Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under the trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone I love,
Or sit at a table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring:
These with the rest, one and all, to me are miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
What is the world?
This is a piece too fair
To be the child of Chance, and not of Care.
No Atoms casually together hurl’d
Could e’er produce so beautiful a world.
For every thing there is a season
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die: a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose: a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew: a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
(The piece above has also been put to music by The Byrds, titled `Turn Turn Turn’…Click on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4ga_M5Zdn4 to hear the song)
Observe the Cat upon this page.
Philosophers in every age,
The very wisest of the wise
Have tried her mind to analyze
In vain, for nothing can they learn.
She baffles them at every turn
Like Mister Hamlet in the play.
She leads their reasoning astray;
She feigns an interest in string
Or yarn or any rolling thing.
Unlike the Dog, she does not care
With common Man her thoughts to share.
She teaches us that in life’s walk
`T is better to let others talk,
And listen while they say instead
The foolish things we might have said.