There Was A Frosty Rime Upon The

I Will Honor Christmas In My Heart, And Try To Keep It All The Year.

God Bless Us, Every One!

I Know Enough Of The World Now To Have Almost Lost The Capacity Of Being Much Surprised By Anything

To Be Shelterless And Alone In The Open Country, Hearing The Wind Moan And Watching For Day Through The Whole Long Weary Night; To Listen To The Falling Rain, And Crouch For Warmth Beneath The Lee Of Some Old Barn Or Rick, Or In The Hollow Of A Tree; Are Dismal Things - But Not So Dismal As The Wandering Up And Down Where Shelter Is, And Beds And Sleepers Are By Thousands; A Houseless Rejected Creature.

Some Women's Faces Are, In Their Brightness, A Prophecy; And Some, In Their Sadness, A History.