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“A sigh to our coffins adds a nail no doubt,
And every smile so merry pulls one out.”
A great deal is being said these days about
smile clubs, and smile cures, even the preachers are
exhorting us from the pulpit to smile,the doctors are
prescribing smiles intermingled with their noxious
draughts, and the sceintists are placing laughter
and smiles along the line of love, happiness, and
life, as positive forces to balance the negative
forces of hatred, envy, and death.
Passing across the room just now, on looking up,
I beheld the reflection of a smileless face and what
is more cheerlessly sad than a human face devoid
of the light of a smile?
It cannot be compared to a sunless sky, for when
the sun withdraws from the face of the sky, there
are numberless other lights glowing there that
charm us with a forgetfulness of its absence. But
when from any cause the light of a pleasant smile
departs from a human face, no other charm is left
instead, and our hearts are chilled and shadowed as
we contemplate its cheerless outlines.
Nor yet can we compare it to a rose tree destitute
of bloom, for although no rose be coyly bending
from its stem, the glistening leaves trembling and
playing with the breezes ever remind us of hours
of joy and scenes of pleasure.
We expect our days to be beautified by the pres
ence of the sun and grumble when the needful clouds
intervene shutting out its direct rays. We expect
to find roses on our well-cared-for rose trees, bloom
ing out amid the beautiful green foliage.
We expect our dear pet birds to thrill us with rich
strains of melody, a music all their own, and we
expect the beautiful refined faces of the intellect
ual and cultured beings with whom we meet to
brighten with a smile when our eyes rest upon them
with affectionate glances, and have they the right
to disappoint us?
We are pained at heart to contemplate how
joyless some lives become; how like a coal rolled out
on our hearth, away from its glow'ng fellows, slowly
burning itself away with its heart of fire buried
beneath gray ashes, for we can liken them to
nothing in our thoughts more fit than the faces of
proud silent ones where are found no cheerful, loving
smile.
The fig tree of the scriptures upon which no fruit
was found, did not more surely wither away
than will the beauty of the face decay, ungraced
by the beam of gentle smiles. However beautifully
formed, however perfect each lineament, a prolonged
absence from them of this emotional element of
beauty will utterly spoil the finest face. But you
say: “Some have been too greatly burdened by
the rememberance of affliction or feel too sensibly
the weight of the present sorrow or so dread a
future which has no light to gladden the desolate
path that they must tread alone to have the heart
to smile.”
Well we know the heart has a great deal to do
with this matter of smiles —as heartless as are some
smiles that we meet, yet do you not think it better
for such an one to make an effort —look away from
the region of the shadows, out, up, as it were, for
the sake of the health of the countenance? We
know and understand how they cannot forget the
dear lips whose slightest touch would make their
faces wreath with a wealth of smiles, fairly blossom
like a garden and their eyes grow beautiful with
the sparkle of happy laughter. We would not have
them forget for an instant, but remember that those
lips were they not so very cold and dumb if they
could speak to us, would insist as we are doing that
they cease to seem so cheerless. We are instructed
to employ ourselves in making lights, if we cannot
build beacon fires let us kindle little altar fires
where chilling hearts may find comfort and warmth.
Surely we will not enjoy all the beauties and
blessings and loveliness of this life and deny to
those by whom we are surrounded, the pleasure of
being brightened by our smiles.
SKILLS
"By Annie Lane
The Golden Age for April 2, 1908.
“Only a smile, yet its winning light
Shines through the gloom of the darkest night.
Cheering the heart that will not forget
That one sweet smile —’tis remembered yet.”
There are those in this life with whom we
occasionally meet, whose lives seem utterly hope
less, so dark are the clouds that envelop them,
sorrow after sorrow comes to them and their hearts
are very nearly broken, yet, there is a peace so
sweet, so deep that it brings to the face of the
Christian a smile sweeter and more divine than
that which idle happiness can bring. “Utterly
hopeless.” None of us need ever be that. Sorrow
is often a better friend to us than joy. It brings
out nobler traits of character as darkness brings
out the stars.
“A broken and a contrite heart is the surest
passport to the arms of love.”
Have you ever felt utterly discouraged, utterly
desolate? If you have not, then you have not yet
attained the deepest experience that belongs to
life. You may feel thus depressed and deserted
even amid beautiful and luxurious surroundings,
but it is better to be possessed with lonely longings
and to sorrow for loss or to feel bitter repentance
than to be sunk in selfish animal content.
