Quote

Comes now a smiling New-Born Year To fill to-day with goodly cheer— An infant hale and lusty. Upon our door-sill he is left By Daddy Time, of clothes bereft Despite the season gusty. If he be Churl or doughty Knight, A Son of Darkness or of Light No man can tell, God bless him! But be he base or glorious Time puts it wholly up to us To dress him!

John Kendrick Bangs

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John Kendrick Bangs
Age: 59 †
Born: 1862
Born: May 27
Died: 1922
Died: January 21
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Yonkers
New York State
Shakespeare Jones
Carlyle Smith
Born
Despite
Bless
Knight
Comes
Son
Puts
Knights
Left
Door
Season
Smiling
Gusty
Tell
Clothes
Fill
Infant
Sill
Light
Darkness
Glorious
Daddy
Lusty
Years
Doors
Dress
Wholly
Goodly
Men
Year
Dresses
Cheer
Bereft
Time
Upon
Seasons
Base
Hale

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Misery loves company, particularly when she is herself the hostess, and can give generously of her stores to others.
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For me, my craft is sailing on,Through mists to-day, clear seas anon.Whate'er the final harbor be'T is good to sail upon the sea!
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If I must have an ill, may it be real, That I may meet it eye to eye and fight, And wheresoever it may strength reveal Get after it with all my main and might. The woe that but impends and wears the mind With worry deep and most vexatious care, Is harder fighting than the realler kind, For when you come to strike—it isn't there!
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The only care That I shall share Shall be the care of others, And on the road I'll halve the load Of overburdened brothers. I rather guess It's selfishness That drives me to such actions, For in this plan I find I can Forget my own distractions.
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I can't tell a lie - not even when I hear one.
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I like the man who takes the stones Upon his rocky road With smiling lips instead of groans, Whate'er his heavy load Who seizes each as on he goes, And neatly crumbles it, And turns his share of pebbly woes To stores of inner grit.
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What fools indeed we morals are to lavish care upon a car, with never a bit of time to see about our own machinery!
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Pandemonium did not reign it poured.
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Bring forth the raisins and the nuts- Tonight All-Hallows' Spectre struts Along the moonlit way.
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I have no dog, but it must be Somewhere there's one belongs to me-- A little chap with wagging tail, And dark brown eyes that never quail, But look you through, and through, and through, With love unspeakable and true.
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