diff options
Diffstat (limited to '75156-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 75156-0.txt | 1258 |
1 files changed, 1258 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/75156-0.txt b/75156-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4eb3347 --- /dev/null +++ b/75156-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1258 @@ + +*** 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 *** |