The Project Gutenberg EBook of It Can Be Done, by Joseph Morris This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: It Can Be Done Poems of Inspiration Author: Joseph Morris Release Date: January 21, 2004 [EBook #10763] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT CAN BE DONE *** Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Anne Folland and PG Distributed Proofreaders IT CAN BE DONE POEMS OF INSPIRATION COLLECTED BY JOSEPH MORRIS and ST. CLAIR ADAMS FOREWORD This is a volume of inspirational poems. Its purpose is to bring men courage and resolution, to cheer them, to fire them with new confidence when they grow dispirited, to strengthen their faith that THINGS CAN BE DONE. It is better for this purpose than the entire works of any one poet, for it takes the cream of many and has greater diversity than any one writer can show. It is made up chiefly of very recent poems--not such as were written for anthologies of poetical "gems," but such as speak directly to the heart, always in very simple language, often in the phrases of shop or office or street. Included, however, with the poems of the day are a few of the fine old pieces that have been of comfort to men through the ages. Besides the poems themselves, the volume contains helps to their understanding and enjoyment. The pieces are introduced by short comments; these serve the same purpose as the strain played by the pianist before the singer begins to sing; they create a mood, give a point of view, throw light on the meaning of what follows. Also the lives of the authors are briefly summarized; this is in answer to our natural interest in the writer of a poem we like, and in the case of living poets it brings together facts hardly to be found anywhere else. Finally, the book is not one to be read and then cast aside. It is to be kept as a constant companion and an unfailing recourse in weariness or gloom. Human companions are not always in the mood to cheer us, and may talk upon themes we dislike. But this book will converse or be silent, it is never out of sorts or discouraged, and so far from being wed to some single topic, it will speak to us at any time on any subject we desire. To many authors and publishers acknowledgment is due for generous permission to use copyright material. CONTENTS Abou Ben Adhem............................. _Leigh Hunt_ Answer, The................................ _Grantland Rice_ Appreciation............................... _William Judson Kibby_ Arrow and the Song, The.................... _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ Awareness.................................. _Miriam Teichner_ Bars of Fate, The.......................... _Ellen M.H. Gates_ Battle Cry................................. _John G. Neihardt_ Belly and the Members, The................. _William Shakespeare_ Be the Best of Whatever You Are............ _Douglas Malloch_ Borrowed Feathers.......................... _Joseph Morris_ Borrowing Trouble.......................... _Robert Burns_ Brave Life................................. _Grantland Rice_ Call of the Unbeaten, The.................. _Grantland Rice_ Can't...................................... _Edgar A. Guest_ Can You Sing a Song?....................... _Joseph Morris_ Cares...................................... _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ Celestial Surgeon, The..................... _Robert Louis Stevenson_ Challenge.................................. _Jean Nette_ Chambered Nautilus, The.................... _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ Character of a Happy Life.................. _Sir Henry Wotton_ Clear the Way.............................. _Charles Mackay_ Cleon and I................................ _Charles Mackay_ Columbus................................... _Joaquin Miller_ Conqueror, The............................. _Berton Braley_ Co-operation............................... _J. Mason Knox_ Courage.................................... _Florence Earle Coates Cowards.................................... _William Shakespeare_ Creed, A................................... _Edwin Markham_ Daffodils, The............................. _William Wordsworth_ Days of Cheer.............................. _James W. Foley_ December 31................................ _S.E. Kiser_ De Sunflower Ain't de Daisy................ _Anonymous_ Disappointed, The.......................... _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ Duty....................................... _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ Duty....................................... _Edwin Markham_ Envoi...................................... _John G. Neihardt_ Essentials................................. _St. Clair Adams_ Fable...................................... _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ Fairy Song................................. _John Keats_ Faith...................................... _S.E. Kiser_ Faith...................................... _Edward Rowland Sill_ Fighter, The............................... _S.E. Kiser_ Fighting Failure, The...................... _Everard Jack Appleton_ Firm of Grin and Barrett, The.............. _Sam Walter Foss_ Four Things................................ _Henry Van Dyke_ Friends of Mine............................ _James W. Foley_ Game, The.................................. _Grantland Rice _ Gifts of God, The.......................... _George Herbert_ Gift, The.................................. _Robert Burns_ Gladness................................... _Anna Hempstead Branch_ Glad Song, The............................. _Joseph Morris_ God........................................ _Gamaliel Bradford_ Good Deeds................................. _William Shakespeare_ Good Intentions............................ _St. Clair Adams_ Good Name, A............................... _William Shakespeare_ Gradatim................................... _G. Holland_ Gray Days.................................. _Griffith Alexander_ Greatness of the Soul, The................. _Alfred Tennyson_ Grief...................................... _Angela Morgan_ Grumpy Guy, The............................ _Griffith Alexander_ Happy Heart, The........................... _Thomas Dekker_ Has-Beens, The............................. _Walt Mason_ Having Done and Doing...................... _William Shakespeare_ Heinelet................................... _Gamaliel Bradford _ Helpin' Out................................ _William Judson Kibby_ Here's Hopin'.............................. _Frank L. Stanton_ Hero, A.................................... _Florence Earle Coates_ He Whom a Dream Hath Possessed............. _Sheamus O Sheel_ His Ally................................... _William Rose Benet_ Hoe Your Row............................... _Frank L. Stanton_ Hold Fast.................................. _Everard Jack Appleton_ Hope....................................... _Anonymous_ Hopeful Brother, A......................... _Frank L. Stanton_ House by the Side of the Road, The......... _Sam Walter Foss_ How Did You Die?........................... _Edmund Vance Cooke_ How Do You Tackle Your Work?............... _Edgar A. Guest_ Hymn to Happiness, A....................... _James W. Foley_ If......................................... _John Kendrick Bangs_ If......................................... _Rudyard Kipling_ If I Should Die............................ _Ben King_ If You Can't Go Over or Under, Go Round.... _Joseph Morris_ I'm Glad................................... _Anonymous_ Inner Light, The........................... _John Milton_ Invictus................................... _William Ernest Henley_ Is It Raining, Little Flower?.............. _Anonymous_ It Couldn't Be Done........................ _Edgar A. Guest_ It May Be.................................. _S.E. Riser_ It Won't Stay Blowed....................... _St. Clair Adams_ Jaw........................................ _St. Clair Adams_ Joy of Living, The......................... _Gamaliel Bradford_ Just Be Glad............................... _James Whitcomb Riley_ Just Whistle............................... _Frank L. Stanton_ Keep A-Goin'!.............................. _Frank L. Stanton_ Keep On Keepin' On......................... _Anonymous_ Keep Sweet................................. _Strickland W. Gillilan_ Kingdom of Man, The........................ _John Kendrick Bangs_ Know Thyself............................... _Angela Morgan_ Laugh a Little Bit......................... _Edmund Vance Cooke_ Lesson from History, A..................... _Joseph Morris_ Let Me Live Out My Years................... _John G. Neihardt_ Life....................................... _Griffith Alexander_ Life....................................... _Edward Rowland Sill_ Life....................................... _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ Life and Death............................. _Anna Barbauld_ Life and Death............................. _Ernest H. Crosby_ Life, not Death............................ _Alfred Tennyson_ Life Without Passion....................... _William Shakespeare_ Lion Path, The............................. _Charlotte Perkins Gilman_ Lions and Ants............................. _Walt Mason_ Little Prayer, A........................... _S.E. Kiser_ Little Thankful Song, A.................... _Frank L. Stanton_ Lose the Day Loitering..................... _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_ Man, Bird, and God......................... _Robert Browning_ Man or Manikin............................. _Richard Butler Glaenzer_ Man's a Man for A' That, A................. _Robert Burns_ Man Who Frets at Worldly Strife, The....... _Joseph Rodman Drake_ Meetin' Trouble............................ _Everard Jack Appleton_ "Might Have Been".......................... _Grantland Rice_ Mistress Fate.............................. _William Rose Benet_ Morality................................... _Matthew Arnold_ My Creed................................... _S.E. Kiser_ My Philosophy.............................. _James Whitcomb Riley_ My Triumph................................. _John Greenleaf Whittier_ My Wage.................................... _Jessie B. Rittenhouse_ Never Trouble Trouble...................... _St. Clair Adams_ New Duckling, The.......................... _Alfred Noyes_ Noble Nature, The.......................... _Ben Jonson_ Ode to Duty................................ _William Wordsworth_ On Being Ready............................. _Grantland Rice_ On Down the Road........................... _Grantland Rice_ One Fight More............................. _Theodosia Garrison_ One of These Days.......................... _James W. Foley_ One, The................................... _Everard Jack Appleton_ Opening Paradise........................... _Thomas Gray_ Opportunity................................ _Berton Braley_ Opportunity................................ _John James Ingalls_ Opportunity................................ _Walter Malone_ Opportunity................................ _Edwin Markham_ Opportunity................................ _William Shakespeare_ Opportunity................................ _Edward Rowland Sill_ Order and the Bees......................... _William Shakespeare_ Ownership.................................. _St. Clair Adams_ Painting the Lily.......................... _William Shakespeare_ Per Aspera................................. _Florence Earle Coates_ Pessimist, The............................. _Ben King_ Philosopher, A............................. _John Kendrick Bangs_ Philosophy for Croakers.................... _Joseph Morris_ Pippa's Song............................... _Robert Browning_ Playing the Game........................... _Anonymous_ Playing the Game........................... _Berton Braley_ Play the Game.............................. _Henry Newbolt_ Polonius's Advice to Laertes............... _William Shakespeare_ Poor Unfortunate, A........................ _Frank L. Stanton_ Praise the Generous Gods for Giving........ _William Ernest Henley_ Prayer, A.................................. _Theodosia Garrison_ Prayer for Pain............................ _John G. Neihardt_ Preparedness............................... _Edwin Markham_ Press On................................... _Park Benjamin _ Pretty Good World, A....................... _Frank L. Stanton_ Problem to Be Solved, A.................... _St. Clair Adams_ Prometheus Unbound......................... _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ Prospice................................... _Robert Browning_ Psalm of Life, A........................... _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ Quitter, The............................... _Robert W. Service_ Rabbi Ben Ezra............................. _Robert Browning_ Rainbow, The............................... _William Wordsworth_ Rectifying Years, The...................... _St. Clair Adams_ Resolve.................................... _Charlotte Perkins Gilman_ Richer Mines, The.......................... _John Kendrick Bangs_ Ring Out, Wild Bells....................... _Alfred Tennyson_ Rules for the Road......................... _Edwin Markham_ Sadness and Merriment...................... _William Shakespeare_ Say Not the Struggle Nought Availeth....... _Arthur Hugh Clough_ See It Through............................. _Edgar A. Guest_ Self-Dependence............................ _Matthew Arnold_ Serenity................................... _Lord Byron_ Sit Down, Sad Soul......................... _Bryan Waller Procter_ Sleep and the Monarch...................... _William Shakespeare_ Slogan..................................... _Jane M'Lean_ Smiles..................................... _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ Smiling Paradox, A......................... _John Kendrick Bangs_ Solitude................................... _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ Song of Endeavor........................... _James W. Foley_ Song of Life, A............................ _Angela Morgan_ Song of Thanksgiving, A.................... _Angela Morgan_ Song of To-morrow, A....................... _Frank L. Stanton_ Stability.................................. _William Shakespeare_ Stand Forth!............................... _Angela Morgan_ Start Where You Stand...................... _Bert on Braley_ Steadfast.................................. _Everard Jack Appleton_ Stone Rejected, The........................ _Edwin Markham_ Struggle, The.............................. _Miriam Teichner_ Submission................................. _Miriam Teichner_ Success.................................... _Berton Braley_ Swellitis.................................. _Joseph Morris_ Syndicated Smile, The...................... _St. Clair Adams_ There Will Always Be Something to Do....... _Edgar A. Guest_ Thick Is the Darkness...................... _William Ernest Henley_ Things That Haven't Been Done Before, The.. _Edgar A. Guest_ This World................................. _Frank L. Stanton_ Times Go by Turns.......................... _Robert Southwell_ Tit for Tat................................ _St. Clair Adams_ To Althea from Prison...................... _Richard Lovelace_ Toast to Merriment, A...................... _James W. Foley_ To a Young Man............................. _Edgar A. Guest_ To-day..................................... _Thomas Carlyle_ To-day..................................... _Douglas Malloch_ To Melancholy.............................. _John Kendrick Bangs_ To the Men Who Lose........................ _Anonymous_ To Those Who Fail.......................... _Joaquin Miller_ To Youth After Pain........................ _Margaret Widdemer_ Trainers, The.............................. _Grantland Rice_ Two at a Fireside.......................... _Edwin Markham_ Two Raindrops.............................. _Joseph Morris_ Ultimate Act............................... _Henry Bryan Binns_ Ulysses.................................... _Alfred Tennyson_ Unafraid................................... _Everard Jack Appleton_ Undismayed................................. _James W. Foley_ Unmusical Soloist, The..................... _Joseph Morris_ Unsubdued.................................. _S.E. Kiser_ Victory.................................... _Miriam Teichner_ Victory in Defeat.......................... _Edwin Markham_ Wanted--a Man.............................. _St. Clair Adams_ Welcome Man, The........................... _Walt Mason_ What Dark Days Do.......................... _Everard Jack Appleton_ When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted....... _Rudyard Kipling_ When Nature Wants a Man.................... _Angela Morgan_ Will....................................... _Alfred Tennyson_ Will....................................... _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ Wisdom of Folly, The....................... _Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler_ Wishing.................................... _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ Woman Who Understands, The................. _Everard Jack Appleton_ Word, The.................................. _John Kendrick Bangs_ Work....................................... _Angela Morgan_ Work....................................... _Henry Van Dyke_ World Is Against Me, The................... _Edgar A. Guest_ Worth While................................ _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ You May Count That Day..................... _George Eliot_ Your Mission............................... _Ellen M.H. Gates_ IT CAN BE DONE BE THE BEST OF WHATEVER YOU ARE We all dream of great deeds and high positions, away from the pettiness and humdrum of ordinary life. Yet success is not occupying a lofty place or doing conspicuous work; it is being the best that is in you. Rattling around in too big a job is much worse than filling a small one to overflowing. Dream, aspire by all means; but do not ruin the life you must lead by dreaming pipe-dreams of the one you would like to lead. Make the most of what you have and are. Perhaps your trivial, immediate task is your one sure way of proving your mettle. Do the thing near at hand, and great things will come to your hand to be done. If you can't be a pine on the top of the hill Be a scrub in the valley--but be The best little scrub by the side of the rill; Be a bush if you can't be a tree. If you can't be a bush be a bit of the grass, And some highway some happier make; If you can't be a muskie then just be a bass-- But the liveliest bass in the lake! We can't all be captains, we've got to be crew, There's something for all of us here. There's big work to do and there's lesser to do, And the task we must do is the near. If you can't be a highway then just be a trail, If you can't be the sun be a star; It isn't by size that you win or you fail-- Be the best of whatever you are! _Douglas Malloch._ THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD This poem has as its keynote friendship and sympathy for other people. It is a paradox of life that by hoarding love and happiness we lose them, and that only by giving them away can we keep them for ourselves. The more we share, the more we possess. We of course find in other people weaknesses and sins, but our best means of curing these are through a wise and sympathetic understanding. Let me live in a house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by-- The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban;-- Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I see from my house by the side of the road, By the side of the highway of life, The men who press with the ardor of hope, The men who are faint with the strife. But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears-- Both parts of an infinite plan;-- Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead And mountains of wearisome height; And the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night. But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice, And weep with the strangers that moan, Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone. Let me live in my house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by-- They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish--so am I. Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat Or hurl the cynic's ban?-- Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. _Sam Walter Foss._ From "Dreams in Homespun." FOUR THINGS What are the qualities of ideal manhood? Various people have given various answers to this question. Here the poet states what qualities he thinks indispensable. Four things a man must learn to do If he would make his record true: To think without confusion clearly; To love his fellow-men sincerely; To act from honest motives purely; To trust in God and Heaven securely. _Henry Van Dyke._ From "Collected Poems." IF The central idea of this poem is that success comes from self-control and a true sense of the values of things. In extremes lies danger. A man must not lose heart because of doubts or opposition, yet he must do his best to see the grounds for both. He must not be deceived into thinking either triumph or disaster final; he must use each wisely--and push on. In all things he must hold to the golden mean. If he does, he will own the world, and even better, for his personal reward he will attain the full stature of manhood. If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream--and not make dreams your master; If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two imposters just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them; "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings--nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son! _Rudyard Kipling._ From "Rudyard Kipling's Verse, 1885-1918." INVICTUS Triumph in spirit over adverse conditions is the keynote of this poem of courage undismayed. It rings with the power of the individual to guide his own destiny. Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. _William Ernest Henley._ IT COULDN'T BE DONE After a thing has been done, everybody is ready to declare it easy. But before it has been done, it is called impossible. One reason why people fear to embark upon great enterprises is that they see all the difficulties at once. They know they could succeed in the initial tasks, but they shrink from what is to follow. Yet "a thing begun is half done." Moreover the surmounting of the first barrier gives strength and ingenuity for the harder ones beyond. Mountains viewed from a distance seem to be unscalable. But they can be climbed, and the way to begin is to take the first upward step. From that moment the mountains are less high. As Hannibal led his army across the foothills, then among the upper ranges, and finally over the loftiest peaks and passes of the Alps, or as Peary pushed farther and farther into the solitudes that encompass the North Pole, so can you achieve any purpose whatsoever if you heed not the doubters, meet each problem as it arises, and keep ever with you the assurance _It Can Be Done_. Somebody said that it couldn't be done, But he with a chuckle replied That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried. So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin On his face. If he worried he hid it. He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn't be done, and he did it. Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that; At least no one ever has done it"; But he took off his coat and he took off his hat, And the first thing we knew he'd begun it. With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin, Without any doubting or quiddit, He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn't be done, and he did it. There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, There are thousands to prophesy failure; There are thousands to point out to you one by one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start to sing as you tackle the thing That "cannot be done," and you'll do it. _Edgar A. Guest._ From "The Path to Home." THE WELCOME MAN There's a man in the world who is never turned down, wherever he chances to stray; he gets the glad hand in the populous town, or out where the farmers make hay; he's greeted with pleasure on deserts of sand, and deep in the aisles of the woods; wherever he goes there's the welcoming hand--he's The Man Who Delivers the Goods. The failures of life sit around and complain; the gods haven't treated them white; they've lost their umbrellas whenever there's rain, and they haven't their lanterns at night; men tire of the failures who fill with their sighs the air of their own neighborhoods; there's one who is greeted with love-lighted eyes--he's The Man Who Delivers the Goods. One fellow is lazy, and watches the clock, and waits for the whistle to blow; and one has a hammer, with which he will knock, and one tells a story of woe; and one, if requested to travel a mile, will measure the perches and roods; but one does his stunt with a whistle or smile--he's The Man Who Delivers the Goods. One man is afraid that he'll labor too hard--the world isn't yearning for such; and one man is always alert, on his guard, lest he put in a minute too much; and one has a grouch or a temper that's bad, and one is a creature of moods; so it's hey for the joyous and rollicking lad--for the One Who Delivers the Goods! _Walt Mason._ From "Walt Mason, His Book." THE QUITTER In the famous naval duel between the _Bonhomme Richard_ and the _Serapis_, John Paul Jones was hailed by his adversary to know whether he struck his colors. "I have not yet begun to fight," was his answer. When the surrender took place, it was not Jones's ship that became the prize of war. Everybody admires a hard fighter--the man who takes buffets standing up, and in a spirit of "Never say die" is always ready for more. When you're lost in the wild and you're scared as a child, And death looks you bang in the eye; And you're sore as a boil, it's according to Hoyle To cock your revolver and die. But the code of a man says fight all you can, And self-dissolution is barred; In hunger and woe, oh it's easy to blow-- It's the hell served for breakfast that's hard. You're sick of the game? Well now, that's a shame! You're young and you're brave and you're bright. You've had a raw deal, I know, but don't squeal. Buck up, do your damnedest and fight! It's the plugging away that will win you the day, So don't be a piker, old pard; Just draw on your grit; it's so easy to quit-- It's the keeping your chin up that's hard. It's easy to cry that you're beaten and die, It's easy to crawfish and crawl, But to fight and to fight when hope's out of sight, Why, that's the best game of them all. And though you come out of each grueling bout, All broken and beaten and scarred-- Just have one more try. It's dead easy to die, It's the keeping on living that's hard. _Robert W. Service._ From "Rhymes of a Rolling Stone." [Illustration: ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE] FRIENDS OF MINE We like to be hospitable. To what should we be more hospitable than a glad spirit or a kind impulse? Good-morning, Brother Sunshine, Good-morning, Sister Song, I beg your humble pardon If you've waited very long. I thought I heard you rapping, To shut you out were sin, My heart is standing open, Won't you walk right in? Good-morning, Brother Gladness, Good-morning, Sister Smile, They told me you were coming, So I waited on a while. I'm lonesome here without you, A weary while it's been, My heart is standing open, Won't you walk right in? Good-morning, Brother Kindness, Good-morning, Sister Cheer, I heard you were out calling, So I waited for you here. Some way, I keep forgetting I have to toil or spin When you are my companions, Won't you walk right in? _James W. Foley._ From "The Voices of Song." THE WOMAN WHO UNDERSTANDS "Is this the little woman that made this great war?" was Lincoln's greeting to Harriet Beecher Stowe. Often a woman is responsible for events by whose crash and splendor she herself is obscured. Often too she shapes the career of husband or brother or son. A man succeeds and reaps the honors of public applause, when in truth a quiet little woman has made it all possible--has by her tact and encouragement held him to his best, has had faith in him when his own faith has languished, has cheered him with the unfailing assurance, "You can, you must, you will." _Somewhere she waits to make you win, your soul in her firm, white hands-- Somewhere the gods have made for you, the Woman Who Understands!