I WISH YOU PEACE

I wish you peace when the cold winds blow
Warmed by the fire's glow
I wish you comfort in the, the lonely time
Arms to hold you when you ache inside

I wish you hope when things are going bad
Kind words when times are sad
I wish you shelter from the, the raging wind
Cooling waters at the fever's end

I wish you peace when times are hard
A light to guide you through the dark
And when storms are high, and your, your dreams are low
I wish you the strength to let love grow
Oh, I wish you the strength to let love flow

Wish you peace when times are hard
A light to guide you through the dark
And when storms are high and your, your dreams are low

Wish you the strength to let love grow, ah, ah, ah
I wish you the strength to let love flow, ah, ah, ah

I wish you the strength to let love glow, ah, ah, ah
I wish you the strength to let love glow

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Bernie Leadon / Patti Davis

I Wish You Peace lyrics © Likely Story Music, Likely Story Music Co.

I Wish You PeaceSong by Eagles ‧ 1975

I wish you peace when the cold winds blow
Warmed by the fire's glow
I wish you comfort in the, the lonely time
Arms to hold you when you ache inside

I wish you hope when things are going bad
Kind words when times are sad
I wish you shelter from the, the raging wind
Cooling waters at the fever's end

I wish you peace when times are hard
A light to guide you through the dark
And when storms are high, and your, your dreams are low
I wish you the strength to let love grow
Oh, I wish you the strength to let love flow

Wish you peace when times are hard
A light to guide you through the dark
And when storms are high and your, your dreams are low

Wish you the strength to let love grow, ah, ah, ah
I wish you the strength to let love flow, ah, ah, ah

I wish you the strength to let love glow, ah, ah,

The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

To Autumn By John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
and touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Be Thankful

Be thankful that you don’t already have everything you desire.
If you did, what would there be to look forward to?

Be thankful when you don’t know something,
for it gives you the opportunity to learn.

Be thankful for the difficult times.
During those times you grow.

Be thankful for your limitations,
because they give you opportunities for improvement.

Be thankful for each new challenge,
because it will build your strength and character.

Be thankful for your mistakes.
They will teach you valuable lessons.

Be thankful when you’re tired and weary,
because it means you’ve made a difference.

It’s easy to be thankful for the good things.
A life of rich fulfillment comes to those who
are also thankful for the setbacks.

Gratitude can turn a negative into a positive.
Find a way to be thankful for your troubles,
and they can become your blessings.

The Pain Reliever

Carrie Olivia Adams

Silence is the sound the knife makes
slitting the skin.

Can you identify my weakness,
a pricking sensation
and numbness in one limb?
Can you hold this tongue?
Tell me, what is the function
of meticulous courage.

You are the most yourself
when you are in the motion.
One can be quick and too quick.
I have a stomach too.
It gets hungry.

If I be of necessity opportunity,
if there be the slightest chance of success,
why have a mind, if?

Does that scream in the night across the alley
beg an answer? Are we crowning
into the sludge of an injury and its repair?

An elephant is larger and stronger than a horse;
but it is not preferred as a beast of burden.

Strength is a wee umbrella in the storm.
This the friction sound heard
in inspiration, expiration, or both.
For convenience of description,
blood is bright red and frothy.

Have you earned the privilege
of making mistakes?
There really is no sex in science.
The nomenclature lifts
delicate subjects up from the plane
in which language places them.

Man has more strength,
woman, more endurance.

The hands and the instruments
are the chief sources of danger.
This fever.
There is no subject on which so much has been written
and so little known.

"Invictus" is a short poem by English poet William Ernest Henley. Henley wrote it in 1875, and in 1888 he published it in his first volume of poems, Book of Verses, in the section titled "Life and Death".

INVICTUS 👏🙏

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul