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What sweeter musick can we bring, Then a Caroll, for to sing The Birth of this our heavenly King?

The shepherds sing; and shall I silent be? My God, no hymne for thee? My soul's a shepherd too; a flock it feeds Of thoughts, and words, and deeds. The pasture is thy word; the streams, thy grace Enriching all the place.
They talke of Christmas so long, that it comes.
How shall we celebrate the day, When God appear'd in mortal clay: The mark of worldly scorn: When the Archangels heavenly Lays, Attempted the Redeemer's Praise And hail'd Salvation's Morn.
Each age has deem'd the new-born year The fittest time for festal cheer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had roll'd And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all his hospitable train. Domestic and religious rite Gave honour to the holy night; On Christmas eve the bells were rung; On Christmas eve the mass was sung; That only night in all the year, Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
He who can turn churlishly away from contemplating the felicity of his fellow-beings and can sit down darkling and repining in his loneliness when all around is joyful may have his moments of strong excitement and selfish gratification, but he wants the genial and social sympathies which constitute the charm of a Merry Christmas.
Now Christmas is come, Let us beat up the drum, And call all our neighbors together, And when they appear, Let us make them such cheer, As will keep out the wind and the weather.
But it is a cold, lifeless business when you go to the shops to buy something, which does not represent your life and talent, but a goldsmith's.
Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn; Draw forth the cheerful day from night; O Father, touch the east, and light The light that shone when Hope was born.
Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the traveller, thousands of miles away, back to his own fire-side and his quiet home!
Christmas was close at hand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; it was the season of hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness; the old year was preparing, like an ancient philosopher, to call his friends around him, and amidst the sound of feasting and revelry to pass gently and calmly away.
It was deemed a disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and he was regarded as lazy indeed, who had not provided himself with the necessary means, during the year, to get whisky enough to last him through Christmas.
What can I give Him Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb; If I were a wise man, I would do my part,--Yet what I can give Him Give my heart.
There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in the simple, loving fashion which makes these home-festivals so pleasant at the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to work.
Now 'tis Christmas morn; Here's to our women old and young, And to John Barleycorn!
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas gifts. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication.
Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Home shall men come, To an older place than Eden And a taller town than Rome. To the end of the way of the wandering star, To the things that cannot be and that are, To the place where God was homeless And all men are at home.
This is the good news of Christmas. He who stands by you and helps you is alive and present! It is he who was born that Christmas Day! Open your eyes, open your ears, open your heart! You may truly see, hear, and experience that he is here, and stands by you as no one else can do!
The Dickensian Christmas-at-Home receives only perfunctory lip-service from a press which draws a steady income from the catering and amusement trades. Home-made fun is gratuitous, and gratuitousness is something which an industrialized world cannot afford to tolerate.
To perceive Christmas through its wrapping becomes more difficult with every year.
No love that in a family dwells, No carolling in frosty air, Nor all the steeple-shaking bells Can with this single Truth compare--That God was Man in Palestine And lives to-day in Bread and Wine.
Santa Claus, this psychiatrist says, is a dangerous sentimental father-figure, who is expected to satisfy "unreasonable wants," and who by that very expectation delays the "necessary adjustment of the preadolescent child to the world of reality."
A barn with cattle and horses is the place to begin Christmas; after all, that's where the original event happened, and that same smell was the first air that the Christ Child breathed.
It's comin' on Christmas They're cutting down trees They're putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on.
The true Christmas bathes every little thing in light and makes one cookie a token, one candle, one simple pageant more wonderful than anything seen on stage or screen.
Christmas is a conspiracy to make single people feel lonely.
I have been investigating the science of Christmas for more than a decade. When I first began to take an interest in the subject, I was unprepared for the breadth and depth of the insights that would eventually emerge. Take those flying reindeer, Santa's red and white color scheme, and his jolly disposition, for example. They are all probably linked to the use of a hallucinogenic toadstool in ancient rituals.
From Ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties And things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us.
Now it is the time of night That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide.
The Hag is astride, This night for to ride; The Devill and shee together: Through thick, and through thin, Now out, and then in, Though ne'r so foule be the weather.
I believe that men are generally still a little afraid of the dark, though the witches are all hung, and Christianity and candles have been introduced.
