Lord, Keep My Memory Green.

It Was A Harder Day's Journey Than Yesterday's, For There Were Long And Weary Hills To Climb; And In Journeys, As In Life, It Is A Great Deal Easier To Go Down Hill Than Up. However, They Kept On, With Unabated Perseverance, And The Hill Has Not Yet Lifted Its Face To Heaven That Perseverance Will Not Gain The Summit Of At Last.

And How Did Little Tim Behave?” Asked Mrs Cratchit, When She Had Rallied Bob On His Credulity And Bob Had Hugged His Daughter To His Heart’s Content. “as Good As Gold,” Said Bob, “and Better. Somehow He Gets Thoughtful, Sitting By Himself So Much, And Thinks The Strangest Things You Ever Heard. He Told Me, Coming Home, That He Hoped The People Saw Him In The Church, Because He Was A Cripple, And It Might Be Pleasant To Them To Remember Upon Christmas Day, Who Made Lame Beggars Walk, And Blind Men See.

As I Never Saw My Father Or My Mother, And Never Saw Any Likeness Of Either Of Them (for Their Days Were Long Before The Days Of Photographs), My First Fancies Regarding What They Were Like, Were Unreasonably Derived From Their Tombstones. The Shape Of The Letters On My Father's, Gave Me An Odd Idea That He Was A Square, Stout, Dark Man, With Curly Black Hair. From The Character And Turn Of The Inscription, "also Georgiana Wife Of The Above", I Drew A Childish Conclusion That My Mother Was Freckled And Sickly.

A Wonderful Fact To Reflect Upon, That Every Human Creature Is Constituted To Be That Profound Secret And Mystery To Every Other. A Solemn Consideration, When I Enter A Great City By Night, That Every One Of Those Darkly Clustered Houses Encloses Its Own Secret; That Every Room In Every One Of Them Encloses Its Own Secret; That Every Beating Heart In The Hundreds Of Thousands Of Breasts There, Is, In Some Of Its Imaginings, A Secret To The Heart Nearest It!

The Cloud Of Caring For Nothing, Which Overshadowed Him With Such A Fatal Darkness, Was Very Rarely Pierced By The Light Within Him.