  The old, old wonder of the lengthening days Is with us once again; the winter's sun, Slow sinking to the west when day is done, Each eve a little longer with us stays, And cheers the snowy landscape with his rays; Nor do we notice what he has begun Until a month or more of days have run, When we exclaim: "How long the light delays!" So let some kindly deed, however slight, Be daily done by us, that to the waste Of selfishness some light it may impart— Mayhap not noticed till we feel the night Is less within our souls, and broader-spaced Has grown the cheerful sunshine of the heart. —Samuel Francis Batchelder. |
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