“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness; come before His presence with singing. Know ye that the Lord, He is God: it is He that made us and now we ourselves; we are His people and the sheep of His pasture.
“Enter . . .
Dear Lord:
Thanksgiving Day is almost here, and I’ve been thinking of your many blessings. It’s just not on this day that I remember how you daily load us with benefits, but every day of my life. I thank you for them.
The first thing I think . . .
SOMETHING TOLD
THE WILD GEESE
By Rachel Lyman Field
Something told the wild geese
It was time to go;
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered, -‘snow’.
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
. . .
Our Heavenly Father has poured molten gold upon our hills, while here and there a maple stands out in scarlet glory. This past week has been full of glorious October days, warm, sunny days with the leaves changing rapidly into a kaleidoscope of breath-taking . . .
Summer:
I heard the katydids tolling your death knell last night. In fact, the lonely haunting dirge has sounded out for weeks now. They are singing of change, and cold, and a white, creeping death that will come to Summer and singer alike.
You don’t . . .
September peeps cautiously around the corner as if debating whether to allow autumn to enter our hills, or permit summer to linger a little longer. There are definite signs that autumn is anxious to come. The cricket’s cry grows more mournful . . .
Summer released her hot grip on the hills this past week as fall-like weather spread cooler fingers through our days. Nights were blessedly cool after the steamy weather that we endured this summer, and although hot weather will come again, we have . . .
Summer is still hanging around the hills, but the school term starts this week anyway. Blending in with the yellow of the goldenrod, the blue of the gentian and the purple of the ironweed are the bright yellow school buses as they travel our ridges . . .
Stifling summer heat continues to smother our hills while each foray outside is like stepping into a sauna. However, the garden flourishes in spite of the heat, with occasional thundershowers refreshing the crops. The country housewife forges ahead . . .
I SAW GOD WASH THE WORLD
by William L. Stidger
I saw God wash the world last night
With His sweet showers on high,
And then, when morning came, I saw
Him hang it out to dry.
He washed each tiny blade of grass
And every trembling tree;
He flung . . .
Hot summer days sizzle along in typical July fashion, with droning honeybees visiting the flowerbeds and carrying their nectar back to the hive. Flowers take on a midsummer look with Rose of Sharon bushes putting forth their rose-like blossoms, and . . .
Hot July days simmer across our hills bringing orange day lilies, deeper orange butterfly weed (pleurisy weed,) vacations, and lightning bugs. Sporadic thunderstorms bring momentary relief from the heat, and water our gardens just in time. Green beans . . .
Friday the 13th dawned bright and beautiful, with caroling songbirds and flitting butterflies rejoicing in the sunshine after days of rain. Light of heart (but not so light of foot!) I put the flat of flowers on the porch and headed for the shed to . . .
Another serene May day sits lightly on our hills. After weeks of rainy weather, we are doubly thankful for the bountiful sunshine that blesses us, and for the idyllic spring day that God has sent us. It is quiet today; the only sounds are the tweeting . . .
The wind is sighing through the treetops, hopefully bidding the last vestige of cold rain good-bye. It has been a stormy week, with heavy rain studded with hail, and strong winds that created havoc in many places. We were spared the brunt of it, although . . .
All about us, the earth is waking up from the long sleep of winter. The maple trees are blooming; their twigs red-tipped and softly glowing from a distance. There is a greenish haze around the weeping willow tree, and the buds are fat and swollen on . . .
I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as . . .
DANNY
Oh, Danny boy, the pipes the pipes are calling,
From glen to glen and on the mountainside.
The summer’s gone and all the leaves are falling
‘Tis you must go, ’tis you must go and I must bide!
But come you back, when summer’s . . .
LAY MY HEAD BENEATH THE ROSE
Darling, press me to your bosom,
As you did in days of yore,
Press your lips upon my forehead,
Ere I see the golden shore.
Life is from me fastly flowing,
Soon I’ll be in sweet repose,
When I’m gone, I’ll ask this favor,
Lay . . .
STOPPING BY THE WOODS
ON A SNOWY EVENING
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse . . .
Snow, snow and more snow. Snow on top of snow on top of snow. It is still snowing.
It is beautiful—even if you are sick and tired of snow. Ordinary objects have been transformed into things of beauty; even the trash cans are topped . . .
The sun is just rising on the morning of another day, the first day of the New Year. What can I wish that this day, this year, may bring to me? Nothing that will make the world or others poorer, nothing at the expense of other men; but just those things . . .
Our hills have been shivering in the onslaught of winter weather, with continued snow and frigid temperatures that came suddenly and wiped away every vestige of warm weather. Long, jagged icicles hang from the eaves of the house and snow covers the . . .
November days grow browner, mornings are crisper, and Thanksgiving looms very near. There is something about Thanksgiving that makes it more special than all the other holidays.
It must be the memories of that day that go all the way back to childhood; . . .
The mellow air of autumn surrounds our hills and enfolds us in a warm and tender embrace. This has been a glorious week of Indian summer weather, which traditionally comes after heavy frost and freeze in November. It is autumn bidding a farewell to . . .