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+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75156 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Cover art]
+
+
+
+
+
+  WHERE
+  SUNLIGHT FALLS
+
+
+  BY
+
+  WILHELMINA STITCH
+
+  AUTHOR OF
+  "SILKEN THREADS," "SILVER LININGS,"
+  "THE GOLDEN WEB," "VERSES FOR CHILDREN," ETC.
+
+
+
+  SECOND EDITION
+
+
+
+  METHUEN & CO. LTD.
+  36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
+  LONDON
+
+
+
+
+  _First Published ... March 21st 1929
+  Second Edition ... 1929_
+
+
+  PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
+
+
+
+
+  CONTENTS
+
+
+  A SONG TO CHEER
+  AT A DOG'S HOME
+  THE WAYSIDE PULPIT
+  SPOONS
+  ABOVE DEFEAT
+  COURTESY
+  BUILDING PALACES
+  PRESERVES
+  WHEN FRIENDSHIP DIES
+  THE HARPIST
+  THE STRONG WILL
+  CONKERS
+  THE BEAUTY-REAPER
+  REMEMBER MAY
+  TO MY UMBRELLA
+  AN EASTER SONG
+  AT A PIANO RECITAL
+  SPRING CLEANINGS
+  DEER IN AUTUMN
+  COMPENSATIONS
+  LONDON TO GREENHITHE
+  THE LITTLE CANDLE
+  TO A CHILD
+  LIFE'S SONG
+  HOLIDAY MEMORIES
+  FAILURE
+  HIS 21ST BIRTHDAY
+  FELLOWSHIP
+  IN A LITTLE ROOM
+  DO IT NOW
+  ON ST. CRISPIN'S DAY
+  THE EVER YOUNG
+  BROADCAST FRIENDS
+  SEEKING HAPPINESS
+  THOUGHTS WHEN BULB-PLANTING
+  TO EACH HIS GIFT
+  IN AN APRIL GARDEN
+  THE QUIET HEART
+  DREAM-STREET CRIES
+  SPRING IS COMING
+  SALUTE TO THE BRAVE
+  MY VISITORS
+  THIS WAY BUT ONCE
+  WANDERING THOUGHTS
+  ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH
+  THE SEA OF LIFE
+  THE CARAVAN SETS FORTH
+  MARCH, THE LION
+  PLAY THE GAME
+  A PIECE OF PAPER
+  AFRAID, BUT UNDETERRED
+  TO SOME DAHLIAS
+  STEADFASTNESS
+  CANDLEMAS
+  THE COBWEB'S STRENGTH
+  A NICHT WI' BURNS
+  MY GUY FAWKES
+  CUPPED WINGS
+  EVEN AS YOU AND I
+  TROUBLE, THE TUNNEL
+
+
+
+
+_A SONG TO CHEER_
+
+Here's a song to cheer us, when worry creeps too near us and burdens
+seem too heavy for our strength.  Endurance oft grows double to match
+the large-sized trouble, and shorten by its presence the weary
+journey's length.  And this there's no denying, when hearts are faint
+with sighing and all the future's given o'er to dread; the tiniest
+little ills, no bigger than mere pills, begin to swell and thicken
+and to spread!  This thought is truly cheerful--whenever we are
+fearful of troubles we believe are coming fast--if they ever come at
+all, they prove so very small, before the day is ended they have
+passed.
+
+
+
+
+_AT A DOG'S HOME_
+
+Said a Cocker to a Pekinese, swinging his silky ears, "What is the
+date, oh, tell me, please, for each week seems like years!"  And his
+mournful eyes looked misty with a doggy's unshed tears.  The Peke
+replied, "I understand.  Your family's away.  And so is mine--a
+foreign land!"  His nose expressed dismay.  "But they're coming back,
+I know they are, in one more night and day."  A gallant bulldog
+sniffed the air and spoke with British pride to that depressed and
+homesick pair, "I let my folks decide.  This is a very kindly place
+and here I will abide...."  He sniffs, he trembles.  Can it be?  He
+wags his tail, pricks up his ears, runs back and forth--(oh, were he
+free!) and through the kennel bars he peers, gives two sharp yaps of
+glad surprise and meets his master's loving eyes.
+
+
+
+
+_THE WAYSIDE PULPIT_
+
+Banks and hedgerows, woods and downs, all have felt the mystic
+Breath.  Trees are donning lacy gowns, vanished winter's vaunt of
+death.  The primrose lines the mossy banks; in the woods dance
+daffodils.  Hearts are brimming o'er with thanks whilst the happy
+blackbird trills.  Everywhere fresh signs of life; birds so busy with
+their nests.  Shall we harbour thoughts of strife?  Peace and Love
+would be our guests.  Hum of insects fills the air, blackthorn robes
+the hedge in white; rosy is the flow'ring pear; daisies twinkle with
+delight.  Bursting buds and leafing trees, catkins on the oak like
+lace.  Voice of God on every breeze, in every little flow'r--His
+Face.  Wayside Pulpits for His Voice!  Oh, the comfort that they
+bring.  Soul of Man, awake, rejoice!  Blossom forth--for it is Spring.
+
+
+
+
+_SPOONS_
+
+there ought to be a tinkling rhyme for spoons we're using all the
+time, for special spoons with dainty faces that live in velvet-padded
+cases and only see the light of day when visitors have come to stay!
+For spoons we use at every meal that have a homey, friendly "feel";
+for wooden spoons and spoons of tin and spoons by age worn sharp and
+thin.  Long-handled spoons, and curved and short, and those that
+by-gone goldsmiths wrought.  Big spoons for soup and small for tea
+and those that serve cook's artistry and spoons we've bought on
+holiday to prove we've really been away!  Of all the spoons I've ever
+seen in any place that I have been, the one I like the best of all is
+specially made and neat and small, its handle looped that it can fit
+the dimpled hand that clutches it--the spoon that makes a dozen trips
+to Baby's laughing, rosy lips!
+
+
+
+
+_ABOVE DEFEAT_
+
+What is the grandest sight beneath the sun?  To see--and this at
+times we all have done--a body smiling though there be no cause;
+fighting against great odds without a pause; fighting and smiling,
+knowing grim defeat, yet keeping breath enough to call life sweet!
+To see a body carrying his load as if it were a joy and not fate's
+goad, no thought of giving in, nor turning back, although the path be
+rough and skies grow black.  Stumbling, yet singing, the while the
+race is run--this is indeed a grand sight 'neath the sun.  Does it
+not make one yearn to cheer aloud, feeling most humble, yet exceeding
+proud, to watch a fellow-being lose a race, sore handicapped, but
+with a gallant grace?  Indeed, it is a grand sight 'neath the sun to
+see defeat so very nobly won!
+
+
+
+
+_COURTESY_
+
+A little poor man attired in brown (shabby the hood, shabby the
+gown), around his waist a piece of cord, entered the woods to praise
+the Lord.  The feathered choir was singing loudly, above their boughs
+the sun shone proudly.  He's coming, he's coming, into the wood, a
+little poor man 'neath a shabby brown hood.  "Good-morrow, brother!"
+he bowed to the sun, "accept my thanks for the good you have done.  I
+slept on the ground you warmed at noon.  To-night I shall greet my
+Sister Moon."  Then he turned to the birds in the leafy trees, "Good
+little sisters, if you please, since you have sung your merry lay,
+may I, your brother, have my say?"  The singing ceased, and each
+small bird opened her heart to receive the word of gentle Saint
+Francis praising the Lord in a shabby tunic tied with a cord!
+
+
+
+
+_BUILDING PALACES_
+
+A prison or a palace?  Will you choose?  For one or other is your
+dwelling-place, and this is regulated by your views which have the
+power to make a thing of grace out of a seeming dull, confined and
+ugly space.  Don't scorn the town or village where you dwell, deeming
+yourself too fine a soul for it.  The smallest place has magic things
+to tell to those who have an understanding wit, a lamp of
+friendliness that is forever lit.  Often we hear a foolish person
+say, "How you can live in this place, I don't know!"  And yet the sun
+gives of his golden ray; nor do the stars withhold their silver glow;
+flourish the trees, birds sing and blossoms grow.  'Tis not the
+place, but quality of mind that builds a palace or a prison bare.
+With ears and eyes we may be deaf and blind to harmony and beauty
+passing fair.  There is no spot but Friendship blossoms there.
+
+
+
+
+_PRESERVES_
+
+The pantry shelves are cool and wide, their paper covers crisp and
+clean.  The housewife gazes with just pride--the finest jams she's
+ever seen!  Jellies and jams; like gems they shine!  Like garnet,
+ruby, amethyst, topaz and jade and almandine--produced by her, the
+Alchemist!  Gold bottled sunshine in those jars, the fragrant essence
+of the Spring, the radiant gleam of watchful stars that shone above
+each growing thing.  The hearty breakfast's marmalade, the strawberry
+jam to tempt a guest, while that from gooseberry was made--some think
+her cherry jam is best.  All neatly labelled, row on row, and high
+upon the topmost shelf are placed preserves that gleam and glow and
+are entirely for herself.  For these are Memory's preserves of beauty
+garnered with delight, when branches hid their gracious curves
+beneath spring blossoms, pink and white.
+
+
+
+
+_WHEN FRIENDSHIP DIES_
+
+Nothing so sad in all the year, nothing so sad on land or sea, as
+friendship that we once held dear, becoming but a memory.  Not e'en a
+memory to hold, as one will clasp a precious thing; for once a
+friendship has grown cold, no comfort can remembrance bring.  The
+pleasant interchange of thought, the rush of feeling warm and true,
+the proffered aid, the comfort sought, and hope through laughter born
+anew.  Ah! that desire to please a friend, how it inspires and
+nurtures strength, but should the friendship sadly end, its very
+shadow dies at length.  Then there is naught so sad to see, where'er
+we roam beneath the sky, two who were friends but now agree to pass
+each other coldly by.  Too sad for tears, too sad for sighs, when
+Memory herself seems dead and gazes with unseeing eyes at all the
+gentle words once said.
+
+
+
+
+_THE HARPIST_
+
+Her hands!  Two blossoms white that, sleeping, float like
+water-lilies on the harp's still breast.  One petal quivers, lo! a
+liquid note persuades the lilies they must wake from rest.  Ah, see!
+her hands are birds with flutt'ring wings, strong, graceful birds,
+circling the Ship of Gold, sweeping with passion the responsive
+strings that calmed a king's tempestuous heart of old.  I cannot
+watch these birds, for I am blind; blinded with ecstasy.  But I can
+hear the rhythmic beat of drums upon the wind, and Arabs o'er the
+desert drawing near.  Into the room they come, loose garments
+flowing, and all the magic of the East comes, too.  And now the Harp
+is sighing, "They are going, and with them goes the spellbound heart
+of you!"  The scene is changed.  The blazing East gives way to some
+cool spot, with trees outspread and tall.  A most exquisite peace
+holds us in sway; parched souls revive beneath "The Waterfall."
+
+
+
+
+_THE STRONG WILL_
+
+Strong of will?  That's good, indeed.  Nice, of course, to get one's
+way.  Sometimes, though, one has to heed a brother's still more
+urgent need, allow his will to have full sway.  Stout-of-will
+sometimes works ill for those he forces to obey.  You always reach
+the topmost peak?  Very nice indeed for you.  But did you hurt the
+shy and meek, the inexperienced and the weak, in doing what you had
+to do?  Did you step upon another, a weaker and a slower brother?
+There are many ways to gain all the things that seem most sweet, but
+if the getting might cause pain, better then to meet defeat.  To
+renounce is not so ill as ruthless arrogance of will.
+
+
+
+
+_CONKERS_
+
+Not in a dictionary?  How absurd!  Conker is such a stalwart, English
+word.  You do not know it?  Well, it is a shame to think you never
+played that Autumn game, beginning with the cry of "Oblionker."  (Oh,
+magic word preceding "My first conker!")  First the attack upon the
+Chestnut tree; the fruits fall down 'mid noisy shouts of glee.
+Pockets are stuffed, the robbers homeward go to polish these large
+seeds to ruddy glow.  Then each is pierced with nicety and care and
+strung in readiness to cleave the air and hit a conker-foe held at
+arm's length, and shatter it by virtue of one's strength.  Oh, joy it
+is to tramp the woods again and smell the earth fresh washed by
+Autumn rain, and hear the thrilling, fascinating sound of Chestnuts
+plopping on the leaf-strewn ground and cry aloud unthinking,
+"Oblionker," as in the long-ago, "'tis my first conker."
+
+
+
+
+THE BEAUTY-REAPER
+
+Rich fields of beauty 'neath the sun are yours and mine, our
+heritage.  And there is work for every one; and lasting joy's the
+living wage.  There is a field of lovely sights, where eyes may
+glean, if they but go; may garner such intense delights as only
+Beauty-lovers know.  There is a field of haunting sounds for ears to
+glean if they desire: some simple phrases which may yield the music
+of a heart-strung lyre.  There is a field of precious thought where
+eager minds may daily stray; where blossoms rare are never bought,
+but grow for all to bear away.  And there is yet another field, the
+field of Service, far-flung, wide; the beauty that this land can
+yield, above all else is glorified.  To be a reaper, I must try, in
+fields that Life has sown for me.  My sheaves of beauty will I tie
+with silken threads of memory.
+
+
+
+
+_REMEMBER MAY_
+
+Who watched May slip away last night?  Only the stars with eyes grown
+bright with unshed tears.  Only the moon, as thin and white as some
+young girl assailed by fright of unnamed fears.  A bride May looked!
+Golden her hair; and fragile blossoms nestled there, fallen from
+chestnut trees.  Golden Laburnum circled each slim wrist; her
+snow-white cheeks to blushing pink were kissed by tender midnight
+breeze.  Eastward she gazed towards the dawnlit sky, and saw Queen
+Juno's chariot drawing nigh.  Then breathed "farewell."  Westward she
+turned, and, like a bird in flight, white arms outstretched, she
+vanished out of sight.  Where?  Who can tell?  Only this song comes
+wafted on the breeze: "Behold the Iris and the blossomed trees, and
+tulips tall and gay.  And when you praise the loveliness of these,
+though June be here and strives her best to please--you will remember
+May!"
+
+
+
+
+_TO MY UMBRELLA_
+
+Why is it, when you come with me, there's not a drop of rain to see?
+But should I leave you safe indoors; ah! then, invariably, it pours.
+You are a nuisance, without doubt.  The wind blows high--you're
+inside out!  And sometimes when you're opened wide, you slowly down
+the handle slide, until you close about my hat, pressing it almost
+pancake flat!  You won't stand up, you won't sit down; you've often
+made a stranger frown.  (Such ill behaviour in a train, you've made
+me blush, time and again!)  And when I'm busy in a shop on to the
+floor you always flop.  Your virtues?  Well, they're really few.  I
+like your cover's cheery hue; your handle, too, is rather gay.  Now,
+where on earth are you to-day?  Why do you always cause a fuss--you
+must have stayed atop that 'bus!
+
+
+
+
+_AN EASTER SONG_
+
+Easter is a gentle maiden, robed in white and meek is she; both her
+arms with lilies laden, all her movements graceful, free.  At her
+breast are violets, fragrant.  Stars adorn her silky hair.  She is
+not, like Spring, a vagrant, wand'ring, care-free, here and there.
+Easter has a field for sowing, Easter has her goal in sight, Lenten
+lilies all ablowing, glorify her day and night.  'Tis the heart that
+Easter's seeking.  There she'll sow her precious seed.  Hark! 'tis
+Easter sweetly speaking, "I have come for your great need."  Heart
+that is bowed down with sorrow, tree that is now bare of leaf, wait
+with patience; for the morrow brings an end to winter's grief.
+Easter's such a gentle maiden, trees for her will bud again.  Hearts
+with sorrow, heavy laden, are, by Easter, healed of pain.
+
+
+
+
+_AT A PIANO RECITAL_
+
+To think those fingers, a little while ago, were busy with small
+tasks, friendly and intimate; fastening a buckle of a shoe, and
+smoothing out a bow, groping to find a watch, for fear the hour be
+late!  To think those fingers coiled that blue-black hair and strayed
+among the folds of that gold dress; and then, like restless birds,
+fluttering here and there, brushed each arched eyebrow with a light
+caress.  To think those fingers deigned to do such things--they that
+have power to weave a potent spell to bear the heart aloft on eagle's
+wings, or drown the soul beneath the music's swell.  Fingers
+interpreting the mind in pain; or dance of fairies round a moonlit
+tree; quarrels and love; fierce sun and gentle rain; and then the
+spirit's shining ecstasy.  The whole of life flowing through fingers
+white!  To think those fingers will let loose black hair, fling off
+gold dress, and late, this very night, lie, like good children,
+wrapped in dreams most fair!
+
+
+
+
+_SPRING CLEANINGS_
+
+With brooms of every length and weight, of every style and varying
+price, from early morning until late she swept to make the house look
+nice.  With powders, soaps, and elbow grease, she scoured each pot,
+she scraped each pan; she ironed away each curtain crease, and soon
+the house was spick and span.  With sudden showers every day that
+spoilt our hats and damped our mirth, did April, in time-honoured
+way, begin to spring-clean mother Earth.  She brightly smiled and
+then she cried and washed away the dust with rain; the trees and
+flowers we thought had died, awoke, and blossomed forth again.  With
+thoughts of gladness and of cheer, with thankfulness and heartfelt
+praise for this renascence of the year, I let my eyes on nature gaze.
+And while I looked at sky and earth, I had an impulse to be kind, to
+do some service of real worth--spring-cleaning thus my heart and mind!
+
+
+
+
+_DEER IN AUTUMN_
+
+If you would see great beauty, watch the deer, that look their
+loveliest when Autumn's here against a background of the deep-toned
+year.  The distance shows a veil of misty blue, the ferns are
+richly-clad, a russet hue, the deer seem garbed in velvet soft and
+new.  They are fastidious creatures when they eat, turning from
+verdure trampled by man's feet and seeking pastures that look fresh
+and sweet.  They are, indeed, embodiment of grace, moving with
+dignity from place to place, impossible to think a deer's heart base!
+How eloquent and friendly are their eyes.  They couch upon a bed of
+ferns and look so wise.  Hark!  What was that?  The falling leaves'
+faint sighs.  So faint a sound and yet the shy beasts hear, rise to
+their feet in agony of fear--to think that man would ever hurt a deer!
+
+
+
+
+_COMPENSATIONS_
+
+Sad Heart says, "It's easy talking, but she doesn't understand.  Luck
+with her is ever walking.  Sorrow has me by the hand."  Don't I
+understand, Sad Heart?  Seems to me it's very plain.  Life has cast
+you for a part; Sorrow you must entertain.  But the beauty of the
+Dawn is for you, for your sad eyes.  Dew-drops, diamonds on the lawn
+fill you with a glad surprise.  Stars at night in vault of blue;
+moon, a floating daffodil--these are joys bestowed on you, yours to
+cherish at your will.  Music is a precious gift; it is yours if you
+will hear.  Watch the gruesome shadows lift, chased away by
+Laughter's cheer.  Books you love?  Oh! fortunate!  And there's work
+for you to do?  Cease, then, railing at your fate--Joy will find its
+way to you.
+
+
+
+
+_LONDON TO GREENHITHE_
+
+I wish that you had been with me to Greenhithe just the other day.
+Enjoyed myself?  Tremendously!  Such lovely sights along the way.
+Oh! fairy pink, the almond trees; the Prunus trees were dazzling
+white.  And every little teasing breeze was whispering of Spring's
+delight.  But lovelier far than bud or tree were toddlers clad in
+woolly things.  One roguish elf, he smiled at me.  Strange how that
+memory still clings!  We passed a market all ablaze with fruits and
+flowers of springtime's best.  I dote on Nature's lavish ways--she
+uses colours with such zest.  Then London River--misty, grey.  And
+ghost-like steamers, doubtful, slow; and rooks a screaming "go away!"
+"It's time," said I, "we homeward go."  But what I liked the most of
+all, throughout this drive of many miles, were letterboxes, scarlet,
+small, set in grey walls, like cheery smiles.  Like laughing scarlet
+lips they seemed.  And as we passed, oh! how they beamed.
+
+
+
+
+_THE LITTLE CANDLE_
+
+Your room, you say, is very dark to-night!  A little candle--and
+you've lots of light!  Your baby pleads, "Don't leave me by myself."
+You place a night-light on a little shelf, and baby smiles and feels
+quite comforted, and thus companioned, snuggles into bed.  The road
+seems very dark and long to you; the hand-clasp of a friend, a smile
+that's true, and that grim darkness is dispersed by love and brightly
+shines the sun or moon above.  The mind that gropes in darkness for
+the truth, and sees a little light is rich, forsooth.  A little light
+is what we all desire, a tiny candle for our spirit's fire.  Here is
+a helpful thought I read to-day for us who grope and stumble on our
+way; there's not enough of darkness round about to put the smallest
+waxen candle out!  So hold aloft your candle, shine or rain, that
+those in darkness may take heart again.
+
+
+
+
+_TO A CHILD_
+
+Such a beautiful gift has this world been.  Lovely the Springtime's
+pink and white and green, and then the summer's richer, warmer glow,
+followed by Autumn's tints--and then the snow.  Each season brings
+such gifts for joyous hearts, there is no sorrow when the Spring
+departs.  And when late summer slowly drops her leaves, signals to
+Autumn, there is none who grieves, knowing the beauty that will
+softly fall upon the earth whene'er Jack Frost may call.  And there
+are books, dear child, such constant friends that serve with joy
+until the journey ends.  And friends more precious still than books
+who give us clasp of hand and tender looks, tears for our sorrow,
+laughter for our joy, the golden element in life's alloy.  As I do
+now, dear child, may you one day--review the years that seem so far
+away, and standing on Time's lichen-covered hill have cause to claim
+that life is lovely still.
+
+
+
+
+_LIFE'S SONG_
+
+I bring joy, but also sorrow, all my children must know grief.
+Buoyant spring, then on the morrow Autumn's dried and falling leaf.
+Success I bring and golden laughter; Man I help to high estate.
+Disappointments follow after--this my way with small or great.  Work
+I give as well as pleasure; sunshine--then the clouds and rain!  No
+one can escape a measure of my bitterness and pain.  Cause for
+singing, cause for weeping, rough and smooth and dark and bright.
+Time for work and hours for sleeping, calm and noise and day and
+night.  Lovely gardens, barren places, stumbling-blocks and paths of
+ease; bread and honey, rags and laces, these I offer where I please.
+Joy I bring and also sorrow, light and shade and hills and vales and
+this gift for each new morrow--courage to the one who fails.
+
+
+
+
+_HOLIDAY MEMORIES_
+
+Now, hold your breath; oh, do not talk, for Baby has begun to walk!
+Travel all the world with me, no greater sight we'll ever see than
+Baby, fat legs wide apart, smiling, gurgling, bless his heart!  Left
+foot, right foot--well, I never, isn't he extremely clever!  Yes, of
+course, I liked the Rhine.  The castles were extremely fine.  Cologne
+Cathedral robs one quite of the power to speak or write.  Hans Sachs'
+house and Dürer's, too, these were sights indeed to view.  A Market
+Place with many treasures added much to Nurnberg's pleasures.  But
+none of this thrilled me so much as just this little human touch--a
+quaint Dutch house, an open door, a mother sitting on the floor with
+hands outstretched and eyes aflame, whilst t'ward her, swaying, Baby
+came.  Left foot, right foot--please don't talk, for Baby has begun
+to walk!
+
+
+
+
+_FAILURE_
+
+Ah, Failure is a curious thing!  It helps to mend the broken wing and
+then inspires a longer flight and whispers, "Look, the goal's in
+sight!"  And Failure is a stringent spur, pricking Ambition till it
+stir, a strong incentive to proud Pride o'er every obstacle to ride.
+Where'er we stumble, Failure stands and stretches forth strong,
+helpful hands, and bids us rise and try again, ignore the set-back
+and the pain.  'Tis Failure makes us scorn defeat and turn the bitter
+into sweet, and seek, yes, on the darkest day, for one bright
+scintillating ray.  If Fate should bring a nasty shock, if Life
+should give the real hard knock, if everything should go awry--it's
+Failure urges us to try.  'Tis Failure says, "I won't give in.  I
+have a second chance to win."  Ah, Failure, you're a little word so
+to inspire the undeterred!
+
+
+
+
+_HIS 21ST BIRTHDAY_
+
+He looks the same, he feels the same, exactly as the day before.  He
+hasn't changed his home or name, nor has he grown one hair's breadth
+more.  The suit he wore but yesterday he's wearing at this minute,
+and who is there who'd dare to say the same boy isn't in it?  And yet
+he's changed, we must confess, for since the clock struck twelve last
+night (we wish him health and happiness!) he has attained to
+manhood's height.  And Life grips fast his eager hand and says, "The
+midnight bell has tolled and you're a man, this understand, for you
+are twenty-one years old."  And here's our wish and here's our hope,
+Oh, bold adventurer and gay!  May you have courage as you grope
+through unlit paths along life's way.  There is so much for man to
+do; and brains may plot and brains may plan; but this our golden hope
+for you, may you have strength to play the man!
+
+
+
+
+_FELLOWSHIP_
+
+I love to walk on cool, ribbed sands with never a soul by my side;
+for then my spirit understands the murmur of the tide.  But not for
+long does Neptune's voice engross my soul and mind.  It wearies me; I
+would rejoice--to hear Mankind.  I love to climb to some high peak
+and watch the stars at night.  I hear the voice of Silence speak; it
+fills me with delight.  Of this my soul soon weary grows, for always
+do I find the current of my being flows--towards Mankind.  I'd love a
+house well tucked away among tall trees, wide-spreading trees; and
+there I'd write a song each day with no one near to talk or tease!  I
+would not stay there very long; a crowded place I'd have to find.  My
+heart would barren be of song--without Mankind.
+
+
+
+
+_IN A LITTLE ROOM_
+
+O silly, box-like, little room, I'm very tired of you to-day.  Four
+silent walls enclosing gloom.  I charge you, what have you to say?
+But stop a minute!  I admit I like your carpet's soft design; and
+from this angle, as I sit, the sideboard has a gracious line.  'Tis
+strange I did not note till now the depth of blue on this old plate,
+the lovely curve of leafy bough, the lovers standing near a gate.  I
+wonder, was I very young--perhaps I was not even born--when first
+this dinner bell was rung, and now its brass is thin and worn.  A
+lovely thing--this antique bowl; its beauty urges me to sing.  I
+think the craftsman's very soul was melted for its fashioning.  O
+silly, little, box-like room!  Your pardon, please, you humble me.
+You have no space for scowls and gloom, with so much charm for all to
+see.
+
+
+
+
+_DO IT NOW_
+
+'Twas yesterday we thought we'd write that letter which would give
+delight.  'Twas yesterday we thought we'd send some money to a needy
+friend.  'Twas yesterday we meant to cheer; we meant to wipe away a
+tear; we meant to help a weaker man achieve his good, but half-formed
+plan.  'Twas yesterday we made it plain we'd help a failure start
+again; 'twas yesterday we wished to praise, commend a brother for his
+ways; some seeds of love we meant to sow, some kindliness we meant to
+show.  But yesterday, alas! has fled.  Not one act done, not one word
+said.  Now, when we feel that inner urge, when o'er the soul kind
+feelings surge, when we are suddenly aware that we have more than
+just our share; when words of praise invade the heart, and when we
+see grief's tears upstart--oh! let us do the kindly thing before
+To-day is on the wing.
+
+
+
+
+_ON ST. CRISPIN'S DAY_
+
+I'd love to be a shoemaker on this Saint Crispin's Day.  I'd pray him
+for some leather that the angels gave away.  (For they used to give
+him leather, so all the legends say.)  Softest leather from the
+angels!  Each piece of finest grain, well tanned by golden sunbeams,
+kept moist by sister rain.  The loveliest bits of leather, ne'er
+bought nor sold for gain.  Bright bits supplied by angels!  And some
+would be sky-blue and some of pearly greyness with dawn's pinkness
+blushing through.  And some would be rich crimson, like a sunset bold
+and new.  And I'd take Saint Crispin's leather that the angels had
+let fall and fashion shoes a-plenty for dimpled feet and small,
+whilst Saint Crispin stood beside me and blessed my last and awl!
+
+
+
+
+_THE EVER YOUNG_
+
+There is a path called Never-Old, a most entrancing, smiling road;
+and only those with spirits bold, who, laughing, shoulder life's big
+load, who value Beauty more than gold, who faithful are to Love's
+high code, can find this road to walk along.  And as they walk, they
+sing a song, oh, buoyantly the words are sung, "We are the old, for
+ever young!"  There is a path called Never-Old, and only certain feet
+may tread this smiling road, so I've been told.  Those who fared
+forth with high-held head, whose hearts have warmed some hearts grown
+cold, whose hands have helped the frail and weak, whose lips the
+gentlest words do speak, they'll find this smiling road I know.  And
+as along this path they go, this is the song that will be sung, "We
+are the old, for ever young!"  All those who've laughed at hostile
+fate, who can a tale of Love unfold, who live for others, early,
+late--have found the road of Never-Old.
+
+
+
+
+_BROADCAST FRIENDS_
+
+The bogy of loneliness has gone for ever.  She now has friends that
+visit by the score.  And all of them are pleasant and so clever,
+coming when she desires, at noon or four, and no one waits to knock
+upon the door!  They slip into the room on magic wings borne by the
+ether for her keen delight.  One gives her household hints, another
+sings, one speaks of theatres or of those who write, and she sees
+much that once was out of sight.  For now she travels as she sits and
+sews, and solitude no longer hurts or palls.  With world-explorers
+gallantly she goes, far, far beyond her four confining
+walls--whene'er the announcer's voice through ether calls.  The world
+is hers and she can walk abroad; listen to music, look upon great
+art.  The many things she could not once afford she now enjoys, in
+them she has a part--and thanks the wireless from a woman's
+house-bound heart!
+
+
+
+
+_SEEKING HAPPINESS_
+
+Someone said (it might have been you or I), "I vow to find happiness
+e'er I die."  So he sought for it high and he sought for it low; by
+the glare of the sun, by the moonbeam's pale glow.  He sought for it
+far, and sought for it near.  He sought for a day, and he sought for
+a year, but Happiness ever eluded his hand; 'twas the same on high
+seas as it was on the land.  Back to the everyday things of life, to
+the turn of Fate's wheel with its love and strife; back to engrossing
+work he went.  Laboured hard, and was well content.  Gave of his
+brain, his hands and his heart, fulfilling with zest his destined
+part.  Took delight in the new-born day; gloried in work and deemed
+it play.  Found his pleasures in simple things; in a book, a tree,
+and a bird that sings.  In a gracious curve of a leafy bough--and he
+quite forgot his former vow.  Then suddenly someone, running fast,
+exclaimed, "Oh! brother!  We've met at last."  The sound of this
+voice was a soft caress.  And the face--was the face of Happiness!
+
+
+
+
+_THOUGHTS WHEN BULB-PLANTING_
+
+I have a rendezvous with Spring--she'll keep her word and so will I.
+I took a bulb, a small brown thing, and said, "'Tis here I bid you
+lie."  A brick-red pot, some sandy soil.  Now, little bulb, lie warm,
+I pray.  A pleasant task--so little toil, all on a sweet, Autumnal
+day.  Now let Jack Frost come back again and scatter snowflakes
+everywhere, and let him star the window pane with frosty breath--I
+will not care.  For I've a precious rendezvous with one in green and
+gold attire and with another robed in blue--this thought sets all my
+heart afire.  Some magic pots, bulbs buried deep, all in the sweet
+autumnal hours.  My little bulbs now fall asleep, but soon they will
+bring forth spring flow'rs.  With Spring I have a rendezvous, we'll
+meet upon my window-sill when in one pot are scillas blue and in the
+next, a daffodil!
+
+
+
+
+_TO EACH HIS GIFT_
+
+I am so glad to be awake.  So glad to feel my pulses leap freed from
+the servitude of sleep.  So glad a deep-drawn breath to take; O heart
+of mine, we are awake!  Hear now the vow I wish to make.  Before the
+coming of night's sable wing I will create at least one lovely thing
+in gratitude for life and for life's sake.  O heart of mine, what
+shall we try to make?  These hands, you say, are dull at fashioning.
+Then find them service, there is much to do; some task that destiny
+has planned for you.  O heart of mine, the morning's praises sing.
+"This brain," you say, "cannot create a song, nor can it weave
+imagination's tale."  Yet in your spoken vow, you need not fail--one
+lovely thing--the righting of some wrong.  O heart of mine, I pray
+you keep me strong.  "These hands," you say, "have not the power to
+make; nor has this brain the great creative gift."  But two soft lips
+you have through which may drift a stream of beauty, thirsty souls to
+slake.  O heart of mine, rejoice!  We are awake.
+
+
+
+
+_IN AN APRIL GARDEN_
+
+There's the daffodil, the primrose, and the small forget-me-not; the
+ruddy, flaming, fragrant, rich, velvety wallflower; anemones and
+pansies, and aubrietia's purple plot; forsythia grows more golden
+with the passing of each hour.  There's the yellow-blossomed berberis
+with promise of blue fruit; japonica the lovely, coral-tinted fragile
+stars.  And a blackbird, with the sweetness of an ancient, mellow
+flute, is trilling thrilling quavers, and ecstatic little bars!  But
+the glory of the garden is a stately, queenly tree, magnolia the
+beautiful, in robes of dazzling white.  The sun into her goblets
+pours his golden ecstasy, and moonbeams turn them silver with their
+kisses in the night.  Yea, lovely is the garden, beyond the power of
+words.  But lovelier is the promise of the beauty yet to come.  O
+sound the garden's praises, you happy, singing birds!  For we, poor
+tongue-tied mortals, by such beauty are struck dumb.
+
+
+
+
+_THE QUIET HEART_
+
+Her heart is such a fragrant room, with daffodils and bright blue
+squills bedecking all the window-sills, defying entry to Sir
+Gloom--her heart is such a sunny room.  Her heart has windows east
+and west, and windows south and north as well; and thus she always
+can foretell if one in need would be her guest--her heart has windows
+east and west.  And through these shining window-panes, the eyes of
+little children peer.  And those in quest of warmth and cheer, stand
+there until the daylight wanes--and bless her heart's bright
+window-panes.  Her heart has such a charming door.  The knocker shows
+the face of Love; forget-me-nots trail high above; one gentle knock,
+no need for more--then opens wide her heart's white door.  Her heart
+is such a sunny room, and oh! she offers all such fare, they love to
+go and linger there, and touch the petals of each bloom within this
+fragrant, quiet room.
+
+
+
+
+_DREAM-STREET CRIES_
+
+In the land of dreams I heard him call upon a bright, warm summer's
+day.  "All broken hearts, big breaks and small, will be repaired that
+come my way!  Torn hearts to mend, torn hearts to mend," he cried
+while coming round the bend.  "Torn hearts repaired, torn hearts
+repaired"--I stood quite still and stared and stared.  And then he
+spoke and then I heard, "Good-day to you, give me your heart."
+"Indeed, I won't, you're quite absurd, how could I from my heart now
+part?"  "Torn hearts to mend, torn hearts to mend----"  "Oh, very
+well, here's mine, good friend."  I gave him mine, almost in two; he
+made it look as good as new.  And then I woke and heard quite clear,
+all down the street from end to end, the same old voice I yearly
+hear, "Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend."
+
+
+
+
+_SPRING IS COMING_
+
+Expectancy is in the air; we seem to live with greater zest; there's
+hushed excitement everywhere.  With leaves the Honeysuckle's dressed.
+The hazel catkins are in flow'r; they patiently await the bees.  I
+hear, well, almost any hour, a secret whispered by the breeze.  The
+sun's more generous with his gold; he spilt it at my feet to-day.  A
+happy wren was very bold and carolled forth a roundelay.  The sturdy
+tit with sable breast, the blue tit, lovely little thing, are pecking
+with the greatest zest at fat a-dangling from a string!  On every
+slender willow bough (with ecstasy this news I write) the Persian
+Kittens frolic now; the boisterous wind gives them delight.  They
+jump about like anything; and how their silver fur coats gleam!  They
+prove that it is really Spring--and not a tantalizing dream!
+
+
+
+
+_SALUTE TO THE BRAVE_
+
+She'd been the live-long day in one drab room.  An illness kept her
+chained.  I never saw a more depressing gloom.  And it had rained and
+rained.  No flowers were there, no books for her to read, nothing for
+her caress.  No heart so stony that it would not bleed to see such
+loneliness.  Then, while I sought for words not out of tune, a
+fitting phrase to cheer, she told me how, each night, the friendly
+moon was wont to float quite near.  "It came so near last night,"
+she, laughing, said--"I really thought it meant to visit me in bed."
+A star had tapped upon her window-pane, and talked awhile.  That day
+she'd watched the merry dancing rain.  The raindrops made her smile.
+And through her window (oh! such beauty there) she'd seen, she said,
+a gleam of sunlight on a baby's hair, a sparrow with some bread.  And
+thus to others often do we go through kindliest desires.  And stay to
+warm our spirits by the glow from braver, finer fires!
+
+
+
+
+_MY VISITORS_
+
+At Dawn a little rhyme appeared and whispered: "Take me, pray."  "Oh,
+little rhyme," I softly jeered, "I bid you run away.  You've sleepy
+eyes and child-like grace.  I want a rhyme with thoughtful face."  At
+Noon there came a little rhyme, and lisped: "Do listen, please!"
+Said I "Not now.  I have no time.  Now, little rhyme, don't tease.
+At Twelve-Hours-Old you are not strong to bear the burden of a song."
+Three little rhymes arrived at night, and sat beside my fire.  I
+welcomed them with great delight, and asked them their desire.
+"We're knocking at your heart," they cried.  "Oh, won't you let us
+slip inside?"  In turn I looked at each small face.  I recognized
+each one.  For here was Dawn of child-like grace, and Noon of work
+half-done, and weary Night.  I bid them stay, for they made up the
+Song of Day.
+
+
+
+
+_THIS WAY BUT ONCE_
+
+Above, a very lovely bit of sky, a rosy edging to a fluffy cloud.
+You did not stop, but swiftly hurried by, your mind engrossed with
+thought, your head low bowed.  Oh! raise your eyes before these
+glories wane--perhaps you will not pass this way again.  A brother on
+life's lonely, stone-strewn road is standing in your sight as you
+advance.  'Tis clear he faints beneath his heavy load.  You are so
+busy, you can barely glance.  Oh! lend a helping hand, assuage his
+pain--maybe you'll never pass this way again.  It would be well as we
+go on our way to speak the helpful words that spring to mind; to do
+whate'er we can each fresh-born day, and ne'er defer the action just
+and kind.  Nor hold between our teeth the words of praise, the words
+a hungry heart desires to hear.  A blossom at your feet?  Then stoop
+to gaze.  A soul distressed?  Go forth at once to cheer.  A chance to
+help?  Then use that chance to-day--perhaps no more you'll pass along
+this way.
+
+
+
+
+_WANDERING THOUGHTS_
+
+With thoughts for sheep, I am a shepherdess.  And I must homeward
+bring my flock each night.  For some have ranged to hills of
+happiness, and some in sorrow's vale are out of sight.  And some have
+wandered far upon the road that leads to memories of long ago, and
+when they reached my childhood's dear abode, they frolicked with a
+dream-child that I know.  My thoughts are sheep and pitifully stray,
+some here, some there, some eastward, and some west; whilst I, the
+shepherdess, at close of day, must bring them to the fold for warmth
+and rest.  But some I will not call again to me--the thoughts that
+travel to a distant friend.  They, shepherded by Love most carefully,
+upon their pleasant journey swiftly wend.  Friend!  Gather in these
+loving thoughts of mine; and let your heart, I pray you, be their
+fold; and you, the shepherd, with a magic sign, encircle them and
+keep them from the cold!
+
+
+
+
+_ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH_
+
+There'll be a band, I know there will, just at the incline of the
+hill; and many folk will loiter there and clap, and stamp, and shout
+and stare.  But little children will stand dumb, so fascinated by the
+drum.  Ah! now guitar and flute are still--and crowds begin to climb
+the hill.  What fun it is!  Here, stalls begin.  Bright paper hats
+and masks that grin.  "Fevvers and ticklers.  Buy them, boys.  And
+golliwogs, and jumping toys."  Up, up, it goes, this noisy stream of
+merrymakers.  "Best ice-cream!"  The sun's so hot, and there's no
+shade.  "Your fortune, lady!  Lemonade!"  Up, up, they go.  The
+noises swell, but why all laugh no one can tell.  The roundabout
+begins to play and every heart keeps holiday.  And as these folk
+swarm up the hill, it's "Two a penny, try your skill.  Such handsome
+prizes.  Come on, try.  Fine fevvers, ticklers.  Buy, boys, buy!"  I
+vowed I'd never go again, but in this reminiscent strain, I see it
+all--and I just long to mingle with that happy throng!
+
+
+
+
+_THE SEA OF LIFE_
+
+"He was the first that ever burst into that silent sea."  I read this
+phrase in childhood's days--that poet wrote for me.  For now I know
+we all do go like mariners in life, on seas unknown and all alone
+'mid rocks of fear and strife.  We bend our sails to meet Life's
+gales.  O untried is the breeze.  Our boat is slight and dark the
+night, uncharted are Life's seas.  And it's the truth, we all,
+forsooth, have little ships to sail.  And oft we think we'll surely
+sink beneath the furious gale.  For each one knows as on he goes the
+way is rough and dim.  To left or right, no help in sight, except it
+come from Him.  Sailors are we and look to Thee, O Captain of Life's
+crew, for guidance kind, though strong the wind, for guidance safe
+and true.  Then without fear; with right good cheer, although the
+skies be dark, harbour in sight, towards the light, we'll steer
+Life's sea-tossed bark.
+
+
+
+
+THE CARAVAN SETS FORTH
+
+Motor-cars and one-horsed carts, omnibuses, heavy vans--one expects
+such vehicles, they fit a city's plans.  On a throbbing city street,
+who on earth would think to see a caravan in brave attire?  I
+did--ah, lucky me!  Purring down the street it came, newly painted,
+wheels and all; window-sashes ivory white, red the roof and green
+each wall.  Seemed to me it laughed with joy, window-eyes were
+shining bright.  Shouted at me as it passed, "I'll sleep 'neath stars
+to-night."  "City streets I'll leave behind, country lanes are
+calling now.  Blackbird's song is luring me to an apple bough.  I'm a
+happy caravan, all my curtains have fresh frills.  I'm going where
+the cool green grass is starred with daffodils."
+
+
+
+
+_MARCH, THE LION_
+
+When Nursie used to say to me, "The month of March comes roaringly,
+just like a lion, seeking prey, but like a lamb it skips away"; when
+Nursie said this frightful thing, then I to her would tightly cling,
+and hold my breath and shut my eyes.  Oh! fearsome March in lion's
+guise.  I'd put my head upon her lap, my heart would go thud-thud,
+trip-trap, because I heard upon the stair a stealthy pit-a-pat.
+Beware!  Between my fingers I would peep, just as a tawny tail would
+sweep around the nursery's white door.  Oh! listen, how March Lions
+roar.  But soon I overcame my fear--I longed to see the lamb appear.
+I left her lap, I stood upright, I watched that beast with all my
+might; and, sure enough, as Nurse had said, it changed its skin and
+changed its head, and went away, squeezed through the jamb--a little,
+gentle, snowy lamb!
+
+
+
+
+_PLAY THE GAME_
+
+These are the cards Life dealt to you, and you must play the game.
+The cards are weak, that may be true, but who is there to blame?  You
+cannot say "a mis-deal, Life!"  The game you have to play.  'Tis
+uphill work; you're tired of strife; yet play the game, I say.  Just
+play the game, don't fume nor fret; play each card one by one.  You
+never know, perhaps you'll get a trick by set of sun.  No matter what
+the game may be, if bridge or just bezique, whoever heard such futile
+plea: "My cards are far too weak."  The other folk would scoff and
+jeer, and cry out: "Play the game."  And from these facts you'll see
+quite clear that life is much the same.  For Fate, the dealer, does
+not care what cards you get, or I.  The poorest ones may be our
+share; to play the game, let's try.  And though we lose, we still can
+smile--just to have played has been worth while.
+
+
+
+
+_A PIECE OF PAPER_
+
+It skipped and fluttered down the street.  It tripped and swirled and
+whirled about.  It hurried past the swiftest feet--that it felt
+pleased I had no doubt.  The panting wind was just behind; it was a
+very merry race.  The sun peeped through a cloudy blind and smiled to
+see so brisk a chase.  I knew for certain who would win; I backed the
+paper without fear!  It was so light and white and thin; I watched it
+gaily disappear.  Since then I've wondered time again: whence came
+that paper, whither went?  Did it some secret code contain, or sharp
+command to pay the rent?  Perhaps a gentle lover wrote a tender,
+throbbing, pleading rhyme to one to whom he would devote each moment
+of his mortal time.  I hope the wind kept up the race and drove along
+that message sweet, until it reached its destined place, and
+fluttered, humbly, at her feet.
+
+
+
+
+_AFRAID, BUT UNDETERRED_
+
+It's not exactly courage if you aren't a bit afraid to climb a
+fearsome mountain, descend into a glade, or make a swimming record or
+some titanic flight, or drive a racing motor-car, or jump an unknown
+height.  But this is really courage--at least, I call it so--to say,
+I fear that mountain, but all the same, I'll go.  And this is truly
+courage, to lift one's daily load, to smile though skies are gloomy
+and difficult the road, to view an angry river and beyond a sloping
+hill, to say, "That is my journey and I'll take it with good will."
+To cry, "I'll grant I'm fearful, a little bit afraid, but naught will
+stop my progress until the journey's made."
+
+
+
+
+_TO SOME DAHLIAS_
+
+I have seen Beauty time again; in clouds by day, in stars by night,
+in trees refreshed by gentle rain, in sunbeams dancing with delight.
+But you, gay Dahlias, I love best.  I count each one a precious
+friend.  You seem to live with such a zest.  And oh! your colours,
+how they blend!  White, pink, and red, and saffron, too, and vibrant
+hues that glow like flames.  Each day I pass, I nod to you.  I can't
+remember all your names!  One day (now this should make you proud) I
+saw a girl, too young for grief, walk down the path with head
+low-bowed; she's like, thought I, a wind-tossed leaf.  Then suddenly
+you flashed a smile.  I watched her stop and stand so still and gaze
+at you for quite a while, and of your Beauty drink her fill.  I think
+the girl, that very night, discovered Life was not so grey--for in
+her room were Dahlias bright that memory had brought away!
+
+
+
+
+_STEADFASTNESS_
+
+A difficult task to be done, an arduous course to be run, a dream to
+be shaped, a pattern spun.  'Tis steadfast does it.  Rare is the
+genius who can leap whilst others plod and slowly creep along the
+stony path and steep, yet also reach the goal.  Though genius is a
+precious thing so brightly hued, so swift of wing, yet lacking it,
+there is no sting, if we keep faith with our own soul.  We can
+persist in doing, doing; preserving faith and never ruing; the
+hill-top light for aye pursuing--'Tis steadfast does it.  When with
+sincerity we say, "New hope, new courage, each new day," though
+obstacles impede the way--'Tis steadfast does it!
+
+
+
+
+_CANDLEMAS_
+
+I think to-day of candle-light, of soft and soothing candle-light,
+that beckons souls to come and pray on Candlemas, a saintly day.  I
+think of golden flames so bright, of blue-gold flames so very bright,
+of candles standing slim and white in solemn, silent, sweet array.  I
+thought: our spirits are like flames, like steadfast, strong and
+striving flames; though all around be grim and dark, they shed a
+penetrating spark.  I mused: if all our hearts would be, if all our
+hearts (both you and me) could be like candle-sticks to hold a candle
+for a world grown cold; then as we went about the world, with shining
+hearts about the world, we'd bring soft light to some dark place, and
+there we'd see a sister's face!  And thus I think of Candlemas, the
+ancient, honoured Candlemas, a day on which to light this earth with
+acts of kindliness and worth.
+
+
+
+
+_THE COBWEB'S STRENGTH_
+
+A storm raged fiercely through the frightened hours, houses were
+shaken, chimney-pots torn down, large trees uprooted, as well as
+fragile flowers, e'en lives were lost in that storm-shaken town.  And
+afterwards we saw a wondrous sight, walking beneath some trees still
+drenched with rain--a stretch of cobwebs silver in the light,
+unharmed, unconquered by the wrack and strain.  Cobwebs that looked
+so frail a baby's breath could tear to bits their lacy filigree were
+quite unharmed by this attack of death beneath which fell both man
+and masonry.  And thus it is in life; the storm-swept soul can still
+retain its web of lovely dreams though hostile winds deter us from
+the goal and oft we have to ford hate's swirling streams.  Though
+merciless the tempests that have swept over a human life, frail as a
+wraith, still has the battered soul with honour kept its beauteous
+web of hope and love and faith.
+
+
+
+
+_A NICHT WI' BURNS_
+
+Oh, Robbie Burns, if I could find a golden phrase that sweetly sings,
+a silvern phrase of kingly mind, a magic phrase with fairy wings--I'd
+weave, I'd weave each precious phrase into a song for your delight;
+for we who love your tuneful lays are toasting you this very night.
+But, after all, why should I seek unusual, unfamiliar words?  So
+freely does your own heart speak in songs that lilt and trill like
+birds.  A simple phrase, then, be my choice for all who toast the
+Bard to-night: "We drink to that Immortal Voice whose simplest songs
+give most delight."  Oh, Robbie Burns, your deathless lyre was strung
+by Pity, Love and Truth.  Interpreter of Passion's fire, of
+Friendship, Loyalty and Youth, to you, the David of your time, the
+Bard who gives world-wide delight, I offer up this simple rhyme--just
+as a toast, to you, to-night.
+
+
+
+
+_MY GUY FAWKES_
+
+I made my Guy Fawkes yesternight.  I'll burn him up some time to-day.
+He is an ugly-looking fright.  I built him up in just this way: I
+took ten yards of witch-spun stuff, woven, you know, from threads of
+gloom, in colour dark, in texture rough, and hurried to my little
+room, and there I stitched it up one side and stitched it at the
+bottom, too.  And then this bag I opened wide, and into it I swiftly
+threw a full-grown Temper, scowling thing; a cowardly Fear with
+pallid face, and cold starved Hope with broken wing, and Pride
+bedecked in silks and lace, and Moodiness and Discontent, and all the
+horrid things I own.  Atop this Guy, a lemon went; and for its heart
+a dull grey stone.  Ah! when the flames have eaten it, how very noble
+I will be.  This thought, though, bothers me a bit--not one old
+friend will then know me!
+
+
+
+
+_CLIPPED WINGS_
+
+Clipped wings!  But all the same, you've wings.  You cannot fly away
+from duty, but you can rise above drab things.  Oh, little, lovely
+flight to beauty.  Clipped wings, indeed, can take you far; well, far
+enough to see the sun arise, the silver radiance of the evening star,
+the trustfulness within a baby's eye--lovely, indeed, these little
+journeys are.  I know, dear soul, the cage at times seems small, and
+you are weary of the daily round.  Better clipped wings than ne'er a
+wing at all--at least you rise with ease above the ground.  You can
+poise level with a daisy's head, or with a nest within an old forked
+bough, and on towards a hollyhock bright red, and higher, higher
+still--as you are now, upon a fleecy cloud with crimson dyed.  Swift
+flight of dreams!  Are you not satisfied?  Clipped wings are not
+spectacular, we know.  They do not hold the centre of life's ring.
+But ah! how swiftly and how gaily they can go towards the
+commonplace, the homely, lowly thing.  Be grateful for clipped wings
+that carry you out of the drab into your bit of blue.
+
+
+
+
+_EVEN AS YOU AND I_
+
+Two thousand million people inhabit this old earth.  I saw these
+figures somewhere.  I mused, "Just think of it.  Two thousand million
+people--then what can be the worth of a single human being?  A very
+little bit!"  Two thousand million people, with troubles like my own,
+with work that bores them sometimes, with bills that must be paid,
+with longings for companionship, desire to be alone, and ghosts that
+stalk the future of which they are afraid.  Two thousand million
+people, with burdens they must bear, with sorrows and with troubles
+and foes to put to rout.  No wonder I, but one of these, am forced to
+take my share--and thinking of those millions, self-pity peters out.
+
+
+
+
+_TROUBLE, THE TUNNEL_
+
+Wouldn't it be awful if troubles were like caves?  Like dark and
+gloomy hollows where daylight never follows, and no sound ever enters
+but the echoes of the waves?  If troubles were like caverns--ah! woe
+betide us all.  Forever groping, groping, till fear prevents us
+hoping, and the journey's end is nothing but a grim and silent wall.
+But troubles aren't like caverns, take heart again and smile.
+They're tunnels, dark enough, 'tis true; but I know well, and so do
+you, there's always daylight coming, though the tunnel be a mile.
+Then let us, when in trouble, repeat this happy truth, "We're passing
+through a sorrow, but we'll emerge to-morrow into the sun of
+happiness, for tunnels end, forsooth!"
+
+
+
+  _Printed in Great Britain by_
+  UNWIN BROTHERS LIMITED, LONDON AND WOKING
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75156 ***
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+<title>
+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Where Sunlight Falls, by Wilhelmina Stitch
+</title>
+
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+</head>
+
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75156 ***</div>
+
+<p class="capcenter">
+<a id="img-cover"></a>
+<br>
+<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-cover.jpg" alt="Cover art">
+</p>
+
+<h1>
+<br><br> 
+  WHERE<br>
+  SUNLIGHT FALLS<br>
+</h1>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+  BY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t2">
+  WILHELMINA STITCH<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  AUTHOR OF<br>
+  "SILKEN THREADS," "SILVER LININGS,"<br>
+  "THE GOLDEN WEB," "VERSES FOR CHILDREN," ETC.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+  SECOND EDITION<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+  METHUEN & CO. LTD.<br>
+  36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br>
+  LONDON<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  <i>First Published ... March 21st 1929<br>
+  Second Edition ... 1929</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3b">
+  CONTENTS<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="noindent" style="line-height: 1.5">
+  <a href="#chap05">A SONG TO CHEER</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap06">AT A DOG'S HOME</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap07">THE WAYSIDE PULPIT</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap08">SPOONS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap09">ABOVE DEFEAT</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap10">COURTESY</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap11">BUILDING PALACES</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap12">PRESERVES</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap13">WHEN FRIENDSHIP DIES</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap14">THE HARPIST</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap15">THE STRONG WILL</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap16">CONKERS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap17">THE BEAUTY-REAPER</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap18">REMEMBER MAY</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap19">TO MY UMBRELLA</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap20">AN EASTER SONG</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap21">AT A PIANO RECITAL</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap22">SPRING CLEANINGS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap23">DEER IN AUTUMN</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap24">COMPENSATIONS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap25">LONDON TO GREENHITHE</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap26">THE LITTLE CANDLE</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap27">TO A CHILD</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap28">LIFE'S SONG</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap29">HOLIDAY MEMORIES</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap30">FAILURE</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap31">HIS 21ST BIRTHDAY</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap32">FELLOWSHIP</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap33">IN A LITTLE ROOM</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap34">DO IT NOW</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap35">ON ST. CRISPIN'S DAY</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap36">THE EVER YOUNG</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap37">BROADCAST FRIENDS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap38">SEEKING HAPPINESS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap39">THOUGHTS WHEN BULB-PLANTING</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap40">TO EACH HIS GIFT</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap41">IN AN APRIL GARDEN</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap42">THE QUIET HEART</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap43">DREAM-STREET CRIES</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap44">SPRING IS COMING</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap45">SALUTE TO THE BRAVE</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap46">MY VISITORS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap47">THIS WAY BUT ONCE</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap48">WANDERING THOUGHTS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap49">ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap50">THE SEA OF LIFE</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap51">THE CARAVAN SETS FORTH</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap52">MARCH, THE LION</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap53">PLAY THE GAME</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap54">A PIECE OF PAPER</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap55">AFRAID, BUT UNDETERRED</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap56">TO SOME DAHLIAS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap57">STEADFASTNESS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap58">CANDLEMAS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap59">THE COBWEB'S STRENGTH</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap60">A NICHT WI' BURNS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap61">MY GUY FAWKES</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap62">CUPPED WINGS</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap63">EVEN AS YOU AND I</a><br>
+  <a href="#chap64">TROUBLE, THE TUNNEL</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap05"></a>
+<i>A SONG TO CHEER</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Here's a song to cheer us, when
+worry creeps too near us and burdens
+seem too heavy for our strength.
+Endurance oft grows double to match
+the large-sized trouble, and shorten by
+its presence the weary journey's length.
+And this there's no denying, when hearts
+are faint with sighing and all the future's
+given o'er to dread; the tiniest little ills,
+no bigger than mere pills, begin to swell
+and thicken and to spread!  This thought
+is truly cheerful&mdash;whenever we are fearful
+of troubles we believe are coming fast&mdash;if
+they ever come at all, they prove so
+very small, before the day is ended they
+have passed.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap06"></a>
+<i>AT A DOG'S HOME</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Said a Cocker to a Pekinese,
+swinging his silky ears, "What is the
+date, oh, tell me, please, for each week
+seems like years!"  And his mournful eyes
+looked misty with a doggy's unshed tears.
+The Peke replied, "I understand.  Your
+family's away.  And so is mine&mdash;a foreign
+land!"  His nose expressed dismay.  "But
+they're coming back, I know they are, in
+one more night and day."  A gallant bulldog
+sniffed the air and spoke with British
+pride to that depressed and homesick
+pair, "I let my folks decide.  This is a very
+kindly place and here I will abide...."  He
+sniffs, he trembles.  Can it be?  He wags
+his tail, pricks up his ears, runs back and
+forth&mdash;(oh, were he free!) and through the
+kennel bars he peers, gives two sharp
+yaps of glad surprise and meets his
+master's loving eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap07"></a>
+<i>THE WAYSIDE PULPIT</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Banks and hedgerows, woods and
+downs, all have felt the mystic
+Breath.  Trees are donning lacy gowns,
+vanished winter's vaunt of death.  The
+primrose lines the mossy banks; in the
+woods dance daffodils.  Hearts are
+brimming o'er with thanks whilst the happy
+blackbird trills.  Everywhere fresh signs of
+life; birds so busy with their nests.  Shall
+we harbour thoughts of strife?  Peace and
+Love would be our guests.  Hum of insects
+fills the air, blackthorn robes the hedge in
+white; rosy is the flow'ring pear; daisies
+twinkle with delight.  Bursting buds and
+leafing trees, catkins on the oak like lace.
+Voice of God on every breeze, in every
+little flow'r&mdash;His Face.  Wayside Pulpits
+for His Voice!  Oh, the comfort that they
+bring.  Soul of Man, awake, rejoice!
+Blossom forth&mdash;for it is Spring.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap08"></a>
+<i>SPOONS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+there ought to be a tinkling rhyme
+for spoons we're using all the time,
+for special spoons with dainty faces that
+live in velvet-padded cases and only see
+the light of day when visitors have come
+to stay!  For spoons we use at every meal
+that have a homey, friendly "feel"; for
+wooden spoons and spoons of tin and
+spoons by age worn sharp and thin.
+Long-handled spoons, and curved and short,
+and those that by-gone goldsmiths
+wrought.  Big spoons for soup and small
+for tea and those that serve cook's
+artistry and spoons we've bought on
+holiday to prove we've really been away!
+Of all the spoons I've ever seen in any
+place that I have been, the one I like the
+best of all is specially made and neat and
+small, its handle looped that it can fit the
+dimpled hand that clutches it&mdash;the spoon
+that makes a dozen trips to Baby's
+laughing, rosy lips!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap09"></a>
+<i>ABOVE DEFEAT</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+What is the grandest sight beneath
+the sun?  To see&mdash;and this at times
+we all have done&mdash;a body smiling though
+there be no cause; fighting against great
+odds without a pause; fighting and
+smiling, knowing grim defeat, yet keeping
+breath enough to call life sweet!  To
+see a body carrying his load as if it were
+a joy and not fate's goad, no thought of
+giving in, nor turning back, although the
+path be rough and skies grow black.
+Stumbling, yet singing, the while the race
+is run&mdash;this is indeed a grand sight 'neath
+the sun.  Does it not make one yearn to
+cheer aloud, feeling most humble, yet
+exceeding proud, to watch a fellow-being
+lose a race, sore handicapped, but with a
+gallant grace?  Indeed, it is a grand sight
+'neath the sun to see defeat so very nobly
+won!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap10"></a>
+<i>COURTESY</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+A little poor man attired in brown
+(shabby the hood, shabby the
+gown), around his waist a piece of cord,
+entered the woods to praise the Lord.
+The feathered choir was singing loudly,
+above their boughs the sun shone proudly.
+He's coming, he's coming, into the wood,
+a little poor man 'neath a shabby brown
+hood.  "Good-morrow, brother!" he bowed
+to the sun, "accept my thanks for the
+good you have done.  I slept on the ground
+you warmed at noon.  To-night I shall
+greet my Sister Moon."  Then he turned
+to the birds in the leafy trees, "Good little
+sisters, if you please, since you have sung
+your merry lay, may I, your brother, have
+my say?"  The singing ceased, and each
+small bird opened her heart to receive the
+word of gentle Saint Francis praising the
+Lord in a shabby tunic tied with a cord!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap11"></a>
+<i>BUILDING PALACES</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+A prison or a palace?  Will you
+choose?  For one or other is your
+dwelling-place, and this is regulated by
+your views which have the power to make
+a thing of grace out of a seeming dull,
+confined and ugly space.  Don't scorn the
+town or village where you dwell, deeming
+yourself too fine a soul for it.  The smallest
+place has magic things to tell to those who
+have an understanding wit, a lamp of
+friendliness that is forever lit.  Often we
+hear a foolish person say, "How you can
+live in this place, I don't know!"  And yet
+the sun gives of his golden ray; nor do the
+stars withhold their silver glow; flourish
+the trees, birds sing and blossoms grow.
+'Tis not the place, but quality of mind
+that builds a palace or a prison bare.  With
+ears and eyes we may be deaf and blind
+to harmony and beauty passing fair.
+There is no spot but Friendship blossoms
+there.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap12"></a>
+<i>PRESERVES</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+The pantry shelves are cool and wide,
+their paper covers crisp and clean.
+The housewife gazes with just pride&mdash;the
+finest jams she's ever seen!  Jellies and
+jams; like gems they shine!  Like garnet,
+ruby, amethyst, topaz and jade and
+almandine&mdash;produced by her, the
+Alchemist!  Gold bottled sunshine in those jars,
+the fragrant essence of the Spring, the
+radiant gleam of watchful stars that shone
+above each growing thing.  The hearty
+breakfast's marmalade, the strawberry
+jam to tempt a guest, while that from
+gooseberry was made&mdash;some think her
+cherry jam is best.  All neatly labelled,
+row on row, and high upon the topmost
+shelf are placed preserves that gleam and
+glow and are entirely for herself.  For these
+are Memory's preserves of beauty garnered
+with delight, when branches hid
+their gracious curves beneath spring
+blossoms, pink and white.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap13"></a>
+<i>WHEN FRIENDSHIP DIES</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Nothing so sad in all the year,
+nothing so sad on land or sea, as
+friendship that we once held dear, becoming
+but a memory.  Not e'en a memory to
+hold, as one will clasp a precious thing;
+for once a friendship has grown cold, no
+comfort can remembrance bring.  The
+pleasant interchange of thought, the rush
+of feeling warm and true, the proffered
+aid, the comfort sought, and hope through
+laughter born anew.  Ah! that desire to
+please a friend, how it inspires and
+nurtures strength, but should the friendship
+sadly end, its very shadow dies at length.
+Then there is naught so sad to see,
+where'er we roam beneath the sky, two
+who were friends but now agree to pass
+each other coldly by.  Too sad for tears,
+too sad for sighs, when Memory herself
+seems dead and gazes with unseeing eyes
+at all the gentle words once said.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap14"></a>
+<i>THE HARPIST</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Her hands!  Two blossoms white
+that, sleeping, float like water-lilies
+on the harp's still breast.  One petal
+quivers, lo! a liquid note persuades the
+lilies they must wake from rest.  Ah, see! her
+hands are birds with flutt'ring wings,
+strong, graceful birds, circling the Ship of
+Gold, sweeping with passion the responsive
+strings that calmed a king's
+tempestuous heart of old.  I cannot watch
+these birds, for I am blind; blinded with
+ecstasy.  But I can hear the rhythmic beat
+of drums upon the wind, and Arabs o'er
+the desert drawing near.  Into the room
+they come, loose garments flowing, and
+all the magic of the East comes, too.  And
+now the Harp is sighing, "They are going,
+and with them goes the spellbound heart
+of you!"  The scene is changed.  The
+blazing East gives way to some cool spot,
+with trees outspread and tall.  A most
+exquisite peace holds us in sway; parched
+souls revive beneath "The Waterfall."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap15"></a>
+<i>THE STRONG WILL</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Strong of will?  That's good, indeed.
+Nice, of course, to get one's way.
+Sometimes, though, one has to heed a
+brother's still more urgent need, allow
+his will to have full sway.  Stout-of-will
+sometimes works ill for those he forces to
+obey.  You always reach the topmost
+peak?  Very nice indeed for you.  But did
+you hurt the shy and meek, the
+inexperienced and the weak, in doing what
+you had to do?  Did you step upon
+another, a weaker and a slower brother?
+There are many ways to gain all the
+things that seem most sweet, but if the
+getting might cause pain, better then to
+meet defeat.  To renounce is not so ill as
+ruthless arrogance of will.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap16"></a>
+<i>CONKERS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Not in a dictionary?  How absurd!
+Conker is such a stalwart, English
+word.  You do not know it?  Well, it is a
+shame to think you never played that
+Autumn game, beginning with the cry of
+"Oblionker."  (Oh, magic word preceding
+"My first conker!")  First the attack upon
+the Chestnut tree; the fruits fall down
+'mid noisy shouts of glee.  Pockets are
+stuffed, the robbers homeward go to
+polish these large seeds to ruddy glow.
+Then each is pierced with nicety and care
+and strung in readiness to cleave the air
+and hit a conker-foe held at arm's length,
+and shatter it by virtue of one's strength.
+Oh, joy it is to tramp the woods again
+and smell the earth fresh washed by
+Autumn rain, and hear the thrilling,
+fascinating sound of Chestnuts plopping
+on the leaf-strewn ground and cry aloud
+unthinking, "Oblionker," as in the
+long-ago, "'tis my first conker."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap17"></a>
+THE BEAUTY-REAPER
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Rich fields of beauty 'neath the sun
+are yours and mine, our heritage.
+And there is work for every one; and
+lasting joy's the living wage.  There is a
+field of lovely sights, where eyes may
+glean, if they but go; may garner such
+intense delights as only Beauty-lovers know.
+There is a field of haunting sounds
+for ears to glean if they desire: some
+simple phrases which may yield the music
+of a heart-strung lyre.  There is a field of
+precious thought where eager minds may
+daily stray; where blossoms rare are never
+bought, but grow for all to bear away.
+And there is yet another field, the field of
+Service, far-flung, wide; the beauty that
+this land can yield, above all else is
+glorified.  To be a reaper, I must try, in fields
+that Life has sown for me.  My sheaves of
+beauty will I tie with silken threads of
+memory.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap18"></a>
+<i>REMEMBER MAY</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Who watched May slip away last
+night?  Only the stars with eyes
+grown bright with unshed tears.  Only the
+moon, as thin and white as some young
+girl assailed by fright of unnamed fears.
+A bride May looked!  Golden her hair; and
+fragile blossoms nestled there, fallen from
+chestnut trees.  Golden Laburnum circled
+each slim wrist; her snow-white cheeks to
+blushing pink were kissed by tender
+midnight breeze.  Eastward she gazed towards
+the dawnlit sky, and saw Queen Juno's
+chariot drawing nigh.  Then breathed
+"farewell."  Westward she turned, and,
+like a bird in flight, white arms
+outstretched, she vanished out of sight.
+Where?  Who can tell?  Only this song
+comes wafted on the breeze: "Behold the
+Iris and the blossomed trees, and tulips
+tall and gay.  And when you praise the
+loveliness of these, though June be here
+and strives her best to please&mdash;you will
+remember May!"
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap19"></a>
+<i>TO MY UMBRELLA</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Why is it, when you come with me,
+there's not a drop of rain to see?
+But should I leave you safe indoors;
+ah! then, invariably, it pours.  You are a
+nuisance, without doubt.  The wind blows
+high&mdash;you're inside out!  And sometimes
+when you're opened wide, you slowly
+down the handle slide, until you close
+about my hat, pressing it almost pancake
+flat!  You won't stand up, you won't sit
+down; you've often made a stranger
+frown.  (Such ill behaviour in a train,
+you've made me blush, time and again!)  And
+when I'm busy in a shop on to the
+floor you always flop.  Your virtues?  Well,
+they're really few.  I like your cover's
+cheery hue; your handle, too, is rather
+gay.  Now, where on earth are you to-day?
+Why do you always cause a fuss&mdash;you
+must have stayed atop that 'bus!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap20"></a>
+<i>AN EASTER SONG</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Easter is a gentle maiden, robed in
+white and meek is she; both her arms
+with lilies laden, all her movements graceful,
+free.  At her breast are violets,
+fragrant.  Stars adorn her silky hair.  She
+is not, like Spring, a vagrant, wand'ring,
+care-free, here and there.  Easter has a
+field for sowing, Easter has her goal in
+sight, Lenten lilies all ablowing, glorify
+her day and night.  'Tis the heart that
+Easter's seeking.  There she'll sow her
+precious seed.  Hark! 'tis Easter sweetly
+speaking, "I have come for your great
+need."  Heart that is bowed down with
+sorrow, tree that is now bare of leaf, wait
+with patience; for the morrow brings an
+end to winter's grief.  Easter's such a
+gentle maiden, trees for her will bud
+again.  Hearts with sorrow, heavy laden,
+are, by Easter, healed of pain.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap21"></a>
+<i>AT A PIANO RECITAL</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+To think those fingers, a little while
+ago, were busy with small tasks,
+friendly and intimate; fastening a buckle
+of a shoe, and smoothing out a bow,
+groping to find a watch, for fear the hour
+be late!  To think those fingers coiled that
+blue-black hair and strayed among the
+folds of that gold dress; and then, like
+restless birds, fluttering here and there,
+brushed each arched eyebrow with a light
+caress.  To think those fingers deigned to
+do such things&mdash;they that have power to
+weave a potent spell to bear the heart
+aloft on eagle's wings, or drown the soul
+beneath the music's swell.  Fingers
+interpreting the mind in pain; or dance of
+fairies round a moonlit tree; quarrels and
+love; fierce sun and gentle rain; and then
+the spirit's shining ecstasy.  The whole of
+life flowing through fingers white!  To
+think those fingers will let loose black
+hair, fling off gold dress, and late, this
+very night, lie, like good children,
+wrapped in dreams most fair!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap22"></a>
+<i>SPRING CLEANINGS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+With brooms of every length and
+weight, of every style and varying
+price, from early morning until late she
+swept to make the house look nice.  With
+powders, soaps, and elbow grease, she
+scoured each pot, she scraped each pan;
+she ironed away each curtain crease, and
+soon the house was spick and span.  With
+sudden showers every day that spoilt our
+hats and damped our mirth, did April, in
+time-honoured way, begin to spring-clean
+mother Earth.  She brightly smiled and
+then she cried and washed away the dust
+with rain; the trees and flowers we
+thought had died, awoke, and blossomed
+forth again.  With thoughts of gladness
+and of cheer, with thankfulness and
+heartfelt praise for this renascence of the
+year, I let my eyes on nature gaze.  And
+while I looked at sky and earth, I had an
+impulse to be kind, to do some service
+of real worth&mdash;spring-cleaning thus my
+heart and mind!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap23"></a>
+<i>DEER IN AUTUMN</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+If you would see great beauty, watch
+the deer, that look their loveliest when
+Autumn's here against a background of
+the deep-toned year.  The distance shows
+a veil of misty blue, the ferns are
+richly-clad, a russet hue, the deer seem garbed
+in velvet soft and new.  They are
+fastidious creatures when they eat, turning
+from verdure trampled by man's feet
+and seeking pastures that look fresh and
+sweet.  They are, indeed, embodiment of
+grace, moving with dignity from place to
+place, impossible to think a deer's heart
+base!  How eloquent and friendly are their
+eyes.  They couch upon a bed of ferns and
+look so wise.  Hark!  What was that?  The
+falling leaves' faint sighs.  So faint a sound
+and yet the shy beasts hear, rise to their
+feet in agony of fear&mdash;to think that man
+would ever hurt a deer!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap24"></a>
+<i>COMPENSATIONS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Sad Heart says, "It's easy talking,
+but she doesn't understand.  Luck
+with her is ever walking.  Sorrow has me
+by the hand."  Don't I understand, Sad
+Heart?  Seems to me it's very plain.  Life
+has cast you for a part; Sorrow you must
+entertain.  But the beauty of the Dawn is
+for you, for your sad eyes.  Dew-drops,
+diamonds on the lawn fill you with a glad
+surprise.  Stars at night in vault of blue;
+moon, a floating daffodil&mdash;these are joys
+bestowed on you, yours to cherish at your
+will.  Music is a precious gift; it is yours if
+you will hear.  Watch the gruesome
+shadows lift, chased away by Laughter's
+cheer.  Books you love?  Oh! fortunate!
+And there's work for you to do?  Cease,
+then, railing at your fate&mdash;Joy will find
+its way to you.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap25"></a>
+<i>LONDON TO GREENHITHE</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+I wish that you had been with me to
+Greenhithe just the other day.  Enjoyed
+myself?  Tremendously!  Such lovely
+sights along the way.  Oh! fairy pink, the
+almond trees; the Prunus trees were
+dazzling white.  And every little teasing
+breeze was whispering of Spring's delight.
+But lovelier far than bud or tree were
+toddlers clad in woolly things.  One
+roguish elf, he smiled at me.  Strange how
+that memory still clings!  We passed a
+market all ablaze with fruits and flowers
+of springtime's best.  I dote on Nature's
+lavish ways&mdash;she uses colours with such
+zest.  Then London River&mdash;misty, grey.
+And ghost-like steamers, doubtful, slow;
+and rooks a screaming "go away!"  "It's
+time," said I, "we homeward go."  But
+what I liked the most of all, throughout
+this drive of many miles, were letterboxes,
+scarlet, small, set in grey walls,
+like cheery smiles.  Like laughing scarlet
+lips they seemed.  And as we passed,
+oh! how they beamed.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap26"></a>
+<i>THE LITTLE CANDLE</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Your room, you say, is very dark
+to-night!  A little candle&mdash;and you've
+lots of light!  Your baby pleads, "Don't
+leave me by myself."  You place a night-light
+on a little shelf, and baby smiles and
+feels quite comforted, and thus
+companioned, snuggles into bed.  The road
+seems very dark and long to you; the
+hand-clasp of a friend, a smile that's true,
+and that grim darkness is dispersed by
+love and brightly shines the sun or moon
+above.  The mind that gropes in darkness
+for the truth, and sees a little light is rich,
+forsooth.  A little light is what we all
+desire, a tiny candle for our spirit's fire.
+Here is a helpful thought I read to-day
+for us who grope and stumble on our way;
+there's not enough of darkness round
+about to put the smallest waxen candle
+out!  So hold aloft your candle, shine or
+rain, that those in darkness may take
+heart again.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap27"></a>
+<i>TO A CHILD</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Such a beautiful gift has this world
+been.  Lovely the Springtime's pink
+and white and green, and then the
+summer's richer, warmer glow, followed by
+Autumn's tints&mdash;and then the snow.
+Each season brings such gifts for joyous
+hearts, there is no sorrow when the
+Spring departs.  And when late summer
+slowly drops her leaves, signals to
+Autumn, there is none who grieves,
+knowing the beauty that will softly fall
+upon the earth whene'er Jack Frost may
+call.  And there are books, dear child, such
+constant friends that serve with joy until
+the journey ends.  And friends more
+precious still than books who give us
+clasp of hand and tender looks, tears for
+our sorrow, laughter for our joy, the
+golden element in life's alloy.  As I do
+now, dear child, may you one day&mdash;review
+the years that seem so far away,
+and standing on Time's lichen-covered
+hill have cause to claim that life is lovely
+still.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap28"></a>
+<i>LIFE'S SONG</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+I bring joy, but also sorrow, all my
+children must know grief.  Buoyant
+spring, then on the morrow Autumn's
+dried and falling leaf.  Success I bring and
+golden laughter; Man I help to high
+estate.  Disappointments follow after&mdash;this
+my way with small or great.  Work I
+give as well as pleasure; sunshine&mdash;then
+the clouds and rain!  No one can escape a
+measure of my bitterness and pain.  Cause
+for singing, cause for weeping, rough and
+smooth and dark and bright.  Time for
+work and hours for sleeping, calm and
+noise and day and night.  Lovely gardens,
+barren places, stumbling-blocks and paths
+of ease; bread and honey, rags and laces,
+these I offer where I please.  Joy I bring
+and also sorrow, light and shade and hills
+and vales and this gift for each new
+morrow&mdash;courage to the one who fails.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap29"></a>
+<i>HOLIDAY MEMORIES</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Now, hold your breath; oh, do not
+talk, for Baby has begun to walk!
+Travel all the world with me, no greater
+sight we'll ever see than Baby, fat legs
+wide apart, smiling, gurgling, bless his
+heart!  Left foot, right foot&mdash;well, I never,
+isn't he extremely clever!  Yes, of course,
+I liked the Rhine.  The castles were
+extremely fine.  Cologne Cathedral robs
+one quite of the power to speak or write.
+Hans Sachs' house and Dürer's, too, these
+were sights indeed to view.  A Market
+Place with many treasures added much
+to Nurnberg's pleasures.  But none of this
+thrilled me so much as just this little
+human touch&mdash;a quaint Dutch house, an
+open door, a mother sitting on the floor
+with hands outstretched and eyes aflame,
+whilst t'ward her, swaying, Baby came.
+Left foot, right foot&mdash;please don't talk,
+for Baby has begun to walk!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap30"></a>
+<i>FAILURE</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Ah, Failure is a curious thing!  It helps
+to mend the broken wing and then
+inspires a longer flight and whispers,
+"Look, the goal's in sight!"  And Failure
+is a stringent spur, pricking Ambition till
+it stir, a strong incentive to proud Pride
+o'er every obstacle to ride.  Where'er we
+stumble, Failure stands and stretches
+forth strong, helpful hands, and bids us
+rise and try again, ignore the set-back
+and the pain.  'Tis Failure makes us scorn
+defeat and turn the bitter into sweet, and
+seek, yes, on the darkest day, for one
+bright scintillating ray.  If Fate should
+bring a nasty shock, if Life should give
+the real hard knock, if everything should
+go awry&mdash;it's Failure urges us to try.
+'Tis Failure says, "I won't give in.  I have
+a second chance to win."  Ah, Failure,
+you're a little word so to inspire the
+undeterred!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap31"></a>
+<i>HIS 21ST BIRTHDAY</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+He looks the same, he feels the same,
+exactly as the day before.  He hasn't
+changed his home or name, nor has he
+grown one hair's breadth more.  The suit
+he wore but yesterday he's wearing at this
+minute, and who is there who'd dare to
+say the same boy isn't in it?  And yet he's
+changed, we must confess, for since the
+clock struck twelve last night (we wish
+him health and happiness!) he has
+attained to manhood's height.  And Life
+grips fast his eager hand and says, "The
+midnight bell has tolled and you're a
+man, this understand, for you are twenty-one
+years old."  And here's our wish and
+here's our hope, Oh, bold adventurer and
+gay!  May you have courage as you grope
+through unlit paths along life's way.
+There is so much for man to do; and
+brains may plot and brains may plan;
+but this our golden hope for you, may
+you have strength to play the man!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap32"></a>
+<i>FELLOWSHIP</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+I love to walk on cool, ribbed sands
+with never a soul by my side; for then
+my spirit understands the murmur of the
+tide.  But not for long does Neptune's
+voice engross my soul and mind.  It
+wearies me; I would rejoice&mdash;to hear
+Mankind.  I love to climb to some high
+peak and watch the stars at night.  I hear
+the voice of Silence speak; it fills me with
+delight.  Of this my soul soon weary grows,
+for always do I find the current of my
+being flows&mdash;towards Mankind.  I'd love
+a house well tucked away among tall
+trees, wide-spreading trees; and there I'd
+write a song each day with no one near to
+talk or tease!  I would not stay there very
+long; a crowded place I'd have to find.
+My heart would barren be of song&mdash;without Mankind.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap33"></a>
+<i>IN A LITTLE ROOM</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+O silly, box-like, little room, I'm
+very tired of you to-day.  Four
+silent walls enclosing gloom.  I charge
+you, what have you to say?  But stop a
+minute!  I admit I like your carpet's soft
+design; and from this angle, as I sit, the
+sideboard has a gracious line.  'Tis strange
+I did not note till now the depth of blue
+on this old plate, the lovely curve of
+leafy bough, the lovers standing near a
+gate.  I wonder, was I very young&mdash;perhaps
+I was not even born&mdash;when first
+this dinner bell was rung, and now its
+brass is thin and worn.  A lovely thing&mdash;this
+antique bowl; its beauty urges me to
+sing.  I think the craftsman's very soul
+was melted for its fashioning.  O silly,
+little, box-like room!  Your pardon, please,
+you humble me.  You have no space for
+scowls and gloom, with so much charm
+for all to see.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap34"></a>
+<i>DO IT NOW</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+'Twas yesterday we thought we'd
+write that letter which would give
+delight.  'Twas yesterday we thought we'd
+send some money to a needy friend.  'Twas
+yesterday we meant to cheer; we meant
+to wipe away a tear; we meant to help a
+weaker man achieve his good, but half-formed
+plan.  'Twas yesterday we made it
+plain we'd help a failure start again;
+'twas yesterday we wished to praise,
+commend a brother for his ways; some
+seeds of love we meant to sow, some
+kindliness we meant to show.  But yesterday,
+alas! has fled.  Not one act done, not
+one word said.  Now, when we feel that
+inner urge, when o'er the soul kind feelings
+surge, when we are suddenly aware that
+we have more than just our share; when
+words of praise invade the heart, and
+when we see grief's tears upstart&mdash;oh! let
+us do the kindly thing before To-day is
+on the wing.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap35"></a>
+<i>ON ST. CRISPIN'S DAY</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+I'd love to be a shoemaker on this
+Saint Crispin's Day.  I'd pray him for
+some leather that the angels gave away.
+(For they used to give him leather, so all
+the legends say.)  Softest leather from the
+angels!  Each piece of finest grain, well
+tanned by golden sunbeams, kept moist
+by sister rain.  The loveliest bits of leather,
+ne'er bought nor sold for gain.  Bright bits
+supplied by angels!  And some would be
+sky-blue and some of pearly greyness
+with dawn's pinkness blushing through.
+And some would be rich crimson, like a
+sunset bold and new.  And I'd take Saint
+Crispin's leather that the angels had let
+fall and fashion shoes a-plenty for
+dimpled feet and small, whilst Saint
+Crispin stood beside me and blessed my
+last and awl!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap36"></a>
+<i>THE EVER YOUNG</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+There is a path called Never-Old,
+a most entrancing, smiling road; and
+only those with spirits bold, who, laughing,
+shoulder life's big load, who value
+Beauty more than gold, who faithful are
+to Love's high code, can find this road to
+walk along.  And as they walk, they sing
+a song, oh, buoyantly the words are sung,
+"We are the old, for ever young!"  There
+is a path called Never-Old, and only
+certain feet may tread this smiling road, so
+I've been told.  Those who fared forth
+with high-held head, whose hearts have
+warmed some hearts grown cold, whose
+hands have helped the frail and weak,
+whose lips the gentlest words do speak,
+they'll find this smiling road I know.  And
+as along this path they go, this is the
+song that will be sung, "We are the old,
+for ever young!"  All those who've
+laughed at hostile fate, who can a tale
+of Love unfold, who live for others, early,
+late&mdash;have found the road of Never-Old.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap37"></a>
+<i>BROADCAST FRIENDS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+The bogy of loneliness has gone for
+ever.  She now has friends that visit
+by the score.  And all of them are pleasant
+and so clever, coming when she desires,
+at noon or four, and no one waits to knock
+upon the door!  They slip into the room
+on magic wings borne by the ether for her
+keen delight.  One gives her household
+hints, another sings, one speaks of
+theatres or of those who write, and she
+sees much that once was out of sight.  For
+now she travels as she sits and sews, and
+solitude no longer hurts or palls.  With
+world-explorers gallantly she goes, far,
+far beyond her four confining
+walls&mdash;whene'er the announcer's voice through
+ether calls.  The world is hers and she can
+walk abroad; listen to music, look upon
+great art.  The many things she could not
+once afford she now enjoys, in them she
+has a part&mdash;and thanks the wireless from
+a woman's house-bound heart!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap38"></a>
+<i>SEEKING HAPPINESS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Someone said (it might have been
+you or I), "I vow to find happiness
+e'er I die."  So he sought for it high and
+he sought for it low; by the glare of the
+sun, by the moonbeam's pale glow.  He
+sought for it far, and sought for it near.
+He sought for a day, and he sought for a
+year, but Happiness ever eluded his hand;
+'twas the same on high seas as it was on
+the land.  Back to the everyday things of
+life, to the turn of Fate's wheel with its
+love and strife; back to engrossing work
+he went.  Laboured hard, and was well
+content.  Gave of his brain, his hands and
+his heart, fulfilling with zest his destined
+part.  Took delight in the new-born day;
+gloried in work and deemed it play.
+Found his pleasures in simple things; in
+a book, a tree, and a bird that sings.  In a
+gracious curve of a leafy bough&mdash;and he
+quite forgot his former vow.  Then
+suddenly someone, running fast, exclaimed,
+"Oh! brother!  We've met at last."  The
+sound of this voice was a soft caress.
+And the face&mdash;was the face of Happiness!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap39"></a>
+<i>THOUGHTS WHEN BULB-PLANTING</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+I have a rendezvous with Spring&mdash;she'll
+keep her word and so will I.
+I took a bulb, a small brown thing, and
+said, "'Tis here I bid you lie."  A brick-red
+pot, some sandy soil.  Now, little bulb,
+lie warm, I pray.  A pleasant task&mdash;so
+little toil, all on a sweet, Autumnal day.
+Now let Jack Frost come back again and
+scatter snowflakes everywhere, and let
+him star the window pane with frosty
+breath&mdash;I will not care.  For I've a
+precious rendezvous with one in green and
+gold attire and with another robed in
+blue&mdash;this thought sets all my heart afire.
+Some magic pots, bulbs buried deep, all
+in the sweet autumnal hours.  My little
+bulbs now fall asleep, but soon they will
+bring forth spring flow'rs.  With Spring I
+have a rendezvous, we'll meet upon my
+window-sill when in one pot are scillas
+blue and in the next, a daffodil!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap40"></a>
+<i>TO EACH HIS GIFT</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+I am so glad to be awake.  So glad to
+feel my pulses leap freed from the
+servitude of sleep.  So glad a deep-drawn
+breath to take; O heart of mine, we are
+awake!  Hear now the vow I wish to make.
+Before the coming of night's sable wing
+I will create at least one lovely thing in
+gratitude for life and for life's sake.  O
+heart of mine, what shall we try to make?
+These hands, you say, are dull at
+fashioning.  Then find them service, there is
+much to do; some task that destiny has
+planned for you.  O heart of mine, the
+morning's praises sing.  "This brain," you
+say, "cannot create a song, nor can it
+weave imagination's tale."  Yet in your
+spoken vow, you need not fail&mdash;one
+lovely thing&mdash;the righting of some wrong.
+O heart of mine, I pray you keep me
+strong.  "These hands," you say, "have
+not the power to make; nor has this brain
+the great creative gift."  But two soft lips
+you have through which may drift a
+stream of beauty, thirsty souls to slake.
+O heart of mine, rejoice!  We are awake.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap41"></a>
+<i>IN AN APRIL GARDEN</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+There's the daffodil, the primrose,
+and the small forget-me-not; the
+ruddy, flaming, fragrant, rich, velvety
+wallflower; anemones and pansies, and
+aubrietia's purple plot; forsythia grows
+more golden with the passing of each
+hour.  There's the yellow-blossomed berberis
+with promise of blue fruit; japonica
+the lovely, coral-tinted fragile stars.  And
+a blackbird, with the sweetness of an
+ancient, mellow flute, is trilling thrilling
+quavers, and ecstatic little bars!  But the
+glory of the garden is a stately, queenly
+tree, magnolia the beautiful, in robes of
+dazzling white.  The sun into her goblets
+pours his golden ecstasy, and moonbeams
+turn them silver with their kisses in the
+night.  Yea, lovely is the garden, beyond
+the power of words.  But lovelier is the
+promise of the beauty yet to come.  O
+sound the garden's praises, you happy,
+singing birds!  For we, poor tongue-tied
+mortals, by such beauty are struck dumb.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap42"></a>
+<i>THE QUIET HEART</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Her heart is such a fragrant room,
+with daffodils and bright blue squills
+bedecking all the window-sills, defying
+entry to Sir Gloom&mdash;her heart is such a
+sunny room.  Her heart has windows east
+and west, and windows south and north
+as well; and thus she always can foretell
+if one in need would be her guest&mdash;her
+heart has windows east and west.  And
+through these shining window-panes, the
+eyes of little children peer.  And those in
+quest of warmth and cheer, stand there
+until the daylight wanes&mdash;and bless her
+heart's bright window-panes.  Her heart
+has such a charming door.  The knocker
+shows the face of Love; forget-me-nots
+trail high above; one gentle knock, no
+need for more&mdash;then opens wide her
+heart's white door.  Her heart is such a
+sunny room, and oh! she offers all such
+fare, they love to go and linger there, and
+touch the petals of each bloom within this
+fragrant, quiet room.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap43"></a>
+<i>DREAM-STREET CRIES</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+In the land of dreams I heard him call
+upon a bright, warm summer's day.
+"All broken hearts, big breaks and small,
+will be repaired that come my way!  Torn
+hearts to mend, torn hearts to mend," he
+cried while coming round the bend.  "Torn
+hearts repaired, torn hearts repaired"&mdash;I
+stood quite still and stared and stared.
+And then he spoke and then I heard,
+"Good-day to you, give me your
+heart."  "Indeed, I won't, you're quite absurd,
+how could I from my heart now part?"  "Torn
+hearts to mend, torn hearts to
+mend&mdash;&mdash;"  "Oh, very well, here's mine,
+good friend."  I gave him mine, almost in
+two; he made it look as good as new.  And
+then I woke and heard quite clear, all
+down the street from end to end, the same
+old voice I yearly hear, "Old chairs to
+mend, old chairs to mend."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap44"></a>
+<i>SPRING IS COMING</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Expectancy is in the air; we seem
+to live with greater zest; there's
+hushed excitement everywhere.  With
+leaves the Honeysuckle's dressed.  The
+hazel catkins are in flow'r; they patiently
+await the bees.  I hear, well, almost any
+hour, a secret whispered by the breeze.
+The sun's more generous with his gold;
+he spilt it at my feet to-day.  A happy
+wren was very bold and carolled forth a
+roundelay.  The sturdy tit with sable
+breast, the blue tit, lovely little thing, are
+pecking with the greatest zest at fat
+a-dangling from a string!  On every slender
+willow bough (with ecstasy this news I
+write) the Persian Kittens frolic now; the
+boisterous wind gives them delight.  They
+jump about like anything; and how their
+silver fur coats gleam!  They prove that it
+is really Spring&mdash;and not a tantalizing
+dream!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap45"></a>
+<i>SALUTE TO THE BRAVE</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+She'd been the live-long day in one
+drab room.  An illness kept her
+chained.  I never saw a more depressing
+gloom.  And it had rained and rained.  No
+flowers were there, no books for her to
+read, nothing for her caress.  No heart
+so stony that it would not bleed to see
+such loneliness.  Then, while I sought for
+words not out of tune, a fitting phrase to
+cheer, she told me how, each night, the
+friendly moon was wont to float quite
+near.  "It came so near last night,"
+she, laughing, said&mdash;"I really thought it
+meant to visit me in bed."  A star had
+tapped upon her window-pane, and talked
+awhile.  That day she'd watched the merry
+dancing rain.  The raindrops made her
+smile.  And through her window (oh! such
+beauty there) she'd seen, she said, a gleam
+of sunlight on a baby's hair, a sparrow
+with some bread.  And thus to others
+often do we go through kindliest desires.
+And stay to warm our spirits by the glow
+from braver, finer fires!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap46"></a>
+<i>MY VISITORS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+At Dawn a little rhyme appeared and
+whispered: "Take me, pray."  "Oh,
+little rhyme," I softly jeered, "I bid you
+run away.  You've sleepy eyes and child-like
+grace.  I want a rhyme with thoughtful
+face."  At Noon there came a little rhyme,
+and lisped: "Do listen, please!"  Said I
+"Not now.  I have no time.  Now, little
+rhyme, don't tease.  At Twelve-Hours-Old
+you are not strong to bear the
+burden of a song."  Three little rhymes
+arrived at night, and sat beside my fire.
+I welcomed them with great delight, and
+asked them their desire.  "We're knocking
+at your heart," they cried.  "Oh, won't you
+let us slip inside?"  In turn I looked at
+each small face.  I recognized each one.
+For here was Dawn of child-like grace,
+and Noon of work half-done, and weary
+Night.  I bid them stay, for they made up
+the Song of Day.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap47"></a>
+<i>THIS WAY BUT ONCE</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Above, a very lovely bit of sky, a
+rosy edging to a fluffy cloud.  You
+did not stop, but swiftly hurried by, your
+mind engrossed with thought, your head
+low bowed.  Oh! raise your eyes before
+these glories wane&mdash;perhaps you will not
+pass this way again.  A brother on life's
+lonely, stone-strewn road is standing in
+your sight as you advance.  'Tis clear he
+faints beneath his heavy load.  You are so
+busy, you can barely glance.  Oh! lend a
+helping hand, assuage his pain&mdash;maybe
+you'll never pass this way again.  It would
+be well as we go on our way to speak the
+helpful words that spring to mind; to do
+whate'er we can each fresh-born day, and
+ne'er defer the action just and kind.  Nor
+hold between our teeth the words of
+praise, the words a hungry heart desires
+to hear.  A blossom at your feet?  Then
+stoop to gaze.  A soul distressed?  Go forth
+at once to cheer.  A chance to help?  Then
+use that chance to-day&mdash;perhaps no more
+you'll pass along this way.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap48"></a>
+<i>WANDERING THOUGHTS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+With thoughts for sheep, I am a
+shepherdess.  And I must homeward
+bring my flock each night.  For some
+have ranged to hills of happiness, and
+some in sorrow's vale are out of sight.
+And some have wandered far upon the
+road that leads to memories of long ago,
+and when they reached my childhood's
+dear abode, they frolicked with a
+dream-child that I know.  My thoughts are
+sheep and pitifully stray, some here, some
+there, some eastward, and some west;
+whilst I, the shepherdess, at close of day,
+must bring them to the fold for warmth
+and rest.  But some I will not call again to
+me&mdash;the thoughts that travel to a distant
+friend.  They, shepherded by Love most
+carefully, upon their pleasant journey
+swiftly wend.  Friend!  Gather in these
+loving thoughts of mine; and let your
+heart, I pray you, be their fold; and you,
+the shepherd, with a magic sign, encircle
+them and keep them from the cold!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap49"></a>
+<i>ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+There'll be a band, I know there
+will, just at the incline of the hill;
+and many folk will loiter there and clap,
+and stamp, and shout and stare.  But
+little children will stand dumb, so
+fascinated by the drum.  Ah! now guitar and
+flute are still&mdash;and crowds begin to climb
+the hill.  What fun it is!  Here, stalls begin.
+Bright paper hats and masks that grin.
+"Fevvers and ticklers.  Buy them, boys.
