--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Grace McKinstry collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 34 number: 2 published: 1930-12 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Grace McKinstry, “A Legend,” *Improvement Era* 34, no. 2 (December 1930): 76–76." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3402unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3402unse start_page: 76 end_page: 76 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1930-12) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3402unse publication_year: 1930 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1930, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # A Legend A Legend By Grace McKinstry A MAN had three good friends. The XX first of these Was very dear to him, the second, less; And with the third he seemed to feel at ease But made no fuss about him. Happiness Was ever this man's portion, till, one day, A royal messenger arrived to say: "I have been hither sent that I may bring You to our sovereign." The man, in fear Cried, "What is my offence, pray, that the king 'Should summon me thus sternly to ap- pear? I have three friends; grant one may go to plead My cause — then speedily I shall be freed." The first friend shook his head, "I cannot go." The next one heard the plea and spake this word: "Yes, to the palace gates with you. But know That there I have to leave you." But the third Said quickly, "You shall not go there alone, I will stand with you, friend, before the throne." Before his sovereign came the man, and there His good friend pleaded with such elo- quence, The king, convinced, was minded to de- clare: "Your plea has saved him; let him now go hence." Three friends — and only one could go to free This man! And do you recognize the three? The first was Money. When the messenger Came for the man this friend must needs remain; Next, Family, whose ministrations were But to the palace gate — the grave. Not vain His pleading with the third! This one alone, Good Deeds — could speak for him before the throne. -«C<»§Jt)*Ot» To My Mother By Gladys Hendrickson THERE are two brown pools in my memory Flecked with gold Shot with sun. They sparkle and shine as they look at me Clear and deep Made for fun. And they laugh as they mirror the smile of the skies Now just what Could they be? They're the shadowy, gay, loving depths of your eyes Smiling now Up at me. X OR December and Christmas there is much which should be said poetically, and people who usually find prose adequate for the expres- sion of their thoughts find them- selves making poetry. Christmas poems were many and so lovely this year that not one could be left out; and in addition there Were oth- er poems which fairly refused to wait until 1931 to see the light of print. So we scattered the Christ- mas poems throughout the holiday pages of the magazine, like snow- flakes, refreshing and cool. To the rest of the clamoring verses, we dedicate a page of their own, and somehow, although Christmas is not mentioned in one of them, they seem to partake of the spirit of the season and try to pass it on to you who read. The Party By Ardyth M. Kennelly The moon came to the star's party Before the sun had gone home. The moon is something of an adventuress And the winds whisper about her. They say she walks upon the hills At dawn. But then, The winds are gossipers, you know. Oh, she was very demure about it all. She came up the stairs And looked very pale and prim Against the blue wall. Nevertheless the sun eyed her Sharply. And the slim, silver lady Shrugged her shoulders. . . . After the sun had gone home She donned a golden gown And laughing leaned against The blue wall. . . . And today the winds are whispering again. Fancy By Estelte Webb Thomas T #PON the shining stream of Poesy \J I launch my fragile craft by fancy wrought, Where stately vessels sail away to sea All laden down with priceless gems of thought. It will not reach the distant port of Fame, Too frail it is, though wind and wave be fair, No multitudes will laud the humble name Of her who fashioned it with loving care. But if it bring the merest hopeful glow To ship-wrecked soul, despairing and in pain, I think that some way I shall surely know, And feel that I have wrought not all in vain. God Must Love the Autumn By Edith Cherrington GOD must love the Autumn, He clothes it so in glory! The hills go robed in amethyst, the trees are dressed in gold. High above the dreaming valleys the mountain peaks are hoary, While the breeze that stirs the stiffened leaves is briskly clean and cold. The little house that stands beside the lane is like a friend Waiting for our coming at the twilight of the year. The glowing hearth and table spread with simple foods extend The living hand of friendliness, the hearty smile of cheer. God must love the Autumn for he show'rs his favors there And holds it as a mother holds her babe against her breast. Soft breezes carry lullabys upon the fra- grant air, And the cradle of the winter offers earth her night of rest. ♦> ■os^aJsVs>- ■*• A Gray Day By Grace Ingles Frost '/""HE lordly Wasatch wears a cowl of ■L gray, That hides from view each hoary-head- ed peak; The gulls fly low and follow near the play, From fresh- turned loam, some morsel small to seek; The greening gladness of the grassy plain, Is dimly shown thro' shrouding veil of mist, Like unto souls arising from old pain, O'er which memories hover and persist To sadden, nor let them the past forget, Or like captives peering through their bars That have been welded firmer by regret. Until is hid the glory of the stars. I Would Not Part the Curtains By Ida R. Alldredge /CANNOT know the future Nor path I shall have trod, But by that inward vision Which points the way to God. I would not glimpse the beauty Or joy for me in store — Lest patience ne'er restrain me From thrusting wide the door. I would not part the curtains Or cast aside the veil — Else sorrows that await me Might make my courage fail. I'd rather live not knowing, Just doing my small might I'd rather walk by faith with God Than try alone the lieht.