FLYING KITES A blustering windy day's just rightFor boys who want to fly a kite;And it affords the greatest joyTo make and use the pretty toy. But Aged Duffers, do not tryA large-sized paper kite to fly;You could not manage tail or string,And ten to one you'd spoil the thing.   BOATS ON THE LAKE A morning full of happiness any boy may findBy sailing boats upon the lake, if he is so inclined;The wind it drives them out to sea, he... more...

The Children of the Night For those that never know the light,The darkness is a sullen thing;And they, the Children of the Night,Seem lost in Fortune's winnowing.But some are strong and some are weak, —And there's the story. House and homeAre shut from countless hearts that seekWorld-refuge that will never come.And if there be no other life,And if there be no other chanceTo weigh their sorrow and their strifeThan in the scales of... more...

I Out of the little chapel I burst  Into the fresh night-air again.Five minutes full, I waited first  In the doorway, to escape the rainThat drove in gusts down the common's centre  At the edge of which the chapel stands,Before I plucked up heart to enter.  Heaven knows how many sorts of handsReached past me, groping for the latchOf the inner door that hung on catchMore obstinate the more they... more...

CHRISTMAS IN LEGEND AND STORY "THE GRACIOUS TIME" According to tradition, on the Holy Night there fell upon Bethlehem of Judea a strange and unnatural calm; the voices of the birds were hushed, water ceased to flow and the wind was stilled. But when the child Jesus was born all nature burst into new life; trees put forth green leaves, grass sprang up and bright flowers bloomed. To animals was granted the power of human speech and the ox and the... more...

Christmas Roses A BUNCH of Christmas Roses, dear,To greet my fairest child,I plucked them in my garden whereThe drifting snow lay piled. I cannot bring thee violets dear,Or cowslips growing wild,Or daisy chain for thee to wear,For thee to wear, my child. For all the grassy meadows nearAre clad with snow, my child;Through all the days of winter drearNo ray of sun has smiled. I plucked this bunch of verses, dear,From out my garden wild,I... more...

O the angels know the blessed day, And strike their harps anew? Then may the echo of their lay Float sweetly down to you, And fill your soul with Christmas song That your heart shall echo your whole life long. Havergal.   A bright and happy Christmas to you! Lift up yourselves to the great meaning of the day, and dare to think of your humanity as something so sublimely precious that it is worthy of being made an offering to God,... more...

MOTHER'S PRAYER For this new day, our Father, we give thee thanks.Thou hast blessed us with rest for our bodies,The glories of a new day are upon us, a gift from above.Let the light from heaven penetrate our souls,and may this be the best of our lives, we pray.Remember those less fortunate, dear Father,May some messenger of thine bring joy to their hearts today.Forbid we should shirk any duty coming our way,for we are thy servants and desire... more...

A PESSIMISTIC VIEW A little bit of Thackeray, A little bit of Scott, A modicum of Dickens just To tangle up the plot, A paraphrase of Marryat, Another from Dumas— You ask me for a novel, sir, And I say, there you are. The pen is greater than the sword, Of that there is no doubt. The pen for me whene’er I wish An enemy to rout. A pen, a pad, and say a pint Of ink with which to scrawl, To put a foe to flight is all... more...

THE LOOM OF YEARS In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flower and tree,Under the breath of laughter, deep in the tide of tears,I hear the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years. The leaves of the winter wither and sink in the forest mouldTo colour the flowers of April with purple and white and gold:Light and scent and music die and are born againIn the heart... more...

MIST IN THE VALLEY I Mist in the valley, weeping mistBeset my homeward way.No gleam of rose or amethystHallowed the parting day;A shroud, a shroud of awful greyWrapped every woodland brow,And drooped in crumbling disarrayAround each wintry bough. II And closer round me now it clungUntil I scarce could seeThe stealthy pathway overhungBy silent tree and treeWhich floated in that mysteryAs—poised in waveless deeps—Branching in... more...