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Severe of face, gaunt-armed and wildly dressed,
She is not fair nor beautiful to see;
But merry April and sweet, smiling May
Come not till March has first prepared the way.

MARCH

ALike some reformer, who with mien austere,
    Neglected dress and loud insistent tones,
    More rasping than the wrongs which she bemoans,
Walks through the land and wearies all who hear,
    While yet we know the need of such reform;
    So comes unlovely March, with wind and storm,
To break the spell of winter, and set free
    The poisoned brooks and crocus beds oppressed.
    Severe of face, gaunt-armed, and wildly dressed,
She is not fair nor beautiful to see.
    But merry April and sweet smiling May
    Come not till March has first prepared the way.

Poems of Sentiment by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago, IL: W. B. Conkey Company, 1906.

1st

Thought Force

Thought Force. our spirit and mine are both part
of the stupendous cause. We have
always been, and always will be.
First in one form, then in another.
Every thought, word and deed
is helping decide your next place
in the Creator's magnificent universe. You will
be beautiful or ugly, wise or ignorant, fortunate
or unfortunate, according to what use you make
of yourself here and now.
Unselfish thoughts, training your mind to de-
sire only universal good, the cultivation of the
highest attributes, such as love, honesty, grati-
tude, faith, reverence and good will, all mean a
life of usefulness and happiness in another incar-
nation, as well as satisfaction and self-respect in
this sphere.
Even if you escape the immediate results of
the opposite course of action here, you must face
the law of cause and effect in the next state. It
is inevitable. God, the maker of all things, does
not change His laws. "As you sow you reap."
"As a man thinketh so is he." There is no "re-
venge" in God's mind. He simply makes His
laws, and we work our destinies for good or ill
according to our adherence to them or violation
of them.
Each one of us is a needed part of His great
plan. Let each soul say: "He has need of me or
I would not be. I am here to strengthen the
plan." Remember that always in your most dis-
couraged hours.
The Creator makes no mistakes.
There is a divine purpose in your being on
earth. Think of yourself as necessary to the
great design. It is an inspiring thought. And
then consider the immensity of the universe and
how accurately the Maker planned it all.
Do not associate with pessimists. If you are
unfortunate enough to be the son or daughter
husband or wife of one, put cotton (either real
or spiritual) in your ears, and shut out the poi-
son words of discouragement and despondency.
No tie of blood or law should compel you to
listen to what means discomfort and disaster to
you.
Get out and away, into the society of optim-
istic people.
Before you go, insist on saying cheerful, hope-
ful and bright things, sowing the seed, as it were,
in the mental ground behind you. But do not sit
down to see it grow.
Never feel that it is your duty to stay closely
and continously in the atmosphere of the despondent.
You might as well think it your duty to stay
in deep water with one who would not make the
least effort to swim.
Get on shore and throw out a life-line, but do
dot remain and be dragged under.
If you find any one determined to talk failure
and sickness and misfortune and disaster, walk
away.
You would not permit the dearest person on
earth to administer slow poison to you if you
knew it. Then why think it your duty to take
mental potions which paralyze your courage and
kill your ambition?
Despondency is one phase of immorality. It
is blasphemous and an insult to the Creator.
You are justified in avoiding the people who
send you from their presence with less hope and
force and strength to cope with life's problems
than when you met them.
Do what you can to change their current of
thought. But do not associate intimately with
them until they have learned to keep silent-- at
least, if they cannot speak hopefully.
Learn how to walk, how to poise your body,
how to breathe, how to hold your head, how to
focus your mind on things of universal import-
ance. Believe your tender, loving thoughts and
wishes for good to all humanity have power
to help the struggling souls of earth to rise to
higher and better conditions. No matter how
limited your sphere of action may seem to you
and how small your town appears on the map,
if you develop your mental and spiritual forces
through love thoughts you can be a power to move
the world along. Rise up and realize your strength.
Not only will you be more useful and happy, but
you will grow more beautiful and keep your
youth

Thought Force.

The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902.

2nd

RESOLVE

Build on resolve, and not upon regret,
The structure of thy future. Do not grope
Among the shadows of old sins, but let
Thine own soul's light shine on the path of hope
And dissipate the darkness. Moist no tears
Upon the blotted record of lost years,
But turn the leaf, and smile, oh, smile, to see
The fair white pages that remain for thee.

Prate not of thy repentance. But believe
The spark divine dwells in thee: let it grow.
That which the upreaching spirit can achieve
The grand and all creative forces know;
They will assist and strengthen as the light
Lifts up the acorn to the oak-tree's height.
Thou hast but to resolve, and lo! God's whole
Great universe shall fortify thy soul.

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917.

3rd

THE CREED TO BE

Our thoughts are molding unmade spheres,
And, like a blessing or a curse,
They thunder down the formless years,
And ring throughout the universe.

We build our futures, by the shape
Of our desires, and not by acts.
There is no pathway of escape;
No priest-made creeds can alter fac[ts.]

Salvation is not begged or bought;
Too long this selfish hope sufficed;
Too long man reeked with lawless thought,
And leaned upon a tortured Christ.

Like shriveled leaves, these worn out creeds
Are dropping from Religion's tree;
The world begins to know its needs,
And souls are crying to be free.

Free from the load of fear and grief,
Man fashioned in an ignorant age;
Free from the ache of unbelief
He fled to in rebellious rage.

No church can bind him to the things
That fed the first crude souls, evolved;
For, mounting up on daring wings,
He questions mysteries all unsolved.

Above the chant of priests, above
The blatant voice of braying doubt,
He hears the still, small voice of Love,
Which sends its simple message out.

And clearer, sweeter, day by day,
Its mandate echoes from the skies,
"Go roll the stone of self away,
And let the Christ within thee rise."

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902.

