sand began to pile up. Soon many islands were forming. They rose higher and higher as the waters kept dropping their loads of earth around them. When all was done the Texas coast was dotted with islands that were new homes for the birds. Indians could not reach those birds any longer. The pelicans, the gulls, the sand pipers and all the others now went to their new homes and made their nests where they could be safe and where the storm god could find them when he wanted new feathers for his cloak.

To this day those islands remain. Dwarf trees, cactus plants, weeds, grasses and flowers cover them like fairy gardens. And thousands of birds live on them, sing amid the bushes and bathe in the little pools left by the rains. During spring and summer they lay their eggs and raise their little ones. They are happy and safe from men, because long ago the Storm God built the islands for them.

Thank you again for dropping by dear friends to read this entry on Native American legends and myths. Please share your thoughts with us. have a great

✿ ڰۣ❤In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady❤ڰۣ✿

Wednesday, 31 December 2014

Good by old year

Hi dear friends and followers. A short New Year poem composed by me about the joy of seeing the new year. Take five and enjoy the read
Good-by old year

Good bye, Old Year! And take with you

all of the hardships of all the years past.

Herald in the good, the nice, and the kind

for there is a new, unused year ahead.

Thank you, old year,

for all the lessons you have taught.

What I have learned I have used

like a violin's fine tuning,

a refinement of the soul.

Each lesson is for me reflect on and cherish,

for it is part of the evolution of the soul.

I appreciate more the gift of freedom,

which should be enjoyed in every land.

Have I done my part in this year past

to help those who came to me in need?

Whether they be homeless

or just needing to wipe a tear of sadness away

and replace it with a beaming smile,

I have not turned anyone away - especially me.

I am thankful to be in a land where there are those

who care for their fellow man.

All that you have taught to hearts

you have given with a bounteous hand,

My steps linger at the threshold of the New Year.

It is time for an inventory, on paper or in your mind,

whichever way that you prefer.

Is but uncertainty of the unknown ahead of me

that makes me hesitate taking that next step.

This step into the unknown

is the most important one you will be making,

Carrying within your heart into the New Year

the good that still exists in the world.

Where love and caring is still alive and well.

A lingering step forsake.

Good bye, Old Year! I must leave the hand of the past,

which rules in her power alone,

in the kingdom of Oblivion.

In silence she sits, upon a throne of crimson;

A falling mist is in the musty air 

to veil her coal dark eyes' turned to sapphire.

Gloriously, they shine!

Eyes that can divine between good and evil,

She holding truth divine.

Silence falls all around,

unless it be a fitful sound,

as though from the depth

of a pit of darkness.

From her lips are uttered these words:

"Follow the wisdom of your heart,

and you will never be lost

to the wilderness of your mind."

Take from her lips the guidance of the ancient,

the years that around her be.

Dance and sing like the Dervish!

Celebrate and embrace the coming New Year,

with resolve, fortitude, and confidence

in your ability and desire

to make this a better world,

to live and participate in this year.

Give of your heart,

as well as from the wallet.

The lady clad in sapphire blue

is called by some the Sacred Mother.

The very winds of the Heavens are here

for those who wish to hear them speak!

Composed by Cynthia ©

Thank you again for dropping by to read this poem dear friends. Please share your thoughts with us. have a great
ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Tuesday, 30 December 2014


Hi dear friends and followers. A short New Year poem about the the joy of seeing the new year. Take five and enjoy the read


Lord Alfred Tennyson, 1809 - 1892
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
 The flying cloud, the frosty light: 
 The year is dying in the night; 
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

 Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
 Ring, happy bells, across the snow: 
 The year is going, let him go; 
Ring out the false, ring in the true. 
 Ring out the grief that saps the mind 
 For those that here we see no more;  
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
Thank you again for dropping by to read this poem dear friends. Please share your thoughts with us. have a great 

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

The Little New Year

Hi dear friends and followers. A short about the new year boy  and The Little New Year. Take five and enjoy the read

The Little New Year

Ellen Robena Field (1894)

One cold morning Maurice awoke from his dreams and sat up in bed and listened. He thought he heard a knock at his window; but though the moon was shining brightly, Jack Frost had been so busily at work that Maurice could not see through the thickly painted panes. So he crept sleepily out of bed, and opened the window, and whispered: “Who is there?”

“I am,” replied a tinkling voice. “I am the little New Year, ho! ho! And I’ve promised to bring a blessing to everyone. But I am such a little fellow I need somebody to help me distribute them. Won’t you please come out and help?”

“Oh, it’s so cold!” said Maurice; “I’d rather go back to my warm bed; “ and he shivered as Jack Frost, who was passing, tickled him under the chin with one of the frosty paint brushes.

“Never mind the cold,” urged the New Year; “please help me.”

