Nature has no place for sadness and repining. The last leaf on the tree dances in the breezes as merrily as when it had all its lovely companions by its side, and when its hold is loosened on the branch which bares it, it joins its brothers on the ground without regret. When the seed falls into the ground and dies, it does it without a murmur, for it knows that it will rise again in new beauty. Happy indeed is the traveler on life's highway, who will read the messages God sends us every day, for they are many and their meaning is clear: the sudden flood of warm sunshine in your room on a dark and dreary afternoon; the billowy softness of the smoke plume which rises into the frosty air, and is touched into exquisite rose and gold by the morning sun; the frosted leaves which turn to crimson and gold--God's silent witnesses that sorrow, disappointment and loss may bring out the deeper beauties of the soul; the flash of a bluebird's wing as he rides gaily down the wind into the sunlit valley. All these are messages to you and me that all is well--letters from home, good comrade, letters from home! God knew that some would never look Inside a book To know His will, And so He threw a varied hue On dale and hill. He knew that some would read words wrong, And so He gave the birds their song. He put the gold in the sunset sky To show us that a day may die With greater glory than it's born, And so may we Move calmly forward to our West, Serene and blest! End of Project Gutenberg's In Times Like These, by Nellie L. McClung