Wilhelmina Stitch

“ Luck with her is ever walking. Sorrow has me by the hand." Don't I understand, Sad Heart? Seems to me it's very plain. Life has cast you for a part; Sorrow you must entertain. But the beauty of the Dawn is for you, for your sad eyes. Dew-drops, diamonds on the lawn fill you with a glad surprise. Stars at night in vault of blue; moon, a floating daffodil—these are joys bestowed on you, yours to cherish at your will. Music is a precious gift; it is yours if you will hear. Watch the gruesome shadows lift, chased away by Laughter's cheer. ”

“ I've many shares in mines of mirth, in sunshine, air and flowers and sky, in all the things of sterling worth, yes, very rich indeed am I. I've neither copper, tin, nor gold; nor platinum without alloy. I own what can't be bought or sold—for I have many shares in Joy.
WHEN DECEMBER COMES
December with her skirts a-blowing, frozen dew-drops in each ear; berries at her breast a-glowing, rosy-cheeked December's here. Hoar-frost to her garments clinging, prettier gems she could not find; merrily, December's singing songs best suited to her mind. ”

“ Before the sun completes another setting, Life may have changed its aspect and its hue. Blunders are never mended by mere fretting; better to start afresh, mistakes forgetting. Life is too short a single thing to rue. Life is too short for bitterness and hating. Nothing is gained by venom and despair. 'Tis not a virtue to be ever prating that worms abide within the blossom fair. Goodness, forsooth, is not one whit abating, though Cynics give a jaundiced, twisted rating. Life is too short to entertain dull care. Life is just long enough for you and me to do our work with energy and zest. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Blue eyes of baby, hushaby, lullaby, now must they close 'neath their curtains so white. The thrush has ceased singing, hushaby, lullaby, pink and white blossom, I kiss you good-night. The white woolly lambkins are peacefully sleeping, hushaby, lullaby, gold-haloed head. O'er the gold of the meadows a grey mist is creeping, the wings of the angels now curtain your bed. Pink and white blossom, hushaby, lullaby. Your cot is a garden, the fairest I know. Rose petals your cheeks are, hushaby, lullaby, and the curls on the pillow like buttercups glow! ”

“ Then when a bird began to sing, and Heartbreak couldn't help but hear, there happened such a curious thing—a silvern echo did appear, enthroned itself in Heartbreak's breast and, like the bird, sang with sweet zest! So little Heartbreak tossed her head and laughed to find the world so fair. "It's true," she cried, "my heart has bled, and I have lived with black despair. But I can't be quite broken, long—with sunbeams, zephyrs, and birds' song!" ”

“ Now let Jack Frost come back again and scatter snowflakes everywhere, and let him star the window pane with frosty breath—I will not care. For I've a precious rendezvous with one in green and gold attire and with another robed in blue—this thought sets all my heart afire. Some magic pots, bulbs buried deep, all in the sweet autumnal hours. My little bulbs now fall asleep, but soon they will bring forth spring flow'rs. With Spring I have a rendezvous, we'll meet upon my window-sill when in one pot are scillas blue and in the next, a daffodil! ”

“ They bring one to a book, a flower, a song of cheer and health. The little roads to happiness are free to everyone; they lead one to the wind's caress, to kiss of friendly sun. These little roads are shining white, for all the world to see; their sign-boards, pointing left and right, are love and sympathy. The little roads of happiness have this most charming way; no matter how they may digress throughout the busy day; no matter where they twist and wind through fields of rich delight, they're always of the self-same mind to lead us home at night. ”

“ Little growing things, pushing through the earth, petals for soft wings, bells to echo mirth. Little bud and leaf, spite of winter's pain, spite of nature's grief, they are here again. Little growing things, roots are in my heart. Hark! the robin sings. Sorrow must depart. Doubts and chilly fears! winter now is o'er, wipe away your tears. Courage! rise once more. Courage has not fled, simply slept awhile. Hope, that you deemed dead, revived beneath a smile. Good cannot be slain, beauty never dies, spring has come again, soul of man, arise. ”

“ 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! ”

“ Don't be sorry for yourself—better smile. Worst of troubles will disperse—in a while. If self-pity mounts up high, you are bound to mope or cry, bound to amplify your trouble, make it grow in size, quite double, being sorry for oneself is out of style! Don't be sorry for yourself—better smile; blackest clouds will pass away—in a while. 'Tis true, you've been hard hit, not a friend but would admit you have cause to lose some sleep, quite a lot to make you weep. Don't you do it, though, for pity's out of style! Don't be sorry for yourself—better smile. ”

“ For I know you'll laugh with me, share in full my jollity, and the world will fairer be—'cause of you. When the sun is veiled from sight, when the clouds of grief hang low, when the day seems turned to night—then to you I go. For I know you'll comfort me with a tender sympathy, and the load will lighter be—'cause of you. Not alone for days serene, not for moments of success, but a friend you've ever been—in joy and in distress. When the road was rough and long, you have borne the journey, too. ”

