Chapter 7

When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free-- Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty.

When (like committed linnets) I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.

_Richard Lovelace._

GRIEF

Shakespeare says: "I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching." This is especially true regarding grief or affliction. "Man was born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward," but we bid other people bear their sorrows manfully; we should therefore bear ours with equal courage.

Upon this trouble shall I whet my life As 'twere a dulling knife; Bade I my friend be brave? I shall still braver be. No man shall say of me, "Others he saved, himself he cannot save." But swift and fair As the Primeval word that smote the night-- "Let there be light!" Courage shall leap from me, a gallant sword To rout the enemy and all his horde, Cleaving a kingly pathway through despair.

_Angela Morgan._

From "Forward, March!"

THE RECTIFYING YEARS

Time brings the deeper understanding that clears up our misconceptions; it shows us the error of our hates; it dispels our worries and our fears; it allays the grief that seemed too poignant to be borne.

Yes, things are more or less amiss; To-day it's that, to-morrow this; Yet with so much that's out of whack, Life does not wholly jump the track Because, since matters move along, No _one_ thing's always _staying_ wrong. So heed not failures, losses, fears, But trust the rectifying years.

What we shall have's not what we've got; Our pains don't linger in one spot-- They skip about; the seesaw's end That's up will mighty soon descend; You've looked at bacon? Life's like that-- A streak of lean, a streak of fat. Change, like a sky that clouds, that clears, Hangs o'er the rectifying years.

Uneven things not leveled down Are somehow simply got aroun'; The sting is taken from offence; The evil has its recompense; The broken heart is knit again; The baffled longing knows not pain; Wrong fades and trouble disappears Before the rectifying years.

Then envy, hate towards man or class Should from your sinful nature pass. Though others hold a higher place Or have more power or wealth or grace, The best of them, be sure, cannot Escape the common human lot; So many smiles, so many tears Come with the rectifying years.

_St. Clair Adams._

TO THOSE WHO FAIL

We too often praise the man who wins just because he wins; the plaudits and laurels of victory are the unthinking crowd's means of estimating success. But the vanquished may have fought more nobly than the victor; he may have done his best against hopeless odds. As Addison makes Cato say,

"'Tis not in mortals to command success, But we'll do more, Sempronius,--we'll deserve it."

"All honor to him who shall win the prize," The world has cried for a thousand years; But to him who tries, and who fails and dies, I give great honor and glory and tears;

Give glory and honor and pitiful tears To all who fail in their deeds sublime; Their ghosts are many in the van of years, They were born with Time, in advance of Time.

Oh, great is the hero who wins a name, But greater many and many a time Some pale-faced fellow who dies in shame, And lets God finish the thoughts sublime.

And great is the man with a sword undrawn, And good is the man who refrains from wine; But the man who fails and yet still fights on, Lo, he is the twin-born brother of mine.

_Joaquin Miller._

From "Joaquin Miller's Complete Poems."

HELPING' OUT

"I always look out for Number One," was the favorite remark of a man who thought he had found the great rule to success, but he had only stated his own doctrine of selfishness, and his life was never very successful. A man must be big to succeed, and selfishness is always cramping and narrow.

Da's a lot of folks what preach all day An' always pointing' out de way, Dey say dat prayin' all de time An' keepin' yo' heart all full of rhyme Will lead yo' soul to heights above Whah angels coo like a turtledove. But I's des lookin' round, dat's me-- I's trustin' lots in what I see; It 'pears to me da's lots to do Befo' we pass dat heavenly blue. I believes in prayin', preachin' about, But believe a lot mo' in helpin' out.

I believes in 'ligin, it's mighty sweet, But de kind dat gits in yo' hands and feet An' makes you work when dey ain't no praise, Nuthin' but a heart dat's all a-blaze. If it rains or shines, dey's des de same-- Say, bless you, honey, Sunshine's dey name; Dey don't fuss round 'bout how much pay But climbs up de trail, helpin' all de way. De load is often twice der size, And smilin' is der biggest prize. Dey never gits dis awful gout 'Cause dey's busy all de time in helpin' out.

We had an old mule on Massa's place, As fo' looks he'd certainly lose de race; But der wa'n't a horse fo' miles around Could pull mo' load or plow mo' ground. An' when dat donkey brayed his best, He seemed to know he'd licked de rest. Dat bray of his was strong as wool-- It always come at de hardest pull. We need mo' mules with brains on guard Dat knos de game of pullin' hard, An' a heart dat's tender, true and stout, Dat believes all day in helpin' out.

We's all des human, des common clay, Des needs a little help to make work play. I'se read a lot of philosophy day an' night, An' worked around a heap wid de law of right. I'se seen de high an' mighty come an' go, I'se seen de simple spirit come from below; An' I'se seen a lot of principle most folks miss-- I'se not a-stretchin' truth when I say dis: "Keep a-smilin' an' a-lovin' an a-doin' all yo' can, Fo' yo' loses all yo' trouble when yo' help yo' fellow man; An' you gits on best yo'self, an' of this dey ain't no doubt, When yo' practise de art of always helpin' out."

