Now when I went a-harvesting across a golden field, "Turn back," they said, "this wheat and rye is not for you," I did not sigh. I did not flinch, I did but sing, when I went forth a-harvesting! Within this golden field (sang I) I've come by right a-harvesting. And from (cried I) this fruitful field, I'll take my proper share of yield. I will not sleep until I reap a goodly harvest that will last until the winter's come and passed. I snapped my fingers while they frowned. I then began to bind up sheaves of sunlight poured upon the ground; of shadows made by dancing leaves. I took a blackbird's sweetest trill; I gathered in a thrush's song; where'er I went I gleaned at will; this harvest does to me belong. They had no power to say me nay; the beauty of the earth I own; a harvest song I'll sing to-day in praise of fields that Joy has sown.
A PAEAN TO WORK
To work! Hour by hour, day by day; to employ one's hands and brain. To strive; to win an inch along the way; to lose; to start again. Oh! it is joy to work unceasingly with might and main. Hard work is not a burden, ever. The busy ones are enviable indeed. They have no time for petty ills that sever the power to do, from the insistent need. That little leisure snatched for a respite, how packed it is with joy and keen delight. Gold cannot buy it. 'Tis reserved for those who labour through the day until its close. Work does not irk. It brings relief; assuages grief; increases pleasure; adds to the measure of any happiness we find; and brings to the mind a peaceful satisfaction; to the heart, a glow. Oh! work! You are the kindest friend we know.
THE PRAYER OF THE HOME
May sunbeams kiss my window-panes and dance inside to pet each wall; and when the happy daylight wanes, may gracious shadows come to call. May winds speak low to me in love; may I have friendship with the skies; and may the stars that shine above sing me their silvern lullabies. May books abide with me alway, and flowers on every window-sill; may joyous Laughter come to stay, and Kindliness and Right Good-Will. Oh! may I be a haven fair for those with whom I daily live; and may the lonely stranger share in joy that I, a Home, can give. A steadfast storehouse I would be for tender dreams and ideals true; and, oh! I pray you, think of me as loving arms enfolding You. May Passers-by glance up and see my smiling curtains, blossoms bright, and with a rush of sympathy—ask God to bless me day and night!
THE MILLINER
Nice work, a milliner's, I think. Always intent upon a crown of silk or velvet, blue or pink; of felt or straw, of red or brown; nice work, a milliner's, I think. What dreams a milliner must dream, stitching a bow or velvet band, or finishing the lining's seam, creating beauty all by hand. What dreams a milliner must dream! For as she works at this or that she'll see a smiling, winsome face beneath the nearly-finished hat, that soon will have such style and grace—an unknown girl's delighted face. Nice work a milliner's must be, to make a jaunty little crown, and trim it very prettily to match a new and saucy gown. For as the hat takes shape and form, then one could whisper tenderly, "Now, gallant hat, defy Life's storm and give a moment's ecstasy." Nice work a milliner's must be.
IN CONVALESCENCE
The joy of coming down the stairs, seeing loved faces once again; familiar objects, pictures, chairs, a tree that taps the window-pane; and books that say, "We've missed the touch of one who always loved us much." The childish, secret, but keen pride that hands have grown so thin and white. They look so pale, so dignified; 'tis strange, but true, this gives delight! Then languor and the wish to sleep. Absurd, but one would like to weep. The lack of power to concentrate, the feeling there's no soul to care how hard the blow, how ill the fate that one is called upon to bear. The weariness when friends forget one doesn't wish for chatter yet. The question, "Will I e'er get well?" that's like a thumb-screw and a rack; a deep depression for a spell; then lo! the tide of health flows back. These feelings come to everyone when convalescence has begun.