Poem: “New Every Morning” by Susan Coolidge

 Every day is a fresh beginning,

Listen my soul to the glad refrain.

And, spite of old sorrows

And older sinning,

Troubles forecasted and possible pain,

Take heart with the day and begin again.

Poem: “Woods in Winter” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

 

When winter winds are piercing chill,

And through the hawthorn blows the gale,

With solemn feet I tread the hill,

That overbrows the lonely hill.

 

O’er the bare upland, and away

Through the long reach of desert woods,

The embracing sunbeams chastely play

And gladden these deep solitudes.

 

Where, twisted round the barren oak,

The summer vine in beauty clung,

And summer winds the stillness broke,

The crystal icicle is hung.

 

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs

Pour out the river’s gradual tide,

Shrilly the skater’s iron rings,

And voices fill the woodland side.

 

Alas! how changed from the fair scene,

When birds sang out their mellow lay,

And winds were soft, and woods were green,

And the song ceased not with the day!

 

But still wild music is abroad,

Pale, desert winds! Within your crowd;

And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,

Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

 

Chill airs and wintry winds! My ear

Has grown familiar with your song:

I hear it in the opening year.

I listen, and it cheers me long.