When you have entered into the deepest grief
and shed tears wrung from a sorely tried heart
you are nearer Christ, and nearer the source of
real, true happiness than ever before. There is a
peace of surrendered as well as of fulfilled hopes,
the peace not of satisfied but of extinguished
longings, the peace not of the happy love and the
secure fireside, but of unmurmuring and accepted
loneliness, the peace not of the heart in joyful
serenity afar from trouble and from strife, but
of the heart whose conflicts are over, and whose
hopes are buried, not the peace which brooded over
Eden, but that which crowned Gethsemane. Only
religion brings this blessed calm, this is indeed that
promised “peace that passeth understanding” and
with that blessed assurance can we not smile through
the darkest hours?
Oh, think of those who have not this peace, let
us lay aside all gloomy thoughts and cheer them
on their way!
Let us give our smiles to strangers we meet, those
who are journeying along the pathway of existence
perhaps without one ray of affection to brighten
their lives or perhaps far removed by stern force
of circumstances, from dear ones that have brighten
ed their past with sweetest smiles. To strangers,
aliens, friends and all, let us give encouraging,
hopeful, trustful, smiling greetings, and to make this
easy to do, just keep love —God’s holy love —for
your human brotherhood and sisterhood, in your
heart, remembering ever how that when we were
a stranger and enemy the Sun of Righteousness met
us and blessed us with His rich bright smile.
"Campus Verse.”
A collection of poems written at one time and an
other by students of the University of Georgia has
been made into an attractive volume issued recently
by the McGregor Press, of Athens, Georgia. The
title is “Campus Verse,” and it is in many re
spects a notable volume of college verse. The poems
are in many instances far above the average, and
the volume as a whole is one that will interest and
charm any college man; more especially those who
claim the university as alma mater.
The editors in their Foreward say: “Its com
pilers do not claim that the book contains all the
best of these verses (those published at various times
in the literary publications of the University of
Georgia), but that it does contain those worthy of
preservation. The work was undertaken simply as
a labor of love by two of the University.” The
two sons of the University are W. C. Henson, ’OB,
and A. H. Bunce, ’OB, and their work in preparing
this volume entitles them to the appreciation of their
fellow alumni everywhere.
We will be able to give a conception of the merit
of the volume by quoting the Dedication and The
Centennial Hymn:
DEDICATION.
Adown the crowding ranks of years
The long line grows. And Youth and Age
Join hands to swell the brotherhood
Os “Georgia’s sons.” Cornelia-like
Old “Georgia” points you out,
“And these my jewels are,” she says.
To you, who oft by words of cheer,
Who by your lives, your toils, your call
To great endeavor, and your fame,
Have cheered us when the road was rough,
When steep and sterile seemed the slopes
That upward to the summit lead:
To you who’ve watched, and warned, and now,
The summit gained, glad greetings give,
And welcome, fraught with tender thrill;
Tn honor of our mutual loves,
We dedicate this book of ours.
CENTENNIAL HYMN.
By D. C. Barrow, 1901.
A hundred years of toil and care
Our mother freely gave,
A hundred years of thought and prayer,
0 mother, kind and brave!
And now from all her borders wide
Old Georgia’s sons are come,
High swell their hearts with joy and pride,
And glad they gather home.
Wide swings our mother’s gate,
Hard beats her heart with love,
No king who sits in regal state,
Can such array improve.
Her stalwart sons are here in bands,
No homage do they spare,
She sees the labor of her hands,
She sees her answered prayer.
Our rock-ribbed hills forevermore
Their silent strength express,
Our wide plains yield a bounteous store,
A people rich to bless:
And Georgians love our Georgia land
From Dade to Glynn’s blue tide;
But, mother, though our land be grand,
Thy sons are Georgia’s pride.
0 God, who gave the red hills might
And spread the fertile land,
Thy word has been our mother’s light,
Her strength, Thy guiding hand.
In simple faith her sons were taught
To work and watch and pray,
To shun the paths with evil fraught,
And walk in Wisdom’s way.
He Wanted Credit.
’Edward Everett Hale,” said a lawyer, “was
one of the guests at a millionaire’s dinner. The
millionaire was a free spender, but he wanted full
credit for every dollar put out, and as the dinner
piogiessed he told his guests what the more ex
pensive dishes had cost. “This terrapin,’ he would
say, was shipped direct from Baltimore. A Balti
more cook came on to prepare it. The dish actually
cost $1 a teaspoonful.’
So he talked of the fresh peas, the hothouse
aspaiagus, the Covent Garden peaches and the
other courses. He dwelt especially on the expense
of the large and beautiful grapes, each bunch a
foot long, each grape bigger than a plum. He told
down to a penny what he had figured it out that
the giapes had cost him apiece. The guests looked
annoyed. They ate the expensive grapes charily.
But Dr. Hale, smiling, extended his plate and said:
‘Would you mind cutting me off about <51.87 worth
more, please?’ ’’—The Standard.