4th

Optimism

ot long ago I read the following
gloomy bit of pessimism from the
pen of a man bright enough to
know better than to add to the
mental malaria of the world. He
said:

Life is a hopeless battle in which we are fore-
doomed to defeat. And the prize for which we
strive "to have and to hold" what is it? A
thing that is neither enjoyed while had, nor
missed when lost. So worthless it is, so unsatis-
fying, so inadequate to purpose, so false to hope
compensation we set up fantastic faiths of an
aftertime in a better world from which no con-
firming whisper has ever reached us out of the
void. Heaven is a prophecy uttered by the lips
of despair, but Hell is an inference from history.

This is morbid and unwholesome talk which
can do no human being any good to utter, or
listen to.
But it can depress and discourage the weak
and struggling souls, who are striving to make
the best of circumstances, and it can nerve to
suicide the hand of some half-crazed being, who
needed only a word of encouragement and cheer
to brace up and win the race.
This is the unpardonable sin--to talk dis-
couragingly to human souls, hungering for hope.
When the man without brains does it, he can
be pardoned for knowing no better.
When the man with brains does it, he should
be ashamed to look his fellow mortals in the
eyes.
It is a sin ten times deeper dyed than giving
a stone to those who ask for bread.
It is giving poison to those who plead for a
cup of cold water.
Fortunately the remarks above quoted con-
tain not one atom of truth!
The writer may speak for himself, but he has
no right to speak for others.
It is all very well for a man who is marked
with smallpox to say his face has not one
unscarred inch on the surface of it. But he say there is
not a face in the world which is free from small-
pox scars.
Life is not "a hopeless battle in which we
are doomed to defeat."
Life is a glorious privilege, and we can make
anything we choose of it, if we begin early and
are in deep earnest, and realize our own divine
powers.
Nothing can hinder us or stay us. We can
do and be whatsoever we will.
The prize of life is not "a thing which is
neither enjoyed while had nor missed when lost."
It is enjoyed by millions of souls to-day-- this
great prize of life. I for one declare that for
every day of misery in my existence I have had a
week of joy and happiness. For every hour of
pain, I have had a day of pleasure. For every
moment of worry, an hour of content.
I cannot be the only soul so endowed with the
appreciation of life! I know scores of happy
people who enjoy the many delights of earth,
and there are thousands whom I do not know.
Of course "life is not missed when lost"--
because it is never lost. It is indestructible.
Life ever was, and ever will be. It is a
continuous performance.
It is not "worthless" to the wholesome, normal
mind. It is full of interest, and rich with oppor-
tunities for usefulness.
When any man says his life is worthless, it is
because he has eyes and sees not, and ears and
hears not.
It is his own fault, not the fault of God, fate
or accident.
If every life seems at times "unsatisfactory"
and "inadequate" it is only due to the cry of the
immortal soul longing for larger opportunities
and fewer limitations.
Neither is life "false to hope." He who
trusts the divine Source of Life, shall find his
hopes more than realized here upon earth. I but
voice the knowledge of thousands of souls, when
I make this assertion. I know whereof I speak.
All that our dearest hopes desire will come to
us, if we believe in ourselves as rightful heirs to
Divine Opulence, and work and think always on
those lines.
If "no whisper has ever reached us out of the
void" confirming our faith in immortality, then
one-third of the seemingly intelligent and sane
beings of our acquaintance must be fools or liars.
For we have the assertion of fully this number
that such whispers have come, besides the
Biblical statistics of numerous messages from the
other realm. "As it was in the beginning, is now
and shall be ever more, world without end, Amen."

The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902

5th

Eternity

o you know what a wonderfully com-
plicated thing a human being is?
Every feature, every portion of your
body, every motion you make
reflects your mental organization.
I know a woman past middle
life who has always been on the opposite side of
every question discussed in her presence.
She was agnostic with the orthodox, reverential
with atheists, liberal with the narrow, bigoted
with the liberal.
Whatever belief any one expressed on any
subject, she invariable took the other extreme.
She loved to disagree with her fellow-men. It
was her pastime.
Now, to walk with that woman in silence is
merely to carry on a wordless argument.
You cannot regulate your steps so they will
harmonize with hers. She will be just ahead
or just behind you, and if you want to turn to
the left, she pulls to the right. A promenade
with her is more exhausting than a day's labor.
She is not conscious of it, and would think
anyone very unreasonable and unjust who told
her of her peculiarities.
I know a woman who all her life has been
looking afar for happiness and peace and content,
and has never found any of them, because she did
not look in her own soul.
She was a restless girl, and she married, believ-
ing in domestic life lay the goal of her dreams.
But she was not happy there, and sighed for
freedom. She wanted to move, and did move,
once, twice, thrice, to different points of the
United States. She was discontented with each
change. She is to-day possessed of all comforts
and luxuries which life can afford, yet she is the
same restless soul. She likes to read, but it is
always the book which she does not possess which
she craves. If she is in the library with shelves
book-filled, she goes into the garret and hunts in
old boxes for a book or a paper which has been
cast aside.
If she is in a picture gallery, she wants to go
to the window and look out on the street, but
when she is on the street it bores her, and she
longs to go in the house.
If a member of the family is absent, she gets
no enjoyment out of the society of those at home;
yet when that absent one returns her mind strays
elsewhere, seeking some imagined happiness not
found here.
I wonder if such souls ever find it, even in the
spirit realm, or if they go on there seeking and
always seeking something just beyond. It is a
great gift to learn to enjoy the present--to get
all there is out of it, and to think of to-day as a
piece of eternity. Begin now to teach yourself
this great art if you have not thought of it
before. To be able to enjoy heaven, one must
learn first to enjoy earth

The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902.

6th

Let the God in thee rise and say
To adverse circumstance, "Obey,"
And thy dear wish shall have its way.
Thy Wish.

