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For I remember it is Easter morn,
And life and love and peace are all new born.
I think of the garden after the rain;
And hope to my heart comes singing,
At morn the cherry-blooms will be white,
And the Easter bells be ringing!
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.
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 calledthe land of the free and the home of the brave; it is called theasylum of the oppressed; and some have been foolish enough to call it theCradle of Liberty.If it is thecradle 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.
Yet America is a poem in our eyes; its ample geography dazzles the imagination, and it will not wait long for metres.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with inherent and inalienable rights; that among these, are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
An optimist stays up until midnight to see the New Year. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves.
Girls scream, boys shout; dogs bark, school's out.
Term, holidays, term, holidays, till we leave school, and then work, work, work till we die.
Middle age is when, wherever you go on holiday, you pack a sweater.
If I were a medical man, I should prescribe a holiday to any patient who considered his work important.
Must, bid the Morn awake,
Sad Winter now declines,
Each Bird doth choose a mate,
This day's Saint Valentine's;
For that good Bishop's sake
Get up, and let us see
What Beauty it shall be
That Fortune us assigns.
Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine,
Love, thou art every day my Valentine!
Tomorrow is Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.