Winter Poem

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

Source:  Nordic House

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

Source: Thomas Kincade

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

 

by Robert Frost

 

Source: Pinterest

Faith of a Mustard Seed

If we have the Faith of a Mustard Seed, We will be able to move mountains.

 

Do you believe this statement?

I do.

 

I have seen many a mountain

moved in my 75 years.

I believe the LORD hears

my prayers.

 

When we have faith,

He strengthens our faith with

greater faith.

 

Jesus told several people in the Bible that He admired their Faith.

I want to be admired by Him

for my Faith.

 

I love Jesus,

How about You?? 

 

Gingerbread House Building with
my two little Architects,
who happen to be my Grandsons!

The Last Leaf

from:  Nordic House Museum

 

I saw him once before, 
 As he passed by the door,
And again The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.

They say that in his prime,
 Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down,
 Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.

But now he walks the streets,
And looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone."

The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.

My grandmamma has said—
 Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago— That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow;
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.

I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be
 The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
 Where I cling.

---by Oliver Wendell Holmes