Chapter II (2)

This is my creed: To close my eyes
To little faults of those around me;
To strive to be when each day dies
Some better than the morning found me;
To ask for no unearned applause,
To cross no river until I reach it;
To see the merit of the cause
Before I follow those who preach it.

This is my creed: To try to shun
The sloughs in which the foolish wallow;
To lead where I may be the one
Whom weaker men should choose to follow.
To keep my standards always high,
To find my task and always do it;
This is my creed--I wish that I
Could learn to shape my action to it.

_S.E. Kiser._

CO-OPERATION

"We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately," Benjamin Franklin is reported to have said at the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

It ain't the guns nor armament,
Nor funds that they can pay,
But the close co-operation,
That makes them win the day.

It ain't the individual,
Nor the army as a whole,
But the everlasting team-work
Of every bloomin' soul.

_J. Mason Knox_.

THE NOBLE NATURE

There is a deceptive glamour about mere bigness. Quality may accompany quantity, but it need not. In fact good things are usually done up in small parcels. "I could eat you at a mouthful," roared a bulky opponent to the small and sickly Alexander H. Stephens. "If you did," replied Stephens quietly, "you'd have more brains in your belly than ever you had in your head."

It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make Man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night--
It was the plant and flower of Light.
In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.

_Ben Jonson_.

DAYS OF CHEER

Edison says that genius is two parts inspiration, ninety-eight parts perspiration. So happiness is two parts circumstance, ninety-eight parts mental attitude.

"Feelin' fine," he used to say,
Come a clear or cloudy day,
Wave his hand, an' shed a smile,
Keepin' sunny all th' while.
Never let no bugbears grim
Git a wrastle-holt o' him,
Kep' a-smilin' rain or shine,
Tell you he was "feelin' fine!"

"Feelin' fine," he used to say
Wave his hand an' go his way.
Never had no time to lose
So he said, fighting blues.
Had a twinkle in his eye
Always when a-goin' by,
Sort o' smile up into mine,
Tell me he was "feelin' fine!"

"Feelin' fine," he'd allus say,
An' th' sunshine seemed to stay
Close by him, or else he shone
With some sunshine of his own.
Didn't seem no clouds could dim
Any happiness for him,
Allus seemed to have a line
Out f'r gladness--"feelin' fine!"

"Feelin' fine," I've heard him say
Half a dozen times a day,
An' as many times I knowed
He was bearin' up a load.
But he never let no grim
Troubles git much holt on him,
Kep' his spirits jest like wine,
Bubblin' up an' "feelin' fine!"

"Feelin' fine"--I hope he'll stay
All his three score that-a-way,
Lettin' his demeanor be
Sech as you could have or me
Ef we tried, an' went along
Spillin' little drops o' song,
Lettin' rosebuds sort o' twine
O'er th' thorns and "feelin' fine."

_James W. Foley_.

From "Tales of the Trail."

DE SUNFLOWER AIN'T DE DAISY

"Know yourself," said the Greeks. "Be yourself," bade Marcus Aurelius. "Give yourself," taught the Master. Though the third precept is the noblest, the first and second are admirable also. The second is violated on all hands. Yet to be what nature planned us--to develop our own natural selves--is better than to copy those who are wittier or wiser or otherwise better endowed than we. Genuineness should always be preferred to imitation.

De sunflower ain't de daisy, and de melon ain't de rose;
Why is dey all so crazy to be sumfin else dat grows?
Jess stick to de place yo're planted, and do de bes yo knows;
Be de sunflower or de daisy, de melon or de rose.
Don't be what yo ain't, jess yo be what yo is,
If yo am not what yo are den yo is not what you is,
If yo're jess a little tadpole, don't yo try to be de frog;
If yo are de tail, don't yo try to wag de dawg.
Pass de plate if yo can't exhawt and preach;
If yo're jess a little pebble, don't yo try to be de beach;
When a man is what he isn't, den he isn't what he is,
An' as sure as I'm talking, he's a-gwine to get his.

_Anonymous_.

