Silken threads

WILHELMINA STITCH
AUTHOR OF THE FRAGRANT MINUTE FOR EVERY DAY SILVER LININGS, THE GOLDEN WEB WHERE SUNLIGHT FALLS , ETC.
EIGHTH EDITION
METHUEN & CO., LTD. 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. LONDON
First Published ... October 20th 1927 Second Edition ... November 1927 Third Edition ... December 1927 Fourth Edition ... January 1928 Fifth Edition ... April 1928 Sixth Edition ... December 1928 Seventh Edition ... March 1929 Eighth Edition ... 1929
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
CONTENTS
Dear little girl of Long Ago, so sweetly docile, quiet and prim, making, laboriously and slow, your silken prayer to Him—did your child-heart beat eager wings beneath the bones of your stiff dress, like some caged bird that sweetly sings, longing for freedom's happiness? It must have been a day in June when with a gleaming, scarlet thread, you worked the livelong afternoon, Give us this day our daily bread. For look! Just where a line begins your needle strayed a square too high; quite crooked are the words our sins. Oh! were you gazing at the sky? Or did the daisies on your lawn begin to wink and blink at you? Perhaps you spied a leprechaun just where your mother's roses grew? I think God smiled at that mistake, dear little girl so fair and prim, and blessed those hands that failed to make—a perfect gift for Him.
How far you seek, poor soul, to find your God, through such a maze of noisy, foolish words, and yet they speak of Him—each silent sod, each crooning breeze, and all the singing birds. He dwells not in a tenet or a creed, no roof can compass Him, nor walls enclose, but you will find Him in the humblest weed and in the beauty of a budding rose. Think you He cares for some high-sounding phrase, the gift from lips that serve a subtle mind? Some homely household sounds best sing His praise, and deeds that spring from hearts sincere and kind. Why travel such a devious path and long, when sun and moon and stars proclaim Him near? Hark to His voice, a throbbing, pleading song, bidding us slay Intolerance and Fear. Return, oh soul, from journeying afar; there is a quiet road, straight to your breast. Travel this path, at rise of evening star, you'll find that He has come to be your guest.