7th

LOVE IS ALL!

Let Labor boldly walk abroad
And take its place with kings,
For who has labored more than God,
The maker of all things?

The time has come, aye, even now it is,
To rank that parable in Genesis
Of God's great curse of labor placed on man,
With other fairy tales. Why, He began
All work Himself! He was so full of force
He flung the solar systems on their course
And builded worlds on worlds; and, not content,
He labors still: when mighty suns are spent,
He forges on His white-hot anvil--space--
New stars to tell His glory and His grace.

Who most achieves is most like God, I hold;
The idler is the black sheep in the fold.

Not for the hardened toiler with the hoe
My tears of sorrow and compassion flow.
Though he be dull, unlettered and not fair
To look upon; tho' he is bowed with care,
Yet in his heart if dear love fold its wings,
He stands a monarch over unloved kings.

One sorrow only in God's world has birth--
To live unloving and unloved on earth;
One joy alone makes life a part of heaven--
The joy of happy love, received and given.

Down through the chaos of our human laws
Love shines supreme, the great Eternal Cause.
God loved so much His thoughts burst into flame,
And from that sacred source Creation came.
The heart which feels this holy light within
Finds God and man and beast and bird its kin.
All class distinctions fade and disappear.
Death is new life, and heaven he sees a-near.
Brother is he to "ox" and "seraphim,"
"Slave to the wheel," mayhap, yet kings to him,
And millionaires, seem paupers, if from them
Life has withheld its luminous great gem.
Or if his badge be sceptre, hoe or hod,
That man is king who knows that love is God.

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902

8th

HERE AND NOW

Here, in the heart of the world,
Here, in the noise and the din,
Here, where our spirits were hurled
To battle with sorrow and sin,
This is the place and the spot
For knowledge of infinite things;
This is the kingdom where Thought
Can conquer the prowess of kings.

Wait for no heavenly life,
Seek for no temple alone;
Here, in the midst of the strife,
Know what the sages have known.
See what the Perfect Ones saw--
God in the depth of each soul,
God as the light and the law,
God as beginning and goal.

Earth is one chamber of Heaven,
Death is no grander than birth.
Joy in the life that was given,
Strive for perfection on earth.
Here, in the turmoil and roar,
Show what it is to be calm;
Show how the spirit can soar
And bring back its healing and balm.

Stand not aloof nor apart,
Plunge in the thick of the fight.
There in the street and the mart,
That is the place to do right.
Not in some cloister or cave,
Not in some kingdom above,
Here, on this side of the grave,
Here, should we labor and love

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902

9th

The Philosophy of Happiness

here are natures born to happiness
just as there are born musicians,
mechanics and mathematicians.
They are usually children who
came into life under right pre-natal
conditions. That is, children con-
ceived and born in love.
The mother who thanks God for the little life
she is about to bring to earth, gives her child a
more blesses endowment than if it were heir to
a kingdom or fortune.
As the majority of people, however, born
under "civilized" conditions, are unwelcome to
their mothers, it is rarely we encounter one who
has a birthright of happiness.
Youth possesses a certain buoyancy and ex-
hileration which passes for happiness, until the
real disposition of the individual asserts itself
with the passing of time.
Good health and strong vitality are great aids
to happiness; yet that they, wealth and honors
added, do not produce that much desired state
of mind we have but to look about us to observe.
One who is not born a musician needs to toil
more assiduously to acquire skill in the art, how-
ever strong his desire or great his taster, than the
natural genius.
So the man not endowed with joyous im-
pulses needs to set himself the task of acquiring
the habit of happiness. I believe it can be done.
To the sad or restless or discontented being I
would say: Begin each morning by resolving to
find something in the day to enjoy. Look in each
experience which comes to you for some grain of
happiness. You will be surprised to find how
much that has seemed hopelessly disagreeable
possesses either an instructive or an amusing
side.
There is a certain happiness to be found in
the most disagreeable duty when you stop to
realize that you are getting it out of the way.
If it is one of those duties which has the un-
comfortable habit of repeating itself continually,
you can at least say you are learning patience
and perseverance, which are two great virtues
and essential to any permanent happiness in life.
Do not anticipate the happiness of to-morrow,
but discover it in to-day. Unless you are in the
profound depths of some great sorrow, you will
find it if you look for it.
Think of yourself each morning as an explorer
in a new realm. I know a man whose time is
gold, and he carefully arranged his plans to take
three hours for a certain pleasure. He lost his
way and missed his pleasure, but was full of exu-
berant delight over his "new experience." "I
missed my whole life." He was a true philos-
opher and optimist and such a man gets the very
kernel out of the nut of life.
I know a woman who had since her birth
every material blessing, health, wealth, position,
travel and a luxurious home. She was forever
complaining of the cares and responsibilities of
the latter. Finally she prevailed upon the family
to rent the home for a series of years and to live
in hotels. Now she goes about posing as a mar-
tyr, " a homeless woman." It is impossible for
such a selfishly perverted nature to know happi-
ness.
A child should be taught from its earliest life
to find entertainment in every kind of condition
or weather. If it hears its elders cursing and
bemoaning a rainy day the child's plastic mind
is quick to receive the impression that a rainy
day is a disaster.
How much better to expatriate in its presence
on the blessing of rain, and to teach it the
enjoyment of all nature's varying moods, which
other young animals feel.
Happiness must come from within in order to
respond to that which comes from without, just
as there must be a musical ear or temperament
to enjoy music.
Cultivate happiness as an art or science

The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902.

10th

MISTAKES

God sent us here to make mistakes.
To strive, to fail, to re-begin.
To taste the tempting fruit of sin,
And find what bitter food it makes.

To miss the path, to go astray,
To wander blindly in the night.
But searching, praying for the light,
Until at last we find the way.

