A tyrant called, as tyrants used to do, An artist, skilled in form, and tint, and line. He bade him: “Paint for me a picture true Of the tomorrow of this calm of mine. Unfold for me the future’s portals wide. Unlock the gateway of the years to be. Whatever weal or woe they may betide Return again and prophesy to me.” The painter went and sought the open street. He lingered there through many a watchful day Where sons of wealth and ragged urchins meet To talk, and laugh, and sing, and dream, and play. Then once again the tyrant’s room he sought, Unveiled for him the finished task, and smiled. Lo, on the canvas he had deftly wrought The pictured features of a little child. God’s Manners (1927) If you would learn God’s manners, Fare forth some summer morn, And see the roses cover The sharpness of the thorn. See the sun shining brightly, Chasing the clouds away, And hear the words of gladness The little people say. Look at the green crops growing Up through the dewy air, And see the love and beauty Around you everywhere. No ugliness or evil Appears in sky or clod. Ask any summer morning, If you would learn of God. The Great Adventure (1927) The great adventure is not death, ’Tis life. It is to feel the pulsing round of breath, To take a place and hold it in the strife. To hope, and plan, and feel, and love, and dream, To look and climb To the far, rugged heights where visions gleam Of things sublime. Let us not live because we must, But live To feel the mighty challenge of a trust, To have a work to do, a gift to give. The pay may not be great in shining gold, But may be had Enough of satisfactions manifold To make us glad. The Heart of a Child (1927) Whatever you write on the heart of a child, No waters can wash it away. The sands may be shifted when billows are wild And the efforts of time may decay. Some stories may perish, some songs be forgot; But this ingraven record, Time changes it not. Whatever you write on the heart of a child, A story of gladness or care That Heaven has blessed, or that Earth has defiled, Will linger unchangeably there. Who writes it has sealed it forever and aye. He must answer to God on the Great Judgement Day. How It Started (1927) WHEN Thales of Miletus Went to the store one day And bought a bit of amber, In a real human way He got a piece of woolen To rub it up a bit, And lo, the lint and dust grains Were drawn at once to it. “Ha,” said old Thales, “’tis certain, A man half blind could see, This friction has begotten Some unseen energy.” To-day that power is doing The labor of the earth. How much were Thales’s amber And piece of woolen worth? In Conference (1927) JOHN JONES was head executive of a big city firm, And countless times had set his heel on some poor human worm. His office force was duly trained. Each knew just what to do To turn the nonelect away, and let the chosen through.