'Twas yesterday we thought we'd write that letter which would give delight. 'Twas yesterday we thought we'd send some money to a needy friend. 'Twas yesterday we meant to cheer; we meant to wipe away a tear; we meant to help a weaker man achieve his good, but half-formed plan. 'Twas yesterday we made it plain we'd help a failure start again; 'twas yesterday we wished to praise, commend a brother for his ways; some seeds of love we meant to sow, some kindliness we meant to show. But yesterday, alas! has fled. Not one act done, not one word said. Now, when we feel that inner urge, when o'er the soul kind feelings surge, when we are suddenly aware that we have more than just our share; when words of praise invade the heart, and when we see grief's tears upstart—oh! let us do the kindly thing before To-day is on the wing.
ON ST. CRISPIN'S DAY
I'd love to be a shoemaker on this Saint Crispin's Day. I'd pray him for some leather that the angels gave away. (For they used to give him leather, so all the legends say.) Softest leather from the angels! Each piece of finest grain, well tanned by golden sunbeams, kept moist by sister rain. The loveliest bits of leather, ne'er bought nor sold for gain. Bright bits supplied by angels! And some would be sky-blue and some of pearly greyness with dawn's pinkness blushing through. And some would be rich crimson, like a sunset bold and new. And I'd take Saint Crispin's leather that the angels had let fall and fashion shoes a-plenty for dimpled feet and small, whilst Saint Crispin stood beside me and blessed my last and awl!
THE EVER YOUNG
There is a path called Never-Old, a most entrancing, smiling road; and only those with spirits bold, who, laughing, shoulder life's big load, who value Beauty more than gold, who faithful are to Love's high code, can find this road to walk along. And as they walk, they sing a song, oh, buoyantly the words are sung, "We are the old, for ever young!" There is a path called Never-Old, and only certain feet may tread this smiling road, so I've been told. Those who fared forth with high-held head, whose hearts have warmed some hearts grown cold, whose hands have helped the frail and weak, whose lips the gentlest words do speak, they'll find this smiling road I know. And as along this path they go, this is the song that will be sung, "We are the old, for ever young!" All those who've laughed at hostile fate, who can a tale of Love unfold, who live for others, early, late—have found the road of Never-Old.
BROADCAST FRIENDS
The bogy of loneliness has gone for ever. She now has friends that visit by the score. And all of them are pleasant and so clever, coming when she desires, at noon or four, and no one waits to knock upon the door! They slip into the room on magic wings borne by the ether for her keen delight. One gives her household hints, another sings, one speaks of theatres or of those who write, and she sees much that once was out of sight. For now she travels as she sits and sews, and solitude no longer hurts or palls. With world-explorers gallantly she goes, far, far beyond her four confining walls—whene'er the announcer's voice through ether calls. The world is hers and she can walk abroad; listen to music, look upon great art. The many things she could not once afford she now enjoys, in them she has a part—and thanks the wireless from a woman's house-bound heart!
SEEKING HAPPINESS
Someone said (it might have been you or I), "I vow to find happiness e'er I die." So he sought for it high and he sought for it low; by the glare of the sun, by the moonbeam's pale glow. He sought for it far, and sought for it near. He sought for a day, and he sought for a year, but Happiness ever eluded his hand; 'twas the same on high seas as it was on the land. Back to the everyday things of life, to the turn of Fate's wheel with its love and strife; back to engrossing work he went. Laboured hard, and was well content. Gave of his brain, his hands and his heart, fulfilling with zest his destined part. Took delight in the new-born day; gloried in work and deemed it play. Found his pleasures in simple things; in a book, a tree, and a bird that sings. In a gracious curve of a leafy bough—and he quite forgot his former vow. Then suddenly someone, running fast, exclaimed, "Oh! brother! We've met at last." The sound of this voice was a soft caress. And the face—was the face of Happiness!