And looking back along the past
We know we needed all the strain
Of fear and doubt and strife and pain
To make us value peace, at last.

Who fails, finds later triumph sweet.
Who stumbles once, walks then with care,
And knows the place to cry "Beware"
To other unaccustomed feet.

Through strife the slumbering soul awakes,
We learn on errors troubled route
The truths we could not prize without
The sorrow of our sad mistakes

Poems of sentiment by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago, IL : W. B. Conkey Company, c1906

11th

I WILL BE WORTHY OF IT

I may not reach the heights I seek,
My untried strength may fail me;
Or, half-way up the mountain peak
Fierce tempests may assail me.
But though that place I never gain,
Herein lies comfort for my pain---
I will be worthy of it.

I may not triumph in success,
Despite my earnest labour;
I may not grasp results that bless
The efforts of my neighbour.
But though my goal I never see,
This thought shall always dwell with me---
I will be worthy of it.

The golden glory of Love's light
May never fall on my way;
My path may always lead through night,
Like some deserted byway.
But though life's dearest joy I miss
There lies a nameless strength in this---
I will be worthy of it

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917.

12th

That Mental Chisel

uring a trolley ride through a thrifty
New England locality, where church
spires were almost as plentiful as
trees, I studied the faces of the
people who came into the car dur-
ing my two hours' journey.
The day was beautiful, and all along the route
our numbers were recruited by bevies of women,
young, middle aged and old, who were bent on
shopping expeditions or setting forth to make
social calls.
They went and came at each village through
which our coach of democracy passed, and they
represented all classes.
The young girls were lovely, as young girls
are the world over: their complexion possessed
that soft tender luster, peculiar to seashore
localities, for the salty breath of Father Neptune
is the greatest of cosmetics. Many of the young
faces were formed in classic mold, their features
clearly cut and refined, and severe, like the
thoughts and principles of their ancestors.
Often I observed a mother and some female
relative, presumably an aunt, in company with
a young relative; and always the sharpening
and withering process of the years of set and
unelastic thought was discernible upon their
faces, which had once been young, and classic
and attractive.
In the entire two hours I saw but three
lovely faces which were matured by time.
I saw scores of well-dressed and evidently
well-cared-for women of middle age, whose
countenances were furrowed, drawn, pinched,
sallow, and worn, beyond excuse; for time, sor-
row, and sickness are not plausible excuses for
such ravages upon a face God drew in lines of
beauty.
Time should mature a woman's beauty as it
does that of a tree. Sorrow should glorify it as
does the frost the tree, and sickness should not
be allowed to lay a lingering touch upon it, until
death calls the spirit away.
Without question the great majority of the
women I saw were earnest orthodox Christians.
I heard snatches of conversation regarding
Church and Charities and I have no doubt that
each woman among them believed herself to be
a disciple of Christ.
Yet where was the result of the loving, tender,
sweet spirit of Christ's teaching?
It surely was not visible upon those pinched
and worried faces? and those faces were certain
and truthful chronicles of the work done by
the minds within.
One face said to me in every line, "I talk
about God's goodness and loving-kindness, but I
worry over the dust in the spare room, I fret
about our expenses, I am troubled about my
lungs, and I fear my husband has an unregener-
ate heart. I never know an hour's peace, for
even in my sleep, I worry, worry, worry, but of
course I know I will be saved by the blood of
Christ!"
Another said, "I am in God's fold, well and
safe, but I hate and despise my nearest neighbor,
for she wears clothes that I am sure she cannot
pay for, and her children are always dressed
better than mine. I quarrel with my domestics,
and am always in trouble of some kind, just
because human beings are so full of sin and no
one but myself is ever right. I shall be so glad
to leave this world of woe and go to heaven, but
I hope I will not meet many of my present
acquaintances there!"
Another said, "If I only had good health--
but I was born to sickness and suffering, and it
is God's will that I should suffer!"
Oh the pity of it, and to imagine this is
religion!
Thank God the wave of "New Thought" is
sweeping over the land, and washing away those
old blasphemous errors of mistaken creeds.
The New Thought" is to give us a new
race of beautiful middle-aged and old people.
To-day in any part of the land among rich,
poor, ignorant or intellectual, orthodox or mater-
ialists the beautiful mature face is rarer than a
white blackbird in the woods.
It is impossible to be plain, ugly, or uninter-
esting in late life, if the mind keeps itself occu-
pied with right thinking.
The withered and drawn face of fifty indi-
cates withered emotions and drawn and perverted
ambitions.
The dried and sallow face tells its story of
dried up sympathies and hopes.
The furrowed face tells of acid cares eating
into the heart.
All this is irreligious! yet all this prevails
extensively in our most conservative and churchy
communities.
He who in truth trusts God cannot worry.
He who loves God and mankind, cannot
become dried and withered at fifty, for love will
re-create his blood, and renew the fires of his
eye.
He who understands his own divine nature
will grow more beautiful with the passing of
time, for the God within will become each year
more visible.
The really reverent soul accepts its sorrows
as blessings in disguise, and he who so accepts
them is beautiful and glorified by them, within
and without.
Are you growing more attractive as you
advance in life? Is your eye softer and deeper,
is your mouth kinder, your expression more
sympathetic, or are you screwing up your face
in tense knots of worry? Are your eyes growing
hopeless and dull, is your mouth drooping at the
corners, and becoming a set thin line in the
centre, and is your skin dry, and sallow, and
parched?
Study yourself and answer these questions to
your own soul, for in the answer depends the
decision whether you really love and trust God,
and believe in your own immortal spirit, or
whether you are a mere impostor in the court of
faith

The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902

13th

The Object of Life

hat do you believe to be the object
of your life?
To be happy and successful, per-
haps you are thinking, even if you
do not answer in those words.
That is the idea of the many.
Meanwhile others, who have been educated in the
melancholy faith of their ancestors, believe the
object of this life is to be miserable, poor, and
full of sorrow, that they may wear a crown of
glory hereafter.
But the clear thinker and careful observer
must realize that there is one and only one main
object in life-- the building of character .
He who sets out in early youth with that
ambition and purpose, and keeps to it, will not
only attain his object, but he will, too, attain
happiness and true success--for there is no such
thing as failure for the man or woman of char-
acter.
We often apply the two words character and
success, unworthily.
We speak of a man of "much character"
when he is merely self-assertive and stubborn,
and we call a man successful, who has accumu-
lated a fortune, or achieved fame and a position,
by doubtful methods.
Then what is character, and what is success?
Character is the result of the cultivation of
the highest and noblest qualities in human
nature, and putting those qualities to practical
use.
Success is the conquest of the lower and baser
self, and the ability to be useful to one's fellow
men.
There are men of brain, wealth and position
who are failures, and there are men of limited
abilities and in humble places who are yet suc-
cessful, inasmuch as they make the utmost of
themselves, and their opportunities.
It makes no difference how lowly your sphere
in life may be, and no matter how limited your
environment, you can build your character if
you will. You need no outlay of money, no
assistance from those in power, no influence.
Character Building must be done alone, and
by yourself. The ground must be cleansed of
debris, and the structure must be erected stone
by stone.
It is dull, slow, hard work, especially the
preparation.
All preparation is drudgery.
When this little whirling globe of ours began
to cool in space think what a task lay before it!
Think of the mass of chaos, which had to slowly
shape itself into mighty, green, glad and snow-
capped mountains, fertile vales, and noble forests.
Each one of us is a little world, whirling
alone on an individual orbit, but the divine
power is within us, to grow into symmetry,
beauty, and perfection if we only realize it.
And the happiness of the work, once we begin
it, is beyond the power of description.
There is no other satisfaction can compare
with that of looking back across the years and
finding that you have grown in self-control, in
charity of judgment, in a sense of justice, in gen-
erosity, and in unselfishness.
If you are conscious of this growth, let no lack
of material success for one moment disturb you.
That will come, enough for your need, in time.
The man of symmetrically developed charac-
ter is never a pauper.
He is never dependent for more than a tem-
porary period.
To possess character is to be useful, and to
be useful is to be independent, and to be useful
and independent, is to be happy, even in the
midst of sorrow; for sorrow is not necessarily
unhappiness.
The man who has made the development of
a noble and harmonious character the business
of his life, accepts his sorrows as means of greater
growth, and finds in them an exaltation of spirit
which is closely allied to happiness.
To such a nature, absolute wretchedness
would only be possible through the loss of self-
respect; the lowering of an ideal or the failure
of a principle.
Would you be happy and successful? Then
set yourself to build character .
Seek to be worthy of your own highest com-
mendation

The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902.

14th

Obstacles.

owever great the obstacles between
you and your goal may be or have
been, do not lay the blame of your
failure upon them.
Other people have succeeded in
overcoming just as great obstacles.
Remove such hindrances from the path for
others, if you can, or tell them a way to go
around. Even lead them a little distance and
cheer them on.
But so far as you yourself are concerned, do
not stop to excuse any delinquency or half-
heartedness or defeat by the plea of circumstance
or environment.
The great nature makes its own environ-
ment, and dominates circumstance.
It all depends upon the amount of force in
your own soul.
While you apply this rule to yourself and
make no scapegoat of "fate," you must have
consideration for the weakness of others, and
you must try and better the conditions of the
world as you go along.
You are robust and possessed of all your
limbs. You can mount over the great boulder
which has fallen in the road to success, and go
on your way to your goal all the stronger for
the experience.
But behind you comes a one-legged man--
a blind man--a man bowed to the earth with
a heavy burden, which he cannot lay down.
It will require weeks, months, years of effort
on their part to climb over that rock which you
surmounted in a few hours.
So it is right and just for you to call other
strong ones to your aid and roll the boulder
away or blast it out of the path.
That is just exactly the way you should think
of the present industrial conditions.
In spite of them, the strong, well-poised,
earnest and determined soul can reach any
desired success.
But there are boulders in the road which do
not belong there, boulders which cause hun-
dreds of the pilgrims who are lame or blind or
burdened, to fall by the wayside and perish.
It is your duty to aid in removing these
obstacles and in making the road a safe and clear
thoroughfare for all who journey.
Do not sit down by the roadside and say you
have been hindered by these difficulties, that is
to confess yourself weak.
Do not mount over them and rush to your
goal and say coldly to the throngs behind you,
"Oh, everybody can climb over that rock who
really tries--didn't I?" That is to announce
yourself selfish and unsympathetic.
No doubt the lame, the blind and the
burdened could attain the goal despite the rocks
if they were fired by a consciousness of the
divine force within them; that consciousness
can achieve all things under all circumstances.
But there will always be thousands of pil-
grims toiling wearily toward the goal who have
not come to this realization.
If there are unjust, unfair and unkind re-
strictions placed about them, see to it that you
do all in your power to right what is wrong.
But never wait to attain your own success
because of these restrictions or obstacles.
Believe absolutely in your own God-given
power to overcome anything and everything.
Think of yourself as performing miracles
with God's aid.
Desire success so intensely that you attract
it as the magnet attracts the steel.
Help to adjust things as you go along, but
never for a moment believe that the lack of
adjustment can cause you to fail.

The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902

15th

MY HERITAGE
I into life so full of love was sent,
That all the shadows which fall on the way
Of every human being, could not stay,
But fled before the light my spirit lent.