THE DAFFODILS

The poet in lonely mood came suddenly upon a host of daffodils and was thrilled by their joyous beauty. But delightful as the immediate scene was, it was by no means the best part of his experience. For long afterwards, when he least expected it, memory brought back the flowers to the eye of his spirit, filled his solitary moments with thoughts of past happiness, and took him once more (so to speak) into the free open air and the sunshine. Just so for us the memory of happy sights we have seen comes back again to bring us pleasure.

I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:--
A Poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company!
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought;

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

_William Wordsworth._

A LITTLE THANKFUL SONG

No man is without a reason to be thankful. If he lacks gratitude, the fault lies at least partly with himself.

For what are we thankful for? For this:
For the breath and the sunlight of life
For the love of the child, and the kiss
On the lips of the mother and wife.
For roses entwining,
For bud and for bloom,
And hopes that are shining
Like stars in the gloom.

For what are we thankful for? For this:
The strength and the patience of toil;
For ever the dreams that are bliss--
The hope of the seed in the soil.
For souls that are whiter
From day unto day;
And lives that are brighter
From going God's way.

For what are we thankful for? For all:
The sunlight--the shadow--the song;
The blossoms may wither and fall,
But the world moves in music along!
For simple, sweet living,
(Tis love that doth teach it)
A heaven forgiving
And faith that can reach it!

_Frank L. Stanton._

From "The Atlanta Constitution."

TWO RAINDROPS

(A FABLE)

An egotist is not only selfish; he is usually ridiculous as well, for he sets us to wondering as to any possible ground for his exalted opinion of himself. The real workers do not emphasize their superiority to other people, do not even emphasize the differences, but are grateful that they may share in humanity's privilege of rendering service.

Two little raindrops were born in a shower,
And one was so pompously proud of his power,
He got in his head an extravagant notion
He'd hustle right off and swallow the ocean.
A blade of grass that grew by the brook
Called for a drink, but no notice he took
Of such trifling things. He must hurry to be
Not a mere raindrop, but the whole sea.
A stranded ship needed water to float,
But he could not bother to help a boat.
He leaped in the sea with a puff and a blare--
And nobody even knew he was there!

But the other drop as along it went
Found the work to do for which it was sent:
It refreshed the lily that drooped its head,
And bathed the grass that was almost dead.
It got under the ships and helped them along,
And all the while sang a cheerful song.
It worked every step of the way it went,
Bringing joy to others, to itself content.
At last it came to its journey's end,
And welcomed the sea as an old-time friend.
"An ocean," it said, "there could not be
Except for the millions of drops like me."

_Joseph Morris,_

MY WAGE

We may as well aim high as low, ask much as little. The world will not miss what it gives us, and our reward will largely be governed by our demands.

I bargained with Life for a penny,
And Life would pay no more,
However I begged at evening
When I counted my scanty store;

For Life is a just employer,
He gives you what you ask,
But once you have set the wages,
Why, you must bear the task.

I worked for a menial's hire,
Only to learn, dismayed,
That any wage I had asked of Life,
Life would have paid.

_Jessie B. Rittenhouse._

From "The Door of Dreams."

THE GIFT

"Trust thyself," says Emerson; "every heart vibrates to that iron string." This is wholesome and inspiring advice, but there is, as always, another side to the question. Many a man falls into absurdities and mistakes because he cannot get outside of himself and look at himself from other people's eyes. We should cultivate the ability to see everything, including ourselves, from more than one standpoint.

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
And foolish notion;
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
And ev'n devotion!

_Robert Burns._

PROMETHEUS UNBOUND

In the poem from which this excerpt is taken, Prometheus the Titan has been cruelly tortured for opposing the malignant will of Jupiter. In the end Prometheus wins a complete outward victory. Better still, by his steadfastness and high purpose he has won a great inward triumph. The spirit that has actuated him and the nature of his achievement are expressed in the following lines.

To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite;
To forgive wrongs darker than death or night;
To defy Power, which seems omnipotent;
To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates
From its own wreck the thing it contemplates;
Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent;
This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be
Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free;
This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory.

_Percy Bysshe Shelley._

VICTORY IN DEFEAT

The great, radiant souls of earth--the Davids, the Shakespeares, the Lincolns--know grief and affliction as well as joy and triumph. But adversity is never to them mere adversity; it

"Doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange";

and in the crucible of character their suffering itself is transmuted into song.

