the skies are a trifle bluer,
Out where friendship's a little truer,
That's where the West begins.
Out where a fresher breeze is blowing,
Where there is laughter in every streamlet flowing,
Where there's more of reaping and less of sowing,
That's where the West begins.

Out where the world is in the making,
Where fewer hearts with despair are aching;
That's where the West begins.
Where there is more of singing and less of sighing,
Where there is more of giving and less of buying,
And a man makes friends without half trying--
That's where the West begins.

_Arthur Chapman._

The Tapestry Weavers

Let us take to our hearts a lesson--no lesson can braver be--
From the ways of the tapestry weavers on the other side of the sea.
Above their heads the pattern hangs, they study it with care,
The while their fingers deftly move, their eyes are fastened there.

They tell this curious thing, besides, of the patient, plodding weaver:
He works on the wrong side evermore, but works for the right side ever.
It is only when the weaving stops, and the web is loosed and turned,
That he sees his real handiwork--that his marvelous skill is learned.

Ah, the sight of its delicate beauty, how it pays him for all his cost!
No rarer, daintier work than his was ever done by the frost.
Then the master bringeth him golden hire, and giveth him praise as well,
And how happy the heart of the weaver is, no tongue but his can tell.

The years of man are the looms of God, let down from the place of the sun,
Wherein we are weaving ever, till the mystic web is done.
Weaving blindly but weaving surely each for himself his fate--
We may not see how the right side looks, we can only weave and wait.

But, looking above for the pattern, no weaver hath to fear;
Only let him look clear into heaven, the Perfect Pattern is there.
If he keeps the face of the Savior forever and always in sight
His toil shall be sweeter than honey, his weaving sure to be right.

And when the work is ended, and the web is turned and shown,
He shall hear the voice of the Master, it shall say unto him, "Well done!"
And the white-winged Angels of Heaven, to bear him shall come down;
And God shall give him gold for his hire--not a coin--but a glowing crown.

When the Teacher Gets Cross

When the teacher gets cross, and her blue eyes gets black,
And the pencil comes down on the desk with a whack,
We chillen all sit up straight in a line,
As i