There Is A Sacredness In Tears

There Is A Sacredness In Tears. They Are Not The Mark Of Weakness, But Of Power.

Of All The Old Festivals, However, That Of Christmas Awakens The Strongest And Most Heartfelt Associations. There Is A Tone Of Solemn And Sacred Feeling That Blends With Our Conviviality, And Lifts The Sprit To A State Of Hallowed And Elevated Enjoyment.

A Father May Turn His Back On His Child, Brothers And Sisters May Become Inveterate Enemies, Husbands May Desert Their Wives, Wives Their Husbands. But A Mother's Love Endures Through All; In Good Repute, In Bad Repute, In The Face Of The World's Condemnation, A Mother Still Loves On, And Still Hopes That Her Child May Turn From His Evil Ways, And Repent; Still She Remembers The Infant Smiles That Once Filled Her Bosom With Rapture, The Merry Laugh, The Joyful Shout Of His Childhood, The Opening Promise Of His Youth; And She Can Never Be Brought To Think Him All Unworthy.

What Earnest Worker, With Hand And Brain For The Benefit Of His Fellowmen, Could Desire A More Pleasing Recognition Of His Usefulness Than The Monument Of A Tree, Ever Growing, Ever Blooming, And Ever Bearing Wholesome Fruit?

Believe Me, The Man Who Earns His Bread By The Sweat Of His Brow, Eats Oftener A Sweeter Morsel, However Coarse, Than He Who Procures It By The Labor Of His Brains.