Defeat may serve as well as victory
To shake the soul and let the glory out.
When the great oak is straining in the wind,
The boughs drink in new beauty, and the trunk
Sends down a deeper root on the windward side.
Only the soul that knows the mighty grief
Can know the mighty rapture. Sorrows come
To stretch out spaces in the heart for joy.

_Edwin Markham._

From "The Shoes of Happiness, and Other Poems."

THE RICHER MINES

No man is so poor but that he is a stockholder. Yet many a man has no real riches; his stocks draw dividends in dollars and cents only.

When it comes to buying shares
In the mines of earth,
May I join the millionaires
Who are rich in mirth.

Let me have a heavy stake
In fresh mountain air--
I will promise now to take
All that you can spare.

When you're setting up your claim
In the Mines of Glee,
Don't forget to use my name--
You can count on me.

Nothing better can be won,
Freer from alloy,
Than a bouncing claim in "Con-
Solidated Joy."

You can have your Copper Stocks
Gold and tin and coal--
What I'd have within my box
Has to do with Soul.

_John Kendrick Bangs._

From "Songs of Cheer."

BRAVE LIFE

To be absolutely without physical fear may not be the highest courage; to shrink and quake, and yet stand at one's post, may be braver still. So of success. It lies less in the attainment of some external end than in holding yourself to your purposes and ideals; for out of high loyalty and effort comes that intangible thing called character, which is no mere symbol of success, but success itself.

I do not know what I shall find on out beyond the final fight;
I do not know what I shall meet beyond the last barrage of night;
Nor do I care--but this I know--if I but serve within the fold
And play the game--I'll be prepared for all the endless years may hold.

Life is a training camp at best for what may wait beyond the years;
A training camp of toiling days and nights that lean to dreams and tears;
But each may come upon the goal, and build his soul above all Fate
By holding an unbroken faith and taking Courage for a mate.

Is not the fight itself enough that man must look to some behest?
Wherein does Failure miss Success if all engaged but do their best?
Where does the Victor's cry come in for wreath of fame or laureled brow
If one he vanquished fought as well as weaker muscle would allow?

If my opponent in the fray should prove to be a stronger foe--
Not of his making--but because the Destinies ordained it so;
If he should win--and I should lose--although I did my utmost part,
Is my reward the less than his if he should strive with equal heart?

Brave Life, I hold, is something more than driving upward to the peak;
Than smashing madly through the strong, and crashing onward through the
weak;
I hold the man who makes his fight against the raw game's crushing odds
Is braver than his brothers are who hold the favor of the gods.

On by the sky line, faint and vague, in that Far Country all must know,
No laurel crown of fame may wait beyond the sunset's glow;
But life has given me the chance to train and serve within the fold,
To meet the test--and be prepared for all the endless years may hold.

_Grantland Rice._

From "The Sportlight."

A SONG OF TO-MORROW

A night's sleep and a new day--these are excellent things to look forward to when one is weary or in trouble.

Li'l bit er trouble,
Honey, fer terday;
Yander come Termorrer--
Shine it all away!

Rainy Sky is sayin',
"Dis'll never do!
Fetch dem rainbow ribbons,
En I'll dress in blue!"

_Frank L. Stanton._

From "The Atlanta Constitution."

THE GLAD SONG

Gladness begins with the first person, with you. But it may spread far, like the ripples when you toss a stone in the water.

Sing a song, sing a song,
Ring the glad-bells all along;
Smile at him who frowns at you,
He will smile and then they're two.

Laugh a bit, laugh a bit,
Folks will soon be catching it,
Can't resist a happy face;
World will be a merry place.

Laugh a Bit and Sing a Song,
Where they are there's nothing wrong;
Joy will dance the whole world through,
But it must begin with you.

_Joseph Morris._

PAINTING THE LILY

Many people are not content to let well enough alone, but spoil what they have by striving for an unnecessary and foolish improvement. If they have a rich title, they try to ornament it still further; if they have refined gold, they try to gild it; if they have a lily, they try to paint it into still purer color.