_ As the tide went out she found him Lashed to a spar of Despair, The wreck of his Ship around him-- The wreck of his Dreams in the air; Found him and loved him and gathered The soul of him close to her heart-- The soul that had sailed an uncharted sea, The soul that had sought to win and be free-- The soul of which _she_ was part! And there in the dusk she cried to the man, "Win your battle--you can, you can!" Broken by Fate, unrelenting, Scarred by the lashings of Chance; Bitter his heart--unrepenting-- Hardened by Circumstance; Shadowed by Failure ever, Cursing, he would have died, But the touch of her hand, her strong warm hand, And her love of his soul, took full command, Just at the turn of the tide! Standing beside him, filled with trust, "Win!" she whispered, "you must, you must!" Helping and loving and guiding, Urging when that were best, Holding her fears in hiding Deep in her quiet breast; This is the woman who kept him True to his standards lost, When, tossed in the storm and stress of strife, He thought himself through with the game of life And ready to pay the cost. Watching and guarding, whispering still, "Win you can--and you will, you will!" This is the story of ages, This is the Woman's way; Wiser than seers or sages, Lifting us day by day; Facing all things with a courage Nothing can daunt or dim, Treading Life's path, wherever it leads-- Lined with flowers or choked with weeds, But ever with him--with him! Guidon--comrade--golden spur-- The men who win are helped by _her_! _Somewhere she waits, strong in belief, your soul in her firm, white hands: Thank well the gods, when she comes to you--the Woman Who Understands!_ _Everard Jack Appleton._ From "The Quiet Courage." WANTED--A MAN Business and the world are exacting in their demands upon us. They make no concessions to half-heartedness, incompetence, or plodding mediocrity. But for the man who has proved his worth and can do the exceptional things with originality and sound judgment, they are eagerly watchful and have rich rewards. You say big corporations scheme To keep a fellow down; They drive him, shame him, starve him too If he so much as frown. God knows I hold no brief for them; Still, come with me to-day And watch those fat directors meet, For this is what they say: "In all our force not one to take The new work that we plan! In all the thousand men we've hired Where shall we find a man?" The world is shabby in the way It treats a fellow too; It just endures him while he works, And kicks him when he's through. It's ruthless, yes; let him make good, Or else it grabs its broom And grumbles: "What a clutter's here! We can't have this. Make room!" And out he goes. It says, "Can bread Be made from mouldy bran? The men come swarming here in droves, But where'll I find a man?" Yes, life is hard. But all the same It seeks the man who's best. Its grudging makes the prizes big; The obstacle's a test. Don't ask to find the pathway smooth, To march to fife and drum; The plum-tree will not come to you; Jack Horner, hunt the plum. The eyes of life are yearning, sad, As humankind they scan. She says, "Oh, there are men enough, But where'll I find a man?" _St. Clair Adams._ IF I SHOULD DIE A man whose word is as good as his bond is a man the world admires. It is related of Fox that a tradesman whom he long had owed money found him one day counting gold and asked for payment. Fox replied: "No; I owe this money to Sheridan. It is a debt of honor. If an accident should happen to me, he has nothing to show." The tradesman tore his note to pieces: "I change my debt into a debt of honor." Fox thanked him and handed over the money, saying that Sheridan's debt was not of so long standing and that Sheridan must wait. But most of us know men who are less scrupulous than Fox. If I should die to-night And you should come to my cold corpse and say, Weeping and heartsick o'er my lifeless clay-- If I should die to-night, And you should come in deepest grief and woe-- And say: "Here's that ten dollars that I owe," I might arise in my large white cravat And say, "What's that?" If I should die to-night And you should come to my cold corpse and kneel, Clasping my bier to show the grief you feel, I say, if I should die to-night And you should come to me, and there and then Just even hint 'bout payin' me that ten, I might arise the while, But I'd drop dead again. _Ben King._ From "Ben King's Verse." JUST BE GLAD Misfortunes overtake us, difficulties confront us; but these things must not induce us to give up. A Congressman who had promised Thomas B. Reed to be present at a political meeting telegraphed at the last moment: "Cannot come; washout on the line." "No need to stay away," said Reed's answering telegram; "buy another shirt." O heart of mine, we shouldn't Worry so! What we've missed of calm we couldn't Have, you know! What we've met of stormy pain, And of sorrow's driving rain, We can better meet again, If it blow! We have erred in that dark hour We have known, When our tears fell with the shower, All alone!-- Were not shine and shower blent As the gracious Master meant?-- Let us temper our content With His own. For, we know, not every morrow Can be sad; So, forgetting all the sorrow We have had, Let us fold away our fears, And put by our foolish tears, And through all the coming years Just be glad. _James Whitcomb Riley._ From the Biographical Edition Of the Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley. OPPORTUNITY "I lack only one of having a hundred," said a student after an examination; "I have the two naughts." And all he did lack was a one, _rightly placed_. The world is full of opportunities. Discernment to perceive, courage to undertake, patience to carry through, will change the whole aspect of the universe for us and bring positive achievement out of meaningless negation. With doubt and dismay you are smitten You think there's no chance for you, son? Why, the best books haven't been written The best race hasn't been run, The best score hasn't been made yet, The best song hasn't been sung, The best tune hasn't been played yet, Cheer up, for the world is young! No chance? Why the world is just eager For things that you ought to create Its store of true wealth is still meagre Its needs are incessant and great, It yearns for more power and beauty More laughter and love and romance, More loyalty, labor and duty, No chance--why there's nothing but chance! For the best verse hasn't been rhymed yet, The best house hasn't been planned, The highest peak hasn't been climbed yet, The mightiest rivers aren't spanned, Don't worry and fret, faint hearted, The chances have just begun, For the Best jobs haven't been started, The Best work hasn't been done. _Berton Braley._ From "A Banjo at Armageddon." SOLITUDE Said an Irishman who had several times been kicked downstairs: "I begin to think they don't want me around here." So it is with our sorrows, our struggles. Life decrees that they belong to us individually. If we try to make others share them, we are shunned. But struggling and weary humanity is glad enough to share our joys. Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth Must borrow its mirth, It has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound To a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care. Rejoice, and men will seek you; Grieve, and they turn and go; They want full measure Of all your pleasure, But they do not want your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many; Be sad, and you lose them all; There are none to decline Your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life's gall. Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by; Succeed and give, And it helps you live, But it cannot help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure For a long and lordly train; But one by one We must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain. _Ella Wheeler Wilcox._ From "How Salvator Won." UNSUBDUED "An artist's career," said Whistler, "always begins to-morrow." So does the career of any man of courage and imagination. The Eden of such a man does not lie in yesterday. If he has done well, he forgets his achievements and dreams of the big deeds ahead. If he has been thwarted, he forgets his failures and looks forward to vast, sure successes. If fate itself opposes him, he defies it. Farragut's fleet was forcing an entrance into Mobile Bay. One of the vessels struck something, a terrific explosion followed, the vessel went down. "Torpedoes, sir." They scanned the face of the commander-in-chief. But Farragut did not hesitate. "Damn the torpedoes," said he. "Go ahead." I have hoped, I have planned, I have striven, To the will I have added the deed; The best that was in me I've given, I have prayed, but the gods would not heed. I have dared and reached only disaster, I have battled and broken my lance; I am bruised by a pitiless master That the weak and the timid call Chance. I am old, I am bent, I am cheated Of all that Youth urged me to win; But name me not with the defeated, To-morrow again, I begin. _S.E. Kiser._ From "Poems That Have Helped Me." WORK "A SONG OF TRIUMPH" When Captain John Smith was made the leader of the colonists at Jamestown, Va., he discouraged the get-rich-quick seekers of gold by announcing flatly, "He who will not work shall not eat." This rule made of Jamestown the first permanent English settlement in the New World. But work does more than lead to material success. It gives an outlet from sorrow, restrains wild desires, ripens and refines character, enables human beings to cooperate with God, and when well done, brings to life its consummate satisfaction. Every man is a Prince of Possibilities, but by work alone can he come into his Kingship. Work! Thank God for the might of it, The ardor, the urge, the delight of it-- Work that springs from the heart's desire, Setting the brain and the soul on fire-- Oh, what is so good as the heat of it, And what is so glad as the beat of it, And what is so kind as the stern command, Challenging brain and heart and hand? Work! Thank God for the pride of it, For the beautiful, conquering tide of it. Sweeping the life in its furious flood, Thrilling the arteries, cleansing the blood, Mastering stupor and dull despair, Moving the dreamer to do and dare. Oh, what is so good as the urge of it, And what is so glad as the surge of it, And what is so strong as the summons deep, Rousing the torpid soul from sleep? Work! Thank God for the pace of it, For the terrible, keen, swift race of it; Fiery steeds in full control, Nostrils a-quiver to greet the goal. Work, the Power that drives behind, Guiding the purposes, taming the mind, Holding the runaway wishes back, Reining the will to one steady track, Speeding the energies faster, faster, Triumphing over disaster. Oh, what is so good as the pain of it, And what is so great as the gain of it? And what is so kind as the cruel goad, Forcing us on through the rugged road? Work! Thank God for the swing of it, For the clamoring, hammering ring of it, Passion and labor daily hurled On the mighty anvils of the world. Oh, what is so fierce as the flame of it? And what is so huge as the aim of it? Thundering on through dearth and doubt, Calling the plan of the Maker out. Work, the Titan; Work, the friend, Shaping the earth to a glorious end, Draining the swamps and blasting the hills, Doing whatever the Spirit wills-- Rending a continent apart, To answer the dream of the Master heart. Thank God for a world where none may shirk-- Thank God for the splendor of work! _Angela Morgan._ From "The Hour Has Struck." HOW DID YOU DIE? Grant at Ft. Donelson demanded unconditional and immediate surrender. At Appomattox he offered as lenient terms as victor ever extended to vanquished. Why the difference? The one event was at the beginning of the war, when the enemy's morale must be shaken. The other was at the end of the conflict, when a brave and noble adversary had been rendered helpless. In his quiet way Grant showed himself one of nature's gentlemen. He also taught a great lesson. No honor can be too great for the man, be he even our foe, who has steadily and uncomplainingly done his very best--and has failed. Did you tackle that trouble that came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful? Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven soul and fearful? Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, Or a trouble is what you make it, And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But only how did you take it? You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that! Come up with a smiling face. It's nothing against you to fall down flat, But to lie there--that's disgrace. The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce Be proud of your blackened eye! It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts; It's how did you fight--and why? And though you be done to the death, what then? If you battled the best you could, If you played your part in the world of men, Why, the Critic will call it good. Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, And whether he's slow or spry, It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, But only how did you die? _Edmund Vance Cooke._ From "Impertinent Poems." A LESSON FROM HISTORY To break the ice of an undertaking is difficult. To cross on broken ice, as Eliza did to freedom, or to row amid floating ice, as Washington did to victory, is harder still. This poem applies especially to those who are discouraged in a struggle to which they are already committed. Everything's easy after it's done; Every battle's a "cinch" that's won; Every problem is clear that's solved-- The earth was round when it _revolved!_ But Washington stood amid grave doubt With enemy forces camped about; He could not know how he would fare Till _after_ he'd crossed the Delaware. Though the river was full of ice He did not think about it twice, But started across in the dead of night, The enemy waiting to open the fight. Likely feeling pretty blue, Being human, same as you, But he was brave amid despair, And Washington crossed the Delaware! So when you're with trouble beset, And your spirits are soaking wet, When all the sky with clouds is black, Don't lie down upon your back And look at _them_. Just do the thing; Though you are choked, still try to sing. If times are dark, believe them fair, And you will cross the Delaware! _Joseph Morris._ RABBI BEN EZRA (SELECTED VERSES) To some people success is everything, and the easier it is gained the better. To Browning success is nothing unless it is won by painful effort. What Browning values is struggle. Throes, rebuffs, even failure to achieve what we wish, are to be welcomed, for the effects of vigorous endeavor inweave themselves into our characters; moreover through struggle we lift ourselves from the degradation into which the indolent fall. In the intervals of strife we may look back dispassionately upon what we have gone through, see where we erred and where we did wisely, watch the workings of universal laws, and resolve to apply hereafter what we have hitherto learned. Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! For thence,--a paradox Which comforts while it mocks,-- Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. So, still within this life, Though lifted o'er its strife, Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, "This rage was right i' the main, That acquiescence vain: The Future I may face now I have proved the Past." For more is not reserved To man, with soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play. _Robert Browning._ TO MELANCHOLY The last invitation anybody would accept is "Come, let us weep together." If we keep melancholy at our house, we should be careful to have it under lock and key, so that no one will observe it. Melancholy, Melancholy, I've no use for you, by Golly! Yet I'm going to keep you hidden In some chamber dark, forbidden, Just as though you were a prize, sir, Made of gold, and I a miser-- Not because I think you jolly, Melancholy! Not for that I mean to hoard you, Keep you close and lodge and board you As I would my sisters, brothers, Cousins, aunts, and old grandmothers, But that you shan't bother others With your sniffling, snuffling folly, Howling, Yowling, Melancholy. _John Kendrick Bangs._ From "Songs of Cheer." THE LION PATH Admiral Dupont was explaining to Farragut his reasons for not taking his ironclads into Charleston harbor. "You haven't given me the main reason yet," said Farragut. "What's that?" "You didn't think you could do it." So the man who thinks he can't pass a lion, can't. But the man who thinks he can, can. Indeed he oftentimes finds that the lion isn't really there at all. I dare not!-- Look! the road is very dark-- The trees stir softly and the bushes shake, The long grass rustles, and the darkness moves Here! there! beyond--! There's something crept across the road just now! And you would have me go--? Go _there_, through that live darkness, hideous With stir of crouching forms that wait to kill? Ah, _look_! See there! and there! and there again! Great yellow, glassy eyes, close to the ground! Look! Now the clouds are lighter I can see The long slow lashing of the sinewy tails, And the set quiver of strong jaws that wait--! Go there? Not I! Who dares to go who sees So perfectly the lions in the path? Comes one who dares. Afraid at first, yet bound On such high errand as no fear could stay. Forth goes he, with lions in his path. And then--? He dared a death of agony-- Outnumbered battle with the king of beasts-- Long struggles in the horror of the night-- Dared, and went forth to meet--O ye who fear! Finding an empty road, and nothing there-- And fences, and the dusty roadside trees-- Some spitting kittens, maybe, in the grass. _Charlotte Perkins Gilman._ From "In This Our World." THE ANSWER Bob Fitzsimmons lacked the physical bulk of the men he fought, was ungainly in build and movement, and not infrequently got himself floored in the early rounds of his contests. But many people consider him the best fighter for his weight who ever stepped into the prize ring. Not a favorite at first, he won the popular heart by making good. Of course he had great natural powers; from any position when the chance at last came he could dart forth a sudden, wicked blow that no human being could withstand. But more formidable still was the spirit which gave him cool and complete command of all his resources, and made him most dangerous when he was on the verge of being knocked out. When the battle breaks against you and the crowd forgets to cheer When the Anvil Chorus echoes with the essence of a jeer; When the knockers start their panning in the knocker's nimble way With a rap for all your errors and a josh upon your play-- There is one quick answer ready that will nail them on the wing; There is one reply forthcoming that will wipe away the sting; There is one elastic come-back that will hold them, as it should-- Make good. No matter where you finish in the mix-up or the row, There are those among the rabble who will pan you anyhow; But the entry who is sticking and delivering the stuff Can listen to the yapping as he giggles up his cuff; The loafer has no come-back and the quitter no reply When the Anvil Chorus echoes, as it will, against the sky; But there's one quick answer ready that will wrap them in a hood-- Make good. _Grantland Rice._ From "The Sportlight." THE WORLD IS AGAINST ME Babe Ruth doesn't complain that opposing pitchers try to strike him out; he swings at the ball till he swats it for four bases. Ty Cobb doesn't complain that whole teams work wits and muscles overtime to keep him from stealing home; he pits himself against them all and comes galloping or hurdling or sliding in. What other men can do any man can do if he works long enough with a brave enough heart. "The world is against me," he said with a sigh. "Somebody stops every scheme that I try. The world has me down and it's keeping me there; I don't get a chance. Oh, the world is unfair! When a fellow is poor then he can't get a show; The world is determined to keep him down low." "What of Abe Lincoln?" I asked. "Would you say That he was much richer than you are to-day? He hadn't your chance of making his mark, And his outlook was often exceedingly dark; Yet he clung to his purpose with courage most grim And he got to the top. Was the world against him? "What of Ben Franklin? I've oft heard it said That many a time he went hungry to bed. He started with nothing but courage to climb, But patiently struggled and waited his time. He dangled awhile from real poverty's limb, Yet he got to the top. Was the world against him? "I could name you a dozen, yes, hundreds, I guess, Of poor boys who've patiently climbed to success; All boys who were down and who struggled alone, Who'd have thought themselves rich if your fortune they'd known; Yet they rose in the world you're so quick to condemn, And I'm asking you now, was the world against them?" _Edgar A. Guest._ From "Just Folks." SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT AVAILETH In any large or prolonged enterprise we are likely to take too limited a view of the progress we are making. The obstacles do not yield at some given point; we therefore imagine we have made no headway. The poet here uses three comparisons to show the folly of accepting this hasty and partial evidence. A soldier may think, from the little part of the battle he can see, that the day is going against him; but by holding his ground stoutly he may help his comrades in another quarter to win the victory. Successive waves may seem to rise no higher on the land, but far back in swollen creek and inlet is proof that the tide is coming in. As we look toward the east, we are discouraged at the slowness of daybreak; but by looking westward we see the whole landscape illumined. Say not the struggle nought availeth, The labor and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been they remain. If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd, Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field. For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light, In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, But westward, look, the land is bright. _Arthur Hugh Clough._ WORTH WHILE A little boy whom his mother had rebuked for not turning a deaf ear to temptation protested, with tears, that he had no deaf ear. But temptation, even when heard, must somehow be resisted. Yea, especially when heard! We deserve no credit for resisting it unless it comes to our ears like the voice of the siren. It is easy enough to be pleasant, When life flows by like a song, But the man worth while is one who will smile, When everything goes dead wrong. For the test of the heart is trouble, And it always comes with the years, And the smile that is worth the praises of earth, Is the smile that shines through tears. It is easy enough to be prudent, When nothing tempts you to stray, When without or within no voice of sin Is luring your soul away; But it's only a negative virtue Until it is tried by fire, And the life that is worth the honor on earth, Is the one that resists desire. By the cynic, the sad, the fallen, Who had no strength for the strife, The world's highway is cumbered to-day, They make up the sum of life. But the virtue that conquers passion, And the sorrow that hides in a smile, It is these that are worth the homage on earth For we find them but once in a while. _Ella Wheeler Wilcox._ From "Poems of Sentiment." HOPE Gloom and despair are really ignorance in another form. They fail to reckon with the fact that what appears to be baneful often turns out to be good. Lincoln lost the senatorship to Douglas and thought he had ended his career; had he won the contest, he might have remained only a senator. Life often has surprise parties for us. Things come to us masked in gloom and black; but Time, the revealer, strips off the disguise, and lo, what we have is blessings. Never go gloomy, man with a mind, Hope is a better companion than fear; Providence, ever benignant and kind, Gives with a smile what you take with a tear; All will be right, Look to the light. Morning was ever the daughter of night; All that was black will be all that is bright, Cheerily, cheerily, then cheer up. Many a foe is a friend in disguise, Many a trouble a blessing most true, Helping the heart to be happy and wise, With love ever precious and joys ever new. Stand in the van, Strike like a man! This is the bravest and cleverest plan; Trusting in God while you do what you can. Cheerily, cheerily, then cheer up. _Anonymous._ I'M GLAD I'm glad the sky is painted blue; And the earth is painted green; And such a lot of nice fresh air All sandwiched in between. _Anonymous._ THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS The nautilus is a small mollusk that creeps upon the bottom of the sea, though it used to be supposed to swim, or even to spread a kind of sail so that the wind might drive it along the surface. What interests us in this poem is the way the nautilus _grows_. Just as a tree when sawed down has the record of its age in the number of its rings, so does the nautilus measure its age by the ever-widening compartments of its shell. These it has successively occupied. The poet, looking upon the now empty shell, thinks of human life as growing in the same way. We advance from one state of being to another, each nobler than the one which preceded it, until the spirit leaves its shell altogether and attains a glorious and perfect freedom. This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sailed the unshadowed main,-- The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the ship of pearl! And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed,-- Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:-- Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! _Oliver Wendell Holmes._ PIPPA'S SONG This little song vibrates with an optimism that embraces the whole universe. A frequent error in quoting it is the substitution of the word _well_ for _right_. Browning is no such shallow optimist as to believe that all is well with the world, but he does maintain that things are right with the world, for in spite of its present evils it is slowly working its way toward perfection, and in the great scheme of things it may make these evils themselves an instrument to move it toward its ultimate goal. The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; God's in his heaven-- All's right with the world. _Robert Browning._ OWNERSHIP The true value of anything lies, not in the object itself or in its legal possession, but in our attitude to it. We may own a thing in fee simple, yet derive from it nothing but vexation. For those who have little, as indeed for those who have much, there are no surer means of happiness than enjoying that which they do not