All We Are Asked To Bear We

The Child In Us Is Always There, You Know, And It's The Best Part Of Us, The Winged Part That Travels Farthest.

...the Simple Little Words Came Easily, Fitting Themselves To The Tune That Had Come Out Of The Harpsichord. It Didn't Seem To Her That She Made Them Up At All. It Seemed To Her That They Flew In From The Rose-garden, Through The Open Window, Like A Lot Of Butterflies, Poised Themselves On The Point Of Her Pen, And Fell Off It On To The Paper.

...there Began To Come To Her A First Dim Realization Of God's Humility. Rejected By The Proud In His Own Right By What Humble Means He Chose To Succor Them; Through The Spirit Of A Child, A Poor Gypsy Or An Old Man, By A Song Perhaps, Or Even It Might Be By The Fall Of A Leaf Or The Scent Of A Flower. For His Infinite And Humble Patience Nothing Was Too Small To Advance His Purpose Of Salvation And Eternity Was Not Too Long For Its Accomplishment.

There Was A Good Deal To Be Said, Hilary Decided, For Middle Age And Infirmity. The Years In Which One Demanded Much Of Life Were Left Behind, Together With The Bitterness Of Not Getting What One Wanted. One's Values, Too, Were Altered. Gifts That Once One Took For Granted, Sunshine And Birdsong, Freedom From Pain, Sleep And One's Daily Bread, Seemed Now So Extraordinarily Precious.

In A World Where Thrushes Sing And Willow Trees Are Golden In The Spring, Boredom Should Have Been Included Among The Seven Deadly Sins.