Therefore, to be possessed with double pomp,
To guard a title that was rich before,
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

_William Shakespeare._

A PRETTY GOOD WORLD

The world has its faults, but few of us would give it up till we have to.

Pretty good world if you take it all round--
Pretty good world, good people!
Better be on than under the ground--
Pretty good world, good people!
Better be here where the skies are as blue
As the eyes of your sweetheart a-smilin' at you--
Better than lyin' 'neath daisies and dew--
Pretty good world, good people!

Pretty good world with its hopes and its fears--
Pretty good world, good people!
Sun twinkles bright through the rain of its tears--
Pretty good world, good people!
Better be here, in the pathway you know--
Where the thorn's in the garden where sweet roses grow,
Than to rest where you feel not the fall o' the snow--
Pretty good world, good people!

Pretty good world! Let us sing it that way--
Pretty good world, good people!
Make up your mind that you're in it to stay--
At least for a season, good people!
Pretty good world, with its dark and its bright--
Pretty good world, with its love and its light;
Sing it that way till you whisper, "Good-night!"--
Pretty good world, good people!

_Frank L. Stanton._

From "The Atlanta Constitution."

ODE TO DUTY

In the first stanza the poet hails duty as coming from God. It is a light to guide us and a rod to check. To obey it does not lead to victory; to obey it _is_ victory--is to live by a high, noble law. In the second stanza he admits that some people do right without driving themselves to it--do it by instinct and "the genial sense of youth." In stanza 3 he looks forward to a time when all people will be thus blessed, but he thinks that as yet it is unsafe for most of us to lose touch completely with stern, commanding duty. In stanzas 4 and 5 he states that he himself has been too impatient of control, has wearied himself by changing from one desire to another, and now wishes to regulate his life by some great abiding principle. In stanza 6 he declares that duty, though stern, is benignant; the flowers bloom in obedience to it, and the stars keep their places. In the final stanza he dedicates his life to its service.

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free,
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad hearts! without reproach or blot,
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.

Serene will be our days and bright
And happy will our nature be
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Ev'n now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried,
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control,
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this uncharter'd freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their name;
I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace,
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face;
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds,
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong;
And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live.

_William Wordsworth._

THE SYNDICATED SMILE

A ready and sincere friendliness is the one thing we can show to every human being, whether we know him or not. The world is full of perplexed and lonely people whom even a smile or a kind look will help. Yet that which is so easy to give we too often reserve for a few, and those perhaps the least appreciative.

I knew a girl who had a beau
And his name wasn't Adams--
No child of hers would ever call
The present writer "daddums."
I didn't love the girl, but still
I found her most beguiling;
And so did all the other chaps--
She did it with her smiling.
"I'm not a one-man girl," she said--
"Of smiles my beau first took his;
But some are left; I'll syndicate
And pass them round like cookies."

That syndicated smile!
When trouble seemed the most in style,
It heartened us--
That indicated,
Syndicated
Smile.

It's not enough to please your boss
Or fawn round folks with bankrolls;
Be just as friendly to the guys
Whose homespun round their shank rolls.
The best investment in the world
Is goodwill, twenty carat;
It costs you nothing, brings returns;
So get yours out and air it.
A niggard of good nature cheats
Himself and wrongs his fellows.
You'd serve mankind? Then be less close
With friendly nods and helloes.

The syndicated smile!
If you have kept it all the while,
You've vindicated
The indicated,
Syndicated
Smile.

_St. Clair Adams._

FAIRY SONG

The great beneficent forces of life are not exhausted when once used, but are recurrent. The sun rises afresh each new day. Once a year the springtime returns and "God renews His ancient rapture." So it is with our joys. They do not stay by us constantly; they pass from us and are gone; but we need not trouble ourselves--they are sure to come back.

Shed no tear! O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! O weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
Dry your eyes! O dry your eyes,
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies--
Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead,
'Mong the blossoms white and red--
Look up, look up--I flutter now
On this flush pomegranate bough.
See me! 'tis this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man's ill.
Shed no tear! O shed no tear!
The flowers will bloom another year.
Adieu, adieu--I fly, adieu,
I vanish in the heaven's blue--
Adieu, adieu!