possess. Emerson shows us that two harvests may be gathered from every field--a material one by the man who raised the crop, and an esthetic or spiritual one by whosoever can see beauty or thrill with an inner satisfaction. They ride in Packards, those swell guys, While I can't half afford a Ford; Choice fillets fill a void for them, We've cheese and prunes the place I board; They've smirking servants hanging round, You'd guess by whom my shoes are shined. But all the same I'm rich as they, For ownership's a state of mind. _They_ own, you say? Pshaw, they possess! And what a fellow has, has him! The rich can't stop and just enjoy Their lawns and shrubs and house-fronts trim. They're tied indoors and foot the bills; I stroll or stray, as I'm inclined-- Possession was not meant for use, But ownership's a state of mind. The folks who have must try to keep Against the thieves who swarm and steal; They dare not stride, they mince along-- Their pavement's a banana peel. Who owns, the jeweler or I, Yon gems by window-bars confined? Possession lies in locks and keys; True ownership's a state of mind. I own my office (I've a boss, But so have all men--so has he); The business is not mine, but yet I own the whole blamed company; Stockholders are less proud than I When competition's auld lang syned. What care I that the profit's theirs? I have what counts--an owner's mind. The pretty girls I meet are mine (I do not choose to tell them so); I own the flowers, the trees, the birds; I own the sunshine and the snow; I own the block, I own the town-- The smiles, the songs of humankind. For ownership is how you feel; It's just a healthy state of mind. _St. Clair Adams._ A SMILING PARADOX Good nature or ill is like the loaves and fishes. The more we give away, the more we have. I've squandered smiles to-day, And, strange to say, Altho' my frowns with care I've stowed away, To-night I'm poorer far in frowns than at the start; While in my heart, Wherein my treasures best I store, I find my smiles increased by several score. _John Kendrick Bangs._ From "Songs of Cheer." THE NEW DUCKLING There are people who, without having anything exceptional in their natures or purposes or visions, yet try to be different for the sake of being different. They are not content to be what they are; they wish to be "utterly other." Of course they are hollow, artificial, insincere; moreover they are nuisances. Their very foundations are wrong ones. Be _yourself_ unless you're a fool; in that case, of course, try to be somebody else. "I want to be new," said the duckling. "O ho!" said the wise old owl, While the guinea-hen cluttered off chuckling To tell all the rest of the fowl. "I should like a more elegant figure," That child of a duck went on. "I should like to grow bigger and bigger, Until I could swallow a swan. "I _won't_ be the bond slave of habit, I _won't_ have these webs on my toes. I want to run round like a rabbit, A rabbit as red as a rose. "I _don't_ want to waddle like mother, Or quack like my silly old dad. I want to be utterly other, And _frightfully_ modern and mad." "Do you know," said the turkey, "you're quacking! There's a fox creeping up thro' the rye; And, if you're not utterly lacking, You'll make for that duck-pond. Good-bye!" But the duckling was perky as perky. "Take care of your stuffing!" he called. (This was horribly rude to a turkey!) "But you aren't a real turkey," he bawled. "You're an Early-Victorian Sparrow! A fox is more fun than a sheep! I shall show that _my_ mind is not narrow And give him my feathers--to keep." Now the curious end of this fable, So far as the rest ascertained, Though they searched from the barn to the stable, Was that _only his feathers remained._ So he _wasn't_ the bond slave of habit, And he _didn't_ have webs on his toes; And _perhaps_ he runs round like a rabbit, A rabbit as red as a rose. _Alfred Noyes._ From "Collected Poems." CAN YOU SING A SONG? Nothing lifts the spirit more than a song, especially the _inward_ song of a worker who can sound it alike at the beginning of his task, in the heat of midday, and in the weariness and cool of the evening. Can you sing a song to greet the sun, Can you cheerily tackle the work to be done, Can you vision it finished when only begun, Can you sing a song? Can you sing a song when the day's half through, When even the thought of the rest wearies you, With so little done and so much to do, Can you sing a song? Can you sing a song at the close of the day, When weary and tired, the work's put away, With the joy that it's done the best of the pay, Can you sing a song? _Joseph Morris._ KNOW THYSELF It seems impossible that human beings could endure so much until we realize that they _have_ endured it. The spirit of man performs miracles; it transcends the limitations of flesh and blood. It is like Uncle Remus's account of Brer Rabbit climbing a tree. "A rabbit couldn't do that," the little boy protested. "He did," Uncle Remus responded; "he was jes' 'bleeged to." Reined by an unseen tyrant's hand, Spurred by an unseen tyrant's will, Aquiver at the fierce command That goads you up the danger hill, You cry: "O Fate, O Life, be kind! Grant but an hour of respite--give One moment to my suffering mind! I can not keep the pace and live." But Fate drives on and will not heed The lips that beg, the feet that bleed. Drives, while you faint upon the road, Drives, with a menace for a goad; With fiery reins of circumstance Urging his terrible advance The while you cry in your despair, "The pain is more than I can bear!" Fear not the goad, fear not the pace, Plead not to fall from out the race-- It is your own Self driving you, Your Self that you have never known, Seeing your little self alone. Your Self, high-seated charioteer, Master of cowardice and fear, Your Self that sees the shining length Of all the fearful road ahead, Knows that the terrors that you dread Are pigmies to your splendid strength; Strength you have never even guessed, Strength that has never needed rest. Your Self that holds the mastering rein, Seeing beyond the sweat and pain And anguish of your driven soul, The patient beauty of the goal! Fighting upon the terror field Where man and Fate came breast to breast, Prest by a thousand foes to yield, Tortured and wounded without rest, You cried: "Be merciful, O Life-- The strongest spirit soon must break Before this all-unequal strife, This endless fight for failure's sake!" But Fate, unheeding, lifted high His sword, and thrust you through to die, And then there came one strong and great, Who towered high o'er Chance and Fate, Who bound your wound and eased your pain And bade you rise and fight again. And from some source you did not guess Gushed a great tide of happiness-- A courage mightier than the sun-- You rose and fought and, fighting, won! It was your own Self saving you, Your Self no man has ever known, Looking on flesh and blood alone. That Self that lives so close to God As roots that feed upon the sod. That one who stands behind the screen, Looks through the window of your eyes-- A being out of Paradise. The Self no human eye has seen, The living one who never tires, Fed by the deep eternal fires. Your flaming Self, with two-edged sword, Made in the likeness of the Lord, Angel and guardian at the gate, Master of Death and King of Fate! _Angela Morgan._ From "The Hour Has Struck." JUST WHISTLE There is a psychological benefit in the mere physical act of whistling. When the body makes music, the spirit falls into harmonies too and the discords that assail us cease to make themselves heard. When times are bad an' folks are sad An' gloomy day by day, Jest try your best at lookin' glad An' whistle 'em away. Don't mind how troubles bristle, Jest take a rose or thistle. Hold your own An' change your tone An' whistle, whistle, whistle! A song is worth a world o' sighs. When red the lightnings play, Look for the rainbow in the skies An' whistle 'em away. Don't mind how troubles bristle, The rose comes with the thistle. Hold your own An' change your tone An' whistle, whistle, whistle! Each day comes with a life that's new, A strange, continued story But still beneath a bend o' blue The world rolls on to glory. Don't mind how troubles bristle, Jest take a rose or thistle. Hold your own An' change your tone An' whistle, whistle, whistle! _Frank L. Stanton._ [Illustration: GRANTLAND RICE] "MIGHT HAVE BEEN" "Yes, it's pretty hard," the optimistic old woman admitted. "I have to get along with only two teeth, one in the upper jaw and one in the lower--but thank God, they meet." Here's to "The days that might have been"; Here's to "The life I might have led"; The fame I might have gathered in-- The glory ways I might have sped. Great "Might Have Been," I drink to you Upon a throne where thousands hail-- And then--there looms another view-- I also "might have been" in jail. O "Land of Might Have Been," we turn With aching hearts to where you wait; Where crimson fires of glory burn, And laurel crowns the guarding gate; We may not see across your fields The sightless skulls that knew their woe-- The broken spears--the shattered shields-- That "might have been" as truly so. "Of all sad words of tongue or pen"-- So wails the poet in his pain-- The saddest are, "It might have been," And world-wide runs the dull refrain. The saddest? Yes--but in the jar This thought brings to me with its curse, I sometimes think the gladdest are "It might have been a blamed sight worse." _Grantland Rice._ From "The Sportlight." THE ONE In our youth we picture ourselves as we will be in the future--not mere types of this or that kind of success, but above all and in all, Ideal Men. Then come the years and the struggles, and we are buffeted and baffled, and our very ideal is eclipsed. But others have done better than we. Weary and harassed, they yet embody our visions. And we, if we are worth our salt, do not envy them when we see them. Nor should we grow dispirited. Rather should we rejoice in their triumph, rejoice that our dreams were not impossibilities, take courage to strive afresh for that which we know is best. I knew his face the moment that he passed Triumphant in the thoughtless, cruel throng,-- Triumphant, though the quiet, tired eyes Showed that his soul had suffered overlong. And though across his brow faint lines of care Were etched, somewhat of Youth still lingered there. I gently touched his arm--he smiled at me-- He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be! Where I had failed, he'd won from life, Success; Where I had stumbled, with sure feet he stood; Alike--yet unalike--we faced the world, And through the stress he found that life was good And I? The bitter wormwood in the glass, The shadowed way along which failures pass! Yet as I saw him thus, joy came to me-- He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be! I knew him! And I knew he knew me for The man HE might have been. Then did his soul Thank silently the gods that gave him strength To win, while I so sorely missed the goal? He turned, and quickly in his own firm hand He took my own--the gulf of Failure spanned, ... And that was all--strong, self-reliant, free, He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be! We did not speak. But in his sapient eyes I saw the spirit that had urged him on, The courage that had held him through the fight Had once been mine, I thought, "Can it be gone?" He felt that unasked question--felt it so His pale lips formed the one-word answer, "No!" * * * * * Too late to win? No! Not too late for me-- He is the Man that Still I Mean to Be! _Everard Jack Appleton._ From "The Quiet Courage." THE JOY OF LIVING Men too often act as if life were nothing more than hardships to be endured and difficulties to be overcome. They look upon what is happy or inspiring with eyes that really fail to see. As Wordsworth says of Peter Bell, "A primrose by the river's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more." But to stop now and then and realize that the world is fresh and buoyant and happy, will do much to keep the spirit young. We should be glad that we are alive, should tell ourselves often in the words of Charles Lamb: "I am in love with this green earth." The south wind is driving His splendid cloud-horses Through vast fields of blue. The bare woods are singing, The brooks in their courses Are bubbling and springing And dancing and leaping, The violets peeping. I'm glad to be living: Aren't you? _Gamaliel Bradford._ THERE WILL ALWAYS BE SOMETHING TO DO An old lady, famous for her ability to find in other people traits that she could commend, was challenged to say a good word for the devil. After a moment's hesitation she answered, "You must at least give him credit for being industrious." Perhaps it is this superactivity of Satan that causes beings less wickedly inclined to have such scope for the exercise of their qualities. Certain it is that nobody need hang back from want of something to do, to promote, to assail, to protect, to endure, or to sympathize with. There will always be something to do, my boy; There will always be wrongs to right; There will always be need for a manly breed And men unafraid to fight. There will always be honor to guard, my boy; There will always be hills to climb, And tasks to do, and battles new From now till the end of time. There will always be dangers to face, my boy; There will always be goals to take; Men shall be tried, when the roads divide, And proved by the choice they make. There will always be burdens to bear, my boy; There will always be need to pray; There will always be tears through the future years, As loved ones are borne away. There will always be God to serve, my boy, And always the Flag above; They shall call to you until life is through For courage and strength and love. So these are things that I dream, my boy, And have dreamed since your life began: That whatever befalls, when the old world calls, It shall find you a