Merry Christmas

Lyrics of: One Star by the New Christy Minstrels[Love this song – but lost my cd]Christmas_WiseMen_Star

One star, one shining star

Was a still night with one star
And its’ glow was bright as day
From the Orient it came afar
To the manger where He lay

One star, one shining star
In the heavens above
Bearing glad tidings
Of everlasting love

And the star told of wondrous things
For the time was now at hand
Twas the child born King of kings
Then rejoiced through all the land

One star, one shining star
In the heavens above
Bearing glad tidings
Of everlasting love

“Then once more the star was gone
To the east from whence it came
Tis a miracle to think upon”
Praise be His Name

Will the great star shine again?
“Oh yes”, the angels say
When there’s peace on earth, goodwill to men
Then the night will be as day

One star, one shining star
In the heavens above
Bearing glad tidings
Of everlasting love

One star, one shining star

Unwept, unhonored, and unsung

Ages ago, when I was a young thing – probably before high school so you know it was a LONG time ago – I discovered Sir Walter Scott and his poems. I have many of his that I enjoy tremendously but for some reason the portion of Lay of the Last Minstrel below has always been one of my favorites. No matter how often I read it, it makes me sad. I’ve never read the entire poem for fear that, placed within context, this excerpt would lose its magic for me.

I’m not quite sure why this rings such a chord – perhaps because of when I read it/found it.


Breathes there the man with soul so dead

Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored , and unsung.
[by Sir Walter Scott]