There was . . . a serious and weird feeling, on Hallow E'en night, not felt so much on any other night; witches and evil spirits were believed to be more numerous than usual; fairies were believed to be unusually active; ghosts were supposed to make their appearance on this night; and a full-dress performance of the watch in the church-porch on that night was capable of teaching the watchers that the Angel of Death is sometimes nearer than they imagine.
Midnight has come, and the great Christ Church Bell And many a lesser bell sound through the room; And it is All Souls' Night, And two long glasses brimmed with muscatel Bubble upon the table. A ghost may come; For it is a ghost's right, His element is so fine Being sharpened by his death, To drink from the wine-breath While our gross palates drink from the whole wine.
The evening of October thirty-one is Hallowe'en or Nut Crack Night. It is clearly a relic of pagan times but it is still very popular. It is a night set apart for walking about and playing harmless pranks, such as placing the hotel omnibus on top of the Baptist church or plugging the milkman's pump.
At the very glimpse of a Jack-o'-lantern I've got one foot on the bus to Scranton. When Halloween next delivers the goods, You may duck for apples--I'll duck for the woods.
This Hallowe'en you come one week. You masquerade as a vermilion, sleek, fat, crosseyed fox in the parade or, where grim jackolanterns leer, go with your bag from door to door foraging for treats.
It was Halloween that did me in, that single day when your children turn to you for imagination and creativity, the one day of the year when you must transcend fantasy.
I'm always in town for Halloween. Even if I didn't happen to enjoy walking in the Village Halloween parade in my ax murderer's mask, I would feel it my duty to be there because of the long-established role of a father in passing on important cultural traditions to the next generation.
Halloween was a time of candy corn, jack-o'-lanterns, candy kisses, peanut-butter cups, bubble gum, Fig Newtons, soapy windows. I tried to tell about Halloween and what it represented to me--a great ritual of childhood when the world for a single night opened its doors and its coffers of candy and fun and happiness.
There was mystery here; there was mystery in the black cats and walking skeletons and living scarecrows that we saw decorating school windows, mystery in the grinning gargoyles and jack-o-lanterns on all the porches. I loved Halloween.
Altho' outside it teems and pours The boys about sixteen Are busy runnin' rappin' doors With turf--at Halloween.
Those seemingly interminable dark walks between houses, long before street-lit safety became an issue, were more adrenalizing than the mountains of candy filling the sack. Sadly Halloween, with our good-natured attempts to protect the little ones, from the increasingly dangerous traffic and increasingly sick adults, has become an utter bore.
I think there's a magic in Halloween that allows people to suspend things and allow certain fantasies and let their own wishes come true. So I don't know if that would work on a Tuesday afternoon in the middle of "reality."
God bless the Flag and its loyal defenders, While its broad folds o'er the battle-field wave, Till the dim star-wealth rekindle its splendors, Washed from its stains in the blood of the brave!
[The American soldier] is not only brave but he is generous; and when he has fought for a principle and won, he has no desire to crush his foe, but is eager to abide by the old Latin maxim of "live and let live;" and he forgets and forgives, and lends a helping hand when a disposition to do the right thing is shown.
Soldiers and saviors of the homes we love; Heroes and patriots who marched away, And who marched back, and who marched on above--All--all are here to-day!
Underneath the autumn sky, Haltingly, the lines go by. Ah, would steps were blithe and gay, As when first they marched away, Smile on lip and curl on brow,-- Only white-faced gray beards now Standing on life's outer verge, E'en the marches sound a dirge.
Ay, War, they say, is hell; it's heaven, too. It lets a man discover what he's worth. It takes his measure, shows what he can do, Gives him a joy like nothing else on earth. It fans in him a flame that otherwise Would flicker out, these drab, discordant days; It teaches him in pain and sacrifice Faith, fortitude, grim courage past all praise.
The soldier above all other people prays for peace, for he must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.
War demands real toughness of fiber--not only in the soldiers that must endure, but in the homes that must sacrifice their best.
Men who have offered their lives for their country know that patriotism is not the fear of something; it is the love of something. Patriotism with us is not the hatred of Russia; it is the love of this republic and of the ideal of liberty of man and mind in which it was born, and to which this Republic is dedicated.
If your names on this wall make it harder to send guys half way around the world to die, then maybe it wasn't a total waste.
Thou that hast giv'n so much to me, Give one thing more, a gratefull heart.
Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday, the twenty- sixth of November next, to be devoted to the service of that great and glorious Being . . . for the kind care and protection of the people of this country, previous to their becoming a nation; for the signal manifold mercies, and the favorable interpositions of his providence, in the course and conclusion of the late war . . . for the peaceable and rational manner in which we have been enabled to establish Constitutions of Government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national one now lately instituted.
Gluttony and surfeiting are no proper occasions for thanksgiving.
We should love our native land were it a sterile rock; but we love it better when to our cultivation it yields an ample increase; and the farmer, instead of sighing for foreign dainties, looks up to heaven, and depends on his own labours; and when they are crowned with a blessing, he thanks God, as tens of thousands throughout our State are doing this day. Let us join our voices with theirs.
Our Thanksgiving Day, becoming the focus, as it were, of the private life and virtues of the people, should be hallowed and exalted, and made the day of generous deeds and innocent enjoyments, of noble aspirations and heavenly hopes.
I awoke this morning with a devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and the new. Shall I not call God the Beautiful, who daily showeth himself to me in his gifts?
Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, From North and from South come the pilgrim and guest, When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board The old broken links of affection restored, When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before, What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie?
I . . . invite my fellow-citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens.
Our honest Puritan festival is spreading, not as formerly, as a kind of opposition Christmas, but as a welcome prelude and adjunct, a brief interval of good cheer and social rejoicing, heralding the longer season of feasting and rest from labor in the month that follows.
Thanksgiving Day. Let us all give humble, hearty, and sincere thanks, now, but the turkeys. In the island of Fiji they do not use turkeys; they use plumbers. It does not become you and me to sneer at Fiji.
[Thanksgiving] as founded by th' Puritans to give thanks f 'r bein' presarved fr'm th' Indyans, an' we keep it to give thanks we are presarved fr'm th' Puritans.
Folks is go'gin' me wid goodies, an' dey's treatin' me wid caih, An' I's fat in spite of all dat I kin do. I's mistrus'ful of de kin'ness dat's erroun' me evahwhaih, Fu' it's jest' too good, an' frequent, to be true.
From pestilence, fire, flood, and sword We have been spared by thy decree, And now with humble hearts, O Lord, We come to pay our thanks to thee.
Thanksgiving Day! In the days of our founders, they were willing to give thanks for mighty little, for mighty little was all they expected. . . . Those old boys in the Fall of the year, if they could gather a few pumpkins, potatoes and some corn for the Winter, they was in a thanking mood. But if we can't gather in a new car, a new radio, a new tuxedo and some Government relief, we feel like the world is agin us.
When the gales of coming winter outside your window howl, When the air is sharp and cheery so it drives away your scowl, When one's appetite craves turkey and will have no other fowl, It's Thanksgiving time!
What we're really talking about is a wonderful day set aside on the fourth Thursday of November when no one diets. I mean, why else would they call it Thanksgiving?
Thanksgiving, if there is to be any at all, must begin and end with God. Once we have been able to liberate Thanksgiving from the clutches of the Pilgrim mystique as well as from the countercultural clutches of the protesters, and once we have been liberated from the "count-your-many-blessings-name-them-one-by-one" routine, we will have made a significant step in that process of redeeming the familiar.
On Thanksgiving at our house we like variety, so we don't have turkey every year. Last year we had a swan. It was nice; everyone got some neck.
I happen to be on record with an explanation of why we can't have our Thanksgiving Day that much earlier: Americans all begin their Christmas shopping on the day after Thanksgiving, and if they started their Christmas shopping in the middle of October they'd run out of money sometime in November. The people who are hard to shop for wouldn't get any presents at all.
The commandment to light the Hanukkah lamp is an exceedingly precious one, and one should be particularly careful to fulfill it, in order to make known the miracle, and to offer additional praise . . . to God for the wonders which He has wrought for us. Even if one has no food to eat except what he receives from charity, he should beg--or sell his garment to buy--oil and lamps, and light them.
Mighty, praised beyond compare, Rock of my salvation, Build again my house of prayer, For thy habitation!
I have a little dreidel, I made it out of clay; And when it's dry and ready Then dreidel I shall play.
You don't go to heder for eight days in a row, you eat pancakes every day, spin your dreidel to your heart's content, and from all sides Hanukkah money comes pouring in. What holiday could be better than that?
When we light the Hanukkah candles let us remember the grave choices freedom illuminates for us.
And the Lord spoke unto Moses, saying, Speak unto the children of Israel, saying, In the seventh month, in the first day of the month, shall ye have a sabbath, a memorial of blowing of trumpets, an holy convocation. Ye shall do no servile work therein: but ye shall offer an offering made by fire unto the Lord.
Sing aloud unto God, our strength; make a joyful noise unto the God of Jacob. Take a psalm, and bring hither the timbrel, the pleasant harp with the psaltery. Blow up the trumpet in the new moon, in the time appointed, on our solemn feast day. For this was a statute for Israel, and a law of the God of Jacob.
R. Judah says: "Man is judged on New Year and his doom is sealed on the Day of Atonement."
All good things come to Israel through the Shofar. They received the Torah with the sound of the Shofar. They conquered in battle through the blast of the Shofar. They are summoned to repent by the Shofar, and they will be made aware of the Redeemer's advent through the Great Shofar.
On New Year Sarah, Rachel and Hannah were remembered on high [and they conceived]; on New Year Joseph went forth from prison; on New Year the bondage of our ancestors in Egypt ceased.
Rabbi Johanan said: "The fate of men of perfection is sealed on Rosh ha-Shanah; they are either to be aided in accumulating more Mitzwot; or they are to enjoy Paradise. "The fate of men of complete wickedness is also sealed on Rosh ha-Shanah; they are either to receive opportunity to add to their wickedness, or they are to depart for Purgatory. The fate of the rank and file of men is left open, however, until Yom Kippur. If they repent they receive another chance to do good."
It has been said that omens are of significance; therefore, a man should make a regular habit of eating, at the beginning of the year, pumpkin, fenugreek, leek, beet, and dates [as these grow in profusion and are symbolic of prosperity].
Three books are opened [in heaven] on New Year, one for the thoroughly righteous, and one for the intermediate. The thoroughly righteous are forthwith inscribed definitively in the book of life; the thoroughly wicked are forthwith inscribed definitively in the book of death; the doom of the intermediate is suspended from New Year till the Day of Atonement; if they deserve well, they are inscribed in the book of life; if they do not deserve well, they are inscribed in the book of death.
"May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year" or "May your name be inscribed in the book of life."
Some of the townspeople stood on the wooden bridge reciting the Tashlikh ; others lined the river's banks. Young women took out their handkerchiefs [sic] and shook out their sins. Boys playfully emptied their pockets to be sure that no transgression remained. The village wits made the traditional Tashlikh jokes. "Girls, shake as hard as you want, but a few sins will remain." "The fish will get fat feeding on so many errors."
The blowing of the shofar, the ram's horn, is an alarm, as it was for the tribes of Israel in the desert when the enemy approached, and for the armies of David and Solomon in the Holy Land; an alarm waking the soul to Judgment. The enigmatic words, "a day of remembrance," with which the Torah describes the first of Tishri, become clear; God reviews the deeds of the year, and men recall with dread that all acts come at last to an accounting.
On the eve of Rosh Hashanah, the last day of that accursed year, the whole camp [Buna] was electric with the tension which was in all our hearts. In spite of everything, this day was different from any other. The last day of the year. The word "last" rang very strangely. What if it were indeed the last day? . . . Once, New Year's Day had dominated my life. I knew that my sins grieved the Eternal; I implored his forgiveness. Once, I had believed profoundly that upon one solitary deed of mine, one solitary prayer, depended the salvation of the world. This day I had ceased to plead. I was no longer capable of lamentation. On the contrary, I felt very strong. I was the accuser, God the accused. My eyes were open and I was alone--terribly alone in a world without God and without man.
Every Rosh Hashannah, the Jewish New Year, Jews say a prayer that I have been saying to myself more and more as I grow older. . . ."Blessed art thou O Lord our God, King of the universe," the prayer begins, "who has given us life and kept us safe and allowed us to reach this season." It is the right prayer for a new century, a blessing for a new "season."
