Chapter 8

A certain employer of large numbers of men makes it a principle to praise none of them, not because they are undeserving, and not because he dislikes to commend, but because experience has taught him that usually the praise goes to the head of the recipient, both impairing his work and making it harder for others to associate with him. A good test of a man is his way of taking commendation. He may, even while grateful, be stirred to humility that he has not done better still, and may resolve to accomplish more. Or imitating the frog who wished to look like an ox, he may swell and swell until--figuratively speaking--he bursts.

Somebody said he'd done it well, And presto! his head began to swell; Bigger and bigger the poor thing grew-- A wonder it didn't split in two. In size a balloon could scarcely match it; He needed a fishing-pole to scratch it;--- But six and a half was the size of his hat, And it rattled around on his head at that!

"Good work," somebody chanced to say, And his chest swelled big as a load of hay. About himself, like a rooster, he crowed; Of his wonderful work he bragged and blowed He marched around with a peacock strut; Gigantic to him was the figure he cut;-- But he wore a very small-sized suit, And loosely it hung on him, to boot!

HE was the chap who made things hum! HE was the drumstick and the drum! HE was the shirt bosom and the starch! HE was the keystone in the arch! HE was the axis of the earth! Nothing existed before his birth! But when he was off from work a Nobody knew that he was away!

This is a fact that is sad to tell: It's the empty head that is bound to swell; It's the light-weight fellow who soars to the skies And bursts like a bubble before your eyes. A big man is humbled by honest praise, And tries to think of all the ways To improve his work and do it well;-- But a little man starts of himself to yell!

_Joseph Morris:_

CARES

To those who are wearied, fretted, and worried there is no physician like nature. When our nerves are frazzled and our sleep is unrefreshing, we can find no better antidote to the clamorous grind and frenzy of the city than the stillness and solitude of hills, streams, and tranquil stars. That man lays up for himself resources of strength who now and then exchanges the ledger for green leaves, the factory for wild flowers, business for brook-croon and bird-song.

The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play; Among the lowing of the herds, The rustling of the trees, Among the singing of the birds, The humming of the bees.

The foolish fears of what may happen, I cast them all away Among the clover-scented grass, Among the new-mown hay; Among the husking of the corn Where drowsy poppies nod, Where ill thoughts die and good are born Out in the fields with God.

_Elisabeth Barrett Browning._

FAITH

Any one who has ridden across the continent on a train must marvel at the faith and imagination of the engineers who constructed the road--the topographical advantages seized, the grades made easy of ascent, the curves and straight stretches planned, the tunnels so carefully calculated that workmen beginning on opposite sides of a mountain met in the middle--and all this visualized and thought out before the actual work was begun. Faith has such foresight, such courage, whether it toils actively or can merely bide its time.

The tree-top, high above the barren field, Rising beyond the night's gray folds of mist, Rests stirless where the upper air is sealed To perfect silence, by the faint moon kissed. But the low branches, drooping to the ground, Sway to and fro, as sways funereal plume, While from their restless depths low whispers sound: "We fear, we fear the darkness and the gloom; Dim forms beneath us pass and reappear, And mournful tongues are menacing us here."

Then from the topmost bough falls calm reply: "Hush, hush, I see the coming of the morn; Swiftly the silent night is passing by, And in her bosom rosy Dawn is borne. 'Tis but your own dim shadows that ye see, 'Tis but your own low moans that trouble ye."

So Life stands, with a twilight world around; Faith turned serenely to the steadfast sky, Still answering the heart that sweeps the ground Sobbing in fear, and tossing restlessly-- "Hush, hush! The Dawn breaks o'er the Eastern sea, 'Tis but thine own dim shadow troubling thee."

_Edward Rowland Sill._

From "Poems."

PLAYING THE GAME

We all like the good sport--the man who plays fair and courteously and with every ounce of his energy, even when the game is going against him.

Life is a game with a glorious prize, If we can only play it right. It is give and take, build and break, And often it ends in a fight; But he surely wins who honestly tries (Regardless of wealth or fame), He can never despair who plays it fair-- How are you playing the game?

Do you wilt and whine, if you fail to win In the manner you think your due? Do you sneer at the man in case that he can And does, do better than you? Do you take your rebuffs with a knowing grin? Do you laugh tho' you pull up lame? Does your faith hold true when the whole world's blue? How are you playing the game?

Get into the thick of it--wade in, boys! Whatever your cherished goal; Brace up your will till your pulses thrill, And you dare--to your very soul! Do something more than make a noise; Let your purpose leap into flame As you plunge with a cry, "I shall do or die," Then you will be playing the game.

_Anonymous_.

WHAT DARK DAYS DO

A real man does not want all his barriers leveled. He of course welcomes easy tasks, but he welcomes hard ones also. The difficult or unpleasant thing puts him on his mettle, throws him on his own resources. It gives him something of

"The stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel."

Moreover as a foil or contrast it enables him to value more truly the good things he constantly enjoys, perhaps without perceiving them.