_John Keats._

PRAISE THE GENEROUS GODS FOR GIVING

Some of us find joy in toil, some in art, some in the open air and the sunshine. All of us find it in simply being alive. Life is the gift no creature in his right mind would part with. As Milton asks,

"For who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
These thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of sense and motion?"

Praise the generous gods for giving
In a world of wrath and strife,
With a little time for living,
Unto all the joy of life.

At whatever source we drink it,
Art or love or faith or wine,
In whatever terms we think it,
It is common and divine.

Praise the high gods, for in giving
This to man, and this alone,
They have made his chance of living
Shine the equal of their own.

_William Ernest Henley._

COWARDS

We might as well accept the inevitable as the inevitable. There is no escaping death or taxes.

Cowards die many times before their deaths:
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come, when it will come.

_William Shakespeare._

THE WORD

The Cumaean sibyl offered Tarquin the Proud nine books for what seemed an exorbitant sum. He refused. She burned three of the books, and placed the same price on the six as on the original nine. Again he refused. She burned three more books, and offered the remainder for the sum she first named. This time Tarquin accepted. The books were found to contain prophecies and invaluable directions regarding Roman policy, but alas, they were no longer complete. So it is with joy. To take it now is to get it in its entirety. To defer until some other occasion is to get less of it--at the same cost.

Today, whatever may annoy,
The word for it is Joy, just simple joy:
The joy of life;
The joy of children and of wife;
The joy of bright blue skies;
The joy of rain; the glad surprise
Of twinkling stars that shine at night;
The joy of winged things upon their flight;
The joy of noonday, and the tried,
True joyousness of eventide;
The joy of labor and of mirth;
The joy of air, and sea, and earth--
The countless joys that ever flow from Him
Whose vast beneficence doth dim
The lustrous light of day,
And lavish gifts divine upon our way.
Whatever there be of Sorrow
I'll put off till To-morrow,
And when To-morrow comes, why, then
'Twill be To-day, and Joy again!

_John Kendrick Bangs._

From "The Atlantic Monthly."

ENVOI

Franklin K. Lane stipulated that when he died his body should be cremated and the ashes scattered from El Capitan over the beautiful Yosemite Valley. He thus symbolized what many of us feel--the unity of our deeper and finer selves with the eternal life and loveliness of nature.

Oh seek me not within a tomb;
Thou shalt not find me in the clay!
I pierce a little wall of gloom
To mingle with the Day!

I brothered with the things that pass,
Poor giddy Joy and puckered Grief;
I go to brother with the Grass
And with the sunning Leaf.

Not Death can sheathe me in a shroud;
A joy-sword whetted keen with pain,
I join the armies of the Cloud
The Lightning and the Rain.

Oh subtle in the sap athrill,
Athletic in the glad uplift,
A portion of the Cosmic Will,
I pierce the planet-drift.

My God and I shall interknit
As rain and Ocean, breath and Air;
And oh, the luring thought of it
Is prayer!

_John G. Neihardt_

From "The Quest" (collected lyrics).

JAW

We all like a firm, straightforward chin provided it is not ruled by a wagging, gossiping tongue.

This fellow's jaw is built so frail
That you could break it like a weed;
That fellow's chin retreats until
You'd think it in a wild stampede.
Defects like these but show how soon
The purpose droops, the spirits flag--
We like a jaw that's made of steel,
Just so it's not inclined to wag.

The lower jaw should be as strong
And changeless as a granite cliff;
Its very look should be a _thus_
And not a _maybe, somehow, if;_
Should mark a soul so resolute
It will not fear or cease or lag--
We need a rugged mandible,
Provided we don't let it wag.

Yes, with endurance, let it too
A tender modesty possess;
And to its grim strength let it add
The gracious power of gentleness.
Above all, let its might of deeds
Induce no loud or vulgar brag--
We like to see a good, firm jaw,
But do not wish to hear it wag.

_St. Clair Adams._

THE CONQUEROR

Age is wise; it attempts nothing impossible. Youth is wiser; it believes nothing impossible. Age conserves more; youth accomplishes more. Between the two is an irreconcilable difference.