I saw the world through gold and crimson dyes:
Men sighed, and said, "Those rosy hues will fade
As you pass on into the glare and shade!"
Still beautiful the way seems to mine eyes.

They said, "You are too jubilant and glad;
The world is full of sorrow and of wrong.
For soon your lips shall breathe forth sighs---not song!"
The day wears on, and yet I am not sad.

They said, "You love too largely, and you must
Through wound on wound, grow bitter to your kind."
They were false prophets; day by day I find
More cause for love, and less cause for distrust.

They said, "Too free you give your soul's rare wine;
The world will quaff, but it will not repay."
Yet into the emptied flagons, day by day,
True hearts pour back a nectar as divine.

Thy heritage! Is it not love's estate?
Look to it, then, and keep its soil well tilled.
I hold that my best wishes are fulfilled
Because I love so much, and cannot hate.

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917

16th

SHRINES

About a holy shrine or sacred place
Where many hearts have bowed in earnest prayer,
The loveliest spirits congregate from space,
And bring their sweet uplifting influence there.

If in your chamber you pray oft and well,
Soon will these angel messengers arrive
And make their home with you, and where they dwell
All worthy toil and purposes shall thrive.

I know a humble plainly furnished room,
So thronged with presences serene and bright,
The heaviest heart therein forgets its gloom
As in some gorgeous temple filled with light.

Those heavenly spirits, beauteous and divine,
Live only in an atmosphere of prayer;
Make for yourself a sacred, fervent shrine,
And you will find them swiftly flocking there.

Poems of sentiment by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago, IL : W. B. Conkey Company, c1906

17th

LISTEN!

Whoever you are as you read this,
Whatever your trouble or grief,
I want you to know and to heed this:
The day draweth near with relief.

No sorrow, no woe is unending,
Though heaven seems voiceless and dumb;
So sure as your cry is ascending,
So surely an answer will come.

Whatever temptation is near you,
Whose eyes on this simple verse fall;
Remember good angels will hear you
And help you to stand, if you call.

Though stunned with despair, I beseech you,
Whatever your losses, your need,
Believe, when these printed words reach you,
Believe you were born to succeed.

You are stronger, I tell you, this minute,
Than any unfortunate fate!
And the coveted prize---you can win it;
While life lasts 'tis never too late!

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917

18th FLOODS

In the dark night, from sweet refreshing sleep
I wake to hear outside my window-pane
The uncurbed fury of the wild spring rain,
And weird winds lashing the defiant deep,
And roar of floods that gather strength, and leap
Down dizzy, wreck-strewn channels to the main.
I turn upon my pillow, and again
Compose myself for slumber.
Let them sweep;
I once survived great floods, and do not fear,
Though ominous planets congregate, and seem
To foretell strange disasters.

From a dream---
Ah! dear God! such a dream!---I woke to hear,
Through the dense shadows lit by no stars' gleam,
The rush of mighty waters on my ear.
Helpless, afraid, and all alone, I lay;
The floods had come upon me unaware.

I heard the crash of structures that were fair;
The bridges of fond hopes were swept away
By great salt waves of sorrow. In dismay
I saw by the red lightning's lurid glare
That on the rock-bound island of despair
I had been cast. Till the dim dawn of day

I heard my castles falling, and the roll
Of angry billows bearing to the sea
The broken timbers of my very soul.
Were all the pent-up waters from the whole
Stupendous solar system to break free,
There are no floods now that can frighten me.

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wh

19th

THIS TOO SHALL PASS AWAY

A mighty monarch in the days of old
Made offer of high honour, wealth and gold,

To one who should produce in form concise
A motto for his guidance, terse yet wise---

A precept, soothing in his hours forlorn,
Yet one that in his prosperous days would warn.

Many the maxims sent the king, men say.
The one he chose: " This too shall pass away ."

Oh, jewel sentence from the mine of truth!
What riches it contains for age or youth.

No stately epic, measured and sublime,
So comforts, or so counsels, for all time

As these few words. Go write them on your heart
And make them of your daily life a part.

Has some misfortune fallen to your lot?
This too will pass away--absorb the thought.

And wait; your waiting will not be in vain,
Time gilds with gold the iron links of pain.

The dark to-day leads into light to-morrow;
There is no endless joy, no endless sorrow.

Are you upon earth's heights? No cloud in view?
Go read your motto once again: This too

Shall pass away; fame, glory, place and power,
They are but little baubles of the hour,

Flung by the ruthless years down in the dust.
Take warning and be worthy of God's trust.

Use well your prowess while it lasts; leave bloom,
Not blight, to mark your footprints to the tomb.

The truest greatness lies in being kind,
The truest wisdom in a happy mind.

He who desponds, his Maker's judgment mocks;
The gloomy Christian is a paradox.

Only the sunny soul respects its God.
Since life is short we need to make it broad;

Since life is brief we need to make it bright.
Then keep the old king's motto well in sight,

And let its meaning permeate each day.
Whatever comes, This too shall pass away .

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902

20th

High Noon

very woman who passes thirty ought
to keep her brain, heart and mind
alive and warm with human sym-
pathy and emotion. She ought to
interest herself in the lives of others,
and make her friendship valuable
to the young.
She should keep her body supple, and avoid los-
ing the lines of grace: and she should select some
study or work to occupy her spare hours and to
lend a zest to the coming years. Every woman
in the comfortable walks in life can find time for
such a study. No woman of tact, charm, refine-
ment and feeling need ever let her husband, unless
she has married a clod, become indifferent or com-
monplace in his treatment of her. Man reflects
to an astonishing degree woman's sentiments for
him.
Keep sentiment alive in your own heart,
madam, and in the heart of your husband. If he
sees that other men admire you he will be more
alert to the necessity of remaining your lover.
Take the happy, safe, medium path between
a gray and a gay life by keeping it radiant and
bright. Read and think and talk of cheerful,
hopeful, interesting subjects. Avoid small gossip,
and be careful in your criticism of neighbors.
Sometimes we must criticise, but speak to people
whose faults you feel a word of counsel may
amend, not of them to others.
Make your life after it reaches its noon, glorious
with sunlight, rich with harvests, and bright with
color. Be alive in mind, heart and body. Be
joyous without giddiness, loving without silliness,
attractive without being flirtatious, attentive to
others' needs without being officious, and instruc-
tive without too great a display of erudition.
Be a noble, loving, lovable woman.
It is never too late in life to make a new start.
No matter how small a beginning may be, it is
so much begun for a new incarnation if it is cut
off here by death.
If I were one hundred years old, and in pos-
session of my faculties, I would not hesitate to
undertake a new enterprise which offered a hope
of bettering my condition.
Thought is eternal in its effects, and every
hopeful thought which enters the mind sets
vibrations in motion, which shall help minds
millions of miles distant and lives yet unborn.
It is folly to mourn over a failure to provide
opportunities and luxuries for children. We have
only to look at the children of the rich, to see
how little enduring happiness money gives, and
how seldom great advantages result in great
characters. The majority of the really great
people of the world, in all lines of achievement,
have sprung from poverty. I do not mean from
pauper homes, but from the homes where only the
mere necessities of life could be obtained, and
where early in their youth the children felt it
necessary to go into the world and make their
own way. Self-dependence, self-reliance, energy,
ambition, were all developed in this way.
How rarely do we find these qualities in the
children of wealth. How rarely do great phil-
osophers, great statesman, great thinkers and
great characters develop from the wealthy classes.
Pauperism--infant labor--the wage-earning
women--are all evils I believe the worst thing
possible for a human soul is to be born to wealth.
It is an obstacle to greatness which few are strong
enough to surmount, and it rarely results in
happiness to the recipient.

The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902

21st

Obstacles.

The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902

22nd

LOVE IS ALL!

Let Labor boldly walk abroad
And take its place with kings,
For who has labored more than God,
The maker of all things?

Who most achieves is most like God, I hold;
The idler is the black sheep in the fold.

One sorrow only in God's world has birth--
To live unloving and unloved on earth;
One joy alone makes life a part of heaven--
The joy of happy love, received and given.

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902

23rd

LIFE

All in the dark we grope along,
And if we go amiss
We learn at least which path is wrong,
And there is gain in this.

We do not always win the race.
By only running right,
We have to tread the mountain's base
Before we reach its height.

The Christs alone no errors made;
So often had they trod
The paths that lead through light and shade,
They had become as God.

As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again,
They passed along the way,
And left those mighty truths which men
But dimly grasp to-day.

But he who loves himself the last
And knows the use of pain,
Though strewn with errors all his past,
He surely shall attain.

Some souls there are that needs must taste
Of wrong, ere choosing right;
We should not call those years a waste
Which led us to the light.

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902

24th

Sympathy

re you of a sympathetic nature?
If so, do not let your sympathies
help add to the world's miseries.
That may seem a strange ex-
pression, but it can be explained if
you will listen.
Much of the misery in the world is the result
of imagination.
All of it is the result of selfishness and ignor-
ance.
But hundreds and thousands of people believe
themselves sick, sorrowful and poverty stricken,
who would be well, glad and prosperous, if they
only thought themselves. so.
Every time you pour out sympathy upon
these self-made sufferers, you add to their burden
of wrong thought, and make it just so much
more difficult for them to rise out of their
troubles.
I do not believe all the misfortune in the
world is caused by wrong thinking in this life, or
can be done away with by right thinking. The
three-year-old child who toddles in front of a
trolley car and loses a leg, while the tired mother
is bending over the washtub to keep the wolf of
hunger at bay, cannot be blamed for wrong
thinking as the cause of its trouble. Neither can
the deaf mute or the child born blind or
deformed. We must go farther back, to former
lives, to find the first cause of such misfortunes.
No "New Thought," no amount of optimistic
theology or philosophy can restore the child's
leg, or ears, or eyes. It is utter nonsense to say
that miracles like these can be performed.
There are scores of individuals whom we
meet handicapped in life's race by such dire
calamities that we spontaneously pour forth our
sympathy.
But, even to these, it were kinder and wiser
to give diverting thoughts, and a new outlook,
and to open up avenues for pleasure, and enter-
tainment, and profit, in place of tears and con-
dolence.
Sympathy, without alleviating actions to a
sufferer, is like a cloud without rain to the
parched earth.
But the great majority of people whom we
encounter are making their own crosses, and we
who offer them sympathy, and condolence, are
but adding to the burden's weight.
I do not recommend coldness, indifference, or
ridicule as a substitute for sympathy. But
instead of leading the sick man on to tell you
the details of his illness, and to describe all his
symptoms, while your own body responds with
sympathetic aches and pains as you listen, it is
kinder to divert his attention to some cheerful
and merry topic, or to refer to some case like his
own which resulted in perfect restoration to
health. Instead of going down into his under-
ground cave of depression, bring him out into
the wholesome sunlight of your own healthful
state, even if for a moment only, and impress
upon his mind that health belongs to him, and
must return to him.
To the man in business trouble the same
advice applies.
Tell him you are sorry for him, but do not
take on his despondence to prove it.
Talk of the future and all the possibilities it
holds for a determined man or woman.
Make him laugh. Speak of trouble as the
gymnasium where our moral muscles are devel-
oped. Answer him that everything he desires is
his if he will be persistent and determined in
demanding his own. If you put force in your
words you will leave an impression.
Do not go away from the house of trouble in
tears, but leave the troubled ones you called upon
smiling as you depart.
That is true sympathy.

The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902

25th

REGRET

There is a haunting phantom called Regret,
A shadowy creature robed somewhat like Woe,
But fairer in the face, whom all men know
By her sad mien, and eyes for ever wet.
No heart would seek her; but once having met
All take her by the hand, and to and fro
They wander through those paths of long ago---
Those hallowed ways 'twere wiser to forget.

One day she led me to that lost land's gate
And bade me enter; but I answered "No!
I will pass on with my bold comrade Fate;
I have no tears to waste on thee---no time---
My strength I hoard for heights I hope to climb;
No friend art thou, for souls that would be great."

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917

26th

I step across the mystic border-land,
And look upon the wonder-world of Art.
How beautiful, how beautiful its hills!
And all its valleys, how surpassing fair!

The winding paths that lead up to the heights
Are polished by the footsteps of the great.
The mountain-peaks stand very near to God:
The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon
Have talked with Him, and with the angels walked.

Here are no sounds of discord--no profane
Or senseless gossip of unworthy things--
Only the songs of chisels and of pens,
Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains
Of souls surcharged with music most divine.
Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief
For any day or object left behind--
For time is counted precious, and herein
Is such complete abandonment of Self
That tears turn into rainbows, and enhance
The beauty of the land where all is fair.

Awed and afraid, I cross the border-land.
Oh, who am I, that I dare enter here
Where the great artists of the world have trod--
The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth?
Only the singer of a little song;
Yet loving Art with such a mighty love
I hold it greater to have won a place
Just on the fair land's edge, to make my grave,
Than in the outer world of greed and gain
To sit upon a royal throne and reign

Maurine.

27th

ART AND HEART

Though critics may bow to art, and I am its own true lover,
It is not art, but heart, which wins the wide world over.

Though smooth be the heartless prayer, no ear in Heaven will mind it,
And the finest phrase falls dead, if there is no feeling behind it.

Though perfect the player's touch, little if any he sways us,
Unless we feel his heart throb through the music he plays us.

Though the poet may spend his life in skilfully rounding a measure,
Unless he writes from a full warm heart, he gives us little pleasure.

So it is not the speech which tells, but the impulse which goes with the saying,
And it is not the words of the prayer, but the yearning back of the praying.

It is not the artist's skill, which into our soul comes stealing
With a joy that is almost pain, but it is the player's feeling.

And it is not the poet's song, though sweeter than sweet bells chiming,
Which thrills us through and through, but the heart which beats under the rhyming.

And therefore I say again, though I am art's own true lover,
That it is not art, but heart, which wins the wide world over.

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917

28th

SPEECH

Talk happiness. The world is sad enough
Without your woe. No path is wholly rough.
Look for the places that are smooth and clear,
And speak of them to rest the weary ear
Of earth; so hurt by one continuous strain
Of mortal discontent and grief and pain.

Talk faith. The world is better off without
Your uttered ignorance and morbid doubt.
If you have faith in God, or man, or self,
Say so; if not, push back upon the shelf
Of silence, all your thoughts till faith shall come.
No one will grieve because your lips are dumb.

Talk health. The dreary, never-ending tale
Of mortal maladies is worn and stale;
You cannot charm or interest or please
By harping on that minor chord, disease.
Say you are well, or all is well with you,
And God shall hear your words and make them true.

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902

29th

Morning Prayer

Let me to-day do something that shall take
A little sadness from the world's vast store,
And may I be so favored as to make
Of joy's too scanty sum a little more.
Let me not hurt, by any selfish deed
Or thoughtless word, the heart of foe or friend;
Nor would I pass, unseeing, worthy need,
Or sin by silence when I should defend.
However meager be my worldly wealth
Let me give something that shall aid my kind,
A word of courage, or a thought of health,
Dropped as I pass for troubled hearts to find.
Let me to-night look back across the span
'Twixt dawn and dark, and to my conscience say--
Because of some good act to beast or man--
"The world is better that I lived to-day."

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902

30th

ASSERTION

I am serenity. Though passions beat
Like mighty billows on my helpless heart,
I know beyond them, lies the perfect sweet
Serenity, which patience can impart.
And when wild tempests in my bosom rage,
"Peace, peace," I cry, "it is my heritage."

I am good health. Though fevers rack my brain
And rude disorders mutilate my strength,
A perfect restoration after pain,
I know shall be my recompense at length,
And so through grievous day and sleepless night
"Health, health," I cry, "it is my own by right."

I am success. Though hungry, cold, ill-clad,
I wander for awhile, I smile and say,
"It is but for a time--I shall be glad
To-morrow, for good fortune comes my way.
God is my father, He has wealth untold,
His wealth is mine, health, happiness and gold."

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902

31st

THE COMMON LINK

When on the crowded thoroughfare,
Amidst the motley throng I stray,
In all the stranger faces there,
I meet and pass from day to day,
Whether the face be young, or old,
Or wreathed in smiles, or calm, or cold,
On every brow I trace some line
That links the strangers' heart to mine.

Though a proud beauty rustles by,
With haughty mien, I smile and say,
"You have a heart-ache--so have I:
We both are hiding it to-day.
Though you are rich, I am poor,
We both have entered sorrow's door;
Grief comes alike to you and me,
So we are of one family."

The richest nabob that I meet,
The poorest delver that I see,
Youth and old age upon the street,
Are one and all the same to me.
No heart that beats, but has its grief;
Nor wealth, nor youth, gives full relief;
And through the tears that sometimes fall
I claim relationship to all.

So poor, and rich, and high, and low,
I meet upon this common plain.
Though far and wide our paths may lie,
We entertain the same guest--Pain.
The subtle threads of this strange cord,
Draw me to mankind, and the Lord,
And through the sorrows heaven sends,
I hold all men to be my friends.

1869

Shells by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Milwaukee: Hauser & Storey, 1873

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