Happy Homepage
Akira Avenue
Angels A to Z
Ayliyah Avenue
Brody Close
Bruno's Bedtime
Choocho Station
Comfort Valley
Corey's Castle
Dinah's Drive
Dino's Burger.
Dionne Bridge
Disney Drive
Donna's Diner
Fairy Square
Ffordd Llyfr
Ha-Ha Arcade
Happy Mansions
Jaimie's Zoo
J.J's Junction
Jo's Galleon
K. K's Square
Kid's House
Kid's Treasury
Kindness Street
King P. Palace
Knock Meadow
Lily's Yard
Monty's Circus
Minnie Marsh
Molly Melody
Noah's Ark
Nonsense Avenue
Nursery Land
Odhran's Tale
Pastimes
Penguin Avenue
Pleasure Land
Pooh's Park
Princess Way
Prudence Close
Prince's Alley
Queen P Palace
Rabbit's Warren
Sage Rise
Scotch Corner
Scrap City
Spiggy Square
Studio Ghibli
Sunday School
Tilly Teapot
Toby Bucket
Unicorn Meadow
Merry - Land
Blog
Photo's
Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere
Sunday School
Diddilydeedot's Dream Land
How to make you own picture of Joseph's Coat
followed by a small animated film on the story
Joseph and His Coat of Many Colours









Sunday School
Diddily Dee-Dot's Dream-Land

Our Friends the Flowers.
By Fredrick Langbridge

First Child.

Oh, 'twere sweet to be a flower
In the glare of fierce July,
With the dust-cloud white and dry,
And no cloud that meant a shower!
That the droughty passer-by
Might pause near me, well content,
And be freshened, heart and eye,
By my colour and my scent.

Second Child.

Nay, I'd rather be a flower
In some dingy city room,
Where the whirl of wheel and loom
Clamoured on from hour to hour.
Oh! I'd breathe through smoke and gloom,
Till the happy tears should flow,
As one thought of hawthorn bloom,
And the lanes of long ago.

Third Child.

Nay; were I a flower, I'd dwell,
Not in window-sill or way,
But some ward where children lay,
Who would never more be well.
Oh! what tender things I'd say
Of that bright and flowery sod,
Where the little children play,
In the Paradise of God!

Our Friends the Flowers


DIDDILY DEE DOT'S DREAMLAND FOR CHILDREN EVERYWHERE

Fifteen Sunday School Songs for the Children of the World.




THE LAMB

BY WILLIAM BLAKE

FROM "SONGS OF INNOCENCE."

 Little lamb, who made thee?
 Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, wooly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?

Dostt thou know who made thee?

Lamb Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a lamb,
He is meek, and He is mild,
He became a little child;
I a child, and thee a Lamb,
We are called by His Name.
 Little lamb, God bless thee!
 Little lamb, God bless thee!

star

The English lyrics were first published as a poem with the title "The Star" by sisters Ann and Jane Taylor (1793–1824) in Rhymes for the Nursery in London in 1806. The poem was probably written by Jane. There are five stanzas. The repetition of the first two lines at the end of each verse is not in the original, but is needed to fit the usual melody. Below is the whole text with only the first phrase with the repetition of the first two lines added:


A SONG FOR SUNDAY

TWINKLE, TWINKLE LITTLE STAR

BY SISTERS, ANN AND JANE TAYLOR (1793 - 1824


Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky!

Repeat:
 *Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!*

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
(*repeat)

Then the traveller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.
(*repeat)

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.
(*repeat)

As your bright and tiny spark,
Lights the traveller in the dark,—
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

star

* Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star *

Here is a Beautiful Sunday Story all the way from Poland

Little BirdThe Legend of the GoldfinchLittle Bird

          When God the Father made our world and covered the ground with lovely carpets of flowers, and made trees to grow into the wonderful temples of forests. He wanted the temples to be filled with music, so He made the birds.

          He made them big and small and gave them different shapes,  and when they were all finished He told them to get into a long line so that they could be painted. So all the big birds stood  first and all the little ones were at the end. Phew, it was such a long line. And there, among the small birds, was one that was very lively - we call him a Goldfinch today. He chirped and hopped and moved to and fro, and could not keep in the line. There was still such a long line of birds to be painted before his turn came.

"I must try my wings foWhen God made our world, He made it so Beautiful.r a while; it is so tiring to stand and wait, " thought the little bird; and he spread his wings and up he flew, up to the little clouds that looked so white and fluffy against the deep blue background of the sky.

      He looked down; how beautiful the world was in its new, fresh loveliness! He flew from tree to tree and meadow to meadow and hill to hill, singing with joy and fluttering in the sunshine. He was so happy in this wonderful world. Suddenly he remembered his coat had not been painted and that he had been away for such a long time. He must hurry back. So he flew as fast as he could, and at last he could see the meadow where the long line of birds had been. But now there were no birds to be seen at all.

          So God took all the little bits of colour....

God had finished his work, and He had packed away his paints and brushes and was washing his hands. The little Goldfinch sat on a tree and sobbed. God heard him weeping and asked what was the matter. So the Goldfinch told how he had flown away to see the beautiful world, and how he was too late to have his coat painted.

     "God saw that he was really sorry, so He said "Come, and I will see what I can do." 

So, joyfully, the Goldfinch flew to Him.  The colours had all been put away, but there were still many little bits of paint on the palette; so God took all the many little scraps and made of them the wonderful coat of many colours that the Goldfinch wears to this day...
 
     
  THIS IS A SPECIAL VERSE
FOR EVERY CHILD


n the gardens of the
great,

Roses grow in royal state;
Lilies tall and beautiful

We may see, but must not cull.
But along the hedgerow ways,
Modest violets greet our gaze,
And within the meadows wild
Daisies grow for every child.

here are noble deeds and great
We may never emulate;
Heroes fame that travels wide,
While at home we needs must bide.
But about us, close to view,
There are kind acts we may do;
And in gentle hearts and mild,
Graces grow for every child.

Violets


I love this wee verse,
 And I am going to place
 It on the Home Pages,
 Of all four of my web sites.

BROTHER RABBIT HAS A PLAN

 One day little Brother Rabbit was running along on the sand, lippety, lippety, when he saw the Whale and the Elephant talking together. Little Brother Rabbit crouched down and listened to what they were saying. This was what they were saying:
''You are the biggest thing on the land, Brother Elephant,'' said the Whale, ''and I am the biggest thing in the sea; if we join together we can rule all the animal in the world, and have our way about everything.''
''Very good, very good,'' trumpeted the Elephant; ''that suits me; we will do it.''
Little Brother Rabbit snickered to himself. ''They won't rule me,'' he said. He ran away and got a very long, very strong rope, and he got his big drum, and hid the drum a long way off in the bushes. Then he went along the beach till he came to the Whale.
''Oh, please, dear, strong Mr. Whale,'' he said, ''will you have the great kindness to do me a favour? My cow is stuck in the Whalemud, a quarter of a mile from here. And I can't pull her out. But you are so strong and so obliging, that I venture to trust you will help me out.''
The Whale was so pleased with the compliment that he said, ''Yes,'' at once.
''Then,'' said the Rabbit, ''I will tie this end of my long rope to you, and I will run away and tie the other end round my cow, and when I am ready I will beat my big drum. When you hear that, pull very, very hard, for the cow is stuck very deep in the mud.''
''Huh!'' grunted the Whale, ''I'll pull her out, if she is stuck to the horns.''
Little Brother Rabbit tied the rope-end to the whale, and ran off, lippety, lippety, till he came to the place where the Elephant was.

''Oh, please, mighty and kindly Elephant,'' he said, making a very low bow, ''will you do me a favor?''
''What is it?'' asked the Elephant.
''My cow is stuck in the mud, about a quarter of a mile from here,'' said little Brother Rabbit, ''and I cannot pull her out. but I think you could. If you will be so very obliging as to help me"
Elephant''Certainly,'' said the Elephant grandly, ``certainly.''
''Then,'' said little Brother Rabbit, ''I will tie one end of this long rope to your trunk, and the other to my cow, and as soon as I have tied her tightly I will beat my big drum. When you hear that, pull; pull as hard as you can, for my cow is very heavy.''
''Never fear,'' said the Elephant, ``I could pull twenty cows.''
''I am sure you could,'' said the Rabbit, politely,''only be sure to begin gently, and pull harder and harder till you get her.''
Then he tied the end of the rope tightly round the Elephant's trunk, and ran away into the bushes. There he sat down and beat the big drum.
The Whale began to pull, and the Elephant began to pull, and in a jify the rope tightened till it was stretched as hard as could be.
''This is a remarkably heavy cow,'' said the Elephant; ''but I'll fetch her!'' And he braced his forefeet in the earth, and gave a tremendous pull.
''Dear me!'' said the Whale. ``That cow must be stuck mighty tight;'' and he drove his tail deep in the water, and gave a marvelous pull.
Whale
He pulled harder; the Elephant pulled harder. Pretty soon the Whale found himself sliding toward the land. The reason was, of course, that the Elephant had something solid to brace against, and, too, as fast as he pulled the rope in a little, he took a turn with it round his trunk!
But when the Whale found himself sliding toward the land he was so provoked with the cow that he dove head first, down to the bottom of the sea. That was a pull! The Elephant was jerked off his feet, and came slipping and sliding to the beach, and into the surf. He was terribly angry. He braced himself with all his might, and pulled his best. At the jerk, up came the Whale out of the water.
''Who is pulling me?'' spouted the Whale.
Elephant''Who is pulling me?'' trumpeted the Elephant.
And then each saw the rope in the other's hold.
''I'll teach you to play cow!'' roared the Elephant.
''I'll show you how to fool me!'' fumed the Whale. And they began to pull again. But this time the rope broke, the Whale turned a somersault, and the Elephant fell over backwards.
At that, they were both so ashamed that neither would speak to the other. So that broke up the bargain between them.
And little Brother Rabbit sat in the bushes and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.


Brer Rabbit

THE OLD LADY AND THE TULIP BED

Once upon a time there was a good old woman who lived in a little house. She had in her garden a bed of beautiful striped tulips
One night she was wakened by the sounds of sweet singing and of babies laughing. She looked out at the window. The sounds seemed to come from the tulip bed, but she could see nothing.

The next morning she walked among her flowers but there were no signs of any one having been there the night before.

On the following night she was again wakened by sweet singing and babies laughing. She rose and stole softly through her garden. The moon was shining brightly on the tulip bed, and the flowers were swaying to and fro. The old woman looked closely and she saw, standing by each tulip, a little Fairy mother who was crooning and rocking the flower like a cradle, while in each tulip-cup lay a little Fairy baby laughing and playing.


The good old woman stole quietly back to her house, and from that time on she never picked a tulip, nor did she allow her neighbours to touch the flowers.


The tulips grew daily brighter in colour and larger in size, and they gave out a delicious perfume like that of roses. They began, too, to bloom all the year round. And every night the little Fairy mothers caressed their babies and rocked them to sleep in the flower-cups.


The day came when the good old woman died, and the tulip-bed was torn up by folks who did not know about the Fairies, and parsley was planted there instead of the flowers. But the parsley withered, and so did all the other plants in the garden, and from that time nothing would grow there.


But the good old woman's grave grew beautiful, for the Fairies sang above it, and kept it green; while on the grave and all around it there sprang up tulips, daffodils, and violets, and other lovely flowers of spring.




Some Angel Phrases for you to tell your friends




Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly....  --G.K. Chesterton
Angels can fly even though they are well grounded.

Angels can't read music, they wing it.
Angels come in all shapes, sizes and colours.

Angels don't make too much noise when they flap their wings.
Angels don't run away from life, they fly towards it.

Angels don't sing the blues.
Angels dream beautiful visions of the world.

Angels encourage everyone in the right direction...up.
Angels have a hidden agenda....LOVE.

Angels have more meaning than just as characters in stories from the distant past. In fact, they are members of a cast who make appearances in our lives every single day.
 
Angels hide nothing and see everything.

Angels know how to light the way.
Angels know how to pull the right strings.

Angels like to do what they want, just for the heaven of it.
Angels may not come when you call them, but they'll always be there when you need them.

Angels occupy the loveliest corners of our thoughts.
Angels of a feather, flock together.

Angels often work behind the scenes.
Angels paint with sound and sing with colour.

Angels promote closeness and foster tenderness.
Angels say "halo" to everyone.

Angels stay on top of things.
Angels travel lightly.

Angels walk softly and carry a big presence.
Anyone can be an angel... to you.

Anyone who helps you grow is an angel.
Do not neglect hospitality, for through it some have unknowingly entertained angels. 

-- Hebrews 13:2

This I think is one all people who call themself the Children of God should Obey.
.... Diddilydeedot's Dreamland -  2012


 DEAR ANGEL
HOW LOVELY YOU MUST BE




Dear Angel ever at my side,
how lovely you must be---
To leave your home in heaven,
to guard a child like me.
When I'm far away from home,
or maybe hard at play--
I know you will protect me,
from harm along the way.
Your beautiful and shining face,
I see not, though you're near.
The sweetness of your lovely voice,
I cannot really hear.

When I pray, you're praying too,
Your prayer is just for me.
But ,when I sleep you never do,
You're watching over me.


THESE ARE SOME BEAUTIFUL
THINGS ABOUT AN ANGEL





Everyone has their own angel.
For last night an angel of the God to Whom I belong and Whom I serve stood by me. --  Acts 27:23

I will give thanks to You, O lord, with all my heart, in the presence of the angels I will sing Your praise. -- Psalm 138:1

If we were all like angels, the world would be a heavenly place.
If you believe there are angels, believe there are angels; and if you don't, don't.  But don't tame them into something to which you can be indifferent.

If you seek an angel with an open heart, you shall always find one
"Make yourself familiar with the angels, and behold them frequently in spirit; for without being seen, they are present with you."  --  St. Francis de Sales

My hero's come with wings, not capes.
No other virtue makes man more equal to the angels, than the initiation of their way of life.  -- John Cassian

See, I am sending an angel before you, to guard you on the way and bring you to the place I have prepared.  --  Exodus 23:20

Smiles are the next best thing to halos.
Sometimes your best friend is actually a guardian angel in disguise.

The angels stand between us and God, but they are translucent, even transparent, and they beckon us to penetrate their luminosity.  -- Peter Wilson

The sky is the limit to an angel.
The sound of an angel's voice can unlock your hidden feelings.

The sweet souls who love, cherish, inspire and protect the angel in you are your guardian angels. They are your Friends and Family.
The warmth of an angel's light can comfort and illuminate the whole world.

There are no strangers to an angel.
There are often people nearby who want to pull you up when you reach out. These are your angels-in-waiting.

We are all angels in training.
We've never had to look far to find our angels. Angels have never really been out of reach. We can always discover angels from the inside-out, because it is the angel inside us who can point the way to all our other angels.

While we are sleeping, angels have conversations with our souls.
You don't have to die to become an angel.

 I love this little poem by Marjorie  Wilson, she  was the sister of Captain T P Cameron
the war poet: 1889-1918. Their Father was the Reverend T Cameron Wilson of Little Eaton in Derbyshire. Marjorie's War Work included nursing service with the Voluntary Aid Detachment and with the War Relief Office.
She left a big hole in Britains poetry and rhymes dying so very, very young.


THE OLD WOMAN IN THE ATTIC


My little room is high up in the house,
The rain's small feet pit-patter.
No one comes.
Lonely it is. Sometimes a soft, small mouse
Peeps out with frightened eyes to find my crumbs.
I have grown old in this small attic room.
One after one my dear friends went away.
In the still night how black the shadows loom!
But shadows do not last; they go by day.
I have a roof (so close). I have a fire.
I would not change my garret room, not even
For a grand floor below: there is none higher;
The floor above this little room is heaven.


Marjorie Wilson 1889 - 1918

Also by Majorie Wilson

REMEMBRANCE POEM: 'TO TONY – AGED 3 (IN MEMORY: T. P. C. W.)'

The poem entitled 'To Tony – Aged 3'
was written in 1918 by Marjorie Wilson in memory of her brother, T P Cameron Wilson ('T. P. C. W.'), a casualty of World War I. Also a poet, he was serving as an officer in the 10th Sherwood Foresters when he was killed in action at Hermies, France, in 1918.
 Many of the children of soldiers killed in combat were – are – too young to know or remember their fathers, so it falls to relations to tell them about their parents and of the sacrifices that they made.




A GATHERING OF ANGEL VOICES JUST FOR YOU


 
A gathering of angels can enlighten the whole world.
A house call from an angel can heal a broken heart.

An angel appears to be just like everybody else, only more so.
An angel can fly directly into the heart of the matter.    
 
An angel can illuminate the thought and mind of man by strengthening the power of vision.  --  St. Thomas Aquinas

An angel is a heavenly host.
An angel is someone who raises your spirits! A TRUE FRIEND

An angel is someone you feel like you've known forever, even though you've just met.
An angel is someone you're always happy to bump into.

An angel's art is his heart.
An angel's love is weightless.

Angels always lead you down the right path.
Angels always try to paint a rosy picture.

Angels and ministers of grace defend us. -- William Shakespeare
Angels are always memorable because they never forget what really matters.

Angels are bright lights in the midst of our lives.
Angels are never too distant to hear you.

Angels are speaking to all of us...some of us are just listening better.
Angels are spirits, but it is not because they are spirits that they are angels. They become angels when they are sent. For the name angel refers to their office, not their nature. You ask the name of this nature, it is spirit; you ask its office, it is that of an Angel, which is a messenger.  -- St. Augustine

Angels are students in Heaven and teachers on Earth.
Angels are the gatekeepers to the soul.

Angels are very down to earth.
Angels believe in miracles. I say Angels ARE Miracles.

http://crafts.kaboose.com/baby-jesus.html

SUNDAY STORIES AND CRAFTS
 HERE YOU ARE, TAKE THIS ALONG TO YOUR SUNDAY SCHOOL. IT IS ALWAYS NICE TO HEAR THE STORY OF THE NATIVITY, AND WHAT BETTER THAN WHEN YOU ARE MAKING A BEAUTIFUL CRIB

Baby JesusBaby Jesus in the Manger

By: Amanda Formaro

Difficulty: Very Easy

Age: 7 and up

Average User Rating:

This baby Jesus craft project is perfect for Sunday school because it doesn't take too much time, but it will occupy your students' attention all session long.

What you'll need:

  • Raffia (a couple of handfuls)

    Baby Jesus

  • 1- 2 3/8" wooden doll body

  • Brown and tan felt
  • Scissors
  • Hot glue gun
  • Polystyrene or paper cup

How to make it:

  1. Cut the tan felt into a piece large enough to wrap around the doll's body and glue it in place, seam in the back. Now wrap Him in the brown blanket
  2. Place the wrapped doll onto a square of brown felt (approximately 4.5" square) with the doll's head at one of the square's corners . Wrap the doll in the brown "blanket" in the swaddling style. To swaddle, begin by folding the right side of the blanket across the doll to the left side. Do the same on the right, folding the left side of the blanket across the body over to the right. Tuck the bottom of the blanket up and behind the doll and use some glue to tack everything together (see image).
  3. Cut the cup in half. Reserve one half for another project . Glue strips of raffia inside the cup.

