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O Come Little Children (A Christmas Primer)
100 Ghastly Little Ghost Stories ^
| 1989
| Chet Williamson
Posted on 11/24/2001 3:07:59 PM PST by Joe 6-pack
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As we lean into Advent and the Christmas season, a long tale, but one worth reading....
To: MHGinTN; Victoria Delsoul
You might find this interesting...
To: Aquinasfan; Dumb_Ox
Thought you might like this, too.
To: Joe 6-pack
That was great, Joe. Thanks. Let me know if you post more like this, ok?
To: Tennessee_Bob
Glad you enjoyed it...
...Will keep you apprised of future posts.
To: Tennessee_Bob
“And you were wrong too, Mom. He didn’t have any little needle holes in his hands. Just the big ones. Straight through. Just like he’s supposed to.” My favorite line in the whole story...so matter of fact. I can hear my 7-year old nephew saying those exact same words...
To: Joe 6-pack
Joe,
If it's not too much trouble, let me know if you post more like this as well.
Thanks in advance whether you can or not.
7
posted on
11/24/2001 4:53:19 PM PST
by
dpa5923
To: dpa5923
Not too much trouble...
...would be my pleasure.
To: Joe 6-pack
Thanks Joe. It's a beautiful story, worth reading.
To: Victoria Delsoul
I figured a fan of Christina Rossetti would appreciate it...
PRB
To: Joe 6-pack
Yes, I did. Thank you.
To: Victoria Delsoul
Victoria,
Just for you...
DOES the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you waiting at that door.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.
To: Joe 6-pack
Simply wonderful. Thank you for posting this story.
To: Joe 6-pack
Thank you very much. "Uphill" I love Christina Rossetti. I love poems in general.
To: Victoria Delsoul; history_matters
Even to this day....HE walks among us...
To: Joe 6-pack
I agree...that is my favorite line as well.
This story is one that my ex-wife would give me grief over. She harassed me for being emotional about things like this, and for being "hoohah crazy" over poems like the one just recently posted about the soldier alone at Christmas time...or any military type poetry for that matter. Can't help it though. Her loss.
To: Victoria Delsoul
Are you familiar with Thomas Cole's
Voyage of Life"? Presages, but is totally compatible with the PRB. As a college student, I published an article on these four works...
To: Joe 6-pack
Joe, do you know 'The Garden Year' by Coleridge's daughter, Sara?
BTW, thanks for posting this story and the poems. I love good writing.
18
posted on
11/24/2001 6:31:06 PM PST
by
MHGinTN
To: MHGinTN
January brings the snow, Makes our feet and fingers glow.
February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again.
March brings breezes, loud and shrill, To stir the dancing daffodil.
April brings the primrose sweet, Scatters daisies at our feet.
May brings flocks of pretty lambs, Skipping by their fleecy dams.
June brings tulips, lilies, roses, Fills the children's bands with posies.
Hot July brings cooling showers, Apricots and gilly flowers.
August brings the sheaves of corn, Then the harvest home is borne.
Warm September brings the fruit; Sportsmen then begin to shoot.
Fresh October brings the pheasant; Then to gather nuts is pleasant.
Dull November brings the blast, Then the leaves are whirling fast.
Chill December brings the sleet, Blazing fire and Christmas treat.-Sara Coleridge
Doesn't even begin to compare with what I believe is the perfect 19th century poem...
SURPRISED by joy--impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport--Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?--That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
To: MHGinTN
Bump for the a.m. crowd.
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