sturdy man. _Edgar A. Guest._ From "The Path to Home." GOOD INTENTIONS Thinking you would like a square meal will not in itself earn you one. Thinking you would like a strong body will not without effort on your part make you an athlete. Thinking you would like to be kind or successful will not bring you gentleness or achievement if you stop with mere thinking. The arrows of intention must have the bow of strong purpose to impel them. The road to hell, they assure me, With good intentions is paved; And I know my desires are noble, But my deeds might brand me depraved. It's the warped grain in our nature, And St. Paul has written it true: "The good that I would I do not; But the evil I would not I do." I've met few men who are monsters When I came to know them inside; Yet their bearing and dealings external Are crusted with cruelty, pride, Scorn, selfishness, envy, indifference, Greed--why the long list pursue? The good that they would they do not; But the evil they would not they do. Intentions may still leave us beast-like; With unchangeable purpose we're men. We must drive the nail home--and then clinch it Or storms shake it loose again. In things of great import, in trifles, We our recreant souls must subdue Till the evil we would not we do not And the good that we would we do. _St. Clair Adams._ PHILOSOPHY FOR CROAKERS Many people seem to get pleasure in seeing all the bad there is, and in making everything about them gloomy. They are like the old woman who on being asked how her health was, replied: "Thank the Lord, I'm poorly." Some folks git a heap o' pleasure Out o' lookin' glum; Hoard their cares like it was treasure-- Fear they won't have some. Wear black border on their spirit; Hang their hopes with crape; Future's gloomy and they fear it, Sure there's no escape. Now there ain't no use of whining Weightin' joy with lead; There is silver in the linin' Somewhere on ahead. Can't enjoy the sun to-day-- It may rain to-morrow; When a pain won't come their way, Future pains they borrow. If there's good news to be heard, Ears are stuffed with cotton; Evils dire are oft inferred; Good is all forgotten. When upon a peel I stand, Slippin' like a goner, Luck, I trust, will shake my hand Just around the corner. Keep a scarecrow in the yard, Fierce old bulldog near 'em; Chase off joy that's tryin' hard To come in an' cheer 'em. Wear their blinders big and strong, Dodge each happy sight; Like to keep their faces long; Think the day is night. Now I've had my share of trouble; Back been bent with ill; Big load makes the joy seem double When I mount the hill. Got the toothache in their soul; Corns upon their feelin's; Get their share but want the whole, Say it's crooked dealings. Natures steeped in indigo; Got their joy-wires crossed; Swear it's only weeds that grow; Flowers always lost. Now it's best to sing a song 'Stead o' sit and mourn; Rose you'll find grows right along Bigger than the thorn. Beat the frogs the way they croak; See with goggles blue-- Universe is cracked or broke, 'Bout to split in two. Think the world is full of sin, Soon go up the spout; Badness always movin' in, Goodness movin' out. But I've found folks good and kind, 'Cause I thought they would be; Most men try, at least I find, To be what they should be. _Joseph Morris._ THE FIGHTING FAILURE "I'm not a rabid, preachy, pollyanna optimist. Neither am I a gloomy grouch. I believe in a loving Divine Providence Who expects you to play the Game to the limit, Who wants you to hold tight to His hand, and Who compensates you for the material losses by giving you the ability to retain your sense of values, and keep your spiritual sand out of the bearings of your physical machine, if you'll trust and--'Keep Sweet, Keep Cheerful, or else--Keep Still'"--_Everard Jack Appleton_. He has come the way of the fighting men, and fought by the rules of the Game, And out of Life he has gathered--What? A living,--and little fame, Ever and ever the Goal looms near,--seeming each time worth while; But ever it proves a mirage fair--ever the grim gods smile. And so, with lips hard set and white, he buries the hope that is gone,-- His fight is lost--and he knows it is lost--and yet he is fighting on. Out of the smoke of the battle-line watching men win their way, And, cheering with those who cheer success, he enters again the fray, Licking the blood and the dust from his lips, wiping the sweat from his eyes, He does the work he is set to do--and "therein honor lies." Brave they were, these men he cheered,--theirs is the winners' thrill; _His_ fight is lost--and he knows it is lost--and yet he is fighting still. And those who won have rest and peace; and those who died have more; But, weary and spent, he can not stop seeking the ultimate score; Courage was theirs for a little time,--but what of the man who sees That he must lose, yet will not beg mercy upon his knees? Side by side with grim Defeat, he struggles at dusk or dawn,-- His fight is lost--and he knows it is lost--and yet he is fighting on. Praise for the warriors who succeed, and tears for the vanquished dead; The world will hold them close to her heart, wreathing each honored head, But there in the ranks, soul-sick, time-tried, he battles against the odds, _Sans_ hope, but true to his colors torn, the plaything of the gods! Uncover when he goes by, at last! Held to his task by _will_ The fight is lost--and he knows it is lost--and yet he is fighting still! _Everard Jack Appleton._ From "The Quiet Courage." DUTY In a single sentence Emerson crystallizes the faith that nothing is impossible to those whose guide is duty. His words, though spoken primarily of youth, apply to the whole of human life. So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When duty whispers low, _Thou must_, The youth replies, _I can_. _Ralph Waldo Emerson._ THE CALL OF THE UNBEATEN P.T. Barnum had shrewdness, inventiveness, hair-trigger readiness in acting or deciding, an eye for hidden possibilities, an instinct for determining beforehand what would prove popular. All these qualities helped him in his original and extraordinary career. But the quality he valued most highly was the one he called "stick-to-it-iveness." This completed the others. Without it the great showman could not have succeeded at all. Nor did he think that any man who lacks it will make much headway in life. We know how rough the road will be, How heavy here the load will be, We know about the barricades that wait along the track; But we have set our soul ahead Upon a certain goal ahead And nothing left from hell to sky shall ever turn us back. We know how brief all fame must be, We know how crude the game must be, We know how soon the cheering turns to jeering down the block; But there's a deeper feeling here That Fate can't scatter reeling here, In knowing we have battled with the final ounce in stock. We sing of no wild glory now, Emblazoning some story now Of mighty charges down the field beyond some guarded pit; But humbler tasks befalling us, Set duties that are calling us, Where nothing left from hell to sky shall ever make us quit. _Grantland Rice._ From "The Sportlight." POLONIUS'S ADVICE TO LAERTES A father's advice to his son how to conduct himself in the world: Don't tell all you think, or put into action thoughts out of harmony or proportion with the occasion. Be friendly, but not common; don't dull your palm by effusively shaking hands with every chance newcomer. Avoid quarrels if you can, but if they are forced on you, give a good account of yourself. Hear every man's censure (opinion), but express your own ideas to few. Dress well, but not ostentatiously. Neither borrow nor lend. And guarantee yourself against being false to others by setting up the high moral principle of being true to yourself. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar; The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in, Bear 't that th' opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man. * * * * * Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. _William Shakespeare._ HOW DO YOU TACKLE YOUR WORK? It would be foolish to begin digging a tunnel through a mountain with a mere pick and spade. We must assemble for the task great mechanical contrivances. And so with our energies of will; a slight tool means a slight achievement; a huge, aggressive engine, driving on at full blast, means corresponding bigness of results. How do you tackle your work each day? Are you scared of the job you find? Do you grapple the task that comes your way With a confident, easy mind? Do you stand right up to the work ahead Or fearfully pause to view it? Do you start to toil with a sense of dread Or feel that you're going to do it? You can do as much as you think you can, But you'll never accomplish more; If you're afraid of yourself, young man, There's little for you in store. For failure comes from the inside first, It's there if we only knew it, And you can win, though you face the worst, If you feel that you're going to do it. Success! It's found in the soul of you, And not in the realm of luck! The world will furnish the work to do, But you must provide the pluck. You can do whatever you think you can, It's all in the way you view it. It's all in the start you make, young man: You must feel that you're going to do it. How do you tackle your work each day? With confidence clear, or dread? What to yourself do you stop and say When a new task lies ahead? What is the thought that is in your mind? Is fear ever running through it? If so, just tackle the next you find By thinking you're going to do it. _Edgar A. Guest._ From "A Heap o' Livin'." MAN OR MANIKIN The world does not always distinguish between appearance and true merit. Pretence often gets the plaudits, but desert is above them--it has rewards of its own. No matter whence you came, from a palace or a ditch, You're a man, man, man, if you square yourself to life; And no matter what they say, hermit-poor or Midas-rich, You are nothing but a husk if you sidestep strife. For it's do, do, do, with a purpose all your own, That makes a man a man, whether born a serf or king; And it's loaf, loaf, loaf, lolling on a bench or throne That makes a being thewed to act a limp and useless thing! No matter what you do, miracles or fruitless deeds, You're a man, man, man, if you do them with a will; And no matter how you loaf, cursing wealth or mumbling creeds, You are nothing but a noise, and its weight is nil. For it's be, be, be, champion of your heart and soul, That makes a man a man, whether reared in silk or rags; And it's talk, talk, talk, from a tattered shirt or stole, That makes the image of a god a manikin that brags. _Richard Butler Glaenzer._ From "Munsey's Magazine." HAVING DONE AND DOING (ADAPTED FROM "TROILUS AND CRESSIDA") A member of Parliament, having succeeded notably in his maiden effort at speech-making, remained silent through the rest of his career lest he should not duplicate his triumph. This course was stupid; in time the address which had brought him fame became a theme for disparagement and mockery. A man cannot rest upon his laurels, else he will soon lack the laurels to rest on. If he has true ability, he must from time to time show it, instead of asking us to recall what he did in the past. There is a natural instinct which makes the whole world kin. It is distrust of a mere reputation. It is a hankering to be shown. Unless the evidence to set us right is forthcoming, we will praise dust which is gilded over rather than gold which is dusty from disuse. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devoured As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done: perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honor bright: to have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; For honor travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast: keep, then, the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue: if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an entered tide they all rush by And leave you hindmost; Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'errun and trampled on: then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours; For time is like a fashionable host, That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arms outstretched, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. O! let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was; for beauty, wit, High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, That all with one consent praise new-born gawds, Though they are made and moulded of things past, And give to dust that is a little gilt More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. The present eye praises the present object, Since things in motion sooner catch the eye Than what not stirs. _William Shakespeare._ FAITH Faith is not a passive thing--mere believing or waiting. It is an active thing--a positive striving and achievement, even if conditions be untoward. Faith is not merely praying Upon your knees at night; Faith is not merely straying Through darkness to the light. Faith is not merely waiting For glory that may be, Faith is not merely hating The sinful ecstasy. Faith is the brave endeavor The splendid enterprise, The strength to serve, whatever Conditions may arise. _S.E. Kiser._ OPPORTUNITY What is opportunity? To the brilliant mind of Senator Ingalls it is a stupendous piece of luck. It comes once and once only to every human being, wise or foolish, good or wicked. If it be not perceived on the instant, it passes by forever. No longing for it, no effort, can bring it back. Notice that this view is fatalistic; it makes opportunity an external thing--one that enriches men or leaves their lives empty without much regard to what they deserve. Master of human destinies am I! Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait. Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel and mart and palace--soon or late I knock, unbidden, once at every gate! If sleeping, wake--if feasting, rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, Seek me in vain and uselessly implore. I answer not, and I return no more! _John James Ingalls._ OPPORTUNITY There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures. _William Shakespeare._ OPPORTUNITY To the thought of the preceding poem we have here a direct answer. No matter how a man may have failed in the past, the door of opportunity is always open to him. He should not give way to useless regrets; he should know that the future is within his control, that it will be what he chooses to make it. They do me wrong who say I come no more When once I knock and fail to find you in; For every day I stand outside your door, And bid you wake, and rise to fight and win. Wail not for precious chances passed away, Weep not for golden ages on the wane! Each night I burn the records of the day,-- At sunrise every soul is born again! Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped, To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb; My judgments seal the dead past with its dead, But never bind a moment yet to come. Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep; I lend my arm to all who say "I can!" No shame-faced outcast ever sank so deep, But yet might rise and be again a man! Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast? Dost reel from righteous Retribution's blow? Then turn from blotted archives of the past, And find the future's pages white as snow. Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell; Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven; Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell, Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven. _Walter Malone._ OPPORTUNITY In this poem yet another view of opportunity is presented. The recreant or the dreamer complains that he has no real chance. He would succeed, he says, if he had but the implements of success--money, influence, social prestige, and the like. But success lies far less in implements than in the use we make of them. What one man throws away as useless, another man seizes as the best means of victory at hand. For every one of us the materials for achievement are sufficient. The spirit that prompts us is what ultimately counts. This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:-- There spread a cloud of dust along a plain; And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. A craven hung along the battle's edge, And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel-- That blue blade that the king's son bears,--but this Blunt thing--!" he snapt and flung it from his hand, And lowering crept away and left the field. Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead, And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down, And saved a great cause that heroic day. _Edward Rowland Sill._ From "Poems." [Illustration: JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY] MY PHILOSOPHY Though dogs persist in barking at the moon, the moon's business is not to answer the dogs or to waste strength placating them, but simply to shine. The man who strives or succeeds is sure to be criticized. Is he therefore to abstain from all effort? We are responsible for our own lives and cannot regulate them according to other people's ideas. "Whoso would be a man," says Emerson, "must be a nonconformist." I allus argy that a man Who does about the best he can Is plenty good enugh to suit This lower mundane institute-- No matter ef his daily walk Is subject fer his neghbor's talk, And critic-minds of ev'ry whim Jest all git up and go fer him! * * * * * It's natchurl enugh, I guess, When some gits more and some gits less, Fer them-uns on the slimmest side To claim it ain't a fare divide; And I've knowed some to lay and wait, And git up soon, and set up late, To ketch some feller they could hate For goin' at a faster gait. * * * * * My doctern is to lay aside Contensions, and be satisfied: Jest do your best, and praise er blame That follers that, counts jest the same. I've allus noticed grate success Is mixed with troubles, more er less, And it's the man who does the best That gits more kicks than all the rest. _James Whitcomb Riley._ From the Biographical Edition Of the Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley. ULYSSES This volume consists chiefly of contemporary or very recent verse. But it could not serve its full purpose without the presence, here and there, of older poems--of "classics." These express a truth, a mood, or a spirit that is universal, and they express it in words of noble dignity and beauty. They are not always easy to understand; they are crops we must patiently cultivate, not crops that volunteer. But they wear well; they grow upon us; we come back to them again and again, and still they are fresh, living, significant--not empty, meaningless, and weather-worn, like a last year's crow's nest. Such a poem is _Ulysses_. It is shot through and through with the spirit of strenuous and never-ceasing endeavor--a spirit manifest in a hero who has every temptation to rest and enjoy. Ulysses is old. After ten long years of warfare before Troy, after endless misfortunes on his homeward voyage, after travels and experiences that have taken him everywhere and shown him everything that men know and do, he has returned to his rude native kingdom. He is reunited with his wife Penelope and his son Telemachus. He is rich and famous. Yet he is unsatisfied. The task and routine of governing a slow, materially minded people, though suited to his son's temperament, are unsuited to his. He wants to wear out rather than to rust out. He wants to discover what the world still holds. He wants to drink life to the lees. The morning has passed, the long day has waned, twilight and the darkness are at hand. But scant as are the years left to him, he will use them in a last, incomparable quest. He rallies his old comrades--tried men who always "With a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine"-- and asks them to brave with him once more the hazards and the hardships of the life of vast; unsubdued enterprise. It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known,--cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,-- And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains; but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,-- Well-beloved of me, discerning to fulfil This labor, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere Of common duties, decent not to fail In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail; There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,-- That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads,--you and I are old; Old age hath yet his honor and his toil. Death closes all; but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks; The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down; It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,-- One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. _Alfred Tennyson._ PREPAREDNESS For all your days prepare, And meet them ever alike: When you are the anvil, bear-- When you are the hammer, strike. _Edwin Markham._ From "The Gates of Paradise, and Other Poems." THE WISDOM OF FOLLY "Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a: A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a." Shakespeare's lilting stanza conveys a great truth--the power of cheerfulness to give impetus and endurance. The _a_ at the end of lines is merely an addition in singing; the word _hent_ means take. The cynics say that every rose Is guarded by a thorn which grows To spoil our posies; But I no pleasure therefore lack; I keep my hands behind my back When smelling roses. Though outwardly a gloomy shroud The inner half of every cloud Is bright and shining: I therefore turn my clouds about, And always wear them inside out To show the lining. My modus operandi this-- To take no heed of what's amiss; And not a bad one; Because, as Shakespeare used to say, A merry heart goes twice the way That tires a sad one. _Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler. (The Honorable Mrs. Alfred Felkin.)_ From "Verses Wise and Otherwise." SEE IT THROUGH An American traveler in Italy stood watching a lumberman who, as the logs floated down a swift mountain stream, jabbed his hook in an occasional one and drew it carefully aside. "Why do you pick out those few?" the traveler asked. "They all look alike." "But they are not alike, seignior. The logs I let pass have grown on the side of a mountain, where they have been protected all their lives. Their grain is coarse; they are good only for lumber. But these logs, seignior, grew on the top of the mountain. From the time they were sprouts and saplings they were lashed and buffeted by the winds, and so they grew strong with fine grain. We save them for choice work; they are not 'lumber,' seignior." When you're up against a trouble, Meet it squarely, face to face; Lift your chin and set your shoulders, Plant your feet and take a brace. When it's vain to try to dodge it, Do the best that you can do; You may fail, but you may conquer, See it through! Black may be the clouds about you And your future may seem grim, But don't let your nerve desert you; Keep yourself in fighting trim. If the worse is bound to happen, Spite of all that you can do, Running from it will not save you, See it through! Even hope may seem but futile, When with troubles you're beset, But remember you are facing Just what other men have met. You may fail, but fall still fighting; Don't give up, whate'er you do; Eyes front, head high to the finish. See it through! _Edgar A. Guest._ From "Just Folks." DECEMBER 31 If January 1 is an ideal time for renewed consecration, December 31 is an ideal time for thankful reminiscence. The year has not brought us everything we might have hoped, but neither has it involved us in everything we might have feared. Many are the perils, the failures, the miseries we have escaped, and life to us is still gracious and wholesome and filled to the brim with satisfaction. Best day of all the year, since I May see thee pass and know That if thou dost not leave me high Thou hast not found me low, And since, as I behold thee die, Thou leavest me the right to say That I to-morrow still may vie With them that keep the upward way. Best day of all the year to me, Since I may stand and gaze Across the grayish past and see So many crooked ways That might have led to misery, Or might have ended at Disgrace-- Best day since thou dost leave me free To look the future in the face. Best day of all days of the year, That was so kind, so good, Since thou dost leave me still the dear Old faith in brotherhood-- Best day since I, still striving here, May view the past with small regret, And, undisturbed by doubts or fear, Seeks paths that are untrod as yet. _S.E. Kiser._ RING OUT, WILD BELLS This great New Year's piece belongs almost as well to every day in the year, since it expresses a social ideal of justice and happiness. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be. _Alfred Tennyson._ [Illustration: HENRY VAN DYKE] WORK The dog that dropped his bone to snap at its reflection in the water went dinnerless. So do we often lose the substance--the joy--of our work by longing for tasks we think better fitted to our capabilities. Let me but do my work from day to day, In field or forest, at the desk or loom, In roaring market-place or tranquil room; Let me but find it in my heart to say, When vagrant wishes beckon me astray, "This is my work; my blessing, not my doom; Of all who live, I am the one by whom This work can best be done in the right way." Then shall I see it not too great, nor small To suit my spirit and to prove my powers; Then shall I cheerful greet the laboring hours, And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall At eventide, to play and love and rest, Because I know for me my work is best. _Henry Van Dyke._ From "Collected Poems." START WHERE YOU STAND When a man who had been in the penitentiary applied to Henry Ford for employment, he started to tell Mr. Ford his story. "Never mind," said Mr. Ford, "I don't care about the past. Start where you stand!"