In meadow and forest and field; in garden and grove and hedge and
bush; in mountain and plain and desert and sea; in hollow logs; amid
swaying branches; in rocky dens and earthy burrows; high among
towering cliffs and mighty crags; low in the marsh grass and among
reeds and rushes; in stone walls; in fence corners; in tufts of grass
and tiny shrubs; among the flowers and swinging vines;
everywhere--everywhere--in all this great, round, world, Mother's
children all are occupied in home building--occupied in this and
nothing more. This is the one thing that Mother's children, in all the
ages since the beginning, have found worth doing. One wayward child
alone is occupied just now, seemingly, with everything _but_ home
building. Man seems to be doing everything these days but the one
thing that must be the foundation work of all. But never
mind--homebuilding will be the world's work at the last. When all the
playthings of childhood and all the childish games of men have failed,
homebuilding will endure. Occupation must in the end mean home
building or it is meaningless.

And the din, the confusion, the struggle, the turmoil of life--when it
all means to men the building of homes and nothing more; when the
efforts of men, the ambitions of men, the labor and toil of men are
all to make homes for the little girls next door; then, will Mother
Nature smile upon her boys and God, I am sure, will smile upon them,
too.

The man came back from his Yesterdays with a new heart, with new
courage and determination, and the next day he found something to do.

I do not know what it was that the man found to do--_that_ is not