So the girl who would go down the paths of sunshine will put joy and enthusiasm into her work and into her play. She will practice her music lesson, take up her studies at school, assist in performing the household duties, and in doing the many tasks that come to her hands in a joyous, whole-hearted manner.
In so doing she will make a pleasure of that which, with dull complaining, would be a drag and a distress. By this cheerful attitude of mind she will be able to mold all things to her will and, better still, she will be able to mold her will to her highest ideal of splendid womanhood. For none can doubt that man is the architect of his own fortune, to a very great extent. He is even more than that, he is of his own self
I am the sculptor: I, myself, the clay, Of which I am to fashion, as I will, In deed and in desire, day by day, The pattern of my purpose, good or ill.
In breathless bronze nor the insensate stone Must my enduring passion find its goal; Within the living statue I enthrone That essence of eternity, the soul.
Nor space nor time that soul of yearning bars; It flashes to the zenith of the sky, And dwelling mid the mystery of the stars, Aspires to answer the Eternal Why.
It loves the pleasing note of lute and lyre, The lily's purple, the red rose's glow; It wonders at the witchery of the fire, And marvels at the magic of the snow.
"Who taught," it asks, "the ant to build her nest? The bee her cells? the hermit thrush to sing? The dove to plume his iridescent breast? The butterfly to paint his gorgeous wing?
"The spider how to spin so wondrous wise? The nautilus to form his chambered shell? The carrier-pigeon under alien skies, Who taught him how his homeward course to tell?"
By force or favor it would win from fate The sacred secret of the blood and breath: Learn all the hidden springs of love and hate, And gain dominion over life and death.
In every feature of this sculptured face Of spirit and of substance, I must mold The shining symbol of a grander grace; The hope toward which the centuries have rolled.
Oh, hands of mine that the unnumbered years Evolved from hoof and wing and claw and fin, 'T is ours to bring from out the stress and tears, A godlike figure fashioned from within.