So Maurice hurried into his clothes, and was soon out in the yard. There he found a rosy-cheeked boy a little smaller than himself, pulling a large cart which seemed to be loaded with good things. On one side of this cart was painted the word “Love,” and on the other “Kindness.” As soon as the New Year saw Maurice he said, “Now please take hold and help me pull;” and down the driveway and up the hill they traveled until they came to an old shanty.

“Here is where I make my first call,” said the New Year. Maurice looked wonderingly at him. “Why, nobody lives here but an old colored man who works for us; and he hasn’t any children!” “He needs my help,” said the New Year; “for grown people like to be thought of just as much as children do. You shovel out a path to his door, while I unload some of my blessings; and the little hands went busily at work, piling up warm clothing, wood, and a New Year’s dinner, the New Year singing as he worked:—

“Oh, I am the little New Year; ho! ho!
Here I come tripping it over the snow,
Shaking my bells with a merry din;
So open your door and let me in.”

Old Joe, hearing some noise outside, came to the door, and when he saw all the nice gifts the tears ran down his cheeks for gladness; and as he carried them into the house, he whispered: “The dear Lord has been here to-night.”

“Where am we going now?” asked Maurice, as they ran down the hill. “To take some flowers to a poor sick girl,” answered the New Year.

Soon they came to a small white house, where the New Year stopped. “Why, Bessie, our sewing girl lives, here,” said Maurice. “I didn’t know she was sick.” “See,” said the New Year, “this window is open a little; let us throw this bunch of pinks into the room. They will please her when she wakes, and will make her happy for several days.”

Then they hurried to other places, leaving some blessing behind them.

“What a wonderful cart you have,” said Maurice; “though you have taken so much out, it never seems to get empty.” “You are right, Maurice, there is never any end to love and kindness. As long as I find people to love and be kind to, my cart is full of blessings for them; and it will never grow empty until I can no longer find people to help. If you will go with me every day and help me scatter my blessings, you will see how happy you will be all the long year.”

“A happy New Year!” called someone; and Maurice found himself in bed, and his sister standing in the doorway smiling at him. “Have you had a pleasant dream, dear?” she asked.

“Why, where is the little New Year?” said Maurice; “he was just here with me.”

“Come into Mamma’s room and see what he has brought you,” answered his sister. There in a snowy white cradle he found a tiny baby brother, the gift of the New Year. How happy Maurice was then! But he did not forget his dream. Old Joe and Bessie had their gifts, too, and Maurice tried so hard to be helpful that he made all his friends glad because the happy New 
Year had come.

Thank you again for dropping by to read this entry dear friends. Please share your thoughts with us. have a great 
ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Sunday, 28 December 2014


Hi dear friends and followers. A short poem of hope for the new year, composed by me. Take five and join me

My New Year Wishes for You

Happiness resides within the heart.

Peace in every rising sun

to shine your own light from within,

and illuminate with your radiance

the eyes of the weary and lost.

Give the gift of love

to those who are alone during the holidays.

Take the man or lady, there,

sitting on the park bench,

give them a place to indoors,

and drink a warm coffee.

Success is in each facet of your life;

it is freely given from the heart.

This treasure is more valuable than money.

Love is the strength between us,

and whatever Maker we believe in.

Close and caring friends and family,

we stand strong,

through adversity, fear and wrongdoing.

We persevere with love and caring,

and pray for those who would do us wrong.

A healthy soul resides within you

with a love that never ends.

Remember that one word of kindness

can change another's life.

Say not that you cannot do,

because you have not the extra to give.

The greatest gift you can give is from the heart,

A light that can light new paths for tomorrow.

Have a great Year.

Thank you again for dropping by to read this entry dear friends. Please share your thoughts with us. have a great Monday

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Holiday Reflections

Hi dear friends and followers. A short poem of hope for the new year. Take five and join me in a short prayer and meditation, thank you  

Holiday Reflections

By Linda Murdock

Thanksgiving comes but once a year.
It's a time when families gather near,
To reflect and give thanks for those we hold dear.
We celebrate Christmas with parties and food,
Spend time with family and that's all very good.
Soon it's all over and decorations are put away
And then we do it all again for the next holiday.
Look forward to the New Year and keep hope alive
That our country brings our troops home
So no one else dies;
Have faith things will get better,
Pray to God above,
That He will bless us and keep us
In His everlasting love.
Our country's in turmoil and it gives me a chill
We'll see better times soon. I know we will.
Please don't let worry get you down.
Smile, keep your chin up,
And laugh out loud!
We'll certainly survive hard times once more;
We have strength and resolve
we didn't know we had before.
Take them one at a time, and treasure each day.
We need to work together because that's the best way.
Don't let hatred determine the way that you act.
Instead, open your heart and don't blindly attack.
Make sure our country is the best it can be
Let's all work and me!
You're in the same fix as your fellow man;
We'll all feel better if we're holding hands!

Thank you again for droping to read this entry dear friends.  
   Please share your thoughts with us. have a great Saturday

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