Out of that blackness, wider than our minds, back from the awful strangeness of new stars, they turn and fly. All know their charts, all have their telescopes, all see that old familiar system swinging nearer. They greet the sun as we Fire Island—the moon like Sandy Hook.
But that small star, bigger and bigger now, its heavenly radiance fading softly down to the warm glow of earthly beauty, coming out round and full at last—ah! how they choke, how they cry out to see it!
Nearer—the blue skin of the all-enclosing sea, the green of interrupting continents; now they can recognize the hemisphere—the tears come—this is home!
*
It is home where the heart is.
THANKSGIVING
I never thought much of the folks who pray
The Lord to make them thankful for a meal
Expecting Him to furnish all the food
And then provide them with the gratitude
They haven't grace to feel.
I never thought much of this yearly thanks,
Either for what once happened long ago,
Or for "our constant mercies." To my mind
If we're to thank a Power that's daily kind,
Our annual's too slow.
Suppose we spread Thanksgiving—hand it round—
Give God an honest heartful every day;
And, while we're being thankful, why not give
Some gratitude to those by whom we live—
As well as stingy pay?
OUR ANDROCENTRIC CULTURE, or THE MAN-MADE WORLD