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Keep Moving
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
I scanned wise words in a book to-day;
This was the message, they seemed to say:
Keep moving ahead!
You can't stand still
Unless you really are very ill;
For if you stop, like an unwound clock,
You're bound to suffer a fearful shock,
For something will happen to give you a shake,
And say to your conscience, “Move on, awake.”
Keep moving ahead, or your soul will die
And beauty evade your heart and eye.
No matter at all that your pace be slow
So long as you upward, upward go,
Into a finer atmosphere,
Where ideals live and visions clear,
And Goodness and Truth have taken firm stand,
And folks to folks stretch a loving hand.
For this be the measure of our success,
The measure of all life's happiness:
Just how well we have moved ahead;
Or just how early our soul was dead! -
Little Plant-Lovers
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
Oh, you who to the parks did go,
To share the plants they gave away,
Somehow I think I really know
Exactly how you felt that day.
I saw you standing in a queue,
Impatient, eager, girls and boys.
And truly, then, I shared with you,
Your great anticipated joys!
Oh, sweets are nice, of course they are!
And so are toys, I quite agree;
But certain things are nicer far
The blossoms that next spring you'll see,
I think these were the thoughts you had
As home you scurried, wreathed in smiles:
“Now, won't these plants make Mother glad!
What flowers we'll grow - just miles on miles!”
'Twas then a little prayer did flow
From out my heart (it was for you)
To Him who makes the flowers to grow
And sends the sun and rain and dew.
“O let their plants” - this was my plea
"Take root and put forth blossoms fair.
Then this good truth each child will see:
In Beauty everyone may share!" -
Books
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
A dozen people sitting in a train;
Each face a book, where one can read a tale of joy or pain,
If one but look. Lo! Life, the printer, through the passing years has marked each face.
Sure signs of laughter and of bitter tears we now can trace.
Each face is like a book that we can read - self set aside,
Or self the slave of passion and of greed and scornful pride.
Each face is like a book, a story told. This one, a man
Spurred by ambition, restless, brave and bold - achieved his plan.
Ah! There's a face that tells the sweetest story. Look at her eyes!
She is beloved, and love, life's crowning glory, has made her wise.
Her mouth is tender and its curve is sweet. Oh! Lovely page
Wherein one reads a story quite complete - as old as age! -
The Mental Mint
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
Coins, beautiful and precious, are minted by the mind;
Fantastic ones and pleasing, some bitter or unkind.
Coins minted for the purpose of bartering each day-
Each person to his liking in his special way.
Golden thoughts and silver, dreams and visions bright,
These can buy us happiness to last from morn to night.
Coins of purest metal, hope without alloy,
Courage and ambition buy tremendous joy.
Should we mint some base ones - envy, craven fear,
We'll purchase naught but sorrow, and this will cost a dear.
Mind! What are you minting? Thoughts of purest gold
To buy a share of happiness when we are growing old. -
Others
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
A little word to play so big a part!
It oft controls the hand and mind;
it is the guardian of the heart.
No stronger word we'll ever find
Because of others, laziness will work;
And selfishness retire in shame;
And sadness sing, despite the gloom and muck;
And high ambition turn away from fame.
We are determined on a certain course
And then, because of others, curb our will.
Oh! little word, you have tremendous force
To turn to goodness what we planned for ill.
We must be brave that others will not fear;
And when the face of trouble doth appear -
Because of others, not a bit of fuss!
The sweetest, tenderest thoughts, others inspire;
The noblest actions are for others done;
For others, burns the brightest of love's fire;
For others are the hardest battles won.
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Every-day Religion
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
"An every-day religion." Ah! that's the sort we. need.
It does not wait for Sunday in a deep and dark recess,
But lives with us throughout each day in every thought and deed,
And permeates our beings and brings us happiness.
A genuine religion affecting every day;
A living force within us expressed by what we do;
The unseen good companion along the' hilly way,
Uplifting us whene'er we. slip— a strong guide and a true.
An every-day religion for our blessings and our sorrows,
For our going out each morning and our coming-in each night;
The balm for disappointments, the staff for great endeavour,
The source of pure delight.
An every-day religion transmuting homely things
To witnesses proclaiming the power of the Divine;
That binds us all together; gives the lowly heart strong wings;
May an every-day religion for evermore be mine -
At Twilight
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
I would remember such and such a thing -
Not the sharp stones along the weary road;
Not the sharp words that used to cut and sting,
Nor the increasing weight of each day's load.
But this I would remember - the keen thrill
When one could drop the burden of the day
And stand with victory upon the hill
And look down, exclaim: "I've come this way."
I would forget when disappointment jeered,
Unsheathed its sword and struck across the heart.
I would forget the callous word that scared,
The unkind hand that flung a poisoned dart.
I would remember how a sunset's glow
Drew all the sorrow from a jaded breast;
And how a river's gentle, placid flow
Could put the spirit's turbulence to rest.
I would remember only precious things -
How friendship never failed when skies grew black.
How sweetly, lilac-time, gay Robin sings -
Remembering thus, how pleasant to look back. -
Let The Heart Go
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
Unrein your heart, too-cautious one; let it gallop away.
'Tis good for a heart to skip and run at least once a day.
Heed not the folks who mutter, "Unwise."
Remember! our hearts need exercise.
Let the heart rush off with that word of praise that it longs to speak.
Why bottle it up for hours, for days, perhaps for a week?
Think of the joy that hearts withhold
By being so prim and proper and cold.
Let the heart rush off with that kindly deed that it longs to do.
Why tarry awhile, and what is the need? Days are so few.
Pale prudence may curb until it's too late;
So gallop away, good heart, don't wait.
That heart of yours - give it full rein. Let it gallop away.
A loving heart is the balm for pain whatever the day.
Be off, O heart, nor stay to hear
Wan caution's voice or cynic's sneer. -
Self-Deception
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
How we deceive ourselves day after day!
Saying, "We lack the time for things we'd like to do."
Sighing, "Why do the hours so swiftly pass away?"
(often I act like this, and so do you!)
To view some pictures? Ah! we'd like to go,
and also to a park where lilacs bloom.
Not possible! So busy, as you know.
This lack of time just steeps a soul in gloom!
We have no time to take a daily walk,
We haven't any time at all to read,
Or write the promised letter (how we talk!),
No time to help another in dire need.
One day old Time will let his anger fly
And take us by the shoulders and shake hard.
"You are to blame, not I!" he loudly cry.
"I'll punish you for this, be your on your guard.
It is not time you lack,
But just the will to do the things you always leave undone."
Ah! Time, you're right. Come paper, ink and quill -
I'll write at once to mother and my son.
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