For the folks — who know not the value
Of thinking of things worth while.
All that you are, or will be,
Is vested in thinking,
And it’s the thoughts worth while,
And the deeds well planned,
Which build your mansion here — and there,
So what are you thinking now — there?
Oh! the hours we spend,
And the days we spend,
In thinking no thoughts at all —
For the only thoughts — which really count —
Are the thoughts of love sent out to all,
For they are the thoughts worth while.
Yesterday-today
A Fantasy in Three Parts
Part I. — Yesterday
Little wisps of clouds I meet as I wander by the sea, — fragile as lacy petticoats that imprison the form. Useless they seem to be, but as I watch I think I see a form. Multiplying, I mistake seeming for fact, and revel in the vision they recall.
Cloudless skies — dazzling sunshine — heavy scent of flowers, and floating upon the breast of the jeweled sea, a barge — gay with silken draperies, flowers and the music of many blades cleaving the waves.
Upon a golden couch lies a softly clad nymph. Sapphire are her eyes, alabaster her arms, coral tinges her mouth and pearls gleam, as the sun warms and bathes her in its rays.
So motionless she lies that one might think it a magical statue carven by a master hand — only, in the eyes gleams a force which keeps at regular beats the play of the blades and sends the craft to the port desired.
Supporting herself on one arm, she raises high the other and points to a gleaming palace by the water’s edge, and wTith a quicker rhythm the barge sweeps over the water and reaches the landing.
It is a palace of dreams which appears to be holding within its walls the design of Aspiration.
Alighting from the barge, the nymph seems to float through the air, so lightly does she glide over the earth, and enters the palace.
In the entrance hall she hesitates and looks — from the left, where Music beckons, to the right, where Art smiles, and then stands and gazes at a closed door. It is simple in design and quite plain and ordinary compared to the rest of the palace, but unlike all the other doors, which stand open, this is tightly closed. On looking closer, over the portal can be seen in infinitesimal letters, the words Knowledge, Wisdom, Power.
In front of this door sits a figure wrapped in flowing garments. Hesitatingly, the nymph approaches, and addresses the figure in accents which are full of sweetness and yet are throbbing with will and determination.
“I would enter. Open the door for me.”
“By what right do you issue that command?” asks the custodian.
“The right of Desire. Is that not sufficient?”
“Nay! not here. The other rooms may be entered and dwelt in by that alone, but this opens its doors only to aspiration for Qualities, for it is that knowledge only which can be gained within.”
“Qualities! What are they? I tell you I will enter! You may sit there forever, if you will, but I shall pass you.”
“Gladly will I stand aside for you when you are able to give me the password which unlocks the door,” replied its keeper.
“And where shall I purchase that word? No price is beyond me.”
“There is no price. It is just a little word. Seek it diligently and you will find.”
With a gesture of disdain the nymph swept past and entered the rooms, first to the left and then to the right, and then coming again to the closed door, seated herself and said:
“I WILL enter! No matter how long I must remain. What is the use of this palace to me, if that room is closed? I will have none of it! I command you to open the door.”
But the figure remained motionless, and finally, wearying of the silence, the nymph approached and touched the sleeve of the garment — but, alas! it gave no response, for it was stone.
Part II. — Today
Lying within the embrace of many pillows was a woman, her eyes fixed upon the sea, which rolled and tumbled below her making a very symphony of sound.
Her eyes travelled slowly to the horizon, then back to the book which lay upon her lap. Picking it up she commenced to read:
“Lying within each and every soul is the seed which contains the memory of all past achievements, all past desires, like a pure crystal which reflects all within its surface. Just as the crystal will reflect blurred pictures when it is marred by ill usage, so this seed fails to give the perfect flower of knowledge when it has met with neglect To give it warmth will bring to view all its possibilities, all its loveliness.
“Make a search for that seed within you which contains all memories. Review each and every event by pouring upon it the sunshine of understanding and searching. Look within and “Know Thyself.”
At this the woman put down her book and once again her gaze wandered to the horizon and within her eyes came a gleam — gazing intently — without movement.
One watching her would have said she saw something upon that sea, which stretched before her.
With a swift movement she slips from her pillows, and with wide open eyes, exclaims:
“The door — the same one of my dreams.”
Entranced, she remains motionless until a sudden gust of wind picks up her book and flings it at her feet.
Stooping, she picks it up, and then, as her eyes scan the page, there is a sudden tenseness of the body, as she reads: —
“The key to the ‘Temple of Knowledge lies within each soul and he who seeks, from the heart, shall find. To knock imperiously will summon the guardians, but to reach the inner chamber it is necessary to enter first into the closet of your own soul.
There, in a neglected corner, will be the golden key. It will be in need of burnishing, perhaps — hidden as it has been all these years, but just a little effort will bring out its brilliancy. Take it in your hands, rever ently, for it is fragile, as well as pure, and place it next to your heart. Keep it there until you can feel the warmth radiating from it, through your entire being. Then, and then only, is it ready for use. for it is then a Master Key and can unlock any door.”
With a sudden exclamation, the book is clasped more closely, and a light of understanding breaks over her face.
“So simple! And I have searched so long! — Just love!”
Part III. — The Reaping
In the streets flags are waving and banners unfurled to the breeze, while along the edges are eager, strained faces, watching.
With a shout, the cry rings out, ‘They are coming!” and then in the distance is heard the sound of music and the tramping of many feet, all in unison.
Gradually the marchers make their way past the waiting throngs, and as they pass, each head is raised in wonderment, and then reverently bowed, for, arm in arm march the Nations of the World, — all united in a common