    Baby Jesus in the Manger

  4. Glue the baby Jesus into the raffia.
  5. Don't forget his eyes and mouth, be very careful.

Tips:

  1. Instead of raffia, you can use strips of felt or even construction paper.
  2. If you live in a rural area, straw or hay would make a great replacement!
  3. Children can use a fine tip marker to add eyes and a mouth.

  1. Make this project while
  2. discussing the birth of Jesus.

  3. http://crafts.kaboose.com/baby-jesus.html

diddilydeedotsdreamland .

Diddily Dee Dot's Dream-Land gives you :

Hugs and more hugs
Subscribe with Bloglines
 ALL THE CHILDREN


I suppose if all the children who have lived through the ages long
Were collected and inspected they would make a wonderous throng.
Oh, the babble of the Babel ! Oh, the flutter and the fuss !
To begin with Cain and Abel, and to finish up with US.

Think of all the men and women who are now and who have been -
Every nation since creation that this world of ours have seen,
And of all of them not any, but was once a baby small;
While of children, oh, how many have NOT grown up at all !

some have never laughed or spoken

Some have never laughed or spoken, never used their rosy feet;
Some have even flown to heaven ere they knew that earth was sweet !
And indeed I wonder whether, if we reckon every birth
And bring such a flock together, there is room for them on earth.

Who will wash their smilng faces ? Who their saucy ears will box ?
Who will dress them and caress them ? Who will darn their little socks ?
Where are arms enough to hold them ? Hands to pat each shining head ?
Who will praise them ? Who will scold them ? Who will pack them off to bed ?

Little happy, laughing children, little children all of you.
In all stages, of all ages, that our planet ever knew ;
Little princes and princesses, beggar children, wan and faint,
Some in very handsome dresses, naked some bedaubed with dirt.

Only think of the confusion such a motley crowd would make,
And the clatter and the chatter and the things that they would break !
Oh, the babble of the Babel ! Oh, the flutter and the fuss !
To begin with Cain and Abel, and to finish up with US.



Now I ask you, all you adults out there reading this with your wonderful children, no matter if they are black, or white, red or brown, yellow or even green if we have any aliens among us. Don't you think that this little Verse should be read out every day, in every school and Sunday school. It is wonderful. But once again, I have no idea who wrote it. It was definitely written before 1933 for that is the year the book was printed.


But all of us children around the planet would like to say a big.
THANKYOU VERY MUCH!






  THE B-I-B-L-E

The B-I-B-L-E,
Yes, that's the Book for me;
I stand upon the Word of God
The B-I-B-L-E!

The B-L-O-O-D
That Jesus shed for me;
Christ paid the price, our sacrifice
The B-L-O-O-D!

I'm S-A-V-E-D,
By G-R-A-C-E;
I'm saved by grace, the Scripture says
The B-I-B-L-E!


say the B - I - B -  L - E  split words individually

Do enjoy these little Sunday Songs from all my friends at You Tube; there is even a version of the poem I have just written, and it is being sung, so you will be able to look at the words and sing the song at the same time. So have fun and I'll be back here soon. Bye for now Diddily. xxx



 Image



GRACE
by John Drinkwater

When I thank God for my nice food,
I'd like it to be understood
That I don't thank him just the same
For everything that I could name.

For instance, if it is boiled fish,
I do not think that he would wish
As many thanks as if he'd brought
A chicken with a merry-thought.

I hardly think "good dinner" means
Baked apples, tapioca, greens,
For, though I do not mention it,
They are my most unfavourite.

But when it is a bone to pick,
A batter pudding, or a stick
Of celery, I have agreed
To thank him very much indeed.



Image

 

Create your own banner at mybannermaker.com!

 SUNDAY TALES ESPECIALLY FOR YOU

 THE ANGEL
 
"Whenever a child dies, an angel comes down from heaven, takes the  child in its arms, and, spreading out its large white wings, visits all the places that had been particularly dear to the child, where it gathers a handful of flowers, flying up again to heaven with them, and there they bloom more beautifully than on earth: but that flower which it loves the most receives a voice, so that it can join in the universal chorus of thanksgiving and praise."

      Thus spoke an angel whilst carrying a dead child up to heaven; and the child listened as in a dream; and they visited the places that had been most dear to the child whilst alive, and where it had played, passing through gardens full of the most beautiful flowers.
"What flowers shall we take with us to plant in heaven," the angel asked.
      They gathered of the beautiful plants, the perfume and the colours of which delighted mankind: but the despised buttercup and the wild pansy, they took with them also.


