Part 3

How often have I paused to bless your vivid, glowing loveliness! Have paused to say a "Thank you, window-pane," because despite a sullen fog or driving rain, I still have had my glimpse of Paradise through your untroubled, bright, reflecting eyes. My heart was sad when vanished summer days. I came to you and stood a silent while, and felt uplifted on the wings of praise. Rich autumn tints, God bless your golden smile! Once when a blackish mood enveloped me, sprays of white lilac arched your shining pane; the beauty of their curves spoke tenderly; and I passed on, happy, revived again. And now 'tis glorious tulip time with you! Yesterday their happy colours beckoned me. Rose pink and mauve and sunlight's golden hue. Did you, quiet window-pane, not feel the ecstasy that flooded all my being while I stood to bless a florist's window--as all city pilgrims should?

_TWO COINS_

I had two coins offered me, they shone like gold, they shone like gold. I clutched at them so greedily, I clutched at them with fevered hold. I hid them quickly out of sight. They were for me alone to see. They gave delight, such keen delight; I hoarded them most miserly. One day, alack! and oh! alas! I took them from their secret place; a sorry thing had come to pass; my bright gold coins were dull of face. I tended them with loving hand. Oh! shine again, be bright again! This fact I could not understand: their gleam and sheen were on the wane. "I will not hoard you any more," to them I sighed, to them I cried. I shared with one, with two, with four; with all the friends whom I espied. Now this is strange but this is true. My wealth is more instead of less; I spent and spent--and still it grew. Those coins were Love and Happiness!

_THE STREET SINGER_

Truth went singing down the street; on his head a golden crown, broken sandals on his feet, shabby, too, his flowing gown. "Truth," I shouted, "wait for me. I desire to learn your song." Nought cared he for my poor plea; just went hurrying along. "Truth," I gasped, quite out of breath, "I can't hear the words you sing." "You will learn them ere your death," was the jibe he stopped to fling. "Truth," I prayed him, "wait awhile. I have followed you for years. Sometimes you have made me smile, sometimes caused me bitter tears. Do, I pray you, let me learn what it is you sing to-day." Then at last he deigned to turn, sang for me this roundelay: "Rich you are? And strong you are? Good indeed these things to be. Beloved by friends is better far. Take this living truth from me." Singing, down the street Truth went. Others now will follow fast. As for me, I am content--having learnt his song at last.

_MERELY PARENTS_

Lads and lassies, hear our plea--give us of your courtesy; we, not you, need sympathy, being parents. 'Tis a most exacting age, children are so very sage, the "complex" now is all the rage, we're but parents. Give us, do, a helping hand. We would like to understand, we are such a purblind band, merely parents. You are witty, clever, wise, source of all high enterprise, soon you'll be (for Old Time flies) like us, just parents. Then you'll know the self-same fears (aching heart and unshed tears), having travelled down the years, as we, your parents. Then you'll say, as now we do, "We but long to shelter you, make you love the good and true, as did our parents." Lads and lassies! Patience show! Perhaps we're difficult and slow, but it is harder than you know--being parents.

_SONG OF THE GIVER_

First there's the joy of choosing. Now then, what shall it be?--Useful? Pretty? Amusing? Love chooses thoughtfully. Then there's the joy of paper, green leaves with berries red; a card with a Christmas taper, tied with a golden thread. Then there's the joy of tying (not string of the common kind!) ribbons that we've been buying that glitter as they unwind. Then there's the joy of weighing, addressing the label, too; and, of course, there's the joy of saying, "With love from me, to you!" But nought like the joy of dreaming how happy that someone will be; how eyes will be brightly gleaming and mouth smile happily. Joy past the power of rhyming to follow that parcel in thought; to hear, with gay laughter chiming, "Look what the postman has brought!"

_THE 'BUS CONDUCTOR_

A steadying hand, a cheerful grin, "Hold tight," he cries, and helps us in. We pay the fare, whate'er it be, and dream of home and fire and tea. But not the conductor, no, not he. Cold or heat, wind or rain, up he goes and down again; ringing bells, cracking jokes, helping parcel-burdened folks, lifting babies with great care, "Where to, Mum? Hold tight there." Answering questions by the score: "Other way to Arthur's Store!" "Full inside, one on top." Conductor's duties never stop. "Hi! Miss, your purse is on the seat." Someone tramps on both his feet. Jerks a rope to let him out, then again his cheery shout, "Hold tight, there! Fares please, fares." Mounts again the winding stairs, whistling blithely, he runs down--cheeriest man in all the town!

_A LITTLE SONG OF FRIENDSHIP_

When the sun is shining bright, when the sky is calm and blue, when the Port of Luck's in sight, then I turn to you. 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. So I've made this little song--'cause of you.

_Printed in Great Britain by_ UNWIN BROTHERS LIMITED, LONDON AND WOKING