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
No comments:
Post a Comment