A Quote by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

We ought to make the moments notes Of happy glad Thanksgiving; The hours and days, a silent praise Of music we are living. — © Ella Wheeler Wilcox
We ought to make the moments notes Of happy glad Thanksgiving; The hours and days, a silent praise Of music we are living.
Thanksgiving is nothing if not a glad and reverent lifting of the heart to God in honor and praise for His goodness.
Happy the days that have been consecrated to the remembrance of God, and blessed the hours which have been spent in praise of Him Who is the All-Wise.
Happy moments, PRAISE GOD Difficult moments, SEEK GOD Quiet moments, WORSHIP GOD Painful moments, TRUST GOD Every moment, THANK GOD
I don't make music for any other reason than me enjoying music, and I am also glad that I am able to make a living of this.
I can spend hours and hours and days and days in the studio changing the music, because I love that.
If it takes seven days to make a living, you ought to be doing something else.
Actions speak louder than words, and a smile says, 'I like you. You make me happy. I am glad to see you.' That is why dogs make such a hit. They are so glad to see us that they almost jump out of their skins. So, naturally, we are glad to see them.
I wish I could manage to be glad! Only I never can remember the rule. You must be very happy, living in this wood, and being glad whenever you like!
From my earliest recollection, I date the entertainment of a deep conviction that slavery would not always be able to hold me within its foul embrace; and in the darkest hours of my career in slavery, this living word of faith and spirit of hope departed not from me, but remained like ministering angels to cheer me through the gloom. This good spirit was from God, and to him I offer thanksgiving and praise.
If you win all the time, you lose the drama in life. To make the happy moments happy, you need the sad moments too.
Doth not all nature around me praise God? If I were silent, I should be an exception to the universe. Doth not the thunder praise Him as it rolls like drums in the march of the God of armies? Do not the mountains praise Him when the woods upon their summits wave in adoration? Doth not the lightning write His name in letters of fire? Hath not the whole earth a voice? And shall I, can I, silent be?
The Song of Love, the Song of Hate, the Songs of Praise and of Thanksgiving; I've learned them all, but there remains one called the Melody of Living.
Moments into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into days. Days into years. Years into possibility. This will linger.
Throughout its history, the members of Shearith Israel have observed Thanksgiving by reciting in synagogue the same psalms of praise and gratitude sung by Jews all over the world on festive days like Hanukkah.
Our moments are music, and sometimes – just sometimes – we can catch them and put them into some lasting form. If we didn’t have music, I don’t think we could ever be truly happy, and if we didn’t have special moments, we would never find music.
God has so arranged the chronometry of our spirits, that there shall be thousands of silent moments between the striking hours.
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