Nursing Diary no1 - 5 September 1922-3 June 1923

[newspaper cutting]

BLIND Ruskin once said that "to see clearly is poetry, prophecy, religion--all in one."

Close your eyes and imagine that they will never be opened for you again. Think of the things you have missed, as well as those you've seen--the things that you would first want to see should you be permitted to see again.

Those whose sight has been taken from them are not the only blind people in the world.

You who can see and refuse to see, are worse than blind. I believe that God's first desire for this earth was that it should be beautiful, and then His next wish must have been that everyone in it should be beautiful, and then that the people in His beautiful world should look for and love beauty.

But great things, in the manner of great human beings, become commonplace just the moment that we sink into the commonplace and close our eyes to the instances of greatness and beauty all about us.

Take the rainy day, for instance. The glistening streams of sparkling water fight through space and splatter upon the walks and roofs and green grass. How fresh the leaves and flowers and all of earth as the song of rain goes on!

Perhaps there is a lessening and the raindrops give way to clouds of mist that overcast and gray the heavens and the buildings and all objects of the ground. A Whistler comes along and puts it all into beauty upon a piece of canvas--and behold, what a masterpiece! With the rich outbidding each other to possess it.

Blind--"aren't we all?" Then the next morning, when the sun begins to spread its golden rays over the top of the earth again, how could such beauty be without the rain that so many failed to unde stand in terms of beauty?

Use the eyes of your head--then open the eyes of your mind. Look about you every day. Everywhere you go, try to see something new, something beautiful.

It is possible for you to travel a thousand miles across a perfect fairyland, with only the tint of a flower upon your mind.

Will you do it--or will you just be blind?

--George Matthew Adams.

[newspaper cutting]

AUTUMN Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, With banners, by great gales incessant fann'd, Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, And stately oxen harness'd to thy wain; Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain.

Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended So long beneath the heaven's overhanging eaves; Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended; Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves; And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves.

--Longfellow

A STATUE OF HERMES IN A GROVE. Beneath this plane-tree, traveler, take thy cheer, Where gentle Zephyr rustles through the leaves; Nicagoras hath set my statue here; I Hermes am, and guard the flocks and sheaves.

Hermocreon. Translated by Walter Leaf.

[newpaper clipping]

HERE, SON, I'LL SHOW YOU HOW. I watched him bending o'er his book And smiled at his troubled look And wrinkles in his brow. The problem troubled him, I knew, And so I said, as father do, "Here, son, I'll show you how."

I've caught him many a time, I guess, Floundering about in deep distress As I had found him now, And knowing that he must be led Through tangled ways, I've always said: "Here son, I'll show you how!"

With hammer and with saw I've toiled. Rebuilt the things his hands had spoiled So that his eyes might see Just how the puzzling work was done. I've said, "I'll show you how, my son," That he might learn from me.

Not strict with him, but strict with me, My obligation is to be If rightly he shall learn. Beholding me and all I do, So will he shape his conduct, too, So will my faults return.

Some day when life is puzzling him, And sore beset by dangers grim He stands with anxious brow, God grant I may be fit to say: "Hold fast to honor through the day-- "Here, son, I'll show you how!"

--Edgar A. Guest. (Copyright, 1933, By Edgar A. Guest.)

[newspaper cutting]

AUTUMN Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, With banners, by great gales incessant fann'd, Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, And stately oxen harness'd to thy wain; Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain.

Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended So long beneath the heaven's overhanging eaves; Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended; Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves; And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves.

--Longfellow

A STATUE OF HERMES IN A GROVE. Beneath this plane-tree, traveler, take thy cheer, Where gentle Zephyr rustles through the leaves; Nicagoras hath set my statue here; I Hermes am, and guard the flocks and sheaves.

Hermocreon. Translated by Walter Leaf.

[Newspaper clipping]

The Wail of the

I walked alone in the twilight, In the city of the dead, No sound was heard save my footfall And the twittering birds o'er head.

It seemed so quiet and sacred I knew no sense of fear, But thought of the beautiful song, Oh, it's quiet down here.

The pine trees standing side by side Like soldiers in a row, They stood as tho' they were on guard O'er those who slept below.

But as the shadow deepened Then I heard other sounds, A gentle breeze began to blow Through trees and over mounds.

The pine trees seemed to sob aloud While swaying to and fro; I asked is it for the babes you weep, They sighed and answered, "No."

Why should we weep for the babes?

They bore the brunt of noon-day heat, Their battles they fought and won, They made the world a better place And have heard their Lord's "Well done."

"We weep for those who lived for self, Nor lightened another's load, Nor gave to any a helping hand Along life's weary road.

"The joy of service they never knew, Their interests were all their own, Their lives meant nothing to anyone else And now they are missed by none."

If you don't want the pines to weep, To your own self be true; Just help in every way you can And they will not weep for you

--Mary I.