A Gift To Share 

By Alora M. Knight 

I was given a smile the other day
From someone who passed me on their way.
I wasn't sure what I should do.
Perhaps, I'll leave it up to you.

If I should keep it for myself,
Put it on the kitchen shelf.
Then it would be a certainty
To bring some happiness to me.

Somehow that doesn't feel just right
For me to keep it in my sight
When there were others who might need
A waft of warmth, oh yes indeed.

It doesn't take so very much,
A cheerful smile, a gentle touch,
To lift the cloud another bears,
To help them feel somebody cares.

There is one thing we all should know.
A smile is like the candle's glow.
No matter how many candles share
That light, its fullness still is there.

So when I go out on the street,
No matter whom I chance to meet,
If I share with them my precious smile,
Do you think that will be worthwhile?

For hopefully, they too, will understand
That a smile is like a helping hand.
I'm hoping that you will agree
And someday share a smile with me.

Deeds of Kindness

by Epes Sargent

Suppose the little Cowslip
—Should hang its golden cup
And say, “I'm such a little flower
—I'd better not grow up!”
How many a weary traveller
—Would miss its fragrant smell,
How many a little child would grieve
—To lose it from the dell!

Suppose the glistening Dewdrop
—Upon the grass should say,
“What can a little dewdrop do?
—I'd better roll away!”
The blade on which it rested,
—Before the day was done,
Without a drop to moisten it,
—Would wither in the sun.

Suppose the little Breezes,
—Upon a summer's day,
Should think themselves too small to cool
—The traveller on his way:
Who would not miss the smallest
—And softest ones that blow,
And think they made a great mistake
—If they were acting so?

How many deed of kindness
—A little child can do,
Although it has but little strength
—And little wisdom too!
It wants a loving spirit
—Much more than strength, to prove
How many things a child may do
—For others by its love.

The Good Man

Poet: Daniel C. Colesworthy

Within his ever-peaceful breast
No angry feelings rise:
Contentment is his constant guest,
And every want supplies.

If blest with wealth, he daily gives
The needy at his door;
If poor, he thankfully receives,
Without a grasp for more.

While others murmur or complain,
With joy he looks abroad,
And in the sunshine and the rain
Sees the kind hand of God.

In pleasantness and peace his days
Pass happily away;
Angels, approving, on him gaze,
And round his dwelling stay.

The World Is Full Of Kindness

by Henry Lawson.

The World is full of kindness—
And not the poor alone;
We Christians in our blindness
Bow down to hearts of stone;
The clever, bitter cynic,
Whose poisoned “soul” is dead,
And, like the rotten clinic,
Raves, helpless, on his bed.

The world is full of kindness—
But not the White alone;
The heathen in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone;
But all men are his brothers,
In spite of all the “Powers,”
And the things he does for others
Shew whiter souls than ours.

The world is full of kindness—
But not the Lean alone;
The Fat man in his blindness
Bows down, and not to stone;
But when a friend’s in trouble,
And an honest friend at that,
Then I’d turn to the Fat man
In spite of all his fat.

The world is full of kindness
If it is let alone,
And men’s hearts in their blindness
Are neither ice nor stone.
In spite of all pretences,
We get it from Above;
In spite of all defences—
Red blood, kind hearts, and love.

Wishing 
Poet: Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Do you wish the world were better?
Let me tell you what to do -
Set a watch upon your actions:
Keep them always straight and true,
Bid your mind of selfish motives;
Let your thoughts be clean and high;
You can make a little Eden
Of the sphere you occupy.

Do you wish the world to be wiser?
Well, suppose you make a start
By accumulating wisdom
In the scrap-book of your heart.
Do not waste one page in folly;
Live to learn and learn to live;
If you want to increase knowledge.
You must get ere you can give.

Do you wish the world were better?
Then remember day by day
Just to sow the seeds of kindness
As you pass along the way.
For the pleasure of the many
May be ofttimes traced to one.
As the hand that plants the acorn
Shelters armies from the sun.

A London Plane‐Tree, Amy Levy

GREEN is the plane‐tree in the square,

The other trees are brown ;

They droop and pine for country air ;

The plane‐tree loves the town.

Here from my garret‐pane, I mark

The plane‐tree bud and blow,

Shed her recuperative bark,

And spread her shade below.

Among her branches, in and out,

The city breezes play ;

The dun fog wraps her round about ;

Above, the smoke curls grey.

Others the country take for choice,

And hold the town in scorn ;

But she has listened to the voice

On city breezes borne.

Nature - the Gentlest Mother is,  Emily Dickinson

Nature - the Gentlest Mother is,
Impatient of no Child
The feeblest  or the waywardest
Her Admonition mild.

In Forest  and the Hill
By Traveller  be heard
Restraining Rampant Squirrel
Or too impetuous Bird

How fair Her Conversation

A Summer Afternoon
Her Household,  Her Assembly
And when the Sun go down .

Her Voice among the Aisles
Incite the timid prayer
Of the minutest Cricket
The most unworthy Flower.

When all the Children sleep
She turns as long away,
As will suffice to light Her lamps

Then bending from the Sky .

With infinite Affection
And infiniter Care
Her Golden finger on Her lip
Wills Silence Everywhere .

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,  Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And look down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there                                               Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.