Some seek it on the mountain top, And some within a mine; The widow in her notion shop Expects its sun to shine. The tramp that seeks new roads to fare, Is one with king and millionaire In this that each is groping On different roads, in different ways, To come to glad, contented days, And shares the common hoping. The sound of martial fife and drum Is born of happiness to come. Yet happiness is always here Had we the eyes to see it; No breast but holds a fund of cheer Had man the will to free it. 'Tis there upon the mountain top, Or in the widow's notion shop, 'Tis found in homes of sorrow; 'Tis woven in the memories Of happier, brighter days than these, The gift, not of to-morrow But of to-day, and in our tears Some touch of happiness appears. 'Tis not a joy that's born of wealth: The poor man may possess it. 'Tis not alone the prize of health: No sickness can repress it. 'Tis not the end of mortal strife, The sunset of the day of life, Or but the old should find it; It is the bond twixt God and man, The touch divine in all we plan, And has the soul behind it. And so this toast to happiness, The seed of which we all possess. {148} GUESSING TIME It's guessing time at our house; every evening after tea We start guessing what old Santa's going to leave us on our tree. Everyone of us holds secrets that the others try to steal, And that eyes and lips are plainly having trouble to conceal. And a little lip that quivered just a bit the other night Was a sad and startling warning that I mustn't guess it right. "Guess what you will get for Christmas!" is the cry that starts the fun. And I answer: "Give the letter with which the name's begun." Oh, the eyes that dance around me and the joyous faces there Keep me nightly guessing wildly: "Is it something I can wear?" I implore them all to tell me in a frantic sort of way And pretend that I am puzzled, just to keep them feeling gay. Oh, the wise and knowing glances that across the table fly And the winks exchanged with mother, that they think I never spy; Oh, the whispered confidences that are poured into her ear, And the laughter gay that follows when I try my best to hear! Oh, the shouts of glad derision when I bet that it's a cane, And the merry answering chorus: "No, it's not. Just guess again!" It's guessing time at our house, and the fun is running fast, And I wish somehow this contest of delight could always last, For the love that's in their faces and their laughter ringing clear Is their dad's most precious present when the Christmas time is near. And soon as it is over, when the tree is bare and plain, I shall start in looking forward to the time to guess again. {150} UNDERSTANDING