_William Judson Kibby._

OPENING PARADISE

We appreciate even the common things of life if we are denied them.

See the wretch, that long has tost On the thorny bed of Pain, At length repair his vigor lost, And breathe and walk again: The meanest flow'r'et of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common Sun, the air, and skies, To him are opening Paradise.

_Thomas Gray._

TO THE MEN WHO LOSE

When Captain Scott's ill-fated band, after reaching the South Pole, was struggling through the cold and storms back towards safety, the strength of Evans, one of the men, became exhausted. He had done his best--vainly. Now he did not wish to imperil his companions, already sorely tried. At a halting-place, therefore, he left them and, staggering out into a blizzard, perished alone. It was a failure, yes; but was it not also magnificent success?

Here's to the men who lose! What though their work be e'er so nobly planned, And watched with zealous care, No glorious halo crowns their efforts grand, Contempt is failure's share.

Here's to the men who lose! If triumph's easy smile our struggles greet, Courage is easy then; The king is he who, after fierce defeat, Can up and fight again.

Here's to the men who lose! The ready plaudits of a fawning world Ring sweet in victor's ears; The vanquished's banners never are unfurled-- For them there sound no cheers.

Here's to the men who lose! The touchstone of true worth is not success; There is a higher test-- Though fate may darkly frown, onward to press, And bravely do one's best.

Here's to the men who lose! It is the vanquished's praises that I sing, And this is the toast I choose: "A hard-fought failure is a noble thing; Here's to the men who lose!"

_Anonymous._

IT MAY BE

Many, many are the human struggles in which we can lend no aid. But if we cannot help, at least we need not hinder.

It may be that you cannot stay To lend a friendly hand to him Who stumbles on the slippery way, Pressed by conditions hard and grim; It may be that you dare not heed His call for help, because you lack The strength to lift him, but you need Not push him back.

It may be that he has not won The right to hope for your regard; He may in folly have begun The course that he has found so hard; It may be that your fingers bleed, That Fortune turns a bitter frown Upon your efforts, but you need Not kick him down.

_S.E. Kiser._

LIFE

In life is necessarily much monotony, sameness. But our triumph may lie in putting richness and meaning into routine that apparently lacks them.

Forenoon and afternoon and night,--Forenoon, And afternoon, and night,--Forenoon, and--what! The empty song repeats itself. No more? Yea, that is Life: make this forenoon sublime, This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer, And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.

_Edward Rowland Sill._

From "Poems."

THE GRUMPY GUY

When students came, full of ambition, to the great scientist Agassiz, he gave each a fish and told him to find out what he could about it. They went to work and in a day or two were ready for their report. But Agassiz didn't come round. To kill time they went to work again, observed, dissected, conjectured, and when at the end of a fortnight Agassiz finally appeared, they felt that their knowledge was really exhaustive. The master's brief comment was that they had made a fair beginning, and again he left. They then fell to in earnest and after weeks and months of investigation declared that a fish was the most fascinating of studies. If our interest in life fails, it is not from material to work on. No two leaves are alike, not two human beings are alike, and if we are discerning, the attraction of any one of them is infinite.

The Grumpy Guy was feeling blue; the Grumpy Guy was glum; The Grumpy Guy with baleful eye took Misery for a chum. He hailed misfortunes as his pals, and murmured, "Let 'em come!"

"Oh, what's the blooming use?" he yelped, his face an angry red, "When everything's been thought before and everything's been said? And what's a Grumpy Guy to do except to go to bed?

"And where's the joy the poets sing, the merriment and fun? How can one start a thing that's new when everything's begun?-- When everything's been planned before and everything's been done?--

"When everything's been dreamed before and everything's been sought? When everything that ever ran has, so to speak, been caught?-- When every game's been played before and every battle fought?"

I started him at solitaire, a fooling, piffling game. He played it ninety-seven hours and failed to find it tame. In all the times he dealt the cards no two games were the same.

He never tumbled to its tricks nor mastered all its curves. He grunted, "Well, this takes the cake, the pickles and preserves! Its infinite variety is getting on my nerves."

"Its infinite variety!" I scoffed. "Just fifty-two Poor trifling bits of pasteboard!--their combinations few Compared to what there is in man!--the poorest!--even you!

"Variety! You'll never find in forty-seven decks One tenth of the variety found in the gentler sex. Card combinations are but frills to hang around their necks.

"The sun won't rise to-morrow as it came to us to-day, 'Twill be older, we'll be older, and to Time this debt we pay. For nothing can repeat itself, for nothing knows the way."

Then the Grumpy Guy was silent as a miser hoarding pelf. He knew 'twas time to put his grouch away upon the shelf. And so he did.--You see, I was just talking to myself!

_Griffith Alexander._

From "The Pittsburg Dispatch."