“ Oh, Robbie Burns, if I could find a golden phrase that sweetly sings, a silvern phrase of kingly mind, a magic phrase with fairy wings—I'd weave, I'd weave each precious phrase into a song for your delight; for we who love your tuneful lays are toasting you this very night. But, after all, why should I seek unusual, unfamiliar words? So freely does your own heart speak in songs that lilt and trill like birds. A simple phrase, then, be my choice for all who toast the Bard to-night: "We drink to that Immortal Voice whose simplest songs give most delight." ”

“ There's Amy, Daphne, Pam, and Rose; Elizabeth and Lucille fair; and Jellis with tip-tilted nose; Amanda with rich auburn hair. And other blossoms, row on row, standing so primly in their places. It sets the teacher's heart aglow to see their morning-glory faces. Now like a mother she must be—a loving mother wise and kind—clothing each tender memory in prettiest garments she can find. As mothers joy in dainty frills, so will she trim each baby heart with melodies and lilting trills, borrowed for them, from Beauty's mart. ”

“ The tongue that plays the suavest airs upon the most expedient string; that echoes much, but never dares to be the leader in the ring; that always drops a pleasing word because it's easiest so to do; when drums of argument are heard, by silence, sees the matter through. Oh! I dislike the trembling tongue that is afraid of words sincere. I do detest the song that's sung to the accompaniment of fear. ”

“ Clipped wings, indeed, can take you far; well, far enough to see the sun arise, the silver radiance of the evening star, the trustfulness within a baby's eye—lovely, indeed, these little journeys are. I know, dear soul, the cage at times seems small, and you are weary of the daily round. Better clipped wings than ne'er a wing at all—at least you rise with ease above the ground. You can poise level with a daisy's head, or with a nest within an old forked bough, and on towards a hollyhock bright red, and higher, higher still—as you are now, upon a fleecy cloud with crimson dyed. ”

“ And where would be sweet Friendship's hour, the dainty china, lovely flow'r, the rush of children in the room dispelling any hint of gloom, did I, at five o'clock, not send hot toast and tea of perfect blend? May nought but cheerful cooks come here; for I, at any time of year, in my great purpose take delight: to serve the Healthy Appetite.
THE HARBOUR HEART
The heart is like a quiet port expecting ships each day. The spirit is the armoured fort that guards the ocean way. For, sometimes, on the sea of life there rides an evil ship. ”

“ But in a smoky, noisy, busy street, whose only colours through shop-windows show; where there is constant march of human feet that bravely journey daily to and fro; where cripples play a gay and daring air; and blind folk stand and dream that it is light; where passers-by who haven't much to spare yet stop to give ungrudgingly their mite. And where small houses nestle close together, beneath whose roofs hard-working people live, who help each other in the stormy weather, who have so little yet can always give. ”

“ Each season brings such gifts for joyous hearts, there is no sorrow when the Spring departs. And when late summer slowly drops her leaves, signals to Autumn, there is none who grieves, knowing the beauty that will softly fall upon the earth whene'er Jack Frost may call. And there are books, dear child, such constant friends that serve with joy until the journey ends. And friends more precious still than books who give us clasp of hand and tender looks, tears for our sorrow, laughter for our joy, the golden element in life's alloy. ”

“ I wish to thank You for the sun that kissed, this morn, my sleeping eyes; for all the happy things I've done since I did rise. For gift of sound and gift of sight; for feet that skip so merrily; for food and warmth, and each delight You gave to me. I thank You for my mother dear; I thank You for my father kind; and for the star that watches near—behind the blind. So many Grown-ups show me love, though I'm a child and still quite small. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Ambassador from Friendship's court is he, bearing those greetings that enrich the day with happy thoughts, and with sweet melody which, on the heart-strings, only friends can play. Life's messenger! And so he needs must bring echoes from Sorrow's Hall as well as Joy. We hold no grudge against him for the sting, knowing all happiness has its alloy. Greater than Mercury who served the gods, the sturdy Postman, of our busy days. Wingless, on patient feet, he daily plods, evoking from all hearts a word of praise. He is the very pulse of life for all ”

“ 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. ”

“ I have seen Beauty time again; in clouds by day, in stars by night, in trees refreshed by gentle rain, in sunbeams dancing with delight. But you, gay Dahlias, I love best. I count each one a precious friend. You seem to live with such a zest. And oh! your colours, how they blend! White, pink, and red, and saffron, too, and vibrant hues that glow like flames. Each day I pass, I nod to you. I can't remember all your names! One day (now this should make you proud) I saw a girl, too young for grief, walk down the path with head low-bowed ”

“ No harder to smile than to frown. It's as easy to stand as to lean, as easy to lift as pull down, to be generous rather than mean. It's not very hard to be glad, it's not very hard to rejoice, it's harder indeed to be sad. Let happiness then be our choice. No harder to trust than to doubt, and courage is easy as fear, and foes are quite easy to rout with weapons of Good Sense and Cheer. ”