Friday, May 17, 2013


The laugh of a child will make the holiest day more sacred still. Strike with the hand of fire, 0 weird musi­cian, thy harp strung with Apollo's golden hair; fill the vast cathedral aisles with symphonies sweet and dim, deft toucher of the organ keys; blow, bugler, blow, until the silver notes do touch and kiss the moonlit waves and charm the lovers wandering 'mid the vine­clad hills. But know your sweetest strains are discords all compared with childhood's happy laugh-the laugh that fills the eyes with light and every heart with joy. 0 rippling river of laughter, thou art the blessed boundary line between beasts and men, and every wayward wave of thine doth drown some fretful fiend of care. 0 laughter, rose-lipped laughter of joy, there are dimples enough in thy cheeks to catch and hold and glorify
all the tears of grief.                            Robert G. Ingersoll

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