Chapter IV: Foreword (4)

A football coach who told his players that their rivals were too strong for them would be seeking a new position the next year. If the opposing team is formidable, he says so; if his men have their work cut out for them, he admits it; but he mentions these things as incitements to effort. Merely saying of victory that it can be won is among the surest ways of winning it.

When you're nearly drowned in trouble, and the world is dark as ink;
When you feel yourself a-sinking 'neath the strain,
And you think, "I've got to holler 'Help!'" just take another breath
And pretend you've lost your voice--and can't complain!
(That's the idea!)
Pretend you've lost your voice and can't complain!

When the future glowers at you like a threatening thunder cloud,
Just grit your teeth and bend your head and say:
"It's dark and disagreeable and I can't help feeling blue,
But there's coming sure as fate a brighter day!"
(Say it slowly!)
"But there's coming sure as fate, a brighter day!"

You have bluffed your way through ticklish situations; that I know.
You are looking back on troubles past and gone;
Now, turn the tables, and as you have fought and won before,
Just BLUFF YOURSELF to keep on holding on!
(Try it once.)
Just bluff YOURSELF to keep on--holding on.

Don't worry if the roseate hues of life are faded out,
Bend low before the storm and wait awhile.
The pendulum is bound to swing again and you will find
That you have not forgotten how to smile.
(That's the truth!)
That you have not forgotten how to smile.

_Everard Jack Appleton._

From "The Quiet Courage."

WILL

Warren Hastings resolved in his boyhood that he would be the owner of the estate known as Daylesford. This was the one great purpose that unified his varied and far-reaching activities. Admire him or not, we must at least praise his pluck in holding to his purpose--a purpose he ultimately attained.

You will be what you will to be;
Let failure find its false content
In that poor word "environment,"
But spirit scorns it, and is free.

It masters time, it conquers space,
It cowes that boastful trickster Chance,
And bids the tyrant Circumstance
Uncrown and fill a servant's place.

The human Will, that force unseen,
The offspring of a deathless Soul,
Can hew the way to any goal,
Though walls of granite intervene.

Be not impatient in delay,
But wait as one who understands;
When spirit rises and commands
The gods are ready to obey.

The river seeking for the sea
Confronts the dam and precipice,
Yet knows it cannot fail or miss;
_You will be what you will to be!_

_Ella Wheeler Wilcox._

From "Poems of Power."

THE GAME

Lessing said that if God should come to him with truth in one hand and the never-ending pursuit of truth in the other, and should offer him his choice, he would humbly and reverently take the pursuit of truth. Perhaps it is best that finite beings should not attain infinite success. But however remote that for which they seek or strive, they may by their diligence and generosity make the very effort to secure it noble. In doing this they earn, as Pope tells us, a truer commendation than success itself could bring them. "Act well thy part; there all the honor lies."

Let's play it out--this little game called Life,
Where we are listed for so brief a spell;
Not just to win, amid the tumult rife,
Or where acclaim and gay applauses swell;
Nor just to conquer where some one must lose,
Or reach the goal whatever be the cost;
For there are other, better ways to choose,
Though in the end the battle may be lost.

Let's play it out as if it were a sport
Wherein the game is better than the goal,
And never mind the detailed "score's" report
Of errors made, if each with dauntless soul
But stick it out until the day is done,
Not wasting fairness for success or fame,
So when the battle has been lost or won,
The world at least can say: "He played the game."

Let's play it out--this little game called Work,
Or War or Love or what part each may draw;
Play like a man who scorns to quit or shirk
Because the break may carry some deep flaw;
Nor simply holding that the goal is all
That keeps the player in the contest staying;
But stick it out from curtain rise to fall,
As if the game itself were worth the playing.

_Grantland Rice._

From "The Sportlight."

COURAGE

The philosopher Kant held himself to his habits so precisely that people set their watches by him as he took his daily walk. We may be equally constant amid worldly vicissitudes, but only a man of true courage is.

'Tis the front towards life that matters most--
The tone, the point of view,
The constancy that in defeat
Remains untouched and true;

For death in patriot fight may be
Less gallant than a smile,
And high endeavor, to the gods,
Seems in itself worth while!

_Florence Earle Coates._

From "Poems."

