So each had a private little sun for her soul to bask in; some dream, some affection, some hobby, or at least some remote and distant hope....
So each had a private little sun for her soul to bask in; some dream, some affection, some hobby, or at least some remote and distant hope....
Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock. 'Now they are all on their knees,' An elder said as we sat in a flock By the embers in hearth-side ease. We pictured the meek mild creatures where They dwelt in their strawy pen, Nor did it occur to one of us there To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave In these years yet, I feel If someone said on Christmas Eve, 'Come see the oxen kneel, In the lonely barton by yonder coomb Our childhood used to know,' I should go with him in the gloom, Hoping it might be so.
So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.
The sudden disappointment of a hope leaves a scar which the ultimate fulfillment of that hope never entirely removes.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories