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diff --git a/75155-0.txt b/75155-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7078995 --- /dev/null +++ b/75155-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1251 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75155 *** + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Cover art] + + + + + SILVER LININGS + + + BY + + WILHELMINA STITCH + + AUTHOR OF + "THE FRAGRANT MINUTE," "SILKEN THREADS" + "THE GOLDEN WEB," "JOY'S LOOM" + "WHERE SUNLIGHT FALLS," ETC. + + + + FOURTH EDITION + + + + METHUEN & CO. LTD. + 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. + LONDON + + + + + First Published ... February 23d 1928 + Second Edition ... April 1928 + Third Edition ... January 1929 + Fourth Edition ... 1929 + + + PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN + + + + + CONTENTS + + + SONG OF LOVELY THINGS + TO ONE WHO SIGHED + LOOK FORWARD + THE WORLD'S BEAUTY + TO FATHER TIME + MIRACLE OF SPRING + EASTER THOUGHTS + SENSE OF HUMOUR + TO A PETULANT HEART + NEIGHBOUR JANE + DIMINISHING EVILS + THE DEATHLESS RAY + LITTLE HEARTBREAK + THIS WAY PASSED HEROES + JUST AS EASY + TO AN ALMOND TREE + MICHAEL INSISTS + RAINY DAY + BEGONE, DULL CARE! + IN A ROCKING-CHAIR + AT A RAILWAY STATION + IN PRAISE OF A WHOLE WEEK + A PRAYER IN ADVERSITY + THE WATCHFUL TONGUE + PETITION + A LITTLE THOUGHTLESSNESS + MAKE ME NORMAL + LIFE, THE TEACHER + THE SINGING KETTLE + HARVESTING + A PAEAN TO WORK + THE PRAYER OF THE HOME + THE MILLINER + IN CONVALESCENCE + A QUEER PHYSICIAN + THE ENVIABLE GREENGROCER + MOVING IN + GOOD MONTH OF AUGUST + TO A BOY OF SEVENTEEN + FOR THOSE IN CITY LODGINGS + THE PERFECT GUEST + JUST GROWING-PAINS + A MAN + TO A CHILD BLOWING BUBBLES + THE ANTIQUE SHOP + TIME'S SACK + THE HUMDRUM WAY + GIFT OF GLOVES + DOGGIE--IN MEMORIAM + WHEN IN THE DUMPS + "FETCH THE FITTER!" + BAGPIPES + WHEN I WAS EIGHT + MY FATHER + THE HEART'S WAY + LIFE IS TOO SHORT + POINT OF VIEW + LIFE'S A.B.C + NURSE + FOUR WALLS + + + + +_SONG OF LOVELY THINGS_ + +How many lovely things there be! The ever-changing, restless sea; +the gracious, friendly, shady tree; and children laughing in their +glee. How many lovely things there are! The glowing, beaming, +friendly star, the garden gate that stands ajar, the sound of Church +bells from afar. How many lovely things I know! Stories of lovers +long ago, and places where the lilies blow, and children's voices +sweet and low. What lovely things have touched my heart--see how the +waves caress and part, and watch pale Dawn from Night upstart and +slip into her mystic mart. What lovely things my ears have heard: +the thrilling song of happy bird, a horse by anxious lover spurred, a +toddler's sweetly lisped first word. What lovely things my eyes have +seen: snow-covered hills and fields of green, and silks of wondrous +weave and sheen--and Baby's toothless smile serene! + + + + +_TO ONE WHO SIGHED_ + +You cannot sing? Well, others can. You do not dance? but others do. +And ever since the world began there have been certain folk like you +who cannot dance, and cannot sing, nor weave a play nor write a book. +But you can sew? Most anything? And are quite expert as a cook? +And you can draw a little bit, amuse your friends with pen and ink? +You make folk laugh--this you admit. You have a lot of gifts, I +think. Oh, foolish one, to sigh and fret because you're not as some +folk are. Suppose a plant of mignonette withered because 'twas not a +star! Be what you are, dear girl, with pride. Accept your limits +with good grace; the world is varied, very wide; for each of us there +is a place. Within your sphere be quite content, be proud of work +that is your own, and to life's complex instrument with sweetness add +your mite of tone. + + + + +_LOOK FORWARD_ + +What a mess I made of things! That was yesterday. Yesterday has +taken wings--hide mistakes away. Things I did can't be undone. +Silly then to sorrow. Better is the task begun on a bright new +morrow. If I hadn't acted thus! Silence, puling heart. Useless now +to fume and fuss, make a brand new start. All the energy that goes +into senseless fretting would rebuild, if you so chose, your plan in +some new setting. What a blow! Fate is unkind. Grit your teeth, +don't murmur. Smile as if you didn't mind, stand a little firmer. +Here is solace for your grief, nothing's done beyond recall. Smudged +a page? Well, turn a leaf. Begin again. That's all. Failed +to-day? To-day is past. To-morrow's peeping round the door. Never +doubt you'll win at last. That is what to-morrow's for. + + + + +_THE WORLD'S BEAUTY_ + +Not in seclusion is true beauty seen, not in a fragrant, silent +country lane, nor in a daisy field all white and green, nor in a +golden meadow washed with rain. But in a smoky, noisy, busy street, +whose only colours through shop-windows show; where there is constant +march of human feet that bravely journey daily to and fro; where +cripples play a gay and daring air; and blind folk stand and dream +that it is light; where passers-by who haven't much to spare yet stop +to give ungrudgingly their mite. And where small houses nestle close +together, beneath whose roofs hard-working people live, who help each +other in the stormy weather, who have so little yet can always give. +O beauty of the world, you are seen best where the soul's banner +floats courageously above the turmoil of the day's high-fevered +quest--in ugly places beautified by Love! + + + + +_TO FATHER TIME_ + +Whene'er you care to turn my hair from brown to grey or white; +whene'er you line this face of mine with wrinkles left and right, I +shall not mind nor call unkind these changes that you bring; nor +shall I pray for you to stay your swift, relentless sting. But +Father Time, please read this rhyme and grant me this request. Take +not from me the power to see a joke and merry jest. Let me not tire +of my desire to try adventures new, nor e'er destroy my deep keen joy +in flowers of vivid hue. Though eyes grow dim and stiff each limb, +please leave untouched my heart. So I will heed another's need and +act a friendly part. Pile on the years, give cause for tears, but +keep my courage strong. Then come what may, I'll ease the day with +laughter and with song. Do what you will, you cannot kill my dreams, +for ever fair. For they are mine, old Father Time. In them you have +no share! + + + + +_MIRACLE OF SPRING_ + +Were I to live a thousand years I still would know that flaming +thrill, that rush of joy when first appears--the golden daffodil. A +thousand times my heart would sing when purple irises unfold; or when +forsythia's branches bring their dazzling showers of gold. I could +not see an almond tree with branches all a rosy glow but that a tide +of ecstasy would through my being flow. Were I to see, a thousand +times, blue scilla bells amid green grass, I know I'd hear their +fairy chimes as I would pass. Were I to live a thousand years I'd +never watch the nesting birds except through eyes bedimmed with +tears, my tongue bereft of words. Were I to weave ten thousand lays, +knew I a thousand songs to sing, I still would lack the power to +praise--the miracle of Spring. + + + + +_EASTER THOUGHTS_ + +Little growing things, pushing through the earth, petals for soft +wings, bells to echo mirth. Little bud and leaf, spite of winter's +pain, spite of nature's grief, they are here again. Little growing +things, roots are in my heart. Hark! the robin sings. Sorrow must +depart. Doubts and chilly fears! winter now is o'er, wipe away your +tears. Courage! rise once more. Courage has not fled, simply slept +awhile. Hope, that you deemed dead, revived beneath a smile. Good +cannot be slain, beauty never dies, spring has come again, soul of +man, arise. Arise and go forth now, Easter calls to you. Blossoms +on the bough, spirit burgeons, too. The Lenten lilies sing "From +dead self, arise," while every growing thing says, "Beauty never +dies." + + + + +_SENSE OF HUMOUR_ + +What it is, can't just say, only know it saved the day, drove the +gathering clouds away. Just a twinkle in the eye, just a smile +instead of sigh; Lo! the storm soon passed right by--all through a +sense of humour. What it is, don't just know, but it made rich +laughter flow, life took on a rosy glow: troubles shrank to half +their size; sorrow wore a cheerful guise; work appeared to be the +prize--all through a sense of humour. Things were going very wrong, +flowers no colour, birds no song; weakness ousted courage +strong--stepped in a sense of humour: put the balance right again, +saved two people lots of pain, brought the sunshine after rain--and +that's a sense of humour. + + + + +_TO A PETULANT HEART_ + +Such a resentful voice--"I didn't ask to be born," it said. But +being here, 'tis fitting to rejoice. In gratitude lift up your +voice. "What for?" it said. For these and many things. For the +flowers' gay hue; the bird that sweetly sings, for grass bedecked +with sparkling dew, for being born an heir to all the beauty that the +world enfolds. Come! have you not your share in sea and sky, in +hills and vales and wolds? But more for this, oh, petulant heart. +That for your strength there is provided toil. And for your soul's +sake, the chance to do your part in planting fruitful seeds in barren +soil. Oh, lad, oh, petulant lad, cast off the foolish mood; be glad. +Be glad that there are battles you must fight; and hills to climb; +defeats to suffer; goals to keep in sight. Be glad, yea, all the +time. + + + + +_NEIGHBOUR JANE_ + +Every morning, when she woke, quaint and short the prayer she spoke. +"Make me easy, Lord, I pray, to live with--easy through the day." +Nothing more did Jane e'er ask. But straightway faced the first +hour's task. Neighbours said it was a fact, Jane had charm and Jane +had tact. She didn't hurt nor irritate; she didn't prick, she didn't +grate. Gentle, courteous, kindly Jane, neighbours called and called +again! Found her presence like sweet balm, sympathetic, soothing, +calm. "Jane," said one, "sweet oil has found to make the wheels of +life go round. Bumpy places disappear just as soon as Jane draws +near." Every evening, e'er she slept, to the window this Jane crept; +worshipped there the starry crowd. "Who am I?" she cried aloud, "to +make a fussy, wordy riot when such nobility is quiet! Make me easy, +Lord, I pray, to live with--easy through the day." + + + + +_DIMINISHING EVILS_ + +How high those hills, how far away. Menacing hills at break of day. +Friend, keep going; there's no knowing when you will come to the end +of the way. Be not alarmed, fear not at all; at the foot of the +slope the hill looks small. Journey along, hearty and strong, the +summit is reached e'er the shadows fall. How great those ills, grim +foes they seem. Swift and swollen life's angry stream. Friend, keep +going, there's no knowing when troubles will vanish as if in a dream. +Be not alarmed, have no fear; the further away the worse they appear. +Journey along, hearty and strong; troubles are bubbles when Courage +is near. + + + + +_THE DEATHLESS RAY_ + +Oh! Happiness, that bright, winged ray, went darting blithely on its +way. It made a little baby smile, and then it skipped another mile, +and made a busy mother sing; and then again it took to wing and +darted swiftly to a boy, filling his heart with youthful joy. From +thence, a weary man it found. To sorrow he'd been straitly bound; +but suddenly his heart felt light and all the world was fair and +bright. It darted further; here and there--around the world--just +everywhere! Right through a thousand hearts it went, and yet its +strength was never spent. This is a truth we should remember, +through all the months, right to December, and then the cycle round +again: a ray of joy need never wane. Our happiness we need not save; +the store will last us to the grave. Give joy away; it will return. +A lovely lesson this to learn. + + + + +_LITTLE HEARTBREAK_ + +A little Heartbreak, wan and sore, was sitting by herself. A sunbeam +slipped around the door and danced upon a shelf. Though little +Heartbreak knew not why, she ceased, quite suddenly, to cry. Still +little Heartbreak sat alone. "I never will be whole again," thus +said she in her saddest tone, "I never will be healed of pain." +Then, unannounced, a little breeze that had been playing in the +trees, passed softly over Heartbreak's face, and, lo! of tears there +was no trace. Then when a bird began to sing, and Heartbreak +couldn't help but hear, there happened such a curious thing--a +silvern echo did appear, enthroned itself in Heartbreak's breast and, +like the bird, sang with sweet zest! So little Heartbreak tossed her +head and laughed to find the world so fair. "It's true," she cried, +"my heart has bled, and I have lived with black despair. But I can't +be quite broken, long--with sunbeams, zephyrs, and birds' song!" + + + + +_THIS WAY PASSED HEROES_ + +They passed but once this way, but they have left a flowered trail +behind. Surprising how in life's brief day they found so many +chances to be kind. They passed but once--this way they went, and +with them joy and grief, and work and play. There is no need to +raise a monument to heroes such as they. They once were found in +simple homes and small, in offices and shops, engaged in