Chapter 6
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 fixéd, 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, arméd 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 the warld o'er Shall brothers be for a' that.
_Robert Burns._
LIFE AND DEATH
Life! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part; And when, or how, or where we met I own to me a secret yet.
Life! We've been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps will cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not "Good Night"--but in some brighter clime, Bid me "Good Morning!"
_Anna Barbauld._
LIFE AND DEATH
Many a man would die for wife and children, for faith, for country. But would he live for them? That, often, is the more heroic course--and the more sensible. A rich man was hiring a driver for his carriage. He asked each applicant how close he could drive to a precipice without toppling over. "One foot," "Six inches," "Three inches," ran the replies. But an Irishman declared, "Faith, and I'd keep as far away from the place as I could." "Consider yourself employed," was the rich man's comment.
So he died for his faith. That is fine-- More than most of us do. But stay, can you add to that line That he lived for it, too?
In death he bore witness at last As a martyr to truth. Did his life do the same in the past From the days of his youth?
It is easy to die. Men have died For a wish or a whim-- From bravado or passion or pride. Was it harder for him?
But to live: every day to live out All the truth that he dreamt, While his friends met his conduct with doubt, And the world with contempt--
Was it thus that he plodded ahead, Never turning aside? Then we'll talk of the life that he led-- Never mind how he died.
_Ernest H. Crosby_
From "Swords and Ploughshares."
ON BEING READY
At nightfall after bloody Antietam Lee's army, outnumbered and exhausted, lay with the Potomac at its back. So serious was the situation that all the subordinate officers advised retreat. But Lee, though too maimed to attack, would not leave the field save of his own volition. "If McClellan wants a battle," he declared, "he can have it." McClellan hesitated, and through the whole of the next day kept his great army idle. The effect upon the morale of the two forces, and the two governments, can be imagined.
The man who is there with the wallop and punch The one who is trained to the minute, May well be around when the trouble begins, But you seldom will find he is in it; For they let him alone when they know he is there For any set part in the ramble, To pick out the one who is shrinking and soft And not quite attuned to the scramble.
The one who is fixed for whatever they start Is rarely expected to prove it; They pass him along for the next shot in sight Where they take a full wind-up and groove it; For who wants to pick on a bulldog or such Where a quivering poodle is handy, When he knows he can win with a kick or a brick With no further trouble to bandy?
_Grantland Rice._
From "The Sportlight."
TWO AT A FIRESIDE
I built a chimney for a comrade old, I did the service not for hope or hire-- And then I traveled on in winter's cold, Yet all the day I glowed before the fire.
_Edwin Markham._
From "The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems."
TO-DAY
We often lose the happiness of to-day by brooding over the sorrows of yesterday or fearing the troubles of to-morrow. This is exceedingly foolish. There is always _some_ pleasure at hand; seize it, and at no time will you be without pleasure. You cannot change the past, but your spirit at this moment will in some measure shape your future. Live life, therefore, in the present tense; do not miss the joys of to-day.
Sure, this world is full of trouble-- I ain't said it ain't. Lord! I've had enough, an' double, Reason for complaint. Rain an' storm have come to fret me, Skies were often gray; Thorns an' brambles have beset me On the road--but, say, Ain't it fine to-day?
What's the use of always weepin', Makin' trouble last? What's the use of always keepin' Thinkin' of the past? Each must have his tribulation, Water with his wine. Life it ain't no celebration. Trouble? I've had mine-- But to-day is fine.
It's to-day that I am livin', Not a month ago, Havin', losin', takin', givin', As time wills it so. Yesterday a cloud of sorrow Fell across the way; It may rain again to-morrow, It may rain--but, say, Ain't it fine to-day!
_Douglas Malloch._
THE ARROW AND THE SONG
We can calculate with fair accuracy the number of miles an automobile will go in an hour. We can gauge pretty closely the amount of merchandise a given sum of money will buy. But a good deed or a kind impulse is not measurable. Their influence works in devious ways and lives on when perhaps we can see them no more.
I shout an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.
_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._
THE INNER LIGHT
"Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though locked up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted,"
says Shakespeare. But not only does a clear conscience give power; it also gives light. With it we could sit at the center of the earth and yet enjoy the sunshine. Without it we live in a rayless prison.
He that has light within his own clear breast May sit i' the center, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the midday sun; Himself is his own dungeon.
