Christmas Candle

A Christmas candle is a lovely thing;
It makes no noise at all,
But softly gives itself away;
While quite unselfish, it grows small.

Eva K. Logue

Christmas Bells

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! 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!’

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Evening Solace

The human heart has hidden treasures, 
In secret kept, in silence sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, 
Whose charms were broken if revealed. 
And days may pass in gay confusion, 
And nights in rosy riot fly, 
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion, 
The memory of the Past may die. 

But, there are hours of lonely musing, 
Such as in evening silence come, 
When, soft as birds their pinions closing, 
The heart's best feelings gather home. 
Then in our souls there seems to languish 
A tender grief that is not woe; 
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish, 
Now cause but some mild tears to flow. 

And feelings, once as strong as passions, 
Float softly back a faded dream; 
Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings seem. 
Oh ! when the heart is freshly bleeding, 
How longs it for that time to be, 
When, through the mist of years receding, 
Its woes but live in reverie ! 

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer, 
On evening shade and loneliness; 
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, 
Feel no untold and strange distress  
Only a deeper impulse given 
By lonely hour and darkened room, 
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven, 
Seeking a life and world to come.

Charlotte Bronte

I carry your heart with me

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart)
I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
I fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)
I want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

By E. E. Cummings

Compassion

What puts me in a rage is
The sight of cursed cages
Where singers of the sky
Perch hop instead of fly;
Where lions to and fro
Pace seven yards or so:
I who love space of stars
Have hate of bars.

I wince to see dogs chained,
Or horses bit restrained;
Or men of feeble mind
In straight-jackets confined;
Or convicts in black cells
Enduring earthly hells:
To me not to be free
Is fiendish cruelty.

To me not to be kind
Is evil of the mind.
No need to pray or preach,
Let us our children teach
With every fond caress
Pity and gentleness:
So in the end may we
God's Kingdom bring to be

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A beggar in the street I saw,
Who held a hand like withered claw,
As cold as clay;
But as I had no silver groat
To give, I buttoned up my coat
And turned away.

And then I watched a working wife
Who bore the bitter load of life
With lagging limb;
A penny from her purse she took,
And with sweet pity in her look
Gave it to him.

Anon I spied a shabby dame
Who fed six sparrows as they came
In famished flight;
She was so poor and frail and old,
Yet crumbs of her last crust she doled
With pure delight.

Then sudden in my heart was born
For my sleek self a savage scorn,--
Urge to atone;
So when a starving cur I saw
I bandaged up its bleeding paw
And bought a bone.

For God knows it is good to give;
We may not have so long to live,
So if we can,
Let's do each day a kindly deed,
And stretch a hand to those in need,
Bird, beast or man.

By Robert William  Service