Chapter 2

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."

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.