_John Milton._
THE THINGS THAT HAVEN'T BEEN DONE BEFORE
It is said that if you hold a stick in front of the foremost sheep in a flock that files down a trail in the mountains, he will jump it--and that every sheep thereafter will jump when he reaches the spot, even if the stick be removed. So are many people mere unthinking imitators, blind to facts and opportunities about them. Kentucky could not be lived in by the white race till Daniel Boone built his cabin there. The air was not part of the domain of humanity till the Wright brothers made themselves birdmen.
The things that haven't been done before, Those are the things to try; Columbus dreamed of an unknown shore At the rim of the far-flung sky, And his heart was bold and his faith was strong As he ventured in dangers new, And he paid no heed to the jeering throng Or the fears of the doubting crew.
The many will follow the beaten track With guideposts on the way, They live and have lived for ages back With a chart for every day. Someone has told them it's safe to go On the road he has traveled o'er, And all that they ever strive to know Are the things that were known before.
A few strike out, without map or chart, Where never a man has been, From the beaten paths they draw apart To see what no man has seen. There are deeds they hunger alone to do; Though battered and bruised and sore, They blaze the path for the many, who Do nothing not done before.
The things that haven't been done before Are the tasks worth while to-day; Are you one of the flock that follows, or Are you one that shall lead the way? Are you one of the timid souls that quail At the jeers of a doubting crew, Or dare you, whether you win or fail, Strike out for a goal that's new?
_Edgar A. Guest._
From "A Heap o' Livin'."
THE HAS-BEENS
I read the papers every day, and oft encounter tales which show there's hope for every jay who in life's battle fails. I've just been reading of a gent who joined the has-been ranks, at fifty years without a cent, or credit at the banks. But undismayed he buckled down, refusing to be beat, and captured fortune and renown; he's now on Easy Street. Men say that fellows down and out ne'er leave the rocky track, but facts will show, beyond a doubt, that has-beens do come back. I know, for I who write this rhyme, when forty-odd years old, was down and out, without a dime, my whiskers full of mold. By black disaster I was trounced until it jarred my spine; I was a failure so pronounced I didn't need a sign. And after I had soaked my coat, I said (at forty-three), "I'll see if I can catch the goat that has escaped from me." I labored hard; I strained my dome, to do my daily grind, until in triumph I came home, my billy-goat behind. And any man who still has health may with the winners stack, and have a chance at fame and wealth--for has-beens do come back.
_Walt Mason._
From "Walt Mason, His Book."
WISHING
Horace Greeley said that no one need fear the editor who indulged in diatribes against the prevalence of polygamy in Utah, but that malefactors had better look out when an editor took up his pen against abuses in his own city. We all tend to begin our reforms too far away from home. The man who wishes improvement strongly enough to set to work on himself is the man who will obtain results.
Do you wish the world were better? Let me tell you what to do. Set a watch upon your actions, Keep them always straight and true. Rid your mind of selfish motives, Let your thoughts be clean and high. You can make a little Eden Of the sphere you occupy.
Do you wish the world were wiser? Well, suppose you make a start, By accumulating wisdom In the scrapbook of your heart; Do not waste one page on folly; Live to learn, and learn to live. If you want to give men knowledge You must get it, ere you give.
Do you wish the world were happy? Then remember day by day Just to scatter seeds of kindness As you pass along the way, For the pleasures of the many May be ofttimes traced to one. As the hand that plants an acorn Shelters armies from the sun.
_Ella Wheeler Wilcox._
From "Poems of Power."
AWARENESS
A man must keep a keen sense of the drift and significance of what he is engaged in if he is to make much headway. Yet many human beings are so sunk in the routine of their work that they fail to realize what it is all for. A man who was tapping with a hammer the wheels of a railroad train remarked that he had been at the job for twenty-seven years. "What do you do when a wheel doesn't sound right?" a passenger inquired. The man was taken aback. "I never found one that sounded that way," said he.
God--let me be aware. Let me not stumble blindly down the ways, Just getting somehow safely through the days, Not even groping for another hand, Not even wondering why it all was planned, Eyes to the ground unseeking for the light, Soul never aching for a wild-winged flight, Please, keep me eager just to do my share. God--let me be aware.
God--let me be aware. Stab my soul fiercely with others' pain, Let me walk seeing horror and stain. Let my hands, groping, find other hands. Give me the heart that divines, understands. Give me the courage, wounded, to fight. Flood me with knowledge, drench me in light. Please--keep me eager just to do my share. God--let me be aware.
_Miriam Teichner._
ONE OF THESE DAYS
The worst fault in a hound is to run counter--to follow the trail backward, not forward. Is the fault less when men are guilty of it? Behind us is much that we have found to be faithless, cruel, or unpleasant. Why go back to that? Why not go forward to the things we really desire?
