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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 ***