work. They +heard quite clearly Duty's trumpet call, and forth they marched with +no attempt to shirk. Soldiers were they, no medals on their breast, +a broom for weapon, or an office pen; and victory oft crowned the +spirit's quest. All honour to these womenfolk and men. They were so +gentle journeying the road, they scattered little acts of kindness +here and there. They had their burdens, but a brother's load was +also one in which they wished to share. No wonder we can see the +path they chose, for flowers have blossomed everywhere they trod. +They passed, and now through them there grows a lasting symbol of the +living God. + + + + +_JUST AS EASY_ + +No harder to praise than to scorn, no harder to love than to hate; no +harder to sing than to mourn, as easy to act as to wait. No harder +to smile than to frown. It's as easy to stand as to lean, as easy to +lift as pull down, to be generous rather than mean. It's not very +hard to be glad, it's not very hard to rejoice, it's harder indeed to +be sad. Let happiness then be our choice. No harder to trust than +to doubt, and courage is easy as fear, and foes are quite easy to +rout with weapons of Good Sense and Cheer. No harder to sing than to +cry, as easy to do as to plan; no harder to laugh than to sigh, and +gulfs aren't to dread but to span. And giving is easier, too, than +withholding your hand from a friend; no harder to aid than to +rue--and sweeter the day at the end. + + + + +_TO AN ALMOND TREE_ + +Oh, little wakeful tree, how beautiful art thou, curving so +gracefully each pink blossomed bough. Thou child, in dainty party +dress, to think that thou wouldst brave--to give us mortals +happiness--a wind-blown, frost-lined grave! Oh, little wakeful one, +why didst thou stir so soon? The Spring has scarce begun, thou +wouldst have graced fair June. Thy blossoms will ne'er see thy +prophecies come true, nor summer's pageantry with happy blushes view. +Pink petals soon will fall (oh, little tree, be still); soon will the +thrushes call and Spring trip o'er the hill. Bare will thy branches +be, thy day of beauty o'er, but little wakeful tree, we will but love +thee more--that thou didst dare to sing: "Oh, heart, prepare for +Spring!" + + + + +_MICHAEL INSISTS_ + +On the grass the sunlight falls, near at hand a blackbird calls; a +squirrel races up a tree. All this, and more, engrosses me. "Throw +a stick," pants Michael. Such a gentle breeze now passes; how +graceful are the bending grasses. Here and there the children play; +I could sit and dream all day. "Throw a stick," pants Michael. +Peace and quiet and sweet repose; someone has a cold, wet nose; +something scratches at my knees (lovely sun and gentle breeze). +"Throw a stick," pants Michael. Michael's head is on one side, +Michael's mouth is opened wide; brown eyes look beseechingly. +Michael! take your eyes from me. "Throw a stick," pants Michael. +Who can sit in selfish ease, just admiring grass and trees, deeming +life most kind and sweet, when a branch lies at one's feet--"Throw a +stick," pants Michael. + + + + +_RAINY DAY_ + +"Rainy day," said Mother Dawn, "rise from out your cloud-lined bed. +Look upon each field and lawn, a coverlet of mist I've spread." +Rainy Day slipped from her cloud, shook bright rain-drops from her +hair. As they fell, she laughed aloud, "Mother Dawn, what shall I +wear?" "Take, my child, this dress of grey, fashioned from a +frowning sky. Rainy Day, now run away, the patient, panting earth is +dry." Rainy Day played hide-and-seek, in and out among the flowers. +Cooled a hollyhock's hot cheek with her gift of gentle showers. Red +roofs shone with great delight when she touched them for a space. +Dry leaves trembled with delight, pressed against her loving face. +Suddenly, a flashing gem, heralded from mighty sun, settled on the +grey gown's hem--Rainy Day her work had done. + + + + +_BEGONE, DULL CARE!_ + +No! little, whining, fretting care, you cannot come a walk with me. +So lovely is the morning air I do not want your company. Oh! little, +whining, fretting care, you have no part in graceful trees; in waving +grass you have no share; you have no kinship with a breeze. I'm +going to a shady place where little children laugh and play. You'd +cast a shadow on each face if you came out with me to-day. I'm going +where a little stream bears lovely lilies on its breast. I could not +sit awhile to dream if you're to be my morning guest. I'm going +where the poppies blow among the friendly golden corn. No little +care would dare to go and show its face this sunny morn. I'm going +where sweet peace is found within a fern-grown fragrant dell, where +silence wraps the spirit round--so carking care farewell! + + + + +_IN A ROCKING-CHAIR_ + +Back and forth; one and two; a needle flashing, bright as mirth. +Filmy stuff of palest blue, bit of heaven come to earth! Anyone can +visit Spain, Holland, France, or Italy, if she cares to go by train, +if she cares to go by sea. Back and forth; soft and slow, needle +dancing merrily. Always thought I'd like to go where grows the giant +banyan tree. Needle's speeding down one side, India's moon is very +bright. How delightful thus to glide across a pool of silver light. +Scented is the midnight air, romance grows on every stem! Jungle +beasts for fights prepare--finished is the wee skirt's hem. Back and +forth; not too fast, on the way to Fancy's land. Here we are, on +shore at last, fairies take me by the hand. Back and forth, one and +two, anyone can fly by air. Cleverer, I think, don't you, to travel +in a rocking-chair! + + + + +_AT A RAILWAY STATION_ + +Proud trunk indeed! It looked at me with ill-disguised antipathy. +It seemed to know I'd never been to all the places it had seen. I +circled it with humble tread and, filled with awe, its labels read. +One year, I saw, it went to Spain; and liked it, for it went again. +And once to Venice, once to Rome. I wondered if it longed for home. +I must admit it travelled far; for there were labels "C.P.R." This +trunk showed such a haughty face. I hastened to another place, and +soon a battered box I spied that did not look so dignified, and on +its shabby lid there sat a whistling boy with ball and bat. Said I +(my manners are so bad), "Where are you going, whistling lad?" His +smile was wonderful to see. "To jolly Margate sands," cried he. +Back to the haughty trunk I went. "Each one," I bowed, "to his own +bent. Though you prefer some far-off land, had I the choice, please +understand, a shabby box I'd rather be, with whistling lad for +company!" + + + + +_IN PRAISE OF A WHOLE WEEK_ + +Poor old Robinson Crusoe, a lonely man was he, with not a soul but +Friday to keep him company. So when I'm feeling lonely, humble, sad +and meek, I just remember that for friends I have a whole good week! +Six days as well as Friday, companions brave and strong; it really +seems they all deserve a tribute and a song. So here's to good Man +Friday, and to his brothers six. There's always one to help me +should I be in a fix. Suppose that Monday's greyish--there's Tuesday +coming soon, and if the morning's boresome--there is the afternoon! +A toast, then, to "a whole week" which has such friendly ways, for +should one Friday disappear--it sends six other days. + + + + +_A PRAYER IN ADVERSITY_ + +"Lord, keep Thou my temper sweet." Thus I used to hear her say as +she trod life's lonely way, faced so often by defeat. "Lord, keep +Thou my temper sweet." Phrase of wisdom! How it clings. Troubles +now I never meet, but within my heart there rings, "Lord, keep Thou +my temper sweet." Sullen is the storm-swept sky. Everything is +going wrong. That's no reason you or I should broadcast a bitter +song. The world has quite enough to bear; we at least might try to +smile. Adding grief would be unfair, things will brighten in a +while. Though despair is looming near, let not bitterness hold sway; +now's the time to conquer fear, to-morrow brings a happy day. Sulk +not with life when things go wrong. What though you met grim defeat! +Chant this helpful little song: "Lord, keep Thou my temper sweet." + + + + +_THE WATCHFUL TONGUE_ + +The "watchful" tongue I do despise, the tongue that always waits to +learn what words would be accounted wise. 'Tis such a tongue I +spurn. The tongue that plays the suavest airs upon the most +expedient string; that echoes much, but never dares to be the leader +in the ring; that always drops a pleasing word because it's easiest +so to do; when drums of argument are heard, by silence, sees the +matter through. Oh! I dislike the trembling tongue that is afraid of +words sincere. I do detest the song that's sung to the accompaniment +of fear. And there's a silence I abhor; a silence meant to lead +astray; a silence like a heavy door denying Truth the right of way. +I'd rather hear quick hammer blows, words edged with steel, perhaps +unkind; a muffled tongue, it never shows the true complexion of the +mind. + + + + +_PETITION_ + +O Lord, I pray that I may e'er delight in springtime's fairy blossoms +pink and white, in green and lacy leaves; may never lose the joy that +always springs at sight of all the little daily things--of +brightly-patterned weaves; of gaily-coloured china; rich, dark grains +that glow long after daylight wanes, wood of time-burnished hue. And +joy in sounds--the blackbird's thrilling call, the human voice +letting rich phrases fall, all precious gifts from You. O Lord, I +pray that I may face each task and rise to its demands, nor ever ask +that others bear my load; that I may prove a loyal and helpful friend +before I reach the journey's quiet end along the winding road. + + + + +_A LITTLE THOUGHTLESSNESS_ + +A little thoughtlessness, so very slight--but someone's sunny day was +turned to night. Someone was caused unnecessary pain, and it takes +time e'er wounds are healed again. A little thoughtless phrase +dropped like a leaf--yet someone heard and, through it, suffered +grief. A little thoughtlessness; the mere not doing of some small +act we might have done so well. Perhaps e'er long we shall be sorely +ruing this slight omission more than words can tell. The things we +do not do! Ah, this is true, they often hurt far more than what we +do. A little thoughtlessness, or little thought; between these two +what differences are wrought! A little thought for others, word or +act--a cheery smile or letter writ with tact, a putting of ourselves +where others stand, the understanding heart, the helping hand. The +"I remember," not, "Oh, I forgot"--a little thoughtfulness has helped +a lot. + + + + +_MAKE ME NORMAL_ + +Make me normal, I would pray. Keep me normal, day by day. Strong, I +pray Thee, balanced, sane; normal body, normal brain. I would be, if +I might choose, somewhat witty to amuse; somewhat clever to achieve; +somewhat capable to grieve; somewhat kind to offer balm; somewhat +like a quiet psalm; somewhat fiery when need be; ever quick with +sympathy; not too good, nor yet too bad; often happy, sometimes sad; +just a normal, decent friend, courage-girt unto the end! Not a +genius hard to please; rather one who can with ease, find, wherever +she may go, people she is glad to know. Merely normal, every +way--for this blessing I would pray. + + + + +_LIFE, THE TEACHER_ + +Here is a truth the years have slowly taught me. There's not an +effort ever made in vain; though fate within its painful clutch has +caught me, farther along the road I've gone--through pain. Here is a +lesson life has slowly taught me: to chase good Fortune is young +folly's way. Always I've found that she herself has sought me when +love of work alone has filled my day. There's not a fault that I +have e'er committed, there's no mistake that I have ever made, that +has not into life's mosaic fitted; this is a law that ever is obeyed. +There's not a thread I've used, though it be knotted, but has in my +life's pattern found its place. There's not a page, though with +mistakes it's blotted, that does not show of destiny some trace. +Here is a truth that I have grown to cherish: no righteous battle's +ever fought in vain; nor does a thought or deed of goodness perish, +but, like a tree, brings forth its fruit again. + + + + +_THE SINGING KETTLE_ + +Up to its neck in water, boiling water, too. Yet the kettle keeps on +singing--that's what we ought to do! Next time we're in some +trouble, almost up to the chin, we'll think of the cheerful kettle, +and a little song begin. It helps, when feelings are boiling, to let +off lots of steam. Whistle and sing with courage; things aren't as +black as they seem. Kettle, you merry creature, scorched by the +callous fire, teach us your power of moulding the will to the day's +desire. Up to your neck in troubles? They haven't swept over your +head! Sing like the steaming kettle, till all your troubles have +fled. Singing will sound so pleasant to any who chance to hear. The +kettle does naught by its duty--but doesn't its singing cheer! + + + + +_HARVESTING_ + +Now when I went a-harvesting across a golden field, "Turn back," they +said, "this wheat and rye is not for you," I did not sigh. I did not +flinch, I did but sing, when I went forth a-harvesting! Within this +golden field (sang I) I've come by right a-harvesting. And from +(cried I) this fruitful field, I'll take my proper share of yield. I +will not sleep until I reap a goodly harvest that will last until the +winter's come and passed. I snapped my fingers while they frowned. +I then began to bind up sheaves of sunlight poured upon the ground; +of shadows made by dancing leaves. I took a blackbird's sweetest +trill; I gathered in a thrush's song; where'er I went I gleaned at +will; this harvest does to me belong. They had no power to say me +nay; the beauty of the earth I own; a harvest song I'll sing to-day +in praise of fields that Joy has sown. + + + + +_A PAEAN TO WORK_ + +To work! Hour by hour, day by day; to employ one's hands and brain. +To strive; to win an inch along the way; to lose; to start again. +Oh! it is joy to work unceasingly with might and main. Hard work is +not a burden, ever. The busy ones are enviable indeed. They have no +time for petty ills that sever the power to do, from the insistent +need. That little leisure snatched for a respite, how packed it is +with joy and keen delight. Gold cannot buy it. 'Tis reserved for +those who labour through the day until its close. Work does not irk. +It brings relief; assuages grief; increases pleasure; adds to the +measure of any happiness we find; and brings to the mind a peaceful +satisfaction; to the heart, a glow. Oh! work! You are the kindest +friend we know. + + + + +_THE PRAYER OF THE HOME_ + +May sunbeams kiss my window-panes and dance inside to pet each wall; +and when the happy daylight wanes, may gracious shadows come to call. +May winds speak low to me in love; may I have friendship with the +skies; and may the stars that shine above sing me their silvern +lullabies. May books abide with me alway, and flowers on every +window-sill; may joyous Laughter come to stay, and Kindliness and +Right Good-Will. Oh! may I be a haven fair for those with whom I +daily live; and may the lonely stranger share in joy that I, a Home, +can give. A steadfast storehouse I would be for tender dreams and +ideals true; and, oh! I pray you, think of me as loving arms +enfolding You. May Passers-by glance up and see my smiling curtains, +blossoms bright, and with a rush of sympathy--ask God to bless me day +and night! + + + + +_THE MILLINER_ + +Nice work, a milliner's, I think. Always intent upon a crown of silk +or velvet, blue or pink; of felt or straw, of red or brown; nice +work, a milliner's, I think. What dreams a milliner must dream, +stitching a bow or velvet band, or finishing the lining's seam, +creating beauty all by hand. What dreams a milliner must dream! For +as she works at this or that she'll see a smiling, winsome face +beneath the nearly-finished hat, that soon will have such style and +grace--an unknown girl's delighted face. Nice work a milliner's must +be, to make a jaunty little crown, and trim it very prettily to match +a new and saucy gown. For as the hat takes shape and form, then one +could whisper tenderly, "Now, gallant hat, defy Life's storm and give +a moment's ecstasy." Nice work a milliner's must be. + + + + +_IN CONVALESCENCE_ + +The joy of coming down the stairs, seeing loved faces once again; +familiar objects, pictures, chairs, a tree that taps the window-pane; +and books that say, "We've missed the touch of one who always loved +us much." The childish, secret, but keen pride that hands have grown +so thin and white. They look so pale, so dignified; 'tis strange, +but true, this gives delight! Then languor and the wish to sleep. +Absurd, but one would like to weep. The lack of power to +concentrate, the feeling there's no soul to care how hard the blow, +how ill the fate that one is called upon to bear. The weariness when +friends forget one doesn't wish for chatter yet. The question, "Will +I e'er get well?" that's like a thumb-screw and a rack; a deep +depression for a spell; then lo! the tide of health flows back. +These feelings come to everyone when convalescence has begun. + + + + +_A QUEER PHYSICIAN_ + +Such a queer physician, didn't sound my heart, neither did he feel my +pulse nor read the nurse's chart; didn't take my temperature, didn't +seem to care, didn't talk of diet; just gave a searching stare. +Asked me, "Do you worry?" "Are you filled with dread?" "Are there +fears that haunt you?" this is what he said. "Do you cherish hatred? +Of whom? and tell me why. You alone can cure yourself if you really +try." "Are the thoughts you entertain happy ones and bright, or are +they fraught with bitterness and malice, envy, spite?" Such a queer +physician, but his questions made me think, and ever since his visit +I've been feeling "in the pink." + + + + +_THE ENVIABLE GREENGROCER_ + +See him every morning (through my window-pane), his little shop +adorning, sun, or fog, or rain. He dresses up the front of it (a +nice, wide, sloping stall) with market garden produce, imported +fruits and all. Suppose he sold but hardware; a blackish pot and +pan. He really is, you must admit, a very lucky man. For he has +flaming oranges, and apples shining red; he doesn't deal in +tin-tacks, but smooth green beans instead. The friendly brown of +walnuts and cauliflowers so white, pale honey-hued bananas--the +nursery folks' delight. With these he decks his window, and makes +his stall so gay, so passers-by must stop to look--no matter what the +day. + + + + +_MOVING IN_ + +Yes, they have a piano--very glad of that. Hope the men won't bump +it going through the door. Looks as if that basket contains a +pussy-cat. Roll of blue linoleum to grace the kitchen floor. Love +to stand upon the kerb and watch a "Moving-in," makes the blood run +warmly, gives the heart-strings such a tug. Don't know the people, +but all the world's akin (that's a comfy-looking chair and that's a +cheerful rug). Don't know the people, matters not a bit, all the +dreams they're dreaming are trooping from the van. Look at that +large roll of blinds, oh, I hope they'll fit! There's a garden +roller and a bright red watering-can. Yes, they have a baby--had to +wait to see. High chair is coming, it's new and shiny white, and +there's a pale blue wardrobe and a little wooden tree on which to +hang small garments whilst Baby sleeps at night. Love to stand upon +the kerb and watch a "Moving-in"--tables, chairs, and curtain-rods, +make all the world akin. + + + + +_GOOD MONTH OF AUGUST_ + +They're pouring out of offices, from shops and schoolrooms, too. And +so, good month of August, please see what you can do. They're +leaving tapes and scissors, the inkpot and the pen, and books with +tiresome figures--they're seeking hill or glen. They'll wake, just +when they wish to; go out or sit at home. Oh! August, you were +lucky for that Emperor of Rome. So please bring