The High Holy Days of my childhood . . . embodied the very essence of new beginnings; for autumn, not spring, was when everything was new: my clothes, my classroom, books, pencil box, teachers--and Jewish chronology, which decreed a fresh start, a clean slate, a chance to improve on the past.
These year's-end holidays have in them the quality of transition that we find in other festivals of the new year, no matter when they are celebrated. Yom Kippur marks the end of the solemn days and the beginning of the regular days of the new year. The Ten Days, during which the gates of heaven are open, are a time out of time, a period of liminality during which people can shape their destinies, retract vows and right wrongs. In short one can make oneself over for the new year, in a way that recalls, however dimly, the custom of New Year's resolutions.
The Jewish New Year, . . . like all New Year celebrations, projects and tries to satisfy the human need for periodic regeneration. That's why the New Year is followed by a day of atonement, Yom Kippur, a day on which we purify ourselves of sin, cast out the accumulated imperfections of the past so as morally to make ourselves as new, as pure, as the coming year itself.
And thou shalt number seven sabbaths of years unto thee, seven times seven years; and the space of the seven sabbaths of years shall be unto thee forty and nine years. Then shalt thou cause the trumpet of the jubilee to sound on the tenth day of the seventh month, in the day of atonement shall ye make the trumpet sound throughout all your land.
And ye shall have on the tenth day of this seventh month an holy convocation, and ye shall afflict your souls; ye shall not do any work therein; But ye shall offer a burnt offering unto the Lord for a sweet savor: one young bullock, one ram, and seven lambs of the first year; they shall be unto you without blemish.
On the Day of Atonement, eating, drinking, washing, anointing, putting on sandals, and marital intercourse are forbidden. A king or a bride may wash their faces and a woman after childbirth may put on sandals.
Just as if a nut falls into some dirt you can take it up and wipe it and rinse it and wash it and it is restored to its former condition and is fit for eating, so however much Israel may be defiled with iniquities all the rest of the year, when the Day of Atonement comes it makes atonement for them, as it is written, For on this day shall atonement be made for you, to cleanse you (Leviticus 16.30).
Things between thee and God are forgiven in Yom Kippur. Things between thee and thy fellowman are not forgiven thee, until he has forgiven thee.
Next year in Jerusalem!
And may atonement be granted to the whole congregation of Israel and to the stranger who lives among them, for all have transgressed unwittingly.
O my God, before I was created I was nothing, and now that I have been created, what am I? In life I am dust, and more so when I fall prey to death. When I measure my life in Thy presence, I am confused and I am ashamed. Help me, O God and God of my fathers, to steer clear of sin. And as for my past sins, purge me of them in Thy great mercy, but, I pray, not through severe and painful disease.
Accept Thou with favor my prayer for forgiveness, my confession which I make before Thee. May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable before Thee, my Rock and my Redeemer. Amen.
It was meet and right when everything has shown abundance as they would have it, and they enjoy a full and perfect measure of goodness, that amid this prosperity and lavish supply of boons, they should by abstaining from food and drink remind themselves of what it is to want, and offer prayers and supplications, on the one hand to ask that they may never really experience the lack of necessities, on the other to express their thankfulness because in such wealth of blessings they remember the ills they have been spared.
It is the day on which the master of the prophets descended [from Mt. Sinai] with the second set of tablets of the Law and communicated to the people forgiveness for their great sin. This day became forever a day of repentance and true worship. On it are forbidden all corporeal pleasure; every burden and care of the body; that is to say, work is not done. Only confessions are permitted so that one will confess his sins and repent of them.
I . . . do not know what to do, and how much to do, and how to achieve the purpose of the holy men who first uttered these prayers. That is why I take the book of our blessed Master Luria and keep it open before me while I pray, that I may offer it to God with all its fervor, ecstasy, and secret meaning.
With all its pleasures, Passover was only nice. Yom Kippur was weird, monumental. Imagine not eating for a whole day to prove something or other to God, or yelling at God in the synagogue as the bearded old men did in their white shawls, their heads thrown back, their Adam's apples tearing at their skinny throats.
Since the fall of Jerusalem any gaiety that was in Yom Kippur has faded. Our Atonement Day is a time of mordant grieving melodies, of bowed heads and wrung hearts. No one who has heard the Kol Nidre chanted at sunset when the holy day begins can doubt that the worshippers are carrying out literally a law many thousands of years old, and afflicting their souls.
