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 Lake picture

Statue of boy fishing

 

The World - A Child's Song

By William Brighty Rands

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World ! With the wonderful water round you curl'd, And the wonderful grass upon your breast - World, you are beautifully drest.

The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree; It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.

The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree; It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.

Ah, you are so great, and I am so small, I tremble to think of you World, at all ! And yet, when I said my prayers to-day, A whisper inside me seem'd to say -

' You are more than the Earth, tho' you are such a dot : You can love and think, and the Earth cannot ! '


 

I Remember, I Remember

By Thomas Hood

I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember, The roses, red and white, The vi'lets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday,-- The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember, The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from heav'n Than when I was a boy.



Most of you have not been to Harvey's Lake.
When terribly ill I realized that If I ceased being
active I would die.......so here is some of what I
do daily to maintain health and happiness........
This is how I stay out of trouble (almost)

In veggie garden reaping the harvest!

Picture of Arnie's Garden


Home back door entrance.

Picture of Arnie's home

Patient fisherboy & waterfall.

Statue of boy fishing

This the old farmhouse on 50 acres I restored.

Picture of Arnie's farmhouse

Farmhouse & modular to the left
(both now rentals)

Picture of Arnie's farmhouse

Will try and get a picture for you in the Fall
of the Valley across from houses.
It is state game land with spectacular foliage.
Foilage? Folaige? Fo-ledge!


 
 
Wegener's Granulomatosis
Who is Arnie Garinger
Arnie's Epistle
Arnie's Postlude
Mollies Follies
Campground Owner
Retirement
Relationship Do's & Don'ts
College Misericordia Speech
Arnie Garinger's Tribute
Home

Arnie Garinger August 21, 2003
Copyright © 2002-2006
Arnie Garinger


 
 
 
 
 
 
 

To a Little Invisible Being Who Is Expected Soon To Become Visible

By Anna Laetitia Barbauld

Germ of new life, whose powers expanding slow For many a moon their full perfection wait,-- Haste, precious pledge of happy love, to go Auspicious borne through life's mysterious gate.

What powers lie folded in thy curious frame,-- Senses from objects locked, and mind from thought! How little canst thou guess thy lofty claim To grasp at all the worlds the Almighty wrought!

And see, the genial season's warmth to share, Fresh younglings shoot, and opening roses glow! Swarms of new life exulting fill the air,-- Haste, infant bud of being, haste to blow!

For thee the nurse prepares her lulling songs, The eager matrons count the lingering day; But far the most thy anxious parent longs On thy soft cheek a mother's kiss to lay.

She only asks to lay her burden down, That her glad arms that burden may resume; And nature's sharpest pangs her wishes crown, That free thee living from thy living tomb.

She longs to fold to her maternal breast Part of herself, yet to herself unknown; To see and to salute the stranger guest, Fed with her life through many a tedious moon.

Come, reap thy rich inheritance of love! Bask in the fondness of a Mother's eye! Nor wit nor eloquence her heart shall move Like the first accents of thy feeble cry.

Haste, little captive, burst thy prison doors! Launch on the living world, and spring to light! Nature for thee displays her various stores, Opens her thousand inlets of delight.

If charmed verse or muttered prayers had power, With favouring spells to speed thee on thy way, Anxious I'd bid my beads each passing hour, Till thy wished smile thy mother's pangs o'erpay.