When the world has been unkind, when life’s troubles cloud your mind, Don’t sit down and frown and sigh and moon and mope. Take a walk along the square, fill your lungs with God’s fresh air, Then go whistling back to work and smile and hope.
The grasses toss and shimmy. The horses nicker. Madame Manec says, almost whispering, Now that I think about it, child, I expect heaven is a lot like this.
