Could something only make today As lovely as tomorrow, As free from care and shadows gray, As void of tears and sorrow, The world would be a perfect place, Without a woe to blight it. Earth would be rich in every grace, With happiness to light it. Yet day is day, and life is life. Time e’er repeats its story. Each morning brings its toil and strife, Likewise its gleam of glory. Each brings its mingled shine and shade, Its mingled joy and sorrow, For each today God ever made Was wrought from a tomorrow. The Tree (1924) It stood upon a meadow fair, A green and leafy tree. Gaily it met the breezes there, Lovely it was to see. One night a storm of wind and rain Rent it from earth apart. The reason then was very plain. Decay was at its heart. He was a youth of promise fine, The strongest of the crowd. His features wore the stamp divine, His eye was clear and proud. He could have lived to purpose high And played a noble part. But no, he fell. The reason why? Decay was at his heart. The Unknown Soldier (1924) The guns are silent in the valley now. The river creeps serenely on its way. Still clings the ivy to the rugged brow; Of yonder hill, and roses grace the day. No grave was heaped. No word of prayer was said. No stone was reared against the pitying sky. None ever knew where rests the silent dead As unrevealing years go drifting by. And yet he is not lost. This quiet sod; Can rest him quite as well as anywhere, Beneath the gentle, sleepless eye of God, Whose robins sing for him when Spring is fair. His life is wrought into the victory. Glory is his. He need not urge his claim. He lives on in the better age to be, Though sleeping in a grave without a name. What Does It Matter? (1924) What does it matter if here or there Is a strand of joy or a thread of care, If when the web has been finished all The final pattern is beautiful? The One who weaves on the world’s great loom Must make His fabric of shine and gloom. It takes the gold and the somber hue To make it lovely when He is through. What does it matter if there or here Is a song of joy or a falling tear, If at the hour of the setting sun A lovely product is held forth done? The One who orders the passing hours With ceaseless cycle of sun and showers Fashions the color and rare design Of a growing tapestry divine. Why We Are Here (1924) OUR minds were made to search the deeps Of Truth’s clear-flowing stream; Our feet to scale the rugged steeps Of faith and hope and dream; Our hands to toil and serve and lift, To help and heal and bless; Our hearts to bring the priceless gift Of love and tenderness. Our lives were made to struggle on, The upward path to plod; Our souls to catch the glint of dawn From the white throne of God; Our lips the helpful word to speak, The tender song to sing; Our eyes to search the world and seek The good in everything.