Toil Is The True Knight's Pastime.

Every Winter, When The Great Sun Has Turned His Face Away, The Earth Goes Down Into A Vale Of Grief, And Fasts, And Weeps, And Shrouds Herself In Sables, Leaving Her Wedding-garlands To Decay- Then Leaps In Spring To His Returning Kisses.

Music. – There Is Something Very Wonderful In Music. Words Are Wonderful Enough: But Music Is Even More Wonderful. It Speaks Not To Our Thoughts As Words Do: It Speaks Straight To Our Hearts And Spirits, To The Very Core And Root Of Our Souls. Music Soothes Us, Stirs Us Up; It Puts Noble Feelings Into Us; It Melts Us To Tears, We Know Not How: – It Is A Language By Itself, Just As Perfect, In Its Way, As Speech, As Words; Just As Divine, Just As Blessed.

Let Us Ask Ourselves Seriously And Honestly, 'what Do I Believe After All? What Manner Of Man Am I After All? What Sort Of Show Would I Make After All, If The People Around Me Knew My Heart And All My Secret Thoughts?" What Sort Of Show Then Do I Already Make In The Sight Of Almighty God, Who Sees Every Man Exactly As He Is?'

Music Has Been Called The Speech Of The Angels; I Will Go Farther And Call It The Speech Of God Himself.

Nothing Like One Honest Look, One Honest Thought Of Christ Upon His Cross. That Tells Us How Much He Has Been Through, How Much He Endured, How Much He Conquered, How Much God Loved Us, Who Spared Not His Only Begotten Son, But Freely Gave Him For Us. Dare We Doubt Such A God? Dare We Murmur Against Such A God?