Patience and Perseverance   'T'HE people of the Punjab have a song which goes like this : The bulbul does not always sing in the garden,    And the garden is not always in bloom;   Happiness does not always reign,   And friends are not always together.    The conclusion to be drawn from this song is that we cannot expect to be always happy, and that to know how to be patient is most useful. For there are few days in our lives which do not give us the opportunity to learn greater patience.         You want to see a very busy man to ask him something. You go to his house. Already many visitors are there and he keeps you waiting a ver

The Giver    RANTIDEVA, who was a king, became a hermit in the forest. He had given his wealth to the poor and lived a simple life in the solitude of the jungle. He and his family had only the bare necessities of life.         One day, after a fast of forty-eight hours, a light meal of rice with milk and sugar was prepared for him.         A poor Brahmin came up to the door of the hut and asked for food. Rantideva gave him half of his rice. Then came a Sudra begging for help and Rantideva gave him half of what remained.         Then he heard a dog barking; the poor beast seemed to be starving. Rantideva gave him what was left. Last of all came a Pariah who stopped at t

The Simple Life   THE Prophet Mohammed, who devoted his life to teaching the Arab people, cared not for ease or riches.   One night he slept on a hard mat, and when he awoke his skin bore the marks of the knots and fibres of his bed.   A friend said to him, "O Messenger of Allah! This bed was too hard for you, and if you had asked me I would joyfully have prepared a softer one, so that your rest might have been better."   The Prophet replied, "A soft bed is not for me. I have a work to do in the world. When my body needs rest, I give it rest, but only as a horseman who ties his horse for a little while under the shade of a tree, to spare him from the heat of the

Sincerity   A LION, a wolf and a fox went out hunting together. They killed an ass, a gazelle and a hare.    Seeing this catch, the lion said to the wolf:   "Kindly tell me, friend wolf, how we should divide this game."         "There is no need," replied the wolf, "to cut up the three animals. You take the ass, let the fox take the hare, and for my part I shall be content with the gazelle."         The lion's only answer was a roar of fury, and with a single blow, as reward for his advice, he crushed the wolf's head with his claw. Then the lion turned to the fox and said:         "And, my dear friend, what do you suggest?"         "Oh, Sire," the

Self-reliance   HATIM Tai had a great reputation among the Arabs of old for the lavishness of his gifts and alms.   "Have you ever met anyone more excellent than yourself?" his friends once asked him.   "Yes," replied Hatim Tai.    "Who was he?"         "One day I had forty camels sacrificed and I offered a feast to whoever would like to come and share in it. Then I set out with several chiefs to invite guests from far and wide. On the way we came across a woodcutter who had just cut a bundle of thorns. This was the way he earned his livelihood. Seeing that he was poor, I asked him why he did not go to the many feasts given by Hatim Tai. 'Those who earn th

Building and Destroying   CHILDREN, you all know what it is to build and to destroy.         Weapon in hand, the warrior goes forth to destroy.         The builder draws up plans, digs foundations, and the toiling hands of men build a farmhouse for the peasant or a palace for a prince.         It is better to build than to destroy, and yet destroying is sometimes necessary.         You, children, who have strong arms and hands, do you only build? Do you never destroy? And if you do, what do you destroy?         Listen to this account of an Indian legend:         A new-born baby lay in a grove. You might think that he was sure to die,

Courage   YOU fall  into water. You are not daunted by the great watery mass. You make good use of your arms and legs, grateful to the teacher who taught you how to swim. You grapple with the waves and you escape. You have been brave.   You are asleep. "Fire!" The cry of alarm has awakened you. You leap from your bed and see the red glare of the blaze. You are not stricken with mortal fear. You run through the smoke, the sparks, the flames, to safety. This is courage.    Some time ago I visited an infant school in England. The little school-children were between three and seven years old. There were both boys and girls, who were busy knitting, drawing, listening to stories, si

Modesty        WHO is this corning to the door of this Japanese house?         It is the flower-artist, the man who is skilled in arranging flowers.         The master of the house brings a tray with some flowers, a pair of scissors, a knife, a little saw, and a beautiful vase.         "Sir," he says, "I cannot make a bouquet beautiful enough for such a beautiful vase."         "I am sure you can," replies the master politely as he leaves the room.         Left alone, the artist sets to work, cutting, snipping, twisting and tying until a beautiful bunch of flowers fills the vase — a delight to the eyes.         The master and his friends enter the ro

Sympathy   WHEN is sorrow accompanied by sorrow? When one heart feels it and our heart feels it at the same time.         Duryodhana, the famous warrior, fell on the plain of Kurukshetra and his friends were so full of grief that when he lay on the ground and died, all Nature seemed in disorder. Headless creatures with many arms and legs danced dreadful dances over the earth; in lakes and wells the water was turned to blood; rivers flowed upstream instead of downstream; women looked like men, and men like women.         Here the poet teaches us that the suffering undergone by one being spreads through a wide, wide world. There was sympathy between the fallen king and thousands

 PUBLISHER'S NOTE   During her stay in Japan (1916-1920) the Mother translated and adapted some stories written by Mr. F. J. Gould, which had been published in his Youth's Noble Path in 1911. The Mother's versions, written in French, were first published as Belles Histories in 1946. An English translation, entitled Tales of All Times, was brought out in 1951. That translation was revised when the book was included in Words of Long Ago, Volume 2 of the Mother's Collected Works in 1978; at that time five additional chapters were translated and added as an appendix. The text of the present edition is the same as appeared in the Collected Works. The illustrations in this book, which first appea