"Crabbéd age and youth
Cannot live together,"

as Shakespeare says. And the sympathy of the world is with youth. It is better so; for though many cherished things would be saved from sacrifice if rash immaturity were more often checked, progress would be stayed if life were dominated by sterile and repressive age.

Room for me, graybeards, room, make room!
Menace me not with your eyes of gloom;
Jostle me not from the place I seek,
For my arms are strong and your own are weak,
And if my plea to you be denied
I'll thrust your wearying forms aside.
Pity you? Yes, but I cannot stay;
I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

Room for me, timid ones, room, make room!
Little I care for your fret and fume--
I laugh at sorrow and jeer defeat;
To doubt and doubters I give the lie,
And fear is stilled as I swagger by,
And life's a fight and I seek the fray;
I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

Room for me, mighty ones, room, make room!
I fear no power and dread no doom;
And you who curse me and you who bless
Alike must bow to my dauntlessness.
I topple the king from his golden throne,
I smash old idols of brass and stone,
I am not hampered by yesterday.
Room for the spirit of Youth; make way!

Room for me, all of you, make me room!
Where the rifles clash and the cannon boom,
Where glory beckons or love or fame
I plunge me heedlessly in the game.
The old, the wary, the wise, the great,
They cannot stay me, for I am Fate,
The brave young master of all good play,
I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

_Berton Braley._

From "Things As They Are."

IS IT RAINING, LITTLE FLOWER?

"Sweet are the uses of adversity." They bring us benefits not otherwise to be had. To mope because of them is foolish. Showers alternate with sunshine, sorrows with pleasure, pain and weariness with comfort and rest; but accept the one as necessary to the other, and you will enjoy both.

Is it raining, little flower?
Be glad of rain.
Too much sun would wither thee,
'Twill shine again.
The sky is very black, 'tis true,
But just behind it shines
The blue.

Art thou weary, tender heart?
Be glad of pain;
In sorrow the sweetest things will grow
As flowers in the rain.
God watches and thou wilt have sun
When clouds their perfect work
Have done.

_Anonymous_.

GRADATIM

In the old fable the tortoise won the race from the hare, not by a single burst of speed, but by plodding on steadily, tirelessly. In the Civil War it was found that Lee's army could not be overwhelmed in a single battle, but one Federal general perceived that it could be worn down by time and the pressure of numbers. "I propose," said Grant, "to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." It took more than a summer; it took nearly a year--but he did it. In the moral realm likewise, "All things excellent are as difficult as they are rare." Character is not attained over-night. The only way to develop moral muscles is to exercise them patiently and long.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit, round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true:
That a noble deed is a step towards God,--
Lifting the soul from the common clod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by the things that are under feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,
When the morning calls us to life and light,
But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night,
Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,
And we think that we mount the air on wings
Beyond the recall of sensual things,
While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings for the angels, but feet for men!
We may borrow the wings to find the way--
We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray;
But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown
From the weary earth to the sapphire walls;
But the dreams depart, and the vision falls,
And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit, round by round.

_J.G. Holland._

From "Complete Poetical Writings."

RULES FOR THE ROAD

Ardor of sinew and spirit--what else do we need to make our journey prosperous and happy?

Stand straight:
Step firmly, throw your weight:
The heaven is high above your head,
The good gray road is faithful to your tread.

Be strong:
Sing to your heart a battle song:
Though hidden foemen lie in wait,
Something is in you that can smile at Fate.

Press through:
Nothing can harm if you are true.
And when the night comes, rest:
The earth is friendly as a mother's breast.

_Edwin Markham._

From "The Gates of Paradise, and Other Poems."

LIFE

"What is life?" we ask. "Just one darned thing after another," the cynic replies. Yes, a multiplicity of forces and interests, and each of them, even the disagreeable, may be of real help to us. It's good for a dog, says a shrewd philosopher, to be pestered with fleas; it keeps him from thinking too much about being a dog.