THE FIGHTER

If life were all easy, we should degenerate into weaklings--into human mush. It is the fighting spirit that makes us strong. Nor do any of us lack for a chance to exercise this spirit. Struggle is everywhere; as Kearny said at Fair Oaks, "There is lovely fighting along the whole line."

I fight a battle every day Against discouragement and fear; Some foe stands always in my way, The path ahead is never clear! I must forever be on guard Against the doubts that skulk along; I get ahead by fighting hard, But fighting keeps my spirit strong.

I hear the croakings of Despair, The dark predictions of the weak; I find myself pursued by Care, No matter what the end I seek; My victories are small and few, It matters not how hard I strive; Each day the fight begins anew, But fighting keeps my hopes alive.

My dreams are spoiled by circumstance, My plans are wrecked by Fate or Luck; Some hour, perhaps, will bring my chance, But that great hour has never struck; My progress has been slow and hard, I've had to climb and crawl and swim, Fighting for every stubborn yard, But I have kept in fighting trim.

I have to fight my doubts away, And be on guard against my fears; The feeble croaking of Dismay Has been familiar through the years; My dearest plans keep going wrong, Events combine to thwart my will, But fighting keeps my spirit strong, And I am undefeated still!

_S.E. Kiser._

From "The New York American."

TO YOUTH AFTER PAIN

Since pain is the lot of all, we cannot hope to escape it. Since only through pain can we come into true and helpful sympathy with men, we should not wish to escape it.

What if this year has given Grief that some year must bring, What if it hurt your joyous youth, Crippled your laughter's wing? You always knew it was coming, Coming to all, to you, They always said there was suffering-- Now it is done, come through.

Even if you have blundered, Even if you have sinned, Still is the steadfast arch of the sky And the healing veil of the wind.... And after only a little, A little of hurt and pain, You shall have the web of your own old dreams Wrapping your heart again.

Only your heart can pity Now, where it laughed and passed, Now you can bend to comfort men, One with them all at last, You shall have back your laughter, You shall have back your song, Only the world is your brother now, Only your soul is strong!

_Margaret Widdemer._

From "The Old Road to Paradise."

CAN'T

A great, achieving soul will not clog itself with a cowardly thought or a cowardly watchword. Cardinal Richelieu in Bulwer-Lytton's play declares:

"In the lexicon of youth, which fate reserves For a bright manhood, there is no such word As 'fail.'"

"Impossible," Napoleon is quoted as saying, "is a word found only in the dictionary of fools."

_Can't_ is the worst word that's written or spoken; Doing more harm here than slander and lies; On it is many a strong spirit broken, And with it many a good purpose dies. It springs from the lips of the thoughtless each morning And robs us of courage we need through the day: It rings in our ears like a timely-sent warning And laughs when we falter and fall by the way.

_Can't_ is the father of feeble endeavor, The parent of terror and half-hearted work; It weakens the efforts of artisans clever, And makes of the toiler an indolent shirk. It poisons the soul of the man with a vision, It stifles in infancy many a plan; It greets honest toiling with open derision And mocks at the hopes and the dreams of a man.

_Can't_ is a word none should speak without blushing; To utter it should be a symbol of shame; Ambition and courage it daily is crushing; It blights a man's purpose and shortens his aim. Despise it with all of your hatred of error; Refuse it the lodgment it seeks in your brain; Arm against it as a creature of terror, And all that you dream of you some day shall gain.

_Can't_ is the word that is foe to ambition, An enemy ambushed to shatter your will; Its prey is forever the man with a mission And bows but to courage and patience and skill. Hate it, with hatred that's deep and undying, For once it is welcomed 'twill break any man; Whatever the goal you are seeking, keep trying And answer this demon by saying: "I _can_."

_Edgar A. Guest._

From "A Heap o' Livin'."

THE STRUGGLE

We all dream of being St. Georges and fighting dragons amid glamor and glory and the applause of the world. But our real fights are mostly commonplace, routine battles, where no great victory is ours at the end of the day. To persist in them requires quiet strength and unfaltering courage.

Did you ever want to take your two bare hands, And choke out of the world your big success? Beat, torn fists bleeding, pathways rugged, grand, By sheer brute strength and bigness, nothing less? So at the last, triumphant, battered, strong, You might gaze down on what you choked and beat, And say, "Ah, world, you've wrought to do me wrong; And thus have I accepted my defeat."

Have you ever dreamed of virile deeds, and vast, And then come back from dreams with wobbly knees, To find your way (the braver vision past), By picking meekly at typewriter keys; By bending o'er a ledger, day by day, By some machine-like drudging? No great woe To grapple with. Slow, painful is the way, And still, the bravest fight and conquer so.

_Miriam Teichner._

HOLD FAST

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

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

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

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

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

_Everard Jack Appleton._

From "The Quiet Courage."

WILL

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Ella Wheeler Wilcox._

From "Poems of Power."

THE GAME

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

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

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

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

_Grantland Rice._

From "The Sportlight."

COURAGE

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

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

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

_Florence Earle Coates._

From "Poems."

A GOOD NAME

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

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

_William Shakespeare._

SWELLITIS