"Now we have flowers,"  said the child, and the angel nodded. But they still did not fly up to heaven. It was night and all was quiet; but yet they remained in the large town, hovering over one of the narrowest streets, where there were heaps of straw, ashes and all manner of rubbish, for it was quarter day, when many people change their lodgings. There lay broken plates, pieces of plaster, the crowns of old hats, and rags of all sorts - in short, a mass of things in no way pleasing to the eye.
       The angel pointed down among all the rubbish to some pieces of a broken flower pot, and a lump of earth which had fallen out of it helt together by the roots of a large dried up wild flower, which had been thrown into the street as useless.
"That we will take with us." the angel said: "I will tell you why as we fly on."
'And this is what the angel then said.' 
"There below in that narrow street in a cellar, lived a poor, sick boy, who from his earliest years has been bedridden. When at his best he could manage to walk around the room a couple of times on his crutches, and that was all. He only knew of the green forest by the son of a neighbour bringing him the first branch of a beech tree that was out in leaf, which he held over his head fancying that he was in the forest under the beech trees, with the sun shining and the thirds singing.  One day in spring the neighbours son brought him wild flowers, amongst which there happened to be one that had its roots, and it was therefore set in a pot and placed near his bed. The flower flourished, sending forth new shoots and blossomed every year so that it became the sick boys flower garden, his greatest comfort and treasure here on earth. He watered it and watched it every day, taking care that it had even to the last ray of sun which glided through the low window.
      The flower became identified with his dreams, for it was for him alone it blossomed, delighting him by its scent and beautiful colours, and to it he turned in death. It is now a year that he has been in heaven, and for a year the flower has stood, forgotten and dried up
"And how do you know all this?" the child asked.
"I know it," the angel answered, " because I myself was the poor sick boy who walked on crutches and I know my flower well."
In the window, till during the moving, it was thrown out into the street. And that is the flower, which we have placed in our nosegay, for it has given more pleasure than the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen."



      The child now thoroughly opened her eyes, and looked up into the angel's beautiful face, which beamed with happiness and at the same moment they were in heaven, where joy and bliss reigned. The dead child received wings like the other angels, with whom he flew about hand in hand. The flowers, well they received their new life whereas the poor withered wild flowers of the angel received a voice, and was able to sing with the angels.
All sang their praises and thanksgiving, to the child who had just arrived in heaven, and to the poor wild flower, which had been thrown out amongst the rubbish in the narrow dark street.


"This little story was written by one of the greatest childrens story teller's of all time.
His name?
            
     Why "Hans Christian Andersen" of course!"
  
I’m Hans Christian Andersen,
I’ve many a tale to tell
And though I’m a cobbler,
I’d say I tell them rather well
I’ll mend your shoes and I’ll fix your boot
when I have a moment free
when I’m not otherwise occupied
as a purple duck, or a mountain side,
or a quarter after three
I’m Hans Christian Andersen,
Andersen, that’s me!

But now after reading a story from Hans, let us change countries and watch the wonderful "Jataka Tales which were sent to me from my friend Dadadzi in India.




 Create your own banner at mybannermaker.com!


 HERE IS ANOTHER OF THOSE WONDERFUL THINGS I FOUND WHILST LOOKING FOR IMAGES TO PUT TO LIGHT THE LAMPS......

Grandma's Prayer Candle

Her example of faith helps me through tough times


I lit a candle today — a simple, cream-colored pillar resting in a humble, glass base. I was feeling annoyed, hurt, and confused about a certain situation. This situation shocked and horrified me, but it is something over which I have little or no control. When I tried to pray about it, my emotional circuit overloaded — I just couldn’t find the words to express myself to God. So, I lit a candle.

Lighting a candle is something I learned from my Irish grandmother. As a preschool-aged child, I was fascinated with her fancy prayer candle that glowed in the dark of her bedroom. The little votive light rested inside a red glass container in an elaborate, golden-colored
metal frame studded with sparkling jewels. I assumed this was real gold and jewels, like those worn by kings and queens in my fairy-tale books. Standing in Grandma’s darkened room at night, the patterns of red and gold light dancing on the walls and illuminating the statue of Mary, I felt the same awe I had when my dad turned on the Christmas tree lights.

One time when I visited Grandma during the daytime, the wind suddenly picked up and the sky grew dark. A thunderstorm was approaching — an event my relatives took fairly seriously. Their homes’ exposure on rural hillsides made them easy targets. Besides the danger to humans, there was the unspoken fear that livestock and stored crops, on which one’s livelihood depended, might perish in a fire started by lightning.

Before the storm reached us, Grandma brought her prayer candle into the living room. As she lit it, she explained to me that one should always pray for people who are caught outside during bad weather. There were farmers working in the fields who might not be able to get inside in time. People driving in ca
rs might be facing slick roads. (No cell phones back then to check on family members — only prayers!) After pausing quietly for a few moments, Grandma returned to her ordinary tasks of the day, but the flame of the candle continued to burn, reminding us of our prayer intention.