What's life? A story or a song;
A race on any track;
A gay adventure, short or long,
A puzzling nut to crack;
A grinding task; a pleasant stroll;
A climb; a slide down hill;
A constant striving for a goal;
A cake; a bitter pill;
A pit where fortune flouts or stings;
A playground full of fun;--
With many any of these things;
With others all in one.
What's life? To love the things we see;
The hills that touch the skies;
The smiling sea; the laughing lea;
The light in woman's eyes;
To work and love the work we do;
To play a game that's square;
To grin a bit when feeling blue;
With friends our joys to share;
To smile, though games be lost or won;
To earn our daily bread;--
And when at last the day is done
To tumble into bed.

_Griffith Alexander,_

From "The Philadelphia Evening Public Ledger."

HOE YOUR ROW

We must not dream of harvests and neglect the toil that produces them.

De fiel's 'll soon be hummin'
Roun' de country high en low;
De harves' is a-comin':
Hoe yo' row!
Hoe yo' row!

No time now fer de sleeper;
It's "Git up now, en go!"
It's de sower makes de reaper;
Hoe yo' row!
Hoe yo' row!

It's sweet de birds is singin'
De songs you lovin' so;
But de harves' bells is ringin';
Hoe yo' row!
Hoe yo' row!

_Frank L. Stanton._

From "The Atlanta Constitution."

BORROWING TROUBLE

It is bad enough to cry over spilt milk. But many of us do worse; we cry over milk that we think is going to be spilt. In line 1 sic=such; 2, a'=all; 3, nae=no; 4, enow=enough; 5, hae=have; sturt=fret, trouble.

But human bodies are sic fools,
For a' their colleges an' schools,
That when nae real ills perplex them,
They mak enow themsels to vex them;
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them,
In like proportion less will hurt them.

_Robert Burns_

UNDISMAYED

A convict explained to a visitor why he had been sent to the penitentiary. "They can't put you in here for that!" the visitor exclaimed. "They did," replied the convict. So smiling seems a futile thing. Apparently it cannot get us anywhere--but it does.

He came up smilin'--used to say
He made his fortune that-a-way;
He had hard luck a-plenty, too,
But settled down an' fought her through;
An' every time he got a jolt
He jist took on a tighter holt,
Slipped back some when he tried to climb
But came up smilin' every time.

He came up smilin'--used to git
His share o' knocks, but he had grit,
An' if they hurt he didn't set
Around th' grocery store an' fret.
He jist grabbed Fortune by th' hair
An' hung on till he got his share.
He had th' grit in him to stay
An' come up smilin' every day.

He jist gripped hard an' all alone
Like a set bull-pup with a bone,
An' if he got shook loose, why then
He got up an' grabbed holt again.
He didn't have no time, he'd say,
To bother about yesterday,
An' when there was a prize to win
He came up smilin' an' pitched in.

He came up smilin'--good fer him!
He had th' grit an' pluck an' vim,
So he's on Easy Street, an' durned
If I don't think his luck is earned!
No matter if he lost sometimes,
He's got th' stuff in him that climbs,
An' when his chance was mighty slim,
He came up smilin'--good fer him!

_James W. Foley._

From "Tales of the Trail."

A HERO

If defeat strengthens and sweetens character, it is not defeat at all, but victory.

He sang of joy; whate'er he knew of sadness
He kept for his own heart's peculiar share:
So well he sang, the world imagined gladness
To be sole tenant there.

For dreams were his, and in the dawn's fair shining,
His spirit soared beyond the mounting lark;
But from his lips no accent of repining
Fell when the days grew dark;

And though contending long dread Fate to master,
He failed at last her enmity to cheat,
He turned with such a smile to face disaster
That he sublimed defeat.

_Florence Earle Coates._

From "Poems."

WILL

"I can resist anything but temptation," says a character in one of Oscar Wilde's plays. Too many of us have exactly this strength of will. We perhaps do not fall into gross crime, but because of our flabby resolution our lives become purposeless, negative, negligible. No one would miss us in particular if we were out of the way.

I

O well for him whose will is strong!
He suffers, but he will not suffer long;
He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong.
For him nor moves the loud world's random mock;
Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound,
Who seems a promontory of rock,
That, compass'd round with turbulent sound,
In middle ocean meets the surging shock,
Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crown'd.