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The Fourth of July has been celebrated in Philadelphia in the manner I expected. The military men, and particularly one of them, ran away with all the glory of the day. Scarcely a word was said of the solicitude and labors and fears and sorrows and sleepless nights of the men who projected, proposed, defended and subscribed the Declaration of Independence.

Dating, as we justly may, a new era in the history of man from the Fourth of July, 1776, it would be well--that is it would be useful--if on each anniversary we examined the progress made by our species in just knowledge and just practice. Each Fourth of July would then stand as a tidemark in the flood of time by which to ascertain the advance of the human intellect, by which to note the rise and fall of each successive error, the discovery of each important truth, the gradual melioration in our public institutions, social arrangements, and, above all, in our moral feelings and mental views.
Yet America is a poem in our eyes; its ample geography dazzles the imagination, and it will not wait long for metres.
We grant no dukedoms to the few, We hold like rights and shall;--Equal on Sunday in the pew, On Monday in the mall. For what avail the plough or sail, Or land or life, if freedom fail? The noble craftsman we promote, Disown the knave and fool Each honest man shall have his vote, Each child shall have his school. A union then of honest men, Or union nevermore again.
We give thy natal day to hope, O Country of our love and prayer! Thy way is down no fatal slope, But up to freer sun and air. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A refuge for the wronged and poor, Thy generous heart has borne the blame That, with them, through thy open door, The old world's evil outcasts came.
As for the bitter herbs, it may be that they were instituted in order to remind people of the bitterness of the suffering of the Israelites. . . . when I began to give my own Seders with my husband . . . we instituted cutting up a horseradish root into thin slices and giving everyone a taste, to really get the effect of the strength of the herb. To see everyone with tears coursing down their faces, laughing and gasping at the same time, is fun and also makes the point--bitter herbs must be really bitter to experience the suffering at all.
What does spring cleaning and clearing the house of crumbs have to do with freedom and history, anyway? Is it an artificial and self-serving way to attach importance to a housewife's ritual? Is it investing the everyday with spirituality? Do ceremony, excitement, and special food simply serve to lock ritual into a child's mind, securing it for the future? Without the meal and the commotion, the tradition of remembering the Exodus would certainly have died.
In Jewish legend the world was created on New Year's day. No cosmological significance attaches to the First of Muharram, the official opening of the Muslim year. . . . These contradictory computations of the New Year are an instructive illustration of the sometimes rather casual coexistence of Islamic patterns of behavior. The best the theologians could do was to suggest a tie connecting the pagan survival with an incident of Muslim history or legend.
Muharram was designated as the first month in the Islamic year by Umar, the second Caliph. At the beginning of a new year, Muslims set aside the sins of the past and determine to make a new start. . . Awwal Muharram is the Islamic New Year celebration. . . . The day commemorates the flight of Muhammad from Mecca to Medina in 622 C.E. Muhammad's journey, called the Hijrah, came about as a result of hostility toward his teachings and the sparsity of converts in Mecca. In Medina, Muhammad was welcomed, and Islam gained a solid following.
According to the Qur'an, Allah created the universe with an exact number of days, months, and years so mankind might be able to calculate time conveniently. However, because the Muslim calendar is totally lunar, and is not adjusted to the sun, it moves backwards through the years, making a complete retrograde cycle about once every thirty-two and a half years. . . . The Islamic New Year is a religious event, occurring on the first day of the first lunar month, Muharram, with prayers for peace and prosperity, but its secular traditions include the exchange of good wishes and coins, which are supposed to bring good luck.
The month of Ramadan in which was revealed the Qur'an, a guidance for mankind, and clear proofs of the guidance, and the Criterion (of right and wrong). And whosoever of you is present, let him fast the month, and whosoever of you is sick or on a journey, (let him fast the same) number of other days. Allah desireth for you ease; He desireth not hardship for you; and (He desireth) that ye should complete the period, and that ye should magnify Allah for having guided you, and that peradverture ye may be thankful.