I sorter like a gloomy day, Th' kind that jest _won't_ smile; It makes a feller hump hisself T' make life seem wuth while. When sun's a-shinin' an' th' sky Is washed out bright an' gay, It ain't no job to whistle--but It is-- When skies air gray!

So gloomy days air good fer us, They make us look about To find our blessin's--make us count The friends who never doubt, Most any one kin smile and joke And hold blue-devils back When it is bright, but we must work T' grin-- When skies air black!

That's why I sorter _like_ dark days, That put it up to me To keep th' gloom from soakin' in My whole anatomy! An' if they _never_ come along My soul would surely rust-- Th' dark days keeps my cheerfulness From draggin' In th' dust!

_Everard Jack Appleton._

From "The Quiet Courage."

GLADNESS

A coal miner does not need the sun's illumination. He carries his own light.

The world has brought not anything To make me glad to-day! The swallow had a broken wing, And after all my journeying There was no water in the spring-- My friend has said me nay. But yet somehow I needs must sing As on a luckier day.

Dusk fails as gray as any tear, There is no hope in sight! But something in me seems so fair, That like a star I needs must wear A safety made of shining air Between me and the night. Such inner weavings do I wear All fashioned of delight!

I need not for these robes of mine The loveliness of earth, But happenings remote and fine Like threads of dreams will blow and shine In gossamer and crystalline, And I was glad from birth. So even while my eyes repine, My heart is clothed in mirth.

_Anna Hempstead Branch._

From "The Shoes That Danced, and Other Poems."

IT WON'T STAY BLOWED

It is easier to fail than succeed. It is easier to drift downstream than up. But just as pent steam finds an escape somewhere, so will the man who persists break at one point or another through confining circumstance.

To the sniffing pickaninny once his good old mammy said, "Yo' lil' black nose am drippin' from de cold dat's in yo' head, An' yo' sleeve am slick and shiny like de hillside when it snows. Why doan' you pump de bellers from de inside ob yo' nose?" "Ain't I been," the child replied to her, "a-doin' ob jes' dat Twel I's got a turble empty feel right whur I wears muh hat? De traffic soht o' nacherly keeps gittin' in de road. I blow muh nose a-plenty, but it won't stay blowed.

"What's de use ob raisin' chickens ef dey won't stay riz? What's de use ob freezin' sherbet ef it won't stay friz? What's de use ob payin' debts off ef dey's gwine stay owed? What's de use ob blowin' noses ef dey won't stay blowed?"

This old world is sometimes jealous of the chap who means to rise; It sneers at what he's doing or it bats him 'twixt the eyes; It trips him when he's careless, and it makes his way so hard What's left of him is sinew, not a walking tub of lard; But it's only wasting effort, for by George, the guy keeps on When his hopes have crumbled round him and you'd think his faith was gone, Till the world at last knocks under and it passes him a crown: Once, twice, thrice it has upset him, but he won't stay down.

What cares he when out he's flattened by the cruel blow it deals? He has rubber in his shoulders and a mainspring in his heels. Let the world uncork its buffets till he's bruised from toe to crown; Let it thump him, bump him, dump him, but he won't stay down.

_St. Clair Adams._

THE RAINBOW

Our lives are not a hodge-podge of separate experiences, though they sometimes seem so. They are held together by simple things which we behold again and again with the same emotions. Thus the man is what the boy has been; the tree is inclined in the precise direction the twig was bent.

My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

_William Wordsworth._

THE FIRM OF GRIN AND BARRETT

It has been said that when disaster overtakes us, we can do one of two things--we can grin and bear it, or we needn't grin. The spirit that keeps a smile on our faces when our burden is heaviest is the spirit that will win in the long run. Many men know how to take success quietly. The real test of a man is he way he takes failure.

No financial throe volcanic Ever yet was known to scare it; Never yet was any panic Scared the firm of Grin and Barrett. From the flurry and the fluster, From the ruin and the crashes, They arise in brighter lustre, Like the phoenix from his ashes. When the banks and corporations Quake with fear, they do not share it; Smiling through all perturbations Goes the firm of Grin and Barrett. Grin and Barrett, Who can scare it? Scare the firm of Grin and Barrett?

When the tide-sweep of reverses Smites them, firm they stand and dare it Without wailings, tears, or curses, This stout firm of Grin and Barrett. Even should their house go under In the flood and inundation, Calm they stand amid the thunder Without noise or demonstration. And, when sackcloth is the fashion, With a patient smile they wear it, Without petulance or passion, This old firm of Grin and Barrett. Grin and Barrett, Who can scare it? Scare the firm of Grin and Barrett?

When the other firms show dizziness, Here's a house that does not share it. Wouldn't you like to join the business? Join the firm of Grin and Barrett? Give your strength that does not murmur, And your nerve that does not falter, And you've joined a house that's firmer Than the old rock of Gibraltar. They have won a good prosperity; Why not join the firm and share it? Step, young fellow, with celerity; Join the firm of Grin and Barrett. Grin and Barrett, Who can scare it? Scare the firm of Grin and Barrett?

_Sam Walter Foss._

From "Songs of the Average Man."

CHALLENGE

Napoleon is reported to have complained of the English that they didn't have sