The little roads to happiness, they are not hard to find; they do not lead to great success—but to a quiet mind. They do not lead to mighty power nor to substantial wealth. They bring one to a book, a flower, a song of cheer and health. The little roads to happiness are free to everyone; they lead one to the wind's caress, to kiss of friendly sun. These little roads are shining white, for all the world to see; their sign-boards, pointing left and right, are love and sympathy. The little roads of happiness have this most charming way; no matter how they may digress throughout the busy day; no matter where they twist and wind through fields of rich delight, they're always of the self-same mind to lead us home at night.
FRIENDSHIP AND SUSPICION
Friendship and Suspicion cannot dwell together. Friendship loves the sun; Suspicion, cloudy weather. Friendship needs must trust; Suspicion has to doubt, and, seeking hidden faults, turn all things inside out. Friendship clings to Truth, which is Suspicion's foe. 'Tis Truth that feeds the wick for Friendship's steady glow. No matter what the problem, ah! Friendship understands. And proffers ready helpfulness with eager, outstretched hands. And never questions coldly, nor probes with bitter sneer, but eases every burden, dispels each chilly fear. Friendship seeks companions, Suspicion walks alone, eyelids drooping meanly, in his heart, a stone. Friendship's joy is service, fair or foul the weather. Suspicion turns from giving—so they cannot dwell together.
THE WORTHY CREW
Discontented? Job no good? Chief is never praising you? Going elsewhere? Wish you could? Feeling bitter, tired and blue? Sure you're meant for bigger things. Never get a chance, that's all. Long to use ambition's wings; feel you're up against a wall? Only just occurred to you—well, you scarcely like to ask—but, after all, what does he do, what is the Chief's important task? Quite convinced you do the most? Confident you should earn more? Of course, you do not like to boast—you've other chances, by the score! When this mood has you in grip (as some day it's bound to do), remember—a successful ship must carry, too, a worthy crew. When this mood nags at your heart, reflect—we can't all captains be; each must play his special part; ships need crews when off to sea.
THE POSTMAN
He is the aide-de-camp of merchandise. While thousands calmly lie a-bed and dream, he bears the seeds of some great enterprise from which springs forth a money-making scheme! Ambassador from Friendship's court is he, bearing those greetings that enrich the day with happy thoughts, and with sweet melody which, on the heart-strings, only friends can play. Life's messenger! And so he needs must bring echoes from Sorrow's Hall as well as Joy. We hold no grudge against him for the sting, knowing all happiness has its alloy. Greater than Mercury who served the gods, the sturdy Postman, of our busy days. Wingless, on patient feet, he daily plods, evoking from all hearts a word of praise. He is the very pulse of life for all; without his letters we would be as dumb. No interchange of thoughts, how life would pall. Oh, joyous sound, the Postman has just come!
"ANGELS IN THE SNOW"
I would go back to Canada, at this time of the year, for three things, just three things, my memory holds most dear. And this, I say, is one of them: a blanket of white snow, a-glistening with diamonds, and the breakfast sun aglow! A smooth, white blanket undisturbed except where Bunny's feet have pricked a pattern from a bush, right to a human street! And this, I say is two of them: to see bare branches dressed in fluffy, frozen, flakes of snow when pink clouds blush the west. And this, I say, is three of them, and this I long to see: the woolly-armoured toddlers, playing so merrily. With arms outstretched they fall down flat, and lie there, laughing so. And when they rise, each leaves behind "an angel in the snow"!