--Author's note. Start where you stand and never mind the past, The past won't help you in beginning new, If you have left it all behind at last Why, that's enough, you're done with it, you're through; This is another chapter in the book, This is another race that you have planned, Don't give the vanished days a backward look, Start where you stand. The world won't care about your old defeats If you can start anew and win success, The future is your time, and time is fleet And there is much of work and strain and stress; Forget the buried woes and dead despairs, Here is a brand new trial right at hand, The future is for him who does and dares, Start where you stand. Old failures will not halt, old triumphs aid, To-day's the thing, to-morrow soon will be; Get in the fight and face it unafraid, And leave the past to ancient history; What has been, has been; yesterday is dead And by it you are neither blessed nor banned, Take courage, man, be brave and drive ahead, Start where you stand. _Berton Braley._ From "A Banjo at Armageddon." A HOPEFUL BROTHER A Cripple Creek miner remarked that he had hunted for gold for twenty-five years. He was asked how much he had found. "None," he replied, "but the prospects are good." Ef you ask him, day or night, When the worl' warn't runnin' right, "Anything that's good in sight?" This is allus what he'd say, In his uncomplainin' way-- "Well, I'm hopin'." When the winter days waz nigh, An' the clouds froze in the sky, Never sot him down to sigh, But, still singin' on his way, He'd stop long enough to say-- "Well, I'm hopin'." Dyin', asked of him that night (Sperrit waitin' fer its flight), "Brother, air yer prospec's bright?" An'--last words they heard him say, In the ol', sweet, cheerful way-- "Well, I'm hopin'." _Frank L. Stanton._ "The Atlanta Constitution." A SONG OF THANKSGIVING We should have grateful spirits, not merely for personal benefits, but also for the right to sympathize, to understand, to help, to trust, to struggle, to aspire. Thank God I can rejoice In human things--the multitude's glad voice, The street's warm surge beneath the city light, The rush of hurrying faces on my sight, The million-celled emotion in the press That would their human fellowship confess. Thank Thee because I may my brother feed, That Thou hast opened me unto his need, Kept me from being callous, cold and blind, Taught me the melody of being kind. Thus, for my own and for my brother's sake-- Thank Thee I am awake! Thank Thee that I can trust! That though a thousand times I feel the thrust Of faith betrayed, I still have faith in man, Believe him pure and good since time began-- Thy child forever, though he may forget The perfect mould in which his soul was set. Thank Thee that when love dies, fresh love springs up. New wonders pour from Heaven's cup. Young to my soul the ancient need returns, Immortal in my heart the ardor burns; My altar fires replenished from above-- Thank Thee that I can love! Thank Thee that I can hear, Finely and keenly with the inner ear, Below the rush and clamor of a throng The mighty music of the under-song. And when the day has journeyed to its rest, Lo, as I listen, from the amber west, Where the great organ lifts its glowing spires, There sounds the chanting of the unseen choirs. Thank Thee for sight that shows the hidden flame Beneath all breathing, throbbing things the same, Thy Pulse the pattern of the thing to be.... Thank Thee that I can see! Thank Thee that I can feel! That though life's blade be terrible as steel, My soul is stript and naked to the fang, I crave the stab of beauty and the pang. _To be alive, To think, to yearn, to strive,_ To suffer torture when the goal is wrong, To be sent back and fashioned strong Rejoicing in the lesson that was taught By all the good the grim experience wrought; At last, exulting, to _arrive_.... Thank God I am alive! _Angela Morgan._ From "The Hour Has Struck." LOSE THE DAY LOITERING Anything is hard to begin, whether it be taking a cold bath, writing a letter, clearing up a misunderstanding, or falling to on the day's work. Yet "a thing begun is half done." No matter how unpleasant a thing is to do, begin it and immediately it becomes less unpleasant. Form the excellent habit of making a start. Lose the day loitering, 'twill be the same story To-morrow, and the next more dilatory, For indecision brings its own delays, And days are lost lamenting o'er lost days. Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute! What you can do, or think you can, begin it! Only engage, and then the mind grows heated; Begin it, and the work will be completed. _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe._ PLAYING THE GAME We don't like the man who whines that the cards were stacked against him or that the umpire cheated. We admire the chap who, when he must take his medicine, takes it cheerfully, bravely. To play the game steadily is a merit, whether the game be a straight one or crooked. A thoroughbred, even though bad, has more of our respect than the craven who cleaves to the proprieties solely from fear to violate them. It has well been said: "The mistakes which make us men are better than the accuracies that keep us children." Yes, he went an' stole our steers, So, of course, he had to die; I ain't sheddin' any tears, But, when I cash in--say, I Want to take it like that guy-- Laughin', jokin', with the rest, Not a whimper, not a cry, Standin' up to meet the test Till we swung him clear an' high, With his face turned toward the west! Here's the way it looks to me; Cattle thief's no thing to be, But if you take up that trade, Be the best one ever made; If you've got a thing to do Do it strong an' SEE IT THROUGH! That was him! He played the game, Took his chances, bet his hand, When at last the showdown came An' he lost, he kept his sand; Didn't weep an' didn't pray, Didn't waver er repent, Simply tossed his cards away, Knowin' well just what it meant. Never claimed the deck was stacked, Never called the game a snide, Acted like a man should act, Took his medicine--an' died! So I say it here again, What I think is true of men; They should try to do what's right, Fair an' square an' clean an' white, But, whatever is their line, Bad er good er foul er fine, Let 'em go the Limit, play Like a plunger, that's the way! _Berton Braley._ From "Songs of the Workaday World." [Illustration: CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN] RESOLVE There are some things we should all resolve to do. What are they? Any one may make a list for himself. It would be interesting to compare it with the one here given by the poet. To keep my health! To do my work! To live! To see to it I grow and gain and give! Never to look behind me for an hour! To wait in weakness, and to walk in power; But always fronting onward to the light, Always and always facing towards the right. Robbed, starved, defeated, fallen, wide astray-- On, with what strength I have! Back to the way! _Charlotte Perkins Gilman._ From "In This Our World." WHEN NATURE WANTS A MAN Only melting and hammering can shape and temper steel for fine use. Only struggle and suffering can give a man the qualities that enable him to render large service to humanity. Lincoln was born in a log cabin. He split rails, and conned a few books by the firelight in the evening. He became a backwoods lawyer with apparently no advantages or encouraging prospects. But all the while he had his visions, which ever became nobler; and the adversities he knew but gave him the deeper sympathy for others and the wider and steadier outlook on human problems. Thus when the supreme need arose, Lincoln was ready--harsh-visaged nature had done its work of moulding and preparing a man. When Nature wants to drill a man And thrill a man, And skill a man, When Nature wants to mould a man To play the noblest part; When she yearns with all her heart To create so great and bold a man That all the world shall praise-- Watch her method, watch her ways! How she ruthlessly perfects Whom she royally elects; How she hammers him and hurts him And with mighty blows converts him Into trial shapes of clay which only Nature understands-- While his tortured heart is crying and he lifts beseeching hands!-- How she bends, but never breaks, When his good she undertakes.... How she uses whom she chooses And with every purpose fuses him, By every art induces him To try his splendor out-- Nature knows what she's about. When Nature wants to take a man And shake a man And wake a man; When Nature wants to make a man To do the Future's will; When she tries with all her skill And she yearns with all her soul To create him large and whole.... With what cunning she prepares him! How she goads and never spares him, How she whets him and she frets him And in poverty begets him.... How she often disappoints Whom she sacredly anoints, With what wisdom she will hide him, Never minding what betide him Though his genius sob with slighting and his pride may not forget! Bids him struggle harder yet. Makes him lonely So that only God's high messages shall reach him So that she may surely teach him What the Hierarchy planned. Though he may not understand Gives him passions to command-- How remorselessly she spurs him, With terrific ardor stirs him When she poignantly prefers him! When Nature wants to name a man And fame a man And tame a man; When Nature wants to shame a man To do his heavenly best.... When she tries the highest test That her reckoning may bring-- When she wants a god or king!-- How she reins him and restrains him So his body scarce contains him While she fires him And inspires him! Keeps him yearning, ever burning for a tantalising goal-- Lures and lacerates his soul. Sets a challenge for his spirit, Draws it higher when he's near it-- Makes a jungle, that he clear it; Makes a desert, that he fear it And subdue it if he can-- So doth Nature make a man. Then, to test his spirit's wrath Hurls a mountain in his path-- Puts a bitter choice before him And relentless stands o'er him. "Climb, or perish!" so she says.... Watch her purpose, watch her ways! Nature's plan is wondrous kind Could we understand her mind ... Fools are they who call her blind. When his feet are torn and bleeding Yet his spirit mounts unheeding, All his higher powers speeding Blazing newer paths and fine; When the force that is divine Leaps to challenge every failure and his ardor still is sweet And love and hope are burning in the presence of defeat.... Lo, the crisis! Lo, the shout That must call the leader out. When the people need salvation Doth he come to lead the nation.... Then doth Nature show her plan When the world has found--a man! _Angela Morgan._ From "Forward, March!" ORDER AND THE BEES (FROM "HENRY V.") We often wish that we might do some other man's work, occupy his social or political station. But such an interchange is not easy. The world is complex, and its adjustments have come from long years of experience. Each man does well to perform the tasks for which nature and training have fitted him. And instead of feeling envy toward other people, we should rejoice that all labor, however diverse, is to one great end--it makes life richer and fuller. Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavor in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honey-bees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor: Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, That many things, having full reference To one consent, may work contrariously. _William Shakespeare._ SELF-DEPENDENCE One star does not ask another to adore it or amuse it; Mt. Shasta, though it towers for thousands of feet above its neighbors, does not repine that it is alone or that the adjacent peaks see much that it misses under the clouds. Nature does not trouble itself about what the rest of nature is doing. But man constantly worries about other men--what they think of him, do to him, fail to emulate in him, have or secure in comparison with him. He lacks nature's inward quietude. Calmness and peace come by being self-contained. Weary of myself, and sick of asking What I am, and what I ought to be, At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea. And a look of passionate desire O'er the sea and to the stars I send: "Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me, Calm me, ah, compose me to the end! "Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters, On my heart your mighty charm renew; Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, Feel my soul becoming vast like you!" From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, Over the lit sea's unquiet way, In the rustling night-air came the answer: "Wouldst thou BE as these are? LIVE as they. "Unaffrighted by the silence round them, Undistracted by the sights they see, These demand not that the things without them Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. "And with joy the stars perform their shining, And the sea its long, moon-silver'd roll; For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. "Bounded by themselves, and unregardful In what state God's other works may be, In their own tasks all their powers pouring, These attain the mighty life you see." O air-born voice! long since, severely clear, A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear: "Resolve to be thyself; and know that he Who finds himself, loses his misery!" _Matthew Arnold._ A LITTLE PRAYER We should strive to bring what happiness we can to others. More still, we should strive to bring them no unhappiness. When we come to die, it is, as George Eliot once said, not our kindness or our patience or our generosity that we shall regret, but our intolerance and our harshness. That I may not in blindness grope, But that I may with vision clear Know when to speak a word of hope Or add a little wholesome cheer. That tempered winds may softly blow Where little children, thinly clad, Sit dreaming, when the flame is low, Of comforts they have never had. That through the year which lies ahead No heart shall ache, no cheek be wet, For any word that I have said Or profit I have tried to get. _S.E. Kiser._ A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT It is said that once at a laird's house Burns was placed at a second table, and that this rankled in his breast and caused him to write his poem on equality. He insists that rank, wealth, and external distinctions are merely the stamp on the guinea; the man is the gold itself. Snobbishness he abhors; poverty he confesses to without hanging his head in the least; the pith of sense and the pride of worth he declares superior to any dignity thrust upon a person from the outside. In a final, prophetic mood he looks forward to the time when a democracy of square dealing shall prevail, praise shall be reserved for merit, and men the world over shall be to each other as brothers. In line 8 gowd=gold; 9, hamely=homely, commonplace; 11, gie=give; 15, sae=so; 17, birkie=fellow; 20, cuif=simpleton; 25, mak=make; 27, aboon=above; 28, mauna=must not; fa'=acclaim; 36, gree=prize. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that? The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea stamp; The man's the gowd for a' that. What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden-gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is King o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a cuif for a' that: For a' that, and a' that. His riband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith he mauna fa' that! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man t