冬日裡的文字溫暖

這個冬日並不太冷. 也沒有寒流
 
今日已漸感受到一些強風的威力和降了10度的氣溫
 
不知不覺今年已經走入尾聲
 
我們在” 苦” 字中要送走2016
 
每一年不知為何選出來的年度字似乎都是負面的
 
而美國人選出來的年度字 “ surreal “ 是指超現實. 荒誕不經之意
 
似乎也是個對現實不滿的字詞
 
社會上一片對各種議題的不滿. 抗議和叫囂
 
年末了,時值國外聖誕和新年假期是屬平靜和歡樂的時刻
 
朋友說: 明年2017可能有第三次世界大戰
 
當然這是個揣測也是個擔憂
 
世界上的事很多我們說不定也無法決定
 
要讓冬日裡的心寧靜和放下憂慮
 
近日念了美國詩人Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 的詩
 
感受很多他對人生中的美好. 感悟和珍惜的意境
 
讀來覺得很舒服點滴事令人感受思想是充滿各種滋味的
 
人生的時光都是屬於自己走過的歲月都是留下足跡的
 
想想那些美好的一切和曾有的夢想
 
 
勿加諸任何的傷害和壓力在自己和家人或無辜的人們身上
 
冬日裡的風強勁得令人有種孤獨的感覺
 
而孤獨的時刻適合在文字裡閱讀或思考一些屬於自己的一切
 
更或是屬於關於所愛的人和這世間令人感覺很美好的一切
 
以下兩首我覺得很適合每個人值得一讀的Longfellow的詩作
 
靜靜讀來有種彷彿我知悉另一個我的感覺
 
願這個冬日大家保有健康. 平安和豐盈的喜樂

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 - 1882

Christmas Bells

    I HEARD the bells on Christmas Day
    Their old, familiar carols play,
        And wild and sweet
        The words repeat
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    And thought how, as the day had come,
    The belfries of all Christendom
        Had rolled along
        The unbroken song
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    Till ringing, singing on its way,
    The world revolved from night to day,
        A voice, a chime,
        A chant sublime
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    Then from each black, accursed mouth
    The cannon thundered in the South,
        And with the sound
        The carols drowned
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    It was as if an earthquake rent
    The hearth-stones of a continent,
        And made forlorn
        The households born
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    And in despair I bowed my head;
    "There is no peace on earth," I said;
        "For hate is strong,
        And mocks the song
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

    Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
    "God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
        The Wrong shall fail,
        The Right prevail,
    With peace on earth, good-will to men." 

A Psalm of Life

What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
   “Life is but an empty dream!”
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
   And things are not what they seem.
  
Life is real! Life is earnest!
   And the grave is not its goal;
“Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
   Was not spoken of the soul.
 
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
   Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
   Finds us farther than to-day.
  
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
   And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
   Funeral marches to the grave.
  
In the world’s broad field of battle,
   In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
   Be a hero in the strife!
  
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
   Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
   Heart within, and God o’erhead!
  
Lives of great men all remind us
   We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
   Footprints on the sands of time;
  
Footprints, that perhaps another,
   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
   Seeing, shall take heart again.
  
Let us, then, be up and doing,
   With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing
   Learn to labor and to wait.