Forty years later, I no longer think to light a candle in a storm. I grab a flashlight instead, not with the noble pursuit of praying for others, but in case I lose that treasured possession called electricity! But Grandma’s example was not in
vain. I still light a candle when I have something special on my mind to place before the Lord.

Prayer candles remind me that Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows Me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12). And Christ’s light continues to burn throughout all centuries. This light brings wisdom and prudence in dealing with all the challenges I face — burning bright, always, amid the storms of life.

Didn't I tell you that it was beauti
ful. Seli.

Julie McCarty is the author of The Pearl of Great Price: Gospel Wisdom for Christian Marriage (forthcoming in July 2007 from Liturgical Press).
Reprinted with permission of the author.


 
Not everything about Sunday Tales has to be serious,
These were put together by Ben Witherington;


The Wisdom of Children in Sunday School 




- Or Fractured Bible Tales

The Sunday school teacher was carefully explaining the story of Elijah the Prophet and the false prophets of Baal. She explained how Elijah built the altar, put wood upon it, cut the steer in pieces, and laid it upon the altar. And then, Elijah commanded the people of God to fill four barrels of water and pour it over the altar. He had them do this four times "Now, said the teacher, "can anyone in the class tell me why the Lord would have Elijah pour water over the steer on the altar?"
A little girl in the back of the room started waving her hand, "I know! I know!" she said, "To make the gravy!!"



The Sunday School teacher was describing how Lot's wife looked back and turned into a pillar of salt, when little Jason interrupted, "My Mummy looked back once, while she was driving," he announced triumphantly, "and she turned into a telephone pole!"




A Sunday school teacher was telling her class the story of the Good Samaritan, in which a man was beaten, robbed and left for dead. She described the situation in vivid detail so her students would catch the drama. Then, she asked the class, "If you saw a person lying on the
roadside, all wounded and bleeding, what would you do?" A thoughtful little girl broke the hushed silence, "I think I'd throw up."



A Sunday school teacher asked, "Johnny, do you think Noah did a lot of fishing when he was on the Ark?" "No", replied little David, 'cause he only had two worms!"



A Sunday school teacher said to her children, " We have been learning how powerful kings and queens were in Bible times. But, there is a higher power. Can anybody tell me what it is?"
One child blurted out, "Aces!"


There was a very gracious lady who was mailing an old family Bible to her brother in another part of the country "Is there anything breakable in here?" asked the postal clerk. "Only the Ten Commandments," answered the lady.





BUMPER STICKER SEEN ON AMISH BUGGY

While driving in west Pennsylvania , a family caught up to an Amish carriage. The owner of the carriage obviously had a sense of humor, because attached to the back of the carriage was a hand printed sign....
"Energy efficient vehicle: Runs on oats and grass. Caution: Do not step in exhaust."



Sunday after church, a Mother asked her very young daughter what the lesson was about. The daughter answered, "Don't be scared, you'll get your quilt." Needless to say, the Mum was perplexed. Later in the day, the pastor stopped by for tea and the Mother asked him what that morning's Sunday school lesson was about. He said "Be not afraid, thy comforter is coming."


Nine-year-old Joey, was asked by his mother what he had learned in Sunday school.
"Well, Mom, our teacher told us how
God sent Moses behind enemy lines on a rescue mission to lead the Israelites out of Egypt .. When he got to the Red Sea , he had his
army build a pontoon bridge and all the people walked across safely. Then, he radioed headquarters for reinforcements. They sent bombers to blow up the bridge and all the Israelites were saved."
 "Now, Joey, is that
really what your teacher taught you?" his mother asked.
"Well, no,
Mum. But, if I told it the way the teacher did, you'd never believe it!"



A Sunday School teacher decided to have her young class memorize one of the most quoted passages in the Bible; Psalm 23.

She gave the youngsters a month to learn the verse. Little Rick excited about the task -- but, he just couldn't remember the Psalm. After much practice, he could barely get past the first line. On the day that the kids were scheduled to recite Psalm 23 in front of the congregation, Ricky was so nervous. When it was his turn, he stepped up to the microphone and said proudly, "The Lord is my Shepherd, and that's all I need to know."







Create your own banner at mybannermaker.com!

"GOD SPEAK TO ME"

The young man whispered, "God, speak to me!"

A Western Meadowlark

And a Meadowlark sang, b
ut, the young man did not hear.
Then the young man yelled "God, speak to me!"



Thunder rolled across the sky, but, the young man did not listen.
The young man looked around and said, "God, let me see you!"





And the stars shone brightly, but the young man did not notice



And, the young man shouted, "God, show me a miracle!"




And, a life was born, but the young man did not know.

