I envied little girls to-day: I envied little boys. For part of me just longed to play with Springtime's jolly toys. I longed to have a hoop to bowl, a spinning top and whip, a bright red ball to bounce and roll—a rope so I might skip. A rope with handles very gay, on each a painted rose. Then little girls who passed my way would say, "Oh! look at those!" But I, alas! this morning walked with silly, grown-up tread; so wisely my companion talked, such solemn things he said. But suddenly my shadow tripped a little way ahead. And with a brand new rope it skipped—I feared it would drop dead. So fast it skipped, such slender feet, it really made me wince. And then it skipped across the street; I have not seen it since. But what it's doing I can guess, that naughty, truant, Shadow-me! It's spinning tops (oh! happiness) and bowling hoops with ecstasy!
TO CAT PETER
My Peter! It is time I told you flat, just what I think of species known as cat. Throughout the centuries, from earliest days, mere human-beings have sung loud your praise. Beloved of popes the cat has often been; sacred in Egypt; petted by king or queen. And you, you orphan, common little stray, accept the homage that we weakly pay as if it were your just and proper due. I am disgusted, quite annoyed with you. What do you do for us, I'd like to know? You care not when or where we come or go. You show no joy when we return at night, but blink your eyes, and are indifferent, quite. You stalk into the kitchen, drink your milk, then lick your paws until they shine like silk; sit in a sunny window, catch a fly; then, feeling bored, leap to a shelf on high, and from this prominence you view with scorn—those who have served with love since you were born!
IN THE BEGINNING
In the beginning was the seed. And silently the work went on. The roots struck deep; new life was freed; the warm rain fell; the bright sun shone. A tiny shoot; two leaves of green; growth hour by hour—and then the day when all the glory of a flower was seen. The deed perfected in true beauty's way, for not a single word had yet been heard! Grant us the power to act this way. Let each good impulse strike upon rich soil, and there take root and blossom through the day not by the breath of words but silent toil. For gracious words should follow what we do, the lovely blossoms of a fruitful deed; or like the sun's exquisite farewell hue, beauty that is of service, the just meed. "First, we will act." This is the best of creeds. For words draw life after the good is done; and flash within the sunlight of our deeds like rays reflected from the spirit's sun.
HAMMER AWAY
Watching the blacksmith, were you, son? Watching the way his work is done. Muscle is needed and also brain. Hammer, and hammer, and hammer again, striking the blow, tirelessly, true. Fashioned at last the perfect shoe. Wasn't done quickly, lad, admit; persistence needed and strength and grit. That is the way we all must work (no use tiring nor trying to shirk). Not for an hour, not for a day; nor for a week, nor month, nor year; just how long no one can say (keep on, laddie, success is near), hammer away, boy, hammer away. Look how ambition's sparks are flying (Splendid! laddie, just keep on trying), fashion your dream on the anvil, duty; mould and hammer it into beauty. You are a smith; your anvil, life. Keep swinging the hammer, despite all strife. Honest your purpose, stroke that is true; joy in the thing you are trying to do; ambition's flame for the smithy's fire, lit by the strength of a great desire. Then noble the work, at the end of the day—hammer away, lad, hammer away.
WHITHER BOUND?
A window filled with naught but shoes of every shape and every size; of black and brown and flaunting hues—they claimed my fascinated eyes. I simply had to stand and stare (would you believe me, in the rain!), I had no wish to buy a pair, indeed, I have a foolish brain. But this is why I could not go: I could not tear myself away, I felt a great desire to know where all these shoes would wend one day. And while the raindrops, laughing, fell, I stood and mused a little while. This pair, oh, anyone could tell, would walk for many a business mile, and those would mince along the street as proud as proud as they could be; and these, they were for dancing feet. Perhaps (hoped I) they'll dance with me! Just then a cosy pair I spied. Ah, they would meet my heart's desire, for when it rained and stormed outside, they'd stay, with books, beside the fire.