A GOOD NAME

We should respect the good name of other people, and should safeguard our own by a high sense of honor. At the close of the Civil War a representative of an insurance company offered Robert E. Lee the presidency of the firm at a salary of $50,000 a year. Lee replied that while he wished to earn his living, he doubted whether his services would be worth so large a sum. "We don't want your services," the man interrupted; "we want your name." "That," said Lee, quietly, "is not for sale." He accepted, instead, the presidency of a college at $1500 a year.

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.

_William Shakespeare._

SWELLITIS

A certain employer of large numbers of men makes it a principle to praise none of them, not because they are undeserving, and not because he dislikes to commend, but because experience has taught him that usually the praise goes to the head of the recipient, both impairing his work and making it harder for others to associate with him. A good test of a man is his way of taking commendation. He may, even while grateful, be stirred to humility that he has not done better still, and may resolve to accomplish more. Or imitating the frog who wished to look like an ox, he may swell and swell until--figuratively speaking--he bursts.

Somebody said he'd done it well,
And presto! his head began to swell;
Bigger and bigger the poor thing grew--
A wonder it didn't split in two.
In size a balloon could scarcely match it;
He needed a fishing-pole to scratch it;---
But six and a half was the size of his hat,
And it rattled around on his head at that!

"Good work," somebody chanced to say,
And his chest swelled big as a load of hay.
About himself, like a rooster, he crowed;
Of his wonderful work he bragged and blowed
He marched around with a peacock strut;
Gigantic to him was the figure he cut;--
But he wore a very small-sized suit,
And loosely it hung on him, to boot!

HE was the chap who made things hum!
HE was the drumstick and the drum!
HE was the shirt bosom and the starch!
HE was the keystone in the arch!
HE was the axis of the earth!
Nothing existed before his birth!
But when he was off from work a
Nobody knew that he was away!

This is a fact that is sad to tell:
It's the empty head that is bound to swell;
It's the light-weight fellow who soars to the skies
And bursts like a bubble before your eyes.
A big man is humbled by honest praise,
And tries to think of all the ways
To improve his work and do it well;--
But a little man starts of himself to yell!

_Joseph Morris:_

CARES

To those who are wearied, fretted, and worried there is no physician like nature. When our nerves are frazzled and our sleep is unrefreshing, we can find no better antidote to the clamorous grind and frenzy of the city than the stillness and solitude of hills, streams, and tranquil stars. That man lays up for himself resources of strength who now and then exchanges the ledger for green leaves, the factory for wild flowers, business for brook-croon and bird-song.

The little cares that fretted me,
I lost them yesterday
Among the fields above the sea,
Among the winds at play;
Among the lowing of the herds,
The rustling of the trees,
Among the singing of the birds,
The humming of the bees.

The foolish fears of what may happen,
I cast them all away
Among the clover-scented grass,
Among the new-mown hay;
Among the husking of the corn
Where drowsy poppies nod,
Where ill thoughts die and good are born
Out in the fields with God.

_Elisabeth Barrett Browning._

FAITH

Any one who has ridden across the continent on a train must marvel at the faith and imagination of the engineers who constructed the road--the topographical advantages seized, the grades made easy of ascent, the curves and straight stretches planned, the tunnels so carefully calculated that workmen beginning on opposite sides of a mountain met in the middle--and all this visualized and thought out before the actual work was begun. Faith has such foresight, such courage, whether it toils actively or can merely bide its time.

The tree-top, high above the barren field,
Rising beyond the night's gray folds of mist,
Rests stirless where the upper air is sealed
To perfect silence, by the faint moon kissed.
But the low branches, drooping to the ground,
Sway to and fro, as sways funereal plume,
While from their restless depths low whispers sound:
"We fear, we fear the darkness and the gloom;
Dim forms beneath us pass and reappear,
And mournful tongues are menacing us here."

Then from the topmost bough falls calm reply:
"Hush, hush, I see the coming of the morn;
Swiftly the silent night is passing by,
And in her bosom rosy Dawn is borne.
'Tis but your own dim shadows that ye see,
'Tis but your own low moans that trouble ye."

So Life stands, with a twilight world around;
Faith turned serenely to the steadfast sky,
Still answering the heart that sweeps the ground
Sobbing in fear, and tossing restlessly--
"Hush, hush! The Dawn breaks o'er the Eastern sea,
'Tis but thine own dim shadow troubling thee."

_Edward Rowland Sill._

From "Poems."

PLAYING THE GAME

We all like the good sport--the man who plays fair and courteously and with every ounce of his energy, even when the game is going against him.

Life is a game with a glorious prize,
If we can only play it right.
It is give and take, build and break,
And often it ends in a fight;
But he surely wins who honestly tries
(Regardless of wealth or fame),
He can never despair who plays it fair--
How are you playing the game?

Do you wilt and whine, if you fail to win
In the manner you think your due?
Do you sneer at the man in case that he can
And does, do better than you?
Do you take your rebuffs with a knowing grin?
Do you laugh tho' you pull up lame?
Does your faith hold true when the whole world's blue?
How are you playing the game?

Get into the thick of it--wade in, boys!
Whatever your cherished goal;
Brace up your will till your pulses thrill,
And you dare--to your very soul!
Do something more than make a noise;
Let your purpose leap into flame
As you plunge with a cry, "I shall do or die,"
Then you will be playing the game.

_Anonymous_.

WHAT DARK DAYS DO

A real man does not want all his barriers leveled. He of course welcomes easy tasks, but he welcomes hard ones also. The difficult or unpleasant thing puts him on his mettle, throws him on his own resources. It gives him something of

"The stern joy which warriors feel
In foemen worthy of their steel."

Moreover as a foil or contrast it enables him to value more truly the good things he constantly enjoys, perhaps without perceiving them.

I sorter like a gloomy day,
Th' kind that jest _won't_ smile;
It makes a feller hump hisself
T' make life seem wuth while.
When sun's a-shinin' an' th' sky
Is washed out bright an' gay,
It ain't no job to whistle--but
It is--
When skies air gray!

So gloomy days air good fer us,
They make us look about
To find our blessin's--make us count
The friends who never doubt,
Most any one kin smile and joke
And hold blue-devils back
When it is bright, but we must work
T' grin--
When skies air black!

That's why I sorter _like_ dark days,
That put it up to me
To keep th' gloom from soakin' in
My whole anatomy!
An' if they _never_ come along
My soul would surely rust--
Th' dark days keeps my cheerfulness
From draggin'
In th' dust!

_Everard Jack Appleton._

From "The Quiet Courage."

GLADNESS

A coal miner does not need the sun's illumination. He carries his own light.

The world has brought not anything
To make me glad to-day!
The swallow had a broken wing,
And after all my journeying
There was no water in the spring--
My friend has said me nay.
But yet somehow I needs must sing
As on a luckier day.

Dusk fails as gray as any tear,
There is no hope in sight!
But something in me seems so fair,
That like a star I needs must wear
A safety made of shining air
Between me and the night.
Such inner weavings do I wear
All fashioned of delight!

I need not for these robes of mine
The loveliness of earth,
But happenings remote and fine
Like threads of dreams will blow and shine
In gossamer and crystalline,
And I was glad from birth.
So even while my eyes repine,
My heart is clothed in mirth.

_Anna Hempstead Branch._

From "The Shoes That Danced, and Other Poems."

IT WON'T STAY BLOWED

It is easier to fail than succeed. It is easier to drift downstream than up. But just as pent steam finds an escape somewhere, so will the man who persists break at one point or another through confining circumstance.

To the sniffing pickaninny once his good old mammy said,
"Yo' lil' black nose am drippin' from de cold dat's in yo' head,
An' yo' sleeve am slick and shiny like de hillside when it snows.
Why doan' you pump de bellers from de inside ob yo' nose?"
"Ain't I been," the child replied to her, "a-doin' ob jes' dat
Twel I's got a turble empty feel right whur I wears muh hat?
De traffic soht o' nacherly keeps gittin' in de road.
I blow muh nose a-plenty, but
it
won't
stay
blowed.

"What's de use ob raisin' chickens ef dey won't stay riz?
What's de use ob freezin' sherbet ef it won't stay friz?
What's de use ob payin' debts off ef dey's gwine stay owed?
What's de use ob blowin' noses ef dey won't stay blowed?"

This old world is sometimes jealous of the chap who means to rise;
It sneers at what he's doing or it bats him 'twixt the eyes;
It trips him when he's careless, and it makes his way so hard
What's left of him is sinew, not a walking tub of lard;
But it's only wasting effort, for by George, the guy keeps on
When his hopes have crumbled round him and you'd think his faith was gone,
Till the world at last knocks under and it passes him a crown:
Once, twice, thrice it has upset him, but
he
won't
stay
down.

What cares he when out he's flattened by the cruel blow it deals?
He has rubber in his shoulders and a mainspring in his heels.
Let the world uncork its buffets till he's bruised from toe to crown;
Let it thump him, bump him, dump him, but he won't stay down.

_St. Clair Adams._

THE RAINBOW

Our lives are not a hodge-podge of separate experiences, though they sometimes seem so. They are held together by simple things which we behold again and again with the same emotions. Thus the man is what the boy has been; the tree is inclined in the precise direction the twig was bent.

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

_William Wordsworth._

THE FIRM OF GRIN AND BARRETT

It has been said that when disaster overtakes us, we can do one of two things--we can grin and bear it, or we needn't grin. The spirit that keeps a smile on our faces when our burden is heaviest is the spirit that will win in the long run. Many men know how to take success quietly. The real test of a man is he way he takes failure.

No financial throe volcanic
Ever yet was known to scare it;
Never yet was any panic
Scared the firm of Grin and Barrett.
From the flurry and the fluster,
From the ruin and the crashes,
They arise in brighter lustre,
Like the phoenix from his ashes.
When the banks and corporations
Quake with fear, they do not share it;
Smiling through all perturbations
Goes the firm of Grin and Barrett.
Grin and Barrett,
Who can scare it?
Scare the firm of Grin and Barrett?

When the tide-sweep of reverses
Smites them, firm they stand and dare it
Without wailings, tears, or curses,
This stout firm of Grin and Barrett.
Even should their house go under
In the flood and inundation,
Calm they stand amid the thunder
Without noise or demonstration.
And, when sackcloth is the fashion,
With a patient smile they wear it,
Without petulance or passion,
This old firm of Grin and Barrett.
Grin and Barrett,
Who can scare it?
Scare the firm of Grin and Barrett?

When the other firms show dizziness,
Here's a house that does not share it.
Wouldn't you like to join the business?
Join the firm of Grin and Barrett?
Give your strength that does not murmur,
And your nerve that does not falter,
And you've joined a house that's firmer
Than the old rock of Gibraltar.
They have won a good prosperity;
Why not join the firm and share it?
Step, young fellow, with celerity;
Join the firm of Grin and Barrett.
Grin and Barrett,
Who can scare it?
Scare the firm of Grin and Barrett?

_Sam Walter Foss._

From "Songs of the Average Man."

CHALLENGE

Napoleon is reported to have complained of the English that they didn't have sense enough to know when they were beaten. Even if defeat is unmistakable, it need not be final. A battle may be lost, but the campaign won; a campaign lost, but the war won.

Life, I challenge you to try me,
Doom me to unending pain;
Stay my hand, becloud my vision,
Break my heart and then--again.

Shatter every dream I've cherished,
Fill my heart with ruthless fear;
Follow every smile that cheers me
With a bitter, blinding tear.

Thus I dare you; you can try me,
Seek to make me cringe and moan,
Still my unbound soul defies you,
I'll withstand you--and, alone!

_Jean Nette._

YOUR MISSION

One of the most often-heard of sentences is "I don't know what I'm to do in the world." Yet very few people are ever for a moment out of something to do, especially if they do not insist on climbing to the top of the pole and waving the flag, but are willing to steady the pole while somebody else climbs.

If you cannot on the ocean
Sail among the swiftest fleet,
Rocking on the highest billows,
Laughing at the storms you meet;
You can stand among the sailors,
Anchored yet within the bay,
You can lend a hand to help them
As they launch their boats away.

If you are too weak to journey
Up the mountain, steep and high,
You can stand within the valley
While the multitudes go by;
You can chant in happy measure
As they slowly pass along--
Though they may forget the singer,
They will not forget the song.

* * * * *

If you cannot in the harvest
Garner up the richest sheaves,
Many a grain, both ripe and golden,
Oft the careless reaper leaves;
Go and glean among the briars
Growing rank against the wall,
For it may be that their shadow
Hides the heaviest grain of all.

If you cannot in the conflict
Prove yourself a soldier true;
If, where fire and smoke are thickest,
There's no work for you to do;
When the battle field is silent,
You can go with careful tread;
You can bear away the wounded,
You can cover up the dead.

Do not then stand idly waiting
For some greater work to do;
Fortune is a lazy goddess,
She will never come to you;
Go and toil in any vineyard,
Do not fear to do and dare.
If you want a field of labor
You can find it anywhere.

_Ellen M.H. Gates._

VICTORY

To fail is not a disgrace; the disgrace lies in not trying. In his old age Sir Walter Scott found that a publishing firm he was connected with was heavily in debt. He refused to take advantage of the bankruptcy law, and sat down with his pen to make good the deficit. Though he wore out his life in the struggle and did not live to see the debt entirely liquidated, he died an honored and honorable man.

I call no fight a losing fight
If, fighting, I have gained some straight new strength;
If, fighting, I turned ever toward the light,
All unallied with forces of the night;
If, beaten, quivering, I could say at length:
"I did no deed that needs to be unnamed;
I fought--and lost--and I am unashamed."

_Miriam Teichner._

TIMES GO BY TURNS

One of the greatest blessings in life is alteration. The ins become outs, the outs ins; the ups become downs, the downs ups; and so on--and it is better so. We must not get too highly elated at success, for life is not all success. We must not grow too downcast from failure, for life is not all failure.

The lopped tree in time may grow again,
Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower;
The sorriest wight may find release of pain,
The driest soil suck in some moistening shower;
Time goes by turns, and chances change by course,
From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow;
She draws her favors to the lowest ebb;
Her tides have equal times to come and go;
Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web;
No joy so great but runneth to an end,
No hap so hard but may in fine amend.

Not always fall of leaf, nor ever Spring;
Not endless night, yet not eternal day;
The saddest birds a season find to sing;
The roughest storm a calm may soon allay.
Thus, with succeeding turns God tempereth all,
That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall.

A chance may win that by mischance was lost;
That net that holds no great takes little fish;
In some things all, in all things none are crost;
Few all they need, but none have all they wish.
Unmingled joys here to no man befall;
Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all.

_Robert Southwell._

TO-DAY

The past did not behold to-day; the future shall not. We must use it now if it is to be of any benefit to mankind.

So here hath been dawning
Another blue day;
Think, wilt thou let it
Slip useless away?

Out of Eternity
This new day is born;
Into Eternity,
At night will return.

Behold it aforetime
No eye ever did;
So soon it for ever
From all eyes is hid.

Here hath been dawning
Another blue day;
Think, wilt thou let it
Slip useless away?

_Thomas Carlyle._

UNAFRAID

I have no fear. What is in store for me
Shall find me ready for it, undismayed.
God grant my only cowardice may be
Afraid--to be afraid!

_Everard Jack Appleton._

From "The Quiet Courage."

BORROWED FEATHERS

Many good, attractive people spoil the merits they have by trying to be something bigger or showier. It is always best to be one's self.

A rooster one morning was preening his feathers
That glistened so bright in the sun;
He admired the tints of the various colors
As he laid them in place one by one.
Now as roosters go he was a fine bird,
And he should have been satisfied;
But suddenly there as he marched along,
Some peacock feathers he spied.
They had beautiful spots and their colors were gay--
He wished that his own could be green;
He dropped his tail, tried to hide it away;
Was completely ashamed to be seen.

Then his foolish mind hatched up a scheme--
A peacock yet he could be;
So he hopped behind a bush to undress
Where the other fowls could not see.
He caught his own tail between his bill,
And pulled every feather out;
And into the holes stuck the peacock plumes;
Then proudly strutted about.
The other fowls rushed to see the queer sight;
And the peacocks came when they heard;
They could not agree just what he was,
But pronounced him a funny bird.

Then the chickens were angry that one of their kind
Should try to be a peacock;
And the peacocks were mad that one with their tail
Should belong to a common fowl flock.
So the chickens beset him most cruelly behind,
And yanked his whole tail out together;
The peacocks attacked him madly before,
And pulled out each chicken feather.
And when he stood stripped clean down to the skin,
A horrible thing to the rest,
He learned this sad lesson when it was too late--
As his own simple self he was best.

_Joseph Morris._

KEEP ON KEEPIN' ON

The author of these homely stanzas has caught perfectly the spirit which succeeds in the rough-and-tumble of actual life.

If the day looks kinder gloomy
And your chances kinder slim,
If the situation's puzzlin'
And the prospect's awful grim,
If perplexities keep pressin'
Till hope is nearly gone,
Just bristle up and grit your teeth
And keep on keepin' on.

Frettin' never wins a fight
And fumin' never pays;
There ain't no use in broodin'
In these pessimistic ways;
Smile just kinder cheerfully
Though hope is nearly gone,
And bristle up and grit your teeth
And keep on keepin' on.

There ain't no use in growlin'
And grumblin' all the time,
When music's ringin' everywhere
And everything's a rhyme.
Just keep on smilin' cheerfully
If hope is nearly gone,
And bristle up and grit your teeth
And keep on keepin' on.

_Anonymous._

THE DISAPPOINTED

Those who have striven nobly and failed deserve sympathy. Sometimes they deserve also praise unreserved, in that they have refused to do something ignoble which would have led to what the world calls success. They have lived the idea which Macbeth merely proclaimed:

"I dare do all that may become a man;
Who dares do more is none."

There are songs enough for the hero
Who dwells on the heights of fame;
I sing of the disappointed--
For those who have missed their aim.

I sing with a tearful cadence
For one who stands in the dark,
And knows that his last, best arrow
Has bounded back from the mark.

I sing for the breathless runner,
The eager, anxious soul,
Who falls with his strength exhausted.
Almost in sight of the goal;

For the hearts that break in silence,
With a sorrow all unknown,
For those who need companions,
Yet walk their ways alone.

There are songs enough for the lovers
Who share love's tender pain,
I sing for the one whose passion
Is given all in vain.

For those whose spirit comrades
Have missed them on their way,
I sing, with a heart o'erflowing,
This minor strain to-day.

And I know the Solar system
Must somewhere keep in space
A prize for that spent runner
Who barely lost the race.

For the plan would be imperfect
Unless it held some sphere
That paid for the toil and talent
And love that are wasted here.

_Ella Wheeler Wilcox._

From "Picked Poems."

LET ME LIVE OUT MY YEARS

We speak of the comforts and ease of old age, but our noblest selves do not really desire them. We want to do more than exist. We want to be alive to the very last.

Let me live out my years in heat of blood!
Let me die drunken with the dreamer's wine!
Let me not see this soul-house built of mud
Go toppling to the dust--a vacant shrine!

Let me go quickly like a candle light
Snuffed out just at the heyday of its glow!
Give me high noon--and let it then be night!
Thus would I go.

And grant that when I face the grisly Thing,
My song may triumph down the gray Perhaps!
Let me be as a tuneswept fiddlestring
That feels the Master Melody--and snaps.

_John G. Neihardt_

From "The Quest" (collected lyrics).

COLUMBUS

This poem pictures courage and high resolution. To the terrors of an unknown sea and the mutinous dismay of the sailors Columbus has but two things to oppose--his faith and his unflinching will. But these suffice, as they always do. In the last four lines of the poem is a lesson for our nation to-day. The seas upon which our ideals have launched us are perilous and uncharted. In some ways our whole voyage of democracy seems futile. Shall we turn back, or shall we, like Columbus, answer the falterers in words that leap like a leaping sword; "Sail on, sail on"?

Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores:
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone.
Brave Adm'r'l, speak; what shall I say?"
"Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"

"My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan and weak."
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
"What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
"Why, you shall say at break of day:
'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow;
Until at last the blanched mate said:
"Why, now not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Adm'r'l; speak and say--"
He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.
He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth, as if to bite!
Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word:
What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words leapt like a leaping sword:
"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
Of all dark nights! And then a speck--
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"

_Joaquin Miller._

From "Joaquin Miller's Complete Poems."

PER ASPERA

A motto has been made of the Latin phrase "per aspera ad astra," of which the translation sometimes given is "through bolts and bars to the stars."

Thank God, a man can grow!
He is not bound
With earthward gaze to creep along the ground:
Though his beginnings be but poor and low,
Thank God, a man can grow!
The fire upon his altars may burn dim,
The torch he lighted may in darkness fail,
And nothing to rekindle it avail,--
Yet high beyond his dull horizon's rim,
Arcturus and the Pleiads beckon him.

_Florence Earle Coates._

From "Poems."

TIT FOR TAT

We are quick to notice obstacles, grudges, affronts. Are we equally quick to recognize the kindly influences that speed us on our way? The truth is we are each of us a debtor to life, and as honest men we should do all we can to discharge the obligation.

"Life," you say, "'s an old curmudgeon; yes, a thing whose heart is
flint;
When I ask a friendly greeting, all I get's an angry glint.
Let me do it every good turn that I can--my very best,
Still it strikes me, trips, maligns me, and denies my least request.

"So," you say, "my patience ended, I will give it tit for tat."
What a bunch of animosities is covered by your hat!
All the roses life can offer bloom and beckon to your soul,
But you close your eyes to roses and in thorns lie down and roll.

Life does nothing for you, sonny? What a notion you have! Say,
Make a little inventory of its gifts to you to-day.
You've a house or room to sleep in--did you build it with your hand?
If you did, who made the hammer and who cleared for you the land?

And electric lights--you use them; did you also put them there?
Beefsteak, coal, your mail, shoes, street cars--do they come like
rain from air?
Or do countless men, far-scattered, toil that you may have more
ease?--
Stokers, hodmen, farmers, plumbers, Yankees, dagoes, Japanese?

"Oh, that's general," you tell me. You have private blessings too.
Why, your mother in your childhood slaved and wrought and lived for you.
Helpful hands were all around you--hopes, fond wishes in the past;
Even now each day from somewhere friendly looks are on you cast.

Though you've been both crossed and harried, you've not struggled
on alone;
Through the discords of endeavor comes to you an answering tone.
Life has done you many favors. Will you give it tit for tat?
Since you've looked so much at this side, won't you have a look
at that?

Don't help only those who've helped you, count the rest as strangers,
foes;
How long now would you have lasted had all done as you propose?
Many and many a benefactor you did not nor can repay--
There's your mother. Pass the kindness on to others--that's the way.

Life it is that's given freely. Unto life make due return.
Whether folks are undeserving, neither seek nor wish to learn.
Hit your dernedest for your teammates every time you come to bat,
And the world will be more happy that you give it tit for tat.

_St. Clair Adams._

THE KINGDOM OF MAN

The wisest men know that the greatest world is not outside them. They could, in Shakespeare's phrase, be bounded by a nut-shell and count themselves kings of infinite space.

What of the outer drear,
As long as there's inner light;
As long as the sun of cheer
Shines ardently bright?

As long as the soul's a-wing,
As long as the heart is true,
What power hath trouble to bring
A sorrow to you?

No bar can encage the soul,
Nor capture the spirit free,
As long as old earth shall roll,
Or hours shall be.

Our world is the world within,
Our life is the thought we take,
And never an outer sin
Can mar it or break.

Brood not on the rich man's land,
Sigh not for miser's gold,
Holding in reach of your hand
The treasure untold

That lies in the Mines of Heart,
That rests in the soul alone--
Bid worry and care depart,
Come into your own!

_John Kendrick_

From "Songs of Cheer."

ABOU BEN ADHEM

"Forgive my enemies?" said the dying man to the priest. "I have none. I've killed them all." This old ideal of exterminating our enemies has by no means disappeared from the earth. But it is waning. "Live and let live" is a more modern slogan, which mounts in turn from mere toleration of other people to a spirit of service and universal brotherhood. Love of our fellow men--has humanity reached any height superior to this?

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:--
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"--The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

_Leigh Hunt._

THIS WORLD

There is good in life and there is ill. The question is where we should put the emphasis.

This world that we're a-livin' in
Is mighty hard to beat;
You git a thorn with every rose,
But _ain't _the roses _sweet_!

_Frank L. Stanton._

From "The Atlanta Constitution."

GRAY DAYS

By reckoning up the odds against us and ignoring the forces in our favor, we may indeed close the door of hope. But why not take matters the other way about? Why not see the situation clearly and then throw our own strong purpose in the scales? In the course of a battle an officer reported to Stonewall Jackson that he must fall back because his ammunition had been spoiled by a rainstorm. "So has the enemy's," was the instant reply. "Give them the bayonet." This resolute spirit won the battle.

Hang the gray days!
The deuce-to-pay days!
The feeling-blue and nothing-to-do days!
The sit-by-yourself-for-there's-nothing-new days!
When the cat that Care killed without excuse
With your inner self's crying, "Oh, what's the use?"
And you wonder whatever is going to become of you,
And you feel that a cipher expresses the sum of you;
And you know that you'll never,
Oh, never, be clever,
Spite of all your endeavor
Or hard work or whatever!
Oh, gee!
What a mix-up you see
When you look at the world where you happen to be!
Where strangers are hateful and friends are a bore,
And you know in your heart you will smile nevermore!
Gee, kid!
Clap on the lid!
It is all a mistake! Give your worries the skid!
There are sunny days coming
Succeeding the blue
And bees will be humming
Making honey for you,
And your heart will be singing
The merriest tune
While April is bringing
A May and a June!
Gray days?
Play days!
Joy-bringing pay days
And heart-lifting May days!
The sun will be shining in just a wee while
So smile!

_Griffith Alexander._

From "The Philadelphia Evening Public Ledger."

LAUGH A LITTLE BIT

"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine"; a little laughter cures many a seeming ill.

Here's a motto, just your fit--
Laugh a little bit.
When you think you're trouble hit,
Laugh a little bit.
Look misfortune in the face.
Brave the beldam's rude grimace;
Ten to one 'twill yield its place,
If you have the wit and grit
Just to laugh a little bit.

Keep your face with sunshine lit,
Laugh a little bit.
All the shadows off will flit,
If you have the grit and wit
Just to laugh a little bit.

Cherish this as sacred writ--
Laugh a little bit.
Keep it with you, sample it,
Laugh a little bit.
Little ills will sure betide you,
Fortune may not sit beside you,
Men may mock and fame deride you,
But you'll mind them not a whit
If you laugh a little bit.

_Edmund Vance Cooke._

From "A Patch of Pansies."

A SONG OF LIFE

Many of us merely exist, and think that we live. What we should regain at all costs is freshness and intensity of being. This need not involve turbulent activity. It may involve quite the opposite.

Say not, "I live!"
Unless the morning's trumpet brings
A shock of glory to your soul,
Unless the ecstasy that sings
Through rushing worlds and insects' wings,
Sends you upspringing to your goal,
Glad of the need for toil and strife,
Eager to grapple hands with Life--
Say not, "I live!"

Say not, "I live!"
Unless the energy that rings
Throughout this universe of fire
A challenge to your spirit flings,
Here in the world of men and things,
Thrilling you with a huge desire
To mate your purpose with the stars,
To shout with Jupiter and Mars--
Say not, "I live!"

Say not, "I live!"
Such were a libel on the Plan
Blazing within the mind of God
Ere world or star or sun began.
Say rather, with your fellow man,
"I grub; I burrow in the sod."
Life is not life that does not flame
With consciousness of whence it came--
Say not, "I live!"

_Angela Morgan._

From "The Hour Has Struck."

A POOR UNFORTUNATE

Things are never so bad but they might have been worse. An immigrant into the South paid a negro to bring him a wild turkey. The next day he complained: "You shouldn't shoot at the turkey's body, Rastus. Shoot at his head. The flesh of that turkey was simply full of shot." "Boss," said the negro, "dem shot was meant for me."

I

His hoss went dead an' his mule went lame;
He lost six cows in a poker game;
A harricane came on a summer's day,
An' carried the house whar' he lived away;
Then a airthquake come when that wuz gone,
An' swallered the lan' that the house stood on!
An' the tax collector, _he_ come roun'
An' charged him up fer the hole in the groun'!
An' the city marshal--he come in view
An' said he wanted his street tax, too!