luck, I pray you, +for the youngsters and the old who are having days of leisure--be not +tearful, dull, or cold. Smile on them, month of August, let them see +the world is fair; let them feel the world is kindly, in its beauty +let them share. Be it seaside, be it country, wherever be their +goal, kind August, act benignly, refresh them heart and soul. So +fill their eyes with beauty, they never will forget the August sun's +great glory when it begins to set. + + + + +_TO A BOY OF SEVENTEEN_ + +Oh! boy, how fortunate you are. Ahead of you the long, long trail; +above ambition's shining star to beckon over hill and dale. Oh! boy, +how fortunate you are that you have still to travel far. Before you +lies the unknown road, a great adventure to begin. Up, lad, fling +shoulder-high the load; stride forth, my son, intent to win. Be deaf +to all but honour's code, and loiter not in sloth's abode. I do +believe I envy you. Such wide horizons for your eyes, so many things +to learn and do. Dear lad, grow not so over-wise; you will not note +the sunset's hue; nor marvel at the dawn's bright dew. Just +seventeen! Oh, lucky boy, to have so many hours to spend in which to +learn life's greatest joy springs from the struggle as we wend +towards the goal that marks the end. + + + + +_FOR THOSE IN CITY LODGINGS_ + +Let them have windows high above the street, and let them see at +least one city tree; windows high-flung so that their eyes may greet +the sky and night-time's noble pageantry. Then sister moon can be a +precious friend, and stars companions when the shadows fall, and +through these lodging-windows prithee send a scented breeze, a +blackbird's cheery call. And let them find companionship in stairs +that creak a welcome when they mount at night, and in the +friendliness of well-used chairs, and all small things, through time, +made dear to sight. And let there be a child who'll shyly peep at +lonely lodgers as they come and go--a laughing child who nightly +falls asleep while mother sings in accents sweet and low. And give +them this and this and then still more--a neighbour's friendly word +at start of day, a cheery greeting floating through the door, so that +they go not lonely on their way. + + + + +_THE PERFECT GUEST_ + +The perfect guest has named the day when she'll arrive, and by what +train. Nor did she then forget to say when she will travel home +again; and having named the hour and date she doesn't, whim swayed, +change her mind and come too early or too late, for that indeed would +be unkind. She doesn't need a lot of aid, nor ask for service that +will irk, nor by her presence give the maid unnecessary, increased +work. She keeps her room quite spick and span, is always punctual, +talks with ease, falls in with every household plan, and does her +very best to please. She can amuse herself quite well, she writes +her letters, sews or reads, and leaves her hostess for a spell to +give her time for her own needs. And at the pleasant visit's end, +her host and hostess both agree when speaking of their absent friend, +a very perfect guest was she. + + + + +_JUST GROWING-PAINS_ + +Just growing-pains that made him say that hurtful, bitter thing +to-day. He didn't mean to give you pain. 'Twas just a storm that +swept his brain and made him argue black was white; and bad was good, +and wrong was right, and made him scoff and made him sneer at all the +things you hold most dear. He isn't bad, that boy of yours, but just +like others, scores and scores. First babyhood, then childhood +wanes, and then, there come those growing-pains! Oh! Foolish +parents to believe he likes to make you fret and grieve. The minute +that the word had leapt from his hot tongue he could have wept, he +felt ashamed, too proud, alack! to take the silly statement back. He +is a man (and you should know it!) and loves you much, but cannot +show it. He has to quote from Bernard Shaw, and rant about life's +highest law, and say religion's out of date, and reconstruct the +Church and State. Soon will this phase grow weak and wane--it's +nothing but a growing-pain. + + + + +_A MAN_ + +Successful? Yes, through honest work, not through some happy turn of +fate. Never has he been known to shirk since he attained to man's +estate. Approached each task with buoyant zest, of all life's gifts +deemed work the best. But this alone does not portray the man that I +would have you see. A zest for work, I hear you say, is not a claim +on sympathy. So other virtues I'll outline which well describe this +friend of mine. He has that questing type of mind that one +associates with youth. T'wards fulsomeness he's deaf and blind; +abhors a lie, respects the truth; and honesty is part of him, as much +a part as any limb. Quite perfect, then? Oh! no, indeed. Did I not +say he was a man? But turn to him when you're in need and he will +help you all he can. A loyal, sincere, and upright friend, whom one +can trust right to the end. + + + + +_TO A CHILD BLOWING BUBBLES_ + +Just with a little pipe of clay, a bowl of water and some soap, you +find your happiness to-day, releasing fairy worlds of hope. Now +watch these iridescent balls sailing so lightly and so high, and some +collide with chairs and walls, and then to beauty it's "Good-bye!" +You do not weep, but blow and blow until another doth appear, then +wave your small hand to and fro--it floats towards the chandelier. I +watch your velvet cheeks puff out, your lovely eyes are shining +bright. I thrill to hear your happy shout, "This one will reach a +star to-night." Dear little child, in later years may you make +beauty with such ease; and fashion, out of smiles and tears, rainbows +of glowing hope like these. And should one bubble's fate be ill, +then, from your pipe of dreams, I pray you'll blow another, laughing +still, as you are doing, dear, to-day. + + + + +_THE ANTIQUE SHOP_ + +There is a little antique store, just round the corner on Life's +road; and paved with tear-drops is its floor, and smiles light up +this small abode. And Memory sits there every day; she is the +guardian of these wares. My heart, it often wends that way, to see +this shop and how it fares. My heart peers through the window-pane +with eyes like pools of smiles and tears, so glad and sad to see +again the curios of bygone years. Says Memory, "O heart, draw near! +Here is a little shining dream, and here a rippling song of cheer; +and here, your childhood's fairy stream." An antique shop this Past +of mine; its gems kept safe by Memory; each kind word heard, how they +do shine, set in rare Fancy's filigree. Just round the corner, on +Life's street, a little Antique Shop I know. My heart fares forth +with quickened beat to view the gems of Long Ago. + + + + +_TIME'S SACK_ + +"OH, Father Time! what have you there? What's in your bag? Now, +prithee, say. How do you know which is my share of all those things +you hide away? And are there pleasant things for me? Please, Father +Time, just one quick peep. To-morrow's share do let me see, before I +wrap myself in sleep." Old Father Time said not one word, just went +a-walking down Life's street. It's very strange he never heard my +eager, chasing, racing feet. And yet next day, without a doubt, I +find a dozen things to do. From Time's big sack they've fallen out. +He might have told--of course, he knew! I'm wiser now, I do not ask +what Father Time will bring to-morrow; for each day has its play and +task; its joy and e'en its sorrow. And each awakening has this +thrill: I wonder what To-day will bring? Perhaps a golden daffodil +a-trumpeting, "It's Spring!" "It's Spring!" + + + + +THE HUMDRUM WAY + +When something unusual has to be done, a perilous hill to be scaled, +a bridge to be crossed, a venture begun, we think not of those who +have failed, but we tackle the job with courage and zest, for really +and truly it's fun to feel that our strength is standing the test +when there's something of worth to be done. When we feel we are +watched by critical eyes, when we know there's reward if we win, it's +neither a matter for praise nor surprise that we're only too glad to +begin; for it's human to like the cheers and applause that follow +spectacular feats, but save a few cheers for this other cause--for +the heroes in quiet little streets. When the same old thing has got +to be done--a drab little, quiet little, everyday task, a floor to be +swept, a ledger begun, then this is the boon we justly may ask--that +we may be given the strength, day by day, to walk with sweet grace +the dull, Humdrum Way. + + + + +_GIFT OF GLOVES_ + +A gift of gloves! I must confess no other gift can quite express, so +clearly yet so silently, a friend's most loving thought of me (he +knew my size, how did he guess?). It exercises thoughtfulness, a +knowledge of my style of dress, to choose with perspicacity--a gift +of gloves! For they must fit precisely, yes, if they'd achieve a +huge success. The texture, colour, must agree with other garments +worn by me, must harmonize; well, more or less. But here's the point +I wish to stress: it is a gift that comes to bless, for when one dons +them carefully, a loving thought springs up, you see, responsive to +the gloves' caress. One's hands are clothed in friendliness and +space is bridged by gloves that press with human warmth and +gentleness. One feels a sweet cam'raderie, if one is wearing +happily--a gift of gloves! + + + + +_DOGGIE--IN MEMORIAM_ + +This doggie was young when I was young. We understood each other's +tongue; we understood each other's ways, together we spent our +childhood's days. Later, 'twas he who understood each change of +temper and of mood. He lived to give and I to take; he changed his +ways just for my sake. If rest I wished, then so did he; he gave me +love and sympathy; he liked my silence, liked my talk; was ever glad +to race or walk; to wait for me, to sit quite still, happy and proud +to do my will. Now that he's travelled on alone, there's naught to +do but set this stone, then try to reach my journey's end as nobly as +this canine friend. Oh, little pal of childhood's days, I ought to +have such decent ways. You did your best to teach me, pet--and +doggie, dear, I shan't forget. + + + + +_WHEN IN THE DUMPS_ + +Don't be sorry for yourself--better smile. Worst of troubles will +disperse--in a while. If self-pity mounts up high, you are bound to +mope or cry, bound to amplify your trouble, make it grow in size, +quite double, being sorry for oneself is out of style! Don't be +sorry for yourself--better smile; blackest clouds will pass away--in +a while. 'Tis true, you've been hard hit, not a friend but would +admit you have cause to lose some sleep, quite a lot to make you +weep. Don't you do it, though, for pity's out of style! Don't be +sorry for yourself--better smile. Sun and moon and stars will +shine--in a while, and self-pity doesn't pay, for it has a nasty way +of turning courage pale, and then we're bound to fail. So let's toss +our heads and laugh; lo! the troubles fade to half. Just keep +smiling--for self-pity's out of style! + + + + +"_FETCH THE FITTER!_" + +"Fetch the fitter, frock's all wrong; sleeves too tight and waist too +low; neck line ugly; skirt too long, worn so very short, you know. +Fetch the fitter, please." Fitter comes and eyes the dress, fills +her mouth with shining pins, shows no signs of deep distress, but her +fearful task begins, flopping on her knees. Snips and pins and pins +and snips, stands upright and snips some more; mutters through her +pin-filled lips: "Just twelve inches from the floor." Now she +measures it. Here some gathers, here a pleat; lifts a bit and snips +a bit; dress is looking now quite neat, just a perfect fit. Wouldn't +it be luck, indeed, when life's pattern goes awry, when it doesn't +fit the need, we had only just to cry: "Fetch the fitter, pray"? +Swiftly she would come and smile (fitters always are so nice), cut +the day to beauty's style, without grumbling, in a trice, perfect +fitting day. + + + + +_BAGPIPES_ + +Since I have heard the great pipes playing, not on the stage nor +crowded street, but out on a moorland with heather swaying to the +pibroch's rhythm about our feet. Since I have heard the pipes thus +playing--for aye in my blood is their throb and beat. Since I have +heard the great pipes wailing, lamenting the death of a gallant chief +and the strength of his clan that was slowly failing (perish the +fruit and fall the leaf). Since I have heard the pipes thus +wailing--for aye in my heart is the pibroch's grief. Since I have +seen a calm loch sleeping, with starshine and moonshine upon its +breast, and heard the pipes with sorrow weeping lamenting a chieftain +gone to his rest. Since I have heard the great pipes playing a +summons to war that the clans must obey, whilst over the moorland the +heather was swaying--their throb and their beat in my blood lives for +aye. + + + + +_WHEN I WAS EIGHT_ + +When I was only eight years old, I longed to be twice ten, and wear a +frock of lace and gold to dazzle princely men. To marry was my great +desire, because it seemed to me, once married I could then aspire to +drink the strongest tea! At every meal I then would eat, thus to +myself I said, a mustard pickle for a treat (one could when one was +wed!). My skirts would trail along the floor, my hair I'd pin up +high and stick in pins, at least a score; an ostrich ruff I'd buy. +Ah, me! How quickly years do pass; how quickly youth has fled. I +stand before the looking-glass--no hair-pins in my head! No +fan-shaped combs like Mother wore, my hair is short, you see; my +skirts refuse to sweep the floor, and I dislike strong tea! But yet +I love to bring to mind these dreams I had of yore. The future looms +both bright and kind when one is two times four. + + + + +_MY FATHER_ + +My recollections are of little things! How his two hands would flap +and soar like wings above my curly head. Then suddenly, oh magic, +great and strange, my curls to coloured sugar-sticks would change--at +least, so Father said. And it was true! I'd see them tumble out. +And only stupid grown-ups then could doubt that Father worked a +spell. Sometimes he'd make a pistol of his hand. One shot, and lo! +there'd fall, at his command (this I remember well), a thrilling +secret parcelled up so tight, right on my plate--and this in broad +daylight! A mother's songs, and care and romping fun, we do accept +as we accept the sun and lovely flowers that blow. But magic +fathers! Those who cure all ills by hourly doses of some spongecake +pills, are marvellous to know! There was a father much beloved by +all. To him the shy birds came; and babies small gurgled and cooed +love's sign. These memories are now as fragrance blown across the +fields of life which he has sown--this Father who was mine. + + + + +_THE HEART'S WAY_ + +'Tis strange--but what I love the best is not the garden at its +height, when fragrant flowers, in masses bright, are rioting for my +delight, the blue, the red, the yellow, white--not then I love the +garden best! But when I make a humble quest around each pregnant +garden bed, and look for bits of blue and red or marguerite with +golden head, just shortly after winter's sped--'tis then I love the +garden best. For then one greets with joyous zest a little spray of +Columbine, some Bleeding Heart to intertwine, one Iris dressed in +purple fine; a small bouquet, but Spring's sweet sign. 'Tis then I +love the garden best. Or when the leaves in brown are dressed, when +many blossoms faint with cold; but here a saffron Snap stands bold; +and here a Pansy splashed with gold; Tobacco flowers at night +unfold--'tis then I love the garden best. + + + + +_LIFE IS TOO SHORT_ + +Life is too short for sighing and regretting. That which is done, we +cannot now undo. Before the sun completes another setting, Life may +have changed its aspect and its hue. Blunders are never mended by +mere fretting; better to start afresh, mistakes forgetting. Life is +too short a single thing to rue. Life is too short for bitterness +and hating. Nothing is gained by venom and despair. 'Tis not a +virtue to be ever prating that worms abide within the blossom fair. +Goodness, forsooth, is not one whit abating, though Cynics give a +jaundiced, twisted rating. Life is too short to entertain dull care. +Life is just long enough for you and me to do our work with energy +and zest. Just long enough for each of us to try to make of it a +helpful, joyous quest; to brighten up, perchance, a neighbour's sky. +Too short for hate; too short for futile sigh. Just long enough to +learn that Love is best. + + + + +_POINT OF VIEW_ + +If only I could prove to you--so much depends on point of view. If +only I could make it clear that you are worried by a fear! If only I +could make you see that we are what we wish to be. If only I could +give you cause to put aside your grief, and pause, and look within +your own sad heart--'tis there you'd find the poisoned dart. If only +I could make it plain that sun no better is than rain; that there's +no riches just like health; that happiness comes not from wealth. If +only I could make you try to view the world with smiling eye, to look +not down but up instead; for thus one sees the sunset red, for thus +one sees the rosy dawn, and gleaming glory of the morn. If only I +could prove to you that all depends on point of view--I think you'd +find life quite worth while, deserving of your praise and smile. + + + + +_LIFE'S A.B.C._ + +Do you remember how we used to say the A.B.C. when we were very +young? We stood in semi-circular array, and proved a nimbleness of +brain and tongue! 'Twas "A.B.C." right to the final "Z," we chanted +in a wailing minor key. One little blue-eyed girl with curly head +always stopped short each time she reached the "D." But patient +teacher, smiling, put her right. Then on she'd go quite blithely to +the end. And some who were exceptionally bright, from "Z" to "A" the +backward trail could wend! But now, we often find Life goes awry. +Its "A.B.C." is very hard to learn. Letters refuse, no matter how we +try, to follow smoothly, each in proper turn. 'Tis then, like +children of the long-ago, we ask the Teacher, watching patiently, if +He will help us so that we may know the way to read Life's puzzling +A.B.C. + + + + +_NURSE_ + +Her modulated voice is sweet, she ne'er looks tired, she's never +late. She's neat and trim from head to feet; she does not gossip, +does not prate, and always she is most discreet. She never wears +harsh, squeaky shoes, nor aprons with a rustling noise. She never +shows she has the blues; she is a model of calm poise; she never +angers nor annoys. She's temperate always, in all things. She's +sympathetic, strong in mind. A ray of hope her presence brings. Her +counsel's wise, she's always kind, and yet she has not angel's wings! +And from her very soul there flows a vital current that inspires, as +through the anxious house she goes rekindling Hope's extinguished +fires. She serves with love, with courage glows--this Nurse whom all +the world admires. + + + + +_FOUR WALLS_ + +What precious things four walls enclose: a glowing fire, deep chairs +for rest, a slender vase to hold one rose. What precious things four +walls enclose when there is present some loved guest. What charming +things four walls embrace: a paper of entrancing hues, and shadows +like spell-woven lace. What charming things four walls embrace: +loved books to guide us and amuse. Four walls enclose the best of +life, its meaning and its very core; a happy husband, happy wife. +Four walls enclose the best of life where baby crawls along the +floor. Four walls enclose such magic things, the sound of laughter, +joyous, free; and peace that spreads its gleaming wings. Four walls +enclose such magic things where there is love and sympathy. + + + + _Printed in Great Britain by_ + UNWIN BROTHERS LIMITED, LONDON AND WOKING + + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75155 *** |