To A Young Heart Everything Is Fun.

We Must Leave The Discovery Of This Mystery, Like All Others, To Time, And Accident, And Heaven's Pleasure.

It Was A Cold Hard Easterly Morning When He Latched The Garden Gate And Turned Away. The Light Snowfall Which Had Feathered His Schoolroom Windows On The Thursday, Still Lingered In The Air, And Was Falling White, While The Wind Blew Black.

Let Us Leave Our Old Friend In One Of Those Moments Of Unmixed Happiness Which, If We Seek Them, There Are Ever Some, To Cheer Our Transitory Existence Here. There Are Dark Shadows On The Earth, But Its Lights Are Stronger In The Contrast.

The Two Stand In The Fast-thinning Throng Of Victims, But They Speak As If They Were Alone. Eye To Eye, Voice To Voice, Hand To Hand, Heart To Heart, These Two Children Of The Universal Mother, Else So Wide Apart And Differing, Have Come Together On The Dark Highway, To Repair Home Together And To Rest In Her Bosom.

Perhaps Second-hand Cares, Like Second-hand Clothes, Come Easily Off And On.