Yom Kippur. The Day of Atonement. Should we fast? The question was hotly debated. To fast would mean a surer, swifter death. We fasted here the whole year round. The whole year was Yom Kippur. But others said that we should fast simply because it was dangerous to do so. We should show God that even here, in this enclosed hell, we were capable of singing His praises.
In moments of weakness We do not remember Promises of Atonement Day. Look past forgetfulness, Take only from our hearts; Forgive us, pardon us.
The New Year is a great door that stands across the evening and Yom Kippur is the second door. Between them are song and silence, stone and clay pot to be filled from within by myself.
Flawed humans though we are, come Yom Kippur we have a moment to turn God's mirror on ourselves, if there is a God. Or it is a moment to think about something larger than everyday life, to contemplate obligations to other people, to regret our failures, to renounce our shallowness. . . . Within all the nattering activity, this day is a silent space.
I know that upon 4th of July, our 4th of July orators talk of Liberty, while three million of their own country men are groaning in abject Slavery. This is called "the land of the free and the home of the brave"; it is called the "asylum of the oppressed"; and some have been foolish enough to call it the "Cradle of Liberty." If it is the "cradle of liberty," they have rocked the child to death. It is dead long since, and yet we talk about democracy and republicanism, while one-sixth of our countrymen are clanking their chains upon the very soil which our fathers moistened with their blood.
The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity and independence, bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you, not by me. The sunlight that brought light and healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth of July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn.
The President, throned behind a cable locker with a national flag spread over it, announced the "Reader," who rose up and read that same old Declaration of Independence which we have all listened to so often without paying any attention to what it said; and after that the President piped the Orator of the Day to quarters and he made the same old speech about our national greatness which we so religiously believe and so fervently applaud. Now came the choir into court again, with the complaining instruments, and assaulted "Hail Columbia"; and when victory hung wavering in the scale, George returned with his dreadful wild-goose stop turned on and the choir won, of course. A minister pronounced the benediction, and the patriotic little gathering disbanded. The Fourth of July was safe, as far as the Mediterranean was concerned.
July 4. Statistics show that we lose more fools on this day than in all the other days of the year put together. This proves, by the number left in stock, that one Fourth of July per year is now inadequate, the country has grown so.
We [Americans] are the lavishest and showiest and most luxury-loving people on the earth; and at our masthead we fly one true and honest symbol, the gaudiest flag the world has ever seen.
The business of the Fourth of July is not perfect as it stands. See what it costs us every year with loss of life, the crippling of thousands with its fireworks and the burning down of property. It is not only sacred to patriotism and universal freedom but to the surgeon, the undertaker, the insurance offices--and they are working it for all it is worth.
Sing in the tones of prayer, Sing till the soaring soul Shall float above the world's control In Freedom everywhere! Sing for the good that is to be, Sing for the eyes that are to see The land where man at last is free, O sing for Liberty!
There'll be ice-cream and fireworks and a speech By Somebody the Honorable Who, The lovers will pair off in the kind dark And Tessie Jones, our honor-graduate, Will read the Declaration. That's how it is. It's always been that way. That's our Fourth of July, through war and peace, That's our Fourth of July.
That rugged individualism that is the personification of our American sense of freedom, and which we celebrate on the Fourth of July and in our popular myths and heroes, also contributes to the breakdown of the social fabric that has always provided a secure context for our freedoms. Freedom "from" has not yet yielded to an appropriate freedom "for."
Who first invented work, and bound the free And holyday-rejoicing spirit down To the ever-haunting importunity Of business in the green fields, and the town--To plough, loom, anvil, spade--and oh! most sad, To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood?
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
In spite of oppressors, in spite of false leaders, in spite of labor's own lack of understanding of its needs, the cause of the worker continues onward. Slowly his hours are shortened, giving him leisure to read and to think. Slowly his standard of living rises to include some of the good and beautiful things of the world. Slowly the cause of his children becomes the cause of all. His boy is taken from the breaker, his girl from the mill. Slowly those who create the wealth of the world are permitted to share it. The future is in labor's strong, rough hands.
Eight hours for work, eight hours for rest, Eight hours for what we will.
Two important features of Labor Day are, first, that the various unions shall lay aside any differences that they may have; and second, that employers are asked to meet with the workers to discuss matters relating to the welfare of the laboring classes.
Master, I've filled my contract, wrought in Thy many lands; Not by my sins wilt Thou judge me, but by the work of my hands. Master, I've done Thy bidding, and the light is low in the west, And the long, long shift is over . . . Master, I've earned it--Rest.
You load 16 tons and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . St. Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go I owe my soul to the company store.
Workin' nine to five what a way to make a livin', barely gettin' by It's all takin' and no givin'
Americans were supposed to pause yesterday to praise working men and women and contemplate the role of labor unions in the nation's history. . . . But just as Memorial Day has largely become a time to gather 'round the barbecue and welcome the beginning of summer, so Labor Day has largely become a day to give the season a good sendoff.
Frankly, I don't believe people think of their office as a workplace anyway. I think they think of it as a stationery store with Danish. You want to get your pastry, your envelopes, your supplies, your toilet paper, six cups of coffee, and you go home.
A monument for the Soldiers! Built of a people's love, And blazoned and decked and panoplied With the hearts ye build it of! And see that ye build it stately, In pillar and niche and gate, And high in pose as the souls of those It would commemorate!
So, with the singing of paeans and chorals, And with the flag flashing high in the sun, Place on the graves of our heroes the laurels Which their unfaltering valor has won!
One sure certainty about our Memorial Days is that as fast as the ranks from one war thin out, the ranks from another take their place. Prominent men may run out of Decoration Day speeches, but the world never runs out of wars. People talk peace, but men give up their life's work to war.
Now we spread roses Over your tomb-- We who sent you To your doom.
The stone statues of the abstract Union Soldier grow slimmer and younger each year--.
I am so sorry about all them lying dead on the hill, the trooper from the First Minnesota and all the old women and the farmers . . . and I wish my speech had been great, just as I wish I could bring them all back to life, but it's over and now summer can begin. School can let out. Baseball gets going and the sweet corn begins to get serious.
A wise son maketh a glad father; but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother.
The glory of a man is from the honour of his father.
The father's obligations to his son are: he must circumcise him, redeem him, teach him Torah, teach him a trade, and help him secure a wife.--some also say, teach him to swim.
Why, 'tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons.
Fathers that wear rags Do make their children blind, But fathers that bear bags Shall see their children kind.
Greatness of name in the father ofttimes helps not forth but overwhelms the son; they stand too near one another, the shadow kills the growth. So much, that we see the grandchild come more and oftener to be heir.
It is impossible to please all the world and one's father.
As for myself, I know what trouble I've given you at various times through my peculiarities, and as my own boys grow up, I shall learn more and more of the kind of trial you had to overcome in superintending the development of a creature different from yourself, for whom you felt responsible.
Only a dad but he gives his all To smooth the way for his children small, Doing with courage stern and grim, The deeds that his father did for him, This is the line that for him I pen, Only a dad, but the best of men.
A Father's Day would call attention to such constructive teachings from the pulpit as would naturally point out: The father's place in the home. The training of children. The safeguarding of the marriage tie. The protection of womanhood and childhood. The meaning of this, whether in the light of religion or of patriotism is so apparent as to need no argument in behalf of such a day.
For the great heart of him hurries At the call of help from you. He will help us mend the broken Heart of ours or hope or toy, And the tale may bide unspoken--For he used to be a boy.
Father's Day was comical in part because fathers seemed so out of place or uncomfortable in this holiday world of sentimental gifts and domestic flattery. The "little remembrances" of flowers, cards, and novelties became funny when showered on Father; they opened up a line of humor that played on the gendered incongruities of holiday gift giving. As one editorial writer on the holiday put the matter in 1925, fathers have "no talent for the fribbles and frabbles and furbelows with which Mother signalizes well-being."
What Mother's Day did for the florist industry, Father's Day did for the necktie industry. Along with tobacco, shirts, and other typically masculine gifts, neckties appeared on the earliest Father's Day greeting cards, and retailers wasted no time in turning the holiday to their advantage.
The new Governments we are assuming in every Part will require a Purification from our Vices, and an Augmentation of our Virtues, or they will have no Blessings. The people will have unbounded Power. And the people are extremely addicted to Corruption and Venality, as well as the Great.

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