Little of riches have I known, Little perhaps deserve; But I’ve a land to call my own, A people I can serve. A country that’s as broad and fair, As any on the ball; With happy people everywhere-- An equal chance for all. A Parents’ Prayer v1922 God bless our little ones tonight, Our little ones--and thine. Protect their slumber by thy might. Grant them thy peace divine. Help us no duty to forget We owe to them or thee, And leave us nothing to regret In years that are to be. God, bless our little ones tonight, Our little ones--and thine. Help us to rear them true, and right, And clean, and strong, and fine. Lead them in ways more beautiful Than we have ever seen, And make them each more dutiful Than we have ever been. Patchwork (1922) A bit of cloud and a bit of blue Make the wide and mighty sky. A touch of drought with the rain and dew Make the seasons passing by. A bit of black and a bit of white On the canvas make the scene. A bit of shade and a gleam of light Make the drama on the screen. A bit of toil and a bit of rest Make our winding human way. The rosy East and the flaming West Make the glory of a day. A bit of hope and a bit of fear Make the heart’s eternal strife. A song of joy and a falling tear Make the daily round of life. A Perfect Day (1922) A PERFECT day is made of perfect hours, And perfect hours of perfect moments run. Of blessings realized and gathered flowers Between the rising and the set of sun. Soon they are gone. Swiftly the light that played On crests of gladness all has passed away. Dawn turns to Noon. Noon dies to Evening’s shade. Each at its best helps make a perfect day. A perfect day is in the reach of all Who will but fill each moment to the full With joy, and meaning, thought, and dream, and all That makes life deep, and rich, and wonderful. It is within the reach of all who hold The will to serve, and laugh, and sing, an play Until the sunset covers all with gold, And darkness falls upon a perfect day. Picture Books (1922) THEY are long gone, those pleasant hours, When we as girls and boys Turned from our play among the flowers, From all our painted toys, To turn the leaves of picture books, To live with lords, and kings, Swineherds, and chimney sweeps, and cooks, Soldiers, and such like things. How still they stood! From day to day No figure ever stirred. The armies never marched away, Nor ever spoke a word. Now soldiers march with fife and drum. Men move in every scene. The picture books of old have come To life upon the screen. Picture Writing (1922) Of old our fathers wrote in pictures. ’Twas in an age of savage men. The years have rolled a mighty cycle, And we’ve got round to it again. They carved their story on the mountain Where it for ages might be seen. We write ours on a filmy ribbon, And throw it on a silver screen.