WHY should we fret and worry
When clouds roll 'round apace?
Behind each one
Is the shining sun,
With love in his smiling face.
Often the seeds of sorrow,
We sowed when the storm was near,
Afar will spread,
E'er the seed be dead,
For many a weary year.
And often the words of comfort
We scattered in falling rain,
Will climb the steep
Where the angels keep
The sheaves of the ripened grain.
FLORA E. YERGIN.