+And golliwogs, and jumping toys."  Up,
+up, it goes, this noisy stream of
+merrymakers.  "Best ice-cream!"  The sun's so
+hot, and there's no shade.  "Your fortune,
+lady!  Lemonade!"  Up, up, they go.  The
+noises swell, but why all laugh no one can
+tell.  The roundabout begins to play and
+every heart keeps holiday.  And as these
+folk swarm up the hill, it's "Two a penny,
+try your skill.  Such handsome prizes.
+Come on, try.  Fine fevvers, ticklers.  Buy,
+boys, buy!"  I vowed I'd never go again,
+but in this reminiscent strain, I see it
+all&mdash;and I just long to mingle with that
+happy throng!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap50"></a>
+<i>THE SEA OF LIFE</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+"He was the first that ever burst into
+that silent sea."  I read this phrase
+in childhood's days&mdash;that poet wrote for
+me.  For now I know we all do go like
+mariners in life, on seas unknown and all
+alone 'mid rocks of fear and strife.  We
+bend our sails to meet Life's gales.  O
+untried is the breeze.  Our boat is slight
+and dark the night, uncharted are Life's
+seas.  And it's the truth, we all, forsooth,
+have little ships to sail.  And oft we think
+we'll surely sink beneath the furious gale.
+For each one knows as on he goes the way
+is rough and dim.  To left or right, no help
+in sight, except it come from Him.  Sailors
+are we and look to Thee, O Captain of
+Life's crew, for guidance kind, though
+strong the wind, for guidance safe and
+true.  Then without fear; with right good
+cheer, although the skies be dark, harbour
+in sight, towards the light, we'll steer
+Life's sea-tossed bark.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap51"></a>
+THE CARAVAN SETS FORTH
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Motor-cars and one-horsed carts,
+omnibuses, heavy vans&mdash;one expects
+such vehicles, they fit a city's plans.
+On a throbbing city street, who on
+earth would think to see a caravan in
+brave attire?  I did&mdash;ah, lucky me!
+Purring down the street it came, newly
+painted, wheels and all; window-sashes
+ivory white, red the roof and green each
+wall.  Seemed to me it laughed with joy,
+window-eyes were shining bright.  Shouted
+at me as it passed, "I'll sleep 'neath stars
+to-night."  "City streets I'll leave behind,
+country lanes are calling now.  Blackbird's
+song is luring me to an apple bough.  I'm
+a happy caravan, all my curtains have
+fresh frills.  I'm going where the cool green
+grass is starred with daffodils."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap52"></a>
+<i>MARCH, THE LION</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+When Nursie used to say to me,
+"The month of March comes
+roaringly, just like a lion, seeking prey,
+but like a lamb it skips away"; when
+Nursie said this frightful thing, then I to
+her would tightly cling, and hold my
+breath and shut my eyes.  Oh! fearsome
+March in lion's guise.  I'd put my head
+upon her lap, my heart would go thud-thud,
+trip-trap, because I heard upon the
+stair a stealthy pit-a-pat.  Beware!
+Between my fingers I would peep, just as a
+tawny tail would sweep around the
+nursery's white door.  Oh! listen, how
+March Lions roar.  But soon I overcame
+my fear&mdash;I longed to see the lamb appear.
+I left her lap, I stood upright, I watched
+that beast with all my might; and, sure
+enough, as Nurse had said, it changed its
+skin and changed its head, and went
+away, squeezed through the jamb&mdash;a
+little, gentle, snowy lamb!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap53"></a>
+<i>PLAY THE GAME</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+These are the cards Life dealt to
+you, and you must play the game.
+The cards are weak, that may be true,
+but who is there to blame?  You cannot
+say "a mis-deal, Life!"  The game you
+have to play.  'Tis uphill work; you're
+tired of strife; yet play the game, I say.
+Just play the game, don't fume nor fret;
+play each card one by one.  You never
+know, perhaps you'll get a trick by set of
+sun.  No matter what the game may be, if
+bridge or just bezique, whoever heard
+such futile plea: "My cards are far too
+weak."  The other folk would scoff and
+jeer, and cry out: "Play the game."  And
+from these facts you'll see quite clear that
+life is much the same.  For Fate, the dealer,
+does not care what cards you get, or I.
+The poorest ones may be our share; to
+play the game, let's try.  And though we
+lose, we still can smile&mdash;just to have
+played has been worth while.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap54"></a>
+<i>A PIECE OF PAPER</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+It skipped and fluttered down the
+street.  It tripped and swirled and
+whirled about.  It hurried past the swiftest
+feet&mdash;that it felt pleased I had no doubt.
+The panting wind was just behind; it
+was a very merry race.  The sun peeped
+through a cloudy blind and smiled to see
+so brisk a chase.  I knew for certain who
+would win; I backed the paper without
+fear!  It was so light and white and thin;
+I watched it gaily disappear.  Since then
+I've wondered time again: whence came
+that paper, whither went?  Did it some
+secret code contain, or sharp command
+to pay the rent?  Perhaps a gentle lover
+wrote a tender, throbbing, pleading
+rhyme to one to whom he would devote
+each moment of his mortal time.  I hope
+the wind kept up the race and drove along
+that message sweet, until it reached its
+destined place, and fluttered, humbly, at
+her feet.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap55"></a>
+<i>AFRAID, BUT UNDETERRED</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+It's not exactly courage if you aren't a
+bit afraid to climb a fearsome mountain,
+descend into a glade, or make a
+swimming record or some titanic flight,
+or drive a racing motor-car, or jump an
+unknown height.  But this is really
+courage&mdash;at least, I call it so&mdash;to say, I
+fear that mountain, but all the same, I'll
+go.  And this is truly courage, to lift one's
+daily load, to smile though skies are
+gloomy and difficult the road, to view an
+angry river and beyond a sloping hill, to
+say, "That is my journey and I'll take it
+with good will."  To cry, "I'll grant I'm
+fearful, a little bit afraid, but naught will
+stop my progress until the journey's
+made."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap56"></a>
+<i>TO SOME DAHLIAS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+I have seen Beauty time again; in
+clouds by day, in stars by night, in
+trees refreshed by gentle rain, in
+sunbeams dancing with delight.  But you, gay
+Dahlias, I love best.  I count each one a
+precious friend.  You seem to live with
+such a zest.  And oh! your colours, how
+they blend!  White, pink, and red, and
+saffron, too, and vibrant hues that glow
+like flames.  Each day I pass, I nod to you.
+I can't remember all your names!  One
+day (now this should make you proud) I
+saw a girl, too young for grief, walk down
+the path with head low-bowed; she's like,
+thought I, a wind-tossed leaf.  Then
+suddenly you flashed a smile.  I watched her
+stop and stand so still and gaze at you for
+quite a while, and of your Beauty drink
+her fill.  I think the girl, that very night,
+discovered Life was not so grey&mdash;for in
+her room were Dahlias bright that
+memory had brought away!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap57"></a>
+<i>STEADFASTNESS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+A difficult task to be done, an
+arduous course to be run, a dream
+to be shaped, a pattern spun.  'Tis
+steadfast does it.  Rare is the genius who can
+leap whilst others plod and slowly creep
+along the stony path and steep, yet also
+reach the goal.  Though genius is a precious
+thing so brightly hued, so swift of
+wing, yet lacking it, there is no sting, if
+we keep faith with our own soul.  We can
+persist in doing, doing; preserving faith
+and never ruing; the hill-top light for aye
+pursuing&mdash;'Tis steadfast does it.  When
+with sincerity we say, "New hope, new
+courage, each new day," though obstacles
+impede the way&mdash;'Tis steadfast does it!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap58"></a>
+<i>CANDLEMAS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+I think to-day of candle-light, of
+soft and soothing candle-light, that
+beckons souls to come and pray on
+Candlemas, a saintly day.  I think of
+golden flames so bright, of blue-gold
+flames so very bright, of candles standing
+slim and white in solemn, silent, sweet
+array.  I thought: our spirits are like
+flames, like steadfast, strong and striving
+flames; though all around be grim and
+dark, they shed a penetrating spark.  I
+mused: if all our hearts would be, if all
+our hearts (both you and me) could be
+like candle-sticks to hold a candle for a
+world grown cold; then as we went about
+the world, with shining hearts about the
+world, we'd bring soft light to some dark
+place, and there we'd see a sister's face!
+And thus I think of Candlemas, the
+ancient, honoured Candlemas, a day on
+which to light this earth with acts of
+kindliness and worth.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap59"></a>
+<i>THE COBWEB'S STRENGTH</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+A storm raged fiercely through the
+frightened hours, houses were shaken,
+chimney-pots torn down, large trees
+uprooted, as well as fragile flowers, e'en lives
+were lost in that storm-shaken town.  And
+afterwards we saw a wondrous sight,
+walking beneath some trees still drenched
+with rain&mdash;a stretch of cobwebs silver in
+the light, unharmed, unconquered by the
+wrack and strain.  Cobwebs that looked so
+frail a baby's breath could tear to bits
+their lacy filigree were quite unharmed
+by this attack of death beneath which
+fell both man and masonry.  And thus it
+is in life; the storm-swept soul can still
+retain its web of lovely dreams though
+hostile winds deter us from the goal and
+oft we have to ford hate's swirling
+streams.  Though merciless the tempests
+that have swept over a human life, frail
+as a wraith, still has the battered soul
+with honour kept its beauteous web of
+hope and love and faith.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap60"></a>
+<i>A NICHT WI' BURNS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Oh, Robbie Burns, if I could find a
+golden phrase that sweetly sings, a
+silvern phrase of kingly mind, a magic
+phrase with fairy wings&mdash;I'd weave, I'd
+weave each precious phrase into a song
+for your delight; for we who love your
+tuneful lays are toasting you this very
+night.  But, after all, why should I seek
+unusual, unfamiliar words?  So freely does
+your own heart speak in songs that lilt
+and trill like birds.  A simple phrase, then,
+be my choice for all who toast the Bard
+to-night: "We drink to that Immortal
+Voice whose simplest songs give most
+delight."  Oh, Robbie Burns, your
+deathless lyre was strung by Pity, Love and
+Truth.  Interpreter of Passion's fire, of
+Friendship, Loyalty and Youth, to you,
+the David of your time, the Bard who
+gives world-wide delight, I offer up this
+simple rhyme&mdash;just as a toast, to you,
+to-night.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap61"></a>
+<i>MY GUY FAWKES</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+I made my Guy Fawkes yesternight.
+I'll burn him up some time to-day.
+He is an ugly-looking fright.  I built him
+up in just this way: I took ten yards of
+witch-spun stuff, woven, you know, from
+threads of gloom, in colour dark, in texture
+rough, and hurried to my little room,
+and there I stitched it up one side and
+stitched it at the bottom, too.  And then
+this bag I opened wide, and into it I
+swiftly threw a full-grown Temper, scowling
+thing; a cowardly Fear with pallid
+face, and cold starved Hope with broken
+wing, and Pride bedecked in silks and
+lace, and Moodiness and Discontent, and
+all the horrid things I own.  Atop this Guy,
+a lemon went; and for its heart a dull grey
+stone.  Ah! when the flames have eaten it,
+how very noble I will be.  This thought,
+though, bothers me a bit&mdash;not one old
+friend will then know me!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap62"></a>
+<i>CLIPPED WINGS</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Clipped wings!  But all the same,
+you've wings.  You cannot fly away
+from duty, but you can rise above drab
+things.  Oh, little, lovely flight to beauty.
+Clipped wings, indeed, can take you far;
+well, far enough to see the sun arise, the
+silver radiance of the evening star, the
+trustfulness within a baby's eye&mdash;lovely,
+indeed, these little journeys are.  I know,
+dear soul, the cage at times seems small,
+and you are weary of the daily round.
+Better clipped wings than ne'er a wing at
+all&mdash;at least you rise with ease above the
+ground.  You can poise level with a daisy's
+head, or with a nest within an old forked
+bough, and on towards a hollyhock bright
+red, and higher, higher still&mdash;as you are
+now, upon a fleecy cloud with crimson
+dyed.  Swift flight of dreams!  Are you not
+satisfied?  Clipped wings are not
+spectacular, we know.  They do not hold the
+centre of life's ring.  But ah! how swiftly
+and how gaily they can go towards the
+commonplace, the homely, lowly thing.
+Be grateful for clipped wings that carry
+you out of the drab into your bit of blue.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap63"></a>
+<i>EVEN AS YOU AND I</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Two thousand million people inhabit
+this old earth.  I saw these figures
+somewhere.  I mused, "Just think of it.
+Two thousand million people&mdash;then what
+can be the worth of a single human being?
+A very little bit!"  Two thousand million
+people, with troubles like my own, with
+work that bores them sometimes, with
+bills that must be paid, with longings for
+companionship, desire to be alone, and
+ghosts that stalk the future of which they
+are afraid.  Two thousand million people,
+with burdens they must bear, with sorrows
+and with troubles and foes to put to
+rout.  No wonder I, but one of these, am
+forced to take my share&mdash;and thinking of
+those millions, self-pity peters out.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+<a id="chap64"></a>
+<i>TROUBLE, THE TUNNEL</i>
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Wouldn't it be awful if troubles
+were like caves?  Like dark and
+gloomy hollows where daylight never
+follows, and no sound ever enters but the
+echoes of the waves?  If troubles were like
+caverns&mdash;ah! woe betide us all.  Forever
+groping, groping, till fear prevents us
+hoping, and the journey's end is nothing
+but a grim and silent wall.  But troubles
+aren't like caverns, take heart again and
+smile.  They're tunnels, dark enough, 'tis
+true; but I know well, and so do you,
+there's always daylight coming, though
+the tunnel be a mile.  Then let us, when in
+trouble, repeat this happy truth, "We're
+passing through a sorrow, but we'll
+emerge to-morrow into the sun of
+happiness, for tunnels end, forsooth!"
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  <i>Printed in Great Britain by</i><br>
+  UNWIN BROTHERS LIMITED, LONDON AND WOKING<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br><br></p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75156 ***</div>
+</body>
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #75156 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75156)