Eat and drink until the white thread becometh distinct to you from the black thread of the dawn.
Thirty days make up the month, and yet, as God's Qur'an doth tell, In degree the Night of Merit doth a thousand months excel.
It is affirmed [in the 97th chapter of the Qur'an] to be "better than a thousand months"; and the angels are believed to descend, and to be occupied in conveying blessings to the faithful from the commencement of it until daybreak. Moreover, the gates of heaven being then opened, prayer is held to be certain of success. Salt water, it is said, suddenly becomes sweet on this night.
As Queequeg's Ramadan or Fasting and Humiliation, was to continue all day, I did not choose to disturb him till towards night-fall: for I cherish the greatest respect towards everybody's religious obligations, never mind how comical, and could not find it in my heart to undervalue even a congregation of ants worshipping a toad-stool.
Like the Italian, the Anglo-Catholic, and the Greek fasts, the chief effect of the "blessed month" upon True Believers is to darken their tempers into positive gloom. . . . The mosques are crowded with a sulky, grumbling population, making themselves offensive to one another on earth whilst working their way to heaven.
Ramathan, the fasting month, was nearly in, which kindles in Moslem spirits, even of the wild Arab, a new solemnity of religion; the Beduins, aping the town guise, which they had seen at Medina, now stood out from the byut at the hours, and making ranks, they rehearsed the formal prayer, bowing the empty foreheads and falling upon the petticoated knees together.
When the new moon has been seen, the news passes like wild fire through the town, and soon it seems as though all the noise suppressed for a whole month has concentrated itself within one night.
A person walking in the lanes of Mecca on a Ramadan morning hears voices chanting the Koran in nearly every house. Many do their chanting in the cloisters of the Haram. Thus, with sleeping, reading and praying, the Muslims spend the long slow hours until sunset.
There is clearly an ascetic aspect in the multiple dimensions of the practice of the Ramadan fast; to savour the poverty of the poor, their hunger, to fast, to share with them, to expiate one's own sins, to forgive others theirs, to renew contact with one's nearest and dearest, to tame one's passions, to counter Satan at every turn.
She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children rise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.
My heart had fully transferred to her person the homage that it gave to her beauty at first, and whatever change she underwent, as long as she always remained herself, my feelings could not change. . . . I loved her neither out of duty nor out of interest nor out of convenience; I loved her because I was born to love her.
A fond mother, though, in pursuit of praise for her children the most rapacious of human beings, is likewise the most credulous; her demands are exorbitant; but she will swallow anything.
All-Gracious! grant, to those that bear A mother's charge, the strength and light To lead the steps that own their care In ways of Love, and Truth, and Right.
The angels, whispering to one another Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of "Mother"
Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children.
She loves me when I'm glad er sad; She loves me when I'm good er bad; An', what's a funniest thing, she says She loves me when she punishes.
It was easy to know them, fluttering about with extended, protecting wings when any harm, real or imaginary, threatened their precious brood. They were women who idolized their children, worshiped their husbands, and esteemed it to be a holy privilege to efface themselves as individuals and grow wings as ministering angels.
The souls of little children are marvellously delicate and tender things, and keep for ever the shadow that first falls on them, and that is the mother's or at best a woman's. There was never a great man who had not a great mother--it is hardly an exaggeration.
No ordinary work done by a man is either as hard or as responsible as the work of a woman who is bringing up a family of small children; for upon her time and strength demands are made not only every hour of the day but often every hour of the night.
It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day.
If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
Washington's Birthday is for the "Father of our Country"; Memorial Day for our "Heroic Fathers"; 4th of July for "Patriot Fathers"; Labor Day for "Laboring Fathers"; Thanksgiving Day for "Pilgrim Father[s]"; and even New Year's Day is for "Old Father Time."
Mother's Day, it's a beautiful thought, but it's somebody's hurtin' conscience that thought of the idea. It was someone who had neglected their mother for years, and then they figured out: I got to do something about Momma. And knowing Momma was that easy, they figured, "we'll give her a day, and it will be all right with Momma." Give her a day, and then in return Momma gives you the other 364. See?
Oh, my dark children, may my dreams and my prayers Impel you forever up the great stairs--For I will be with you till no white brother Dares keep down the children of the Negro mother.
From the dawn of civilization mothers, as a class, were held in reasonably high regard until Mother's Day was established, with the purpose of compelling every man, under pain of social ostracism, to declare that his mother was the greatest woman who ever lived, and to give proof, in consumer goods, of his tremulous adoration of her. In consequence a lot of men,--just to show that their souls are their own and without any ill-will toward the authors of their being--kick and buffet their mothers all over the house on Mother's Day, although during the other 364 days of the year they take them to the movies, buy them bags of nut fudge, and provide them with lacy shawls and crime-story magazines.
It is . . . Mothering Sunday, the florists' commercial delight--a far cry from the ancient practice of visiting a cathedral or the mother church of the diocese.
A person can choose his friends and select a wife, but he has only one mother, I always say. The trouble with many of us is that we don't appreciate our mothers. I think that a certain day should be set aside each year and dedicated to mothers. It could be called "Mother's Day."
Certainly the mother serves the interests of patriarchy: she exemplifies in one person religion, social conscience, and nationalism. Institutional motherhood revives and renews all other institutions.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee.
Your silent tents of green We deck with fragrant flowers; Yours has the suffering been, The memory shall be ours.
Hushed are their battle-fields, ended their marches, Deaf are their ears to the drumbeat of morn,--Rise from the sod, ye fair columns and arches! Tell their bright deeds to the ages unborn!
It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion--that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain--that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom--and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me; As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.
No more shall the war-cry sever Or the winding rivers be red; They banish our anger for ever, When they laurel the graves of our dead! Under the sod and the dew Waiting the judgment day;--Love and tears for the Blue, Tears and love for the Gray.
But wherefore lament o'er those glories departed? Her star will yet shine with as vivid a ray! For ne'er had she children more brave or true-hearted Than those she sees on St. Patrick's Day.
The Irish people would be willing to give up a good many things before they would give up their celebration of St. Patrick's Day.
Craving the good saint's forgiveness, I ask you to rise and drink, in uncharitable ice water, to the immortal memory of Saint Patrick.
It's a great day for the Shamrock for the flags in full array. And as we go a-swinging, ev'ry Irish heart is singing: It's a great, great day.
The observance of St. Patrick's Day is almost as old in America as the Irish themselves. And some say they arrived in the sixth century.
Patrick found a way of swimming down to the depths of the Irish psyche and warming and transforming Irish imagination--making it more humane and more noble while keeping it Irish.
Outside Ireland there is a compulsion to "show the flag" and be seen to be celebrating on Saint Patrick's Day which does not exist at home. At home, ironically, it still feels like a new Bank Holiday, held at an awkward time of year, on which, unless you intend to get well and truly plastered, or stay slumped in front of the television absorbing the relentlessly Irish flavour which dominates the day's programming, it is difficult to think of anything much to do.
The St. Patrick's Day parade, once a defiant show of strength against Protestant power, gradually declined into a pointless annual march of aging suburbanites and drunken collegians staggering along in funny hats.
The First of April, some do say, Is set apart for All Fools' Day, But why the people call it so, Nor I nor they themselves do know.
The oldest tradition affirms that such an infatuation attends the first day of April as no foresight can escape, no vigilance can defeat. Deceit is successful on that day out of the mouths of babes and sucklings. Grave citizens have been bit upon it: usurers have lent their money on bad security: experienced matrons have married very disappointed young fellows: mathematicians have missed the longitude: alchymists the philosopher's stone: and politicians preferment on that day. What confusion will not follow if the great body of the nation are disappointed of their peculiar holiday! This country was formerly disturbed with very fatal quarrels about the celebration of Easter. . . . If our clergy come to be divided about Folly's anniversary, we may well expect all the mischiefs attendant on religious wars.
April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty- four.
APRIL FOOL, n. The March fool with another month added to his folly.
The origin of this custom has been much disputed, and many ludicrous solutions have been suggested, e. g. that it is a farcical commemoration of Christ being sent from Annas to Caiaphas, from Caiaphas to Pilate, from Pilate to Herod, from Herod back again to Pilate, the crucifixion having taken place about the 1st of April.
Among the numerous means employed in celebrating the custom, the following may be mentioned: the loose shoe lace; the something out of your pocket; the empty eggshell inverted in an egg-cup; the envelope enclosing a blank sheet; the pencil with a rubber point; the note for delivery to a false address; the non-existent bus-terminus; . . . the pigeon's milk; the memory powder.
What pleasanter task for All Fools' Day than going over all the things that you have done before And don't want to do again never no more, never no more, never no more?
A writer in the London Public Advertiser for March 13, 1769, advanced the idea that Noah started the whole thing. It was, said this writer, on the first day of the Jewish month that corresponds to April that Noah mistakenly sent out the dove from the ark to find out if the waters had gone down. . . . When the dove returned without having found any dry land, Noah thereupon became the first "April Fool."
Look out! Behind you there's a rat. He's hiding now behind the stool. He's going to jump up on your hat. Look out! Watch out! Oh dear, what's THAT! It's only you, you April fool!
Generally, . . . April Fools' Day is a day when we can lie to our friends and cause them great anxiety, as long as we justify our actions by exclaiming "April fool!''
As occasion rife with artifice and subterfuge, April Fools' Day furnishes an appropriate trope for modern celebrations as tricks of trade.
Most glorious Lord of lyfe, that on this day Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, And having harrowed hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win: This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin.
Rise, heart; Thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise Without delays, Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise With him mayst rise; That, as His death calcined thee to dust, His life make thee gold, and, much more, just.
Death, and darkness get you packing, Nothing now to man is lacking, All your triumphs now are ended, And what Adam marred, is mended.
See from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down; Did e'er such love and sorrow meet? Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Enthroned in thy sovereign sphere Thou shedd'st thy light on all the year: Sundays by thee more glorious break, An Easter Day in every week: And week-days, following in their train, The fulness of thy blessing gain, Till all, both resting and employ, Be one Lord's day of holy joy.
Though dead, not dead; Not gone, though fled; Not lost, not vanished. In the great gospel and true creed, He is yet risen indeed; Christ is yet risen.
Spring bursts to-day, For Christ is risen and all the earth's at play.
. . . how still the Landscape stands! How nonchalant the Hedge! As if the "Resurrection" Were nothing very strange!
. . . all alone, alone, alone, He rose again behind the stone.
. . . there's the Lenten lily That has not long to stay And dies on Easter Day.
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide.
Well the prophecy was kept; Christ--"first fruit of them that slept"--Rose with vic'try-circled brow; So, believing one, shalt thou.
I bet any Sunday could be made as popular at church as Easter is, if you made 'em fashion shows too. The audience is so busy looking at each other that the preacher might as well recite Gunga Din.
Myrtilla's tripping down the street, In Easter finery. The Easter blooms are not more sweet And radiant-hued than she.
We have lost Christmas through the commercial interest . . . and I don't want to lose Easter. We crucified the given Christ on His birthday. Shall we now bury the living Lord beneath the rabbits, the eggs, satins, finery and thoughtlessness? We say no. We want to celebrate Easter in religion from now on.
The story of Passion-Tide and Easter is the story of the winning of that freedom and of that victory over the evils of Time. The burden of the guilt is accepted ("He was made Sin"), the last agony of alienation from God is passed through (Eloi, lama sabachthani ); the temporal Body is broken and remade; and Time and Eternity are reconciled in a Single Person. There is no retreat here to the Paradise of primal ignorance; the new Kingdom of God is built upon the foundations of spiritual experience. Time is not denied; it is fulfilled. "I am the food of the full- grown."
I can remember the pastors of my youth who on Easter Sunday would let out a year's accumulated bile against the "twicesters," as those who came but twice a year were called. One of them went so far as to welcome them at Easter by wishing them a Happy Memorial Day, a Glorious Fourth of July, a Good Labor Day, a Peaceful Veterans' Day and a Gracious Thanksgiving, and by wishing them as well a Happy Mother's Day, Happy Father's Day, Happy Children's Day, and Happy Birthdays for the year.
The resurrection is God's way of getting our attention.
And this day shall be unto you for a memorial; and ye shall keep it a feast to the Lord throughout your generations; ye shall keep it a feast by an ordinance forever. Seven days shall ye eat unleavened bread; even the first day ye shall put away leaven out of your houses; for whosoever eateth leavened bread from the first day until the seventh day, that soul shall be cut off from Israel. And in the first day there shall be an holy convocation, and in the seventh day there shall be an holy convocation to you; no manner of work shall be done in them, save that which every man must eat, that only may be done by you. And ye shall observe the feast of unleavened bread; for in this very same day have I brought your armies out of the land of Egypt; therefore shall ye observe this day in your generations by an ordinance forever.
Pesach has come to the Ghetto again. The lore-laden words of the Seder are said, And the cup of the Prophet Elijah awaits, But the Angel of Death has intruded, instead.
Among the many meals of the spiritual year, the evening meal of the Passover at which the father of the household gathers together all his family is the meal of meals. It is the only one that from first to last has the character of worship; hence the Seder (Order) is, from first to last, liturgically regulated. From the very start the word "freedom" sheds its light upon it.
Passover dishes are probably the most interesting of any in the Jewish cuisine because of the lack of leaven and the resulting challenge to fine cooks. There are all kinds of torten and almond cakes and puddings, and an infinity of uses for mazzah or matzos: matzo klos, or dumplings, cakes and puddings of the matzo meal. Everything is doubly rich, as if to compensate for the lack of leaven, and clarified goose and chicken fat, and beef drippings, carefully excluding suet, are used most artfully.
The bread of freedom is a hard bread. The contrast between bread and matzo possibly points to the contrast between the lush Nile civilization that the Jews left behind them on the first Passover and the gray rubbled desert in which they came into their identity.
Grandmother Hannah comes to me at Pesach and when I am lighting the sabbath candles. The sweet wine in the cup has her breath. The challah is braided like her long, long hair.
The Jewish day is delineated by a schedule of prayers; the Jewish year is freighted with time-bound obligations--six days to fast, eight days to eat unleavened bread on Passover, eight days to light candles on Hanukkah, seven weeks to "count the omer," enumerating the days between the Israelites' liberation from slavery in Egypt and the giving of the law on Mount Sinai. Counting is a way of noticing and anticipating: it reminds us that a day counts or it doesn't. Counting imputes meaning; we rarely count what we do not value.
Passover remains relevant and contemporary, while at the same time a ritual several thousand years old. The sanction of thousands of years of tradition is retained because the ritual form is retained. The content--at least some of it--is flexible and determined by the participants at specific celebrations. Thus, the holy day is still meaningful to younger generations, because it allows for creative input and participation. It breathes.
Memory insinuated itself into every nook and cranny of the festivities, from the recitation of the Haggadah, a ritualized exercise in collective memory, to the physical appearance of the seder table. Assembled over time and place from a variety of sources--Grandmother's cupboard, Aunt Sadie's basement--the items displayed on the table served as tangible, physical embodiments of family history and collective memory. As much an opportunity for the display of family history as of elegance, the seder fostered a unique aesthetic.
For this was on seynt Valentynes day, Whan every foul cometh there to chese his make, Of every kynde that men thynke may, And that so huge a noyse gan they make That erthe and eyr and tre and every lake So ful was, that unethe was there space For me to stonde, so ful was al the place.
. . . since the solemn time allows To choose the object of our vows, Boldly I dare profess my flame, Proud to be yours by any name.
Win her with gifts, if she respect not words.
Saint Valentine is past; Begin these woodbirds but to couple now?
Good morrow! 'tis Saint Valentine's Day All in the morning betime. And I a maid at your window To be your Valentine.
Oft have I heard both Youths and Virgins say, Birds chuse their Mates, and couple too, this day: But by their flight I never can divine When I shall couple with my Valentine.
Yestreen at the valentines' dealing, My heart to my mou gied a sten, For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written "Tam Glen!"
Love darts Cleave hearts Through mail shirts.
Sure, of all days that ever were dated, Valentine's Day is the fullest of news; Then ev'ry lass expects to be mated And Cupid goes round collecting his dues! And levies a door-rate, like parish or poor-rate, By getting the Postman to stand in his shoes.
This is the day on which those charming little missives, ycleped Valentines, cross and inter-cross each other at every street and turning. The weary and all forespent two-penny postman sinks beneath a load of delicate embarrassments, not his own.
Good morrow to my Valentine, sings poor Ophelia; and no better wish, but with better auspices, we wish to all faithful lovers, who are not too wise to despise old legends, but are content to rank themselves humble diocesans of old Bishop Valentine, and his true church.
On the 14th of February the windows fill with pictures for the most part odious, and meant for some nondescript class of males and females, their allusions having reference to Saint Valentine's Day, the legendary pairing time of the birds. The festival is a sad mockery, for there are no spring birds here to pair, but it reminds us that there is a good time coming.
Never sign a walentine with your own name.
More than when first I singled thee, This only prayer is mine,--That, in the years I yet shall see, As, darling, in the past, thou'lt be My happy Valentine.
With kindly lips of welcome, and with pleased Propitious eyes benign, Accept a kiss of homage from your least Last Valentine.
Since the receipt of the missive in the morning, Boldwood had felt the symmetry of his existence to be slowly getting distorted in the direction of an ideal passion.
Somebody's sent a funny little valentine to me. It's a bunch of baby-roses in a vase of filigree, And hovering above them--just as cute as he can be--Is a fairy cupid tangled in a scarf of poetry.
Very fine is my valentine. Very fine and very mine.
Any valentine that is written Is as the vendange to the vine.
I love you more than a wasp can sting, And more than the subway jerks, I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch, And more than a hangnail irks.
Love with his gilded bow and crystal arrows Has slain us all. . . .
Poor old Valentine, a third century priest who was clubbed and beheaded on February 14th, in the year 270, would certainly be surprised to find himself a lovers' saint.
I bought sultry lingerie but I'm too embarrassed to wear it. I bought a suggestive card, but I'm too embarrassed to give it. I thought of renting a sexy movie, but I'm too embarrassed to go pick one out and even if I did, I'd be too embarrassed to admit I had it. I'm beginning to understand why red is the color of Valentine's Day.
My time and my eternity My cigarette, my nicotine My coffee, tea, and whole cuisine My loaf of bread, my jug of wine All this and more sweet Valentine!
Valentine's Day tomorrow. Why? Why? Why is entire world geared to make people not involved in romance feel stupid when everyone knows romance does not work anyway.
Ther's allus been leap years, but I doubt if any o' us ever knowed a case where any girl ever actually took advantage o' th' privilege an' asked any feller point blank t' marry her. Ther's allus been a lot o' hintin' an' beatin' around th' bush an' hypnotizin' an' vampin', but I don't believe any girl ever blurted out a straight proposal. But now that we've been emancipated, I look fer a lot o' radical changes.
Sweet February Twenty Nine!--This is our grace-year, as I live! Quick, now! this foolish heart of mine: Seize thy prerogative!
In Scotland, it was required that a woman who was thinking of taking advantage of the leap year privilege must let her intentions be known by wearing a scarlet flannel petticoat. The edge of the petticoat must be clearly visible in order to give the wary male a sporting chance to get out of the way. This is obviously a man-made rule.
Well, it has happened again. The Earth has circled four times around the sun, astronomers have designated this a leap year and anxious bachelors won't answer their telephones until midnight.
The Shamrock is said to be worn by the Irish upon the anniversary of this Saint, for the following reason. When the Saint preached the Gospel to the Pagan Irish, he illustrated the doctrine of the Trinity by showing them a trefoil, or three-leave grass with one stalk, which operating to their conviction, the Sham- rock, which is a bundle of this grass, was ever afterwards worn upon this Saint's anniversary, to commemorate the event.
St. Patrick's day no more we'll keep his color can't be seen, For there's a bloody law agin' the wearin' of the green.
No wonder that those Irish lads Should be so gay and frisky, For sure St. Pat he taught them that,As well as making whiskey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . So success attend St. Patrick's fist, For he's a saint so clever; O, he gave the snakes and toads a twist And bothered them forever!
Now listen, white folks! In line with Reverend King down in Montgomery-- Also because the Bible says I must-- I'm gonna love you--yes, I will! or BUST!
The assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was the occasion for one of those massive outpourings of hypocrisy characteristic of the human race. He stood in that line of saints which goes back from Gandhi to Jesus; his violent end, like theirs, reflects the hostility of mankind to those who annoy it by trying hard to pull it one more painful step further up the ladder from ape to angel. . . . Nothing could be more deceptive than the nationwide mourning. Beneath the surface nothing has changed, except perhaps for the worst.
Where in America today do we hear a voice like the voice of the prophets of Israel? Martin Luther King is a sign that God has not forsaken the United States of America. His presence is the hope of America.
Martin Luther King dedicated his life to love and to justice for his fellow human beings, and he died because of that effort.
Yes, if you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice; say that I was a drum major for peace; I was a drum major for righteousness. And all of the other shallow things will not matter.
There are no more Martins and never will be. . . . There is no black knight in black armor on a black horse waving a black magic wand going to come riding through the ghetto making every Black person healthy, wealthy and wise. So we are going to have to organize and go back to direct action. We have to wage aggressive peace.
Before deciding to back the bill [to create a national holiday], Reagan expressed concern about its cost. Federal offices close on national holidays, as do banks and many other businesses. [Senator Jesse] Helms [of North Carolina] claimed the resulting annual loss could be 12 billion dollars. The Congressional Budget Office put the figure at 18 million. To those worried about the expense, said Senator Bob Dole (R- Kans.), "I suggest they hurry back to their pocket calculators and estimate the cost of 300 years of slav- ery, followed by a century or more of economic, political and social ex- clusion and discrimination.''
The trouble with Martin Luther King, Jr., is that he believed more in America and in America's God than America did. He actually believed that the nation wished to be a nation under God, that it wished to live up to the moral ambition of its founding documents, that it wished to find a way to do right and to be right.
I proposed legislation in 1994 making the Martin Luther King holiday a day of community service and action rather than just a day off from work. Dr. King was more than just a teacher or a preacher. He was a man of action, and I suggested that we could honor his memory best by making this a duty of sharing and caring and acting on the principles of community and connec tion.
Martin Luther King's Dream was the American Dream. His quest is our quest: the ceaseless striving to live out our true creed. Our history has been built upon such dreams and labors. And by our dreams and labors we will redeem the promise of America in the twenty-first century.
I just never understood How a man who died for good Could not have a day that would Be set aside for his recognition.
No-one, after the twelfth hour has struck, can claim a debt, or even make the slightest allusion to it. You now only hear the words of peace and good-will; everybody fraternizes with everybody. Those who were just before on the point of twisting their neighbor's neck, now twine their friendly arms about it.
The flower-boats, as they are commonly called, are particularly gay at new-year time with flowers of all hues, and gaudy flags streaming from each mast and stern.
And the crackers--the firecrackers--here is a perfect apotheosis of noise. A perfect carnival of uproar and deafening sound is produced, especially at New Year's time, by their almost continuous discharge, for at that joyous season a perfect pandemonium reigns rampant.
She spoke of the New Year's gifts she had lately sent us, explaining that the flowers were symbolical of happiness and long life, that the tea had medicinal virtues, and that the bon-bons were a Chinese dainty, of which she herself was very fond.
At New Year time, solitary dwellers in remote districts leave their homes and seek some follow-creatures with whom to rejoice, and eat boiled pork; while village dwellers often flock into towns on account of the more numerous excitements there available.
Anyone who is able to do so returns about this time to his home. New year is the feast of the family. The parents and the children reunite.
Even the sky seems to proclaim the arrival of the New Year, as the old calendar scrolls toward the last page, to say nothing of the villages and towns lying expectantly underneath. Pallid clouds loom overhead, intermittently brightened by flashes of firecrackers set off to bid farewell to the Hearth God.
[The firecrackers] were ricocheting in every direction, and with many subtle modulations of sound, so that, had I been the possessor of a properly trained ear, I should, in all probability, have been able to differentiate between the bang and hiss of the numerous varieties . . . and to distinguish Small Boxes, Flower Pots, Lanterns of Heaven and Earth, Fire and Smoke Poles, Silver Flowers, Peonies Strung on a Thread, Lotus Sprinkled with Wa- ter, Golden Plates, Falling Moons, Grape Arbours, Flags of Fire, Double-Kicking Feet, Ten Explosions Flying to Heaven, Five Devils Noisily Splitting Apart, Eight-Cornered Rockets, and Bombs for Attacking the City of Hsiang Yang, one from another.
I am sorry to say that the New Year customs are gradually dying out. I cannot but regret it. It may be better to be practical rather than formal, but how few really joyful times one has in one's life! Looking back on the New Year Festivals of my childhood I find them very precious. What a business they were! But what pleasure and good fellowship they gave!
The Chinese New Year, even in communities so thoroughly Americanized as our Chinatowns, is a big event. . . . This is more than just a show for the visitors. New Year's day is the last and strongest link that unites the Chinese-American spiritually with his old home in Kwangtung province (for it is from this one province that the vast majority of Chinese Americans come).
Indeed, it is difficult for us Westerners to grasp the full significance of the Chinese New Year. Our Christmas, our Easter, and whatever national holiday we celebrate, all taken together really mean less to us than the great festival of their calendar does to the hardworking Chinese. Socially, it signifies re-union. Morally, it represents the idea of resurrection, the re-birth of the year. . . . Materially, it stands for re- juvenation both in the home and in the market place. Personally and commercially, men turn over a new leaf, strive to pay off old debts in money and loyalty, and start with a clean sheet on which they hope to write better success and greater happiness.
He is not Santa Claus. More like a spy--FBI agent, CIA, Mafia, worse than IRA, that kind of person! And he does not give you gifts, you must give him things. All year long you have to show him respect--give him tea and oranges. When Chinese New Year's time comes, you must give him even better things-- maybe whiskey to drink, cigarettes to smoke, candy to eat, that kind of thing. You are hoping all the time that his tongue will be sweet, his head a little drunk, so when he has his meeting with the big boss, maybe he reports good things about you. This family has been good, you hope he says. Please give them good luck next year.
We weren't to sweep or empty the trash on New Year's, since we might inadvertently throw out our luck. We weren't to cry, because it would bring a sad year. We weren't to wash our luck away by washing our hair. For us children, New Year's meant our parents were not supposed to yell at us lest discord follow throughout the year.
Chinese New Year is like a combination of Thanksgiving and Easter that celebrates the sacredness of the family and presents a time of renewal.
The weary yeare his race now hauing run, The new begins his compast course anew; with shew of morning mylde he hath begun, betokening peace and plenty to ensew.

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