 

So, the young man cried out in despair.

"Touch me God, and let me know you are here!"


Whereupon, God reached down and touched the young man.
But, the young man brushed the
butterflies away and wandered on.



So remember, don't miss out on a blessing because it
isn't packaged the way that you expect.

Take notice of the blessings around you.

 
 "In this world where we can only pray to our Gods, whom-ever it is we look too for help, maybe you will join with me in praying for all the little children who are being killed,  even as we sit here and pray."

Father, lead me day by day,

Ever in thine own sweet way:
Teach me to be pure and true,
Show me what I ought to do.

When I'm tempted to do wrong
Make me steadfast, wise and strong:
And when all alone I stand,
Shield me with thy mighty hand,

When my heart is full of glee,

Help me to remember thee:
Happy most of all to know,
That my Father loves me so.    


I was just reading through one of my very old poetry books, most of the poems already a hundred years old by the age of the book, but most of them date back to the 16th and 17th century's sometimes older again.
But these ten little lines I think, are ten of the most beautiful lines ever written and we know when they were written but not who wrote them.


GOD BE IN MY HEAD
(Sarum Primer)

God be in my head,
And in my understanding;

God be in mine eyes,
And in my looking;

God be in my mouth,
And in my speaking;

God be in my heart,
And in my thinking;

God be at mine end,
And at my departing.

 Anonymous (1558)           
 

I love these song lyrics, they are so beautiful and they make me think of everything that is precious to me.

Who Am I” song lyrics by    Casting Crows

Who am I, that the Lord of all thee earth
Would care to know my name
Would care to feel my hurt
Who am I that the bright and morning star
Would choose to light the way to my ever wandering heart
Not because of who I am, but because of what you've done
Not because of what I've done, but because of who you are

I am the flower quickly fading, here today and gone tomorrow
A wave tossed in the ocean, A scent in the wind
Still you hear me when I'm calling,
Lord you catch me when I'm falling,
And you've told me who I am.
I am yours,  I am yours

Who am I, that the eyes who see me
Would look on me with love, and watch me rise again
Who am I, that the voice that claimes the sea
Would call out through the rain, and calm the storm in me
I am yours!
whom shall I fear?  whom shall I fear.........

BEAUTIFUL, SO BEAUTIFUL,

The Little Match-Seller

Hans Christian Andersen

(1846)

IT was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness, a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets.

         It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large, indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he had children of his own.  

         So the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. No one had bought anything off her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along the windy street, poor little child, she looked the picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders, but she regarded them not. 

           Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of roast goose, for it was New-year’s eve—yes, she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together.

          She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money.Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers.

         She drew one out—“scratch!” how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand.

          She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her. 

         She lit another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant’s. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out.

The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. “Someone is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God.

She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. “Grandmother,” cried the little one, “O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious Christmas-tree.” And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.

In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year’s sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. “She tried to warm herself,” said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year’s day.

I spotted these little creative toys when looking for images. I thought they might make lovely stocking fillers for Santa. Kaboodle Felt Board Story Figures

http://www.kaboodle.com/

The Little Match Girl...

THE VIDEO IS FROM YOU-TUBE, The films are about the litle matchgirl. Where still Images have been used you will see a few repeats but they are in a different language with a different song or music to accompany them. I have to admit they are all very, very good but my favourite is 8 on the screen, it is called Chinese Puppet Shoe, Little Match Girl and it has been put together by "Hongkongshowagent." If ever you want to go through to see You-tube, jusy click on the actual video and you will go to the original Video. If you want to come back, just click back in Browser. I intend making this page especially for Christmas, whatever nationality you are, for I hope find as many as possible. Some will be shared with Seligorscastle and diddilydeedot. that way I should be able to get quite a load of video's on.

The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen, Hans, Story-Teller



  


Asian Parent.com

 

 CHILDREN

Come to me, O my children!
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.

Ye open the eastern windows,
That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are singing swallows
And the brooks of morning run.

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn
And the first fall of the snow.

Ah! what would the world be to us
If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark  before.

What the leaves are to the forest,
With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender  juices
Have been hardened into wood, -

That to the world are children;
Through them it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches the trunks below

Come to me, O ye children!
And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.

For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
What compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks?


Ye are better than all the ballads

That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead.

This poem for children was written a long time ago by a wonderful poet called Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (February 27, 1807 – March 24, 1882) was an American
educator and poet whose works included "The Song of Hiawatha."

His first wife, Mary Potter, died in 1835 after a miscarriage. His second wife, Frances Appleton, died in 1861 after sustaining burns from her dress catching fire. Longfellow himself died in 1882.

Longfellow wrote lyric poems which were known for their musicality and which often presented stories of mythology and legend.

He became the most popular American poet of his day and also had success overseas.

He has been criticized, however, for imitating European styles and writing specifically for the masses.



site  zoomshare