[Poem is on cover page with the following additional text: The Sunday School Journal, August 1921. Cover has an illustration of a path, lined by bushes and trees, leading to a large church. The view of the church is partially obscured by the trees, but its steeple rises above them. The sky is dominated by tall, white, billowing clouds.] The Children v1921 WHEN two gray-haired old parents meet In quiet home or busy street, The talk will run in formal style On formal things a little while. Then, following a silent spell: “The children, are they doing well?” Then faded eyes grow quickly bright. Worn features take a sudden light, As they recount with pride and joy The story of each girl and boy. How these old parents love to tell That every child is doing well! The great All-Father up above, I often think, in words of love Recounts each vict’ry and success, Joys in His children’s happiness. I think He, too, delights to tell That all His own are doing well. Climaxes v1921 One climax comes in every play, And only one; And after it has had its day The struggle’s won. Untangled is each vagrant thread; Sad hearts to happiness are led; And, with the days all fair ahead, The play is done. One climax comes in every life, And only one-- The apex of our human strife, The race we run. Then woes are banished; tears are dried; Our answered questions put aside; Life’s dearest hope is satisfied; Then life is done. Home v1921 [Transcriber’s note: All verses are italicized.] The joy that some hearts treasure, the hope that others prize; The wistful wish that, buried deep, sometimes in others lies; A word so dear that men will die with gladness for its sake; The forge at which are welded strong the ties that naught can break; A garden in the wildest waste of this world’s desert life; A spot where dwell both peace and calm amid the fiercest strife; A refuge from each storm that beats; the place in all the land Where there are souls who sympathize and hearts that understand; The rock whereon the anchors hold that keep us safe and fast When else would perish all we are and have amid the blast; The shrine before whose holy light does fondest worship come; The choicest ideal of the heart--its sacred name is HOME. The Magic Gateway (1921) I turned the cover of a book, And found it was a gate Into a field where one might look, Unwearied, soon and late. The dreams of every land and sea Were all about me there. Kind spirits came and talked with me, And flowers bloomed everywhere. I saw the years that long had sped, The wondrous scenes of yore. The mighty past gave up its dead, They lived and spoke once more. The greatest minds that ever thought, And hearts that ever beat, Came, and their richest treasures brought To lay them at my feet. Shadows v1921