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.