Hallow E’en
Awake, arise, you dead men all—dead women, waken you,
The hunters’ moon is in the sky—her cruse of frosty dew
Earth empties; throw your covers off, of grave grass, rank and green.
This is the dead men’s holiday, ’tis Hallow E’en.
Brother and sister parted long by bitter words and blind
Forget the years of severed ways with old love in their mind.
The beggar that of hunger died, the girl that died of shame,
Are playing in that spirit land some childish game.
Husband and wife forget the wrong that kept their souls apart—
Hand lies in hand so tenderly as heart beats for dear heart.
This is the day for buried love to see as it is seen,
This is the dead men’s holiday—All Hallow’s E’en.
—Nora Hopper.
Be Cheerful
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Perseverance
We must not hope to be mowers,
And to gather the ripe gold ears,
Unless we have first been sowers
And watered the furrows with tears.
It is not just as we take it,
This mystical world of ours,
Life’s field will yield as we make it
A harvest of thorns or of flowers.
—Johann W. von Goethe.
Alternate Reading: Hebrews 12:1-6.