Be Grateful For The Tiny

We May Be Able To Tell How Many Stars Are In The Milky Way; We May Be Able To Count The Petals Of Every Flower, And Number The Bones Of Every Bird; But Unless Faith Leads Us To A Deeper Understanding, A More Reverent Comprehension Of The Significance Of The Universe, God Can Be No More Pleased With Our Knowledge Than The Painter Is Pleased With The Fly Which Touches His Picture With Its Feelers, And Sips The Varnish From The Surface, And Dies Without Dreaming Of The Meaning, Thought, Feeling, Embodied In The Colors.

There Is A Better Thing Than The Observance Of Christmas Day, And That Is, Keeping Christmas.

Hours Fly, Flowers Die: New Days, New Ways: Pass By! Love Stays.

Oh, It's Home Again And Home Again, America For Me! I Want A Ship That's Westward Bound To Plough The Rolling Sea To The Blessed Land Of Room Enough Beyond The Ocean Bars, Where The Air Is Full Of Sunlight And The Flag Is Full Of Stars.

So Let The Way Wind Up The Hill Or Down, O’er Rough Or Smooth, The Journey Will Be Joy; Still Seeking What I Sought When But A Boy, New Friendship, High Adventure, And A Crown. My Heart Will Keep The Courage Of The Quest, And Hope The Road’s Last Turn Will Be The Best.