Say! Let's forget it! Let's put it aside! Life is so large and the world is so wide. Days are so short and there's so much to do, What if it was false--there's plenty that's true. Say! Let's forget it! Let's brush it away Now and forever, so what do you say? All of the bitter words said may be praise One of these days.
Say! Let's forget it! Let's wipe off the slate, Find something better to cherish than hate. There's so much good in the world that we've had, Let's strike a balance and cross off the bad. Say! Let's forgive it, whatever it be, Let's not be slaves when we ought to be free. We shall be walking in sunshiny ways One of these days.
Say! Let's not mind it! Let's smile it away, Bring not a withered rose from yesterday; Flowers are so fresh from the wayside and wood, Sorrows are blessings but half understood. Say! Let's not mind it, however it seems, Hope is so sweet and holds so many dreams; All of the sere fields with blossoms shall blaze One of these days.
Say! Let's not take it so sorely to heart! Hates may be friendships just drifted apart, Failure be genius not quite understood, Say! Let's get closer to somebody's side, See what his dreams are and learn how he tried, See if our scoldings won't give way to praise One of these days.
Say! Let's not wither! Let's branch out and rise Out of the byways and nearer the skies. Let's spread some shade that's refreshing and deep Where some tired traveler may lie down and sleep. Say! Let's not tarry! Let's do it right now; So much to do if we just find out how! We may not be here to help folks or praise One of these days.
_James W. Foley._
From "The Voices of Song."
GOD
We often think people shallow, think them incapable of anything serious or profound, because their work is humdrum and their speech trivial. Such a judgment is unfair, since that part of our own life which shows itself to others is superficial likewise, though we are conscious that within us is much that it does not reveal.
I think about God. Yet I talk of small matters. Now isn't it odd How my idle tongue chatters! Of quarrelsome neighbors, Fine weather and rain, Indifferent labors, Indifferent pain, Some trivial style Fashion shifts with a nod. And yet all the while I am thinking of God.
_Gamaliel Bradford._
From "Shadow Verses."
MY TRIUMPH
The poet, looking back upon the hopes he has cherished, perceives that he has fallen far short of achieving them. The songs he has sung are less sweet than those he has dreamed of singing; the wishes he has wrought into facts are less noble than those that are yet unfulfilled. But he looks forward to the time when all that he desires for humankind shall yet come to pass. The praise will not be his; it will belong to others. Still, he does not envy those who are destined to succeed where he failed. Rather does he rejoice that through them his hopes for the race will be realized. And he is happy that by longing for just such a triumph he shares in it--he makes it _his_ triumph.
Let the thick curtain fall; I better know than all How little I have gained, How vast the unattained.
Not by the page word-painted Let life be banned or sainted: Deeper than written scroll The colors of the soul.
Sweeter than any sung My songs that found no tongue Nobler than any fact My wish that failed to act.
Others shall sing the song, Others shall right the wrong,-- Finish what I begin, And all I fail of win.
What matter, I or they? Mine or another's day, So the right word be said And life the sweeter made?
Hail to the coming singers! Hail to the brave light-bringers! Forward I reach and share All that they sing and dare.
The airs of heaven blow o'er me; A glory shines before me Of what mankind shall be,-- Pure, generous, brave, and free.
A dream of man and woman Diviner but still human, Solving the riddle old, Shaping the Age of Gold!
The love of God and neighbor; An equal-handed labor; The richer life, where beauty Walks hand in hand with duty.
Ring, bells in unreared steeples, The joy of unborn peoples! Sound, trumpets far off blown, Your triumph is my own.
Parcel and part of all, I keep the festival, Fore-reach the good to be, And share the victory.
I feel the earth move sunward, I join the great march onward, And take, by faith, while living, My freehold of thanksgiving.
_John Green leaf Whittier._
TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON
In the great Civil War in England between the Puritans and Charles the First the author of this poem sacrificed everything in the royal cause. That cause was defeated and Lovelace was imprisoned. In these stanzas he makes the most of his gloomy situation and sings the joys of various kinds of freedom. First is the freedom brought by love, when his sweetheart speaks to him through the grate of the dungeon. Second is the freedom brought by the recollection of good fellowship, when tried and true comrades took their wine straight--"with no allaying Thames." Third is the freedom brought by remembrance of the king for whom he was suffering. Finally comes the passionate and heroic assertion that though the body of a man may be confined, nevertheless his spirit can remain free and chainless.
When Love with unconfinéd wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair And fetter'd to her eye, The Gods that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.