We look too far for blessings;
We seek too far for joys;
We ought to be like children
Who find their chiefest toys
Ofttimes in nearest attic,
Or in some dingy lane--
Their aprons full of weeds or flowers
Gathered in sun or rain.
Within the plainest cottage
Unselfish love may grow;
The sweetest, the divinest gift,
Which mortals ever know.
We ought to count our joys, not woes;
Meet care with winsome grace;
For discontent plows furrows
Upon the loveliest face.
Hope, freedom, sunlight, knowledge,
Come not to wealth alone;
He who looks far for blessings
Will overlook his own.
--Sarah Knowles Bolton.