Treasure Chest

Treasure Chest

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Poem by Aubrey de Vere - Odds and Ends


Our lives are full of odds and ends;
First one and then another ----
And though we know not how or when,
They’re deftly wove together.

The weaver has a master’s skill,
And proves it by this token, ----
No loop is dropped, no strand is missed,
And not a thread is broken.

Not e’en a shred is thrown aside,
So careful is the weaver,
Who joining all with wondrous skill,
Weaves odds and ends together

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Poem by Charles R. Skinner - If you have a song


If you have a song to sing,
            Sing it now.
Let the notes of gladness ring
Clear as song of birds in spring,
Let every day some music bring;
            Sing it now.

In you have kind words to say,
            Say them now.
Tomorrow may not come your way,
Do a kindness while you may,
Loved ones will not always stay,
            Say them now.

If you have a smile to show,
            Show it now.
Make hearts happy, roses grow,
Let the friends around you know
The love you have before they go;
            Show it now.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Musing by John Bunyan


“Bid me come,” said Peter. “Come,” said Christ. Peter went as far as his little faith would carry him; he also cried as far as his little faith would help; “Lord, save me; I perish;” and so with coming and crying he was kept from sinking, though he had but little faith. Jesus stretched forth his hand and caught him, and said unto him, “O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Pity Sayings - Mrs. A.D.T. Whitney


There is no joy,---there is no beauty, --- there is no glory of living or of acting, --- no supreme moment you can picture in your dreams, that is not in your life, as God sees it, --- stirring in the intuition you have of it now, --- waiting for you in the glorious fulfillment that shall be There!
                                                Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Poem by Anonymous - There's never a rose


There’s never a rose in all the world
  But makes some green spray sweeter;
There’s ever a wind in all the sky
  But makes some bird wing fleeter;
There’s never a star but bring to Heaven
  Some Silver radiance tender;
And never a rosy cloud but helps
  To crown the sunset splendor;
No robin but may thrill some heart,
  His down-like gladness voicing;
God gives us all some small, sweet way
  To let the world rejoicing.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - 'Tis late at night


‘Tis late at night, and in the realm of sleep
    My little lambs are folded like the flocks
    From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks
    Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep
Their solitary watch on tower and steep;
    Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks,
    And through the opening doors that time unlocks
    Feel the fresh breathing of Tomorrow creep.
Tomorrow the mysterious, unknown guest
    Who cries to me: “Remember Barmecide,
    And tremble to be happy with the rest.”
And I make answer: “I am satisfied;
I dare not ask, I know not what is best;
God hath already said what shall betide.”

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Quote by George Matheson


Am I to thank God for everything? Am I to thank Him for bereavement, for pain, for poverty, for toil? . . . .Be still, my soul: thou hast misread the message. It is not to give thanks for everything, but to give thanks in everything.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Anecdote by Charles Wagner - Is it not sad to grow old?


 Is it not sad to grow old?

        Say rather that it is a difficult art, and one which few men have ever acquired. . . . To grow old is sad indeed if what you want is to hold back the receding years, to keep your hair from growing white, your eyes from becoming dim, and the wrinkles from chiseling their way across your brow. One of the most beautiful things in the world is an old person who, made better by experience, more indulgent, more charitable, loves mankind in spite of its wretchedness and adores youth without the slightest tendency to mimic it.
        Such a person is like an old Stradivarius whose tone has becomes so sweet that its value is increased a hundred-fold, and it seems almost to be a soul.