My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.
I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.
- G.K. Chesterton Step softly, under snow or rain, To find the place where men can pray; The way is all so very plain That we may lose the way.…
- G.K. Chesterton There fared a mother driven forth Out of an inn to roam; In the place where she was homeless All men are at home. The crazy…
A Nativity - Rudyard Kipling The Babe was laid in the Manger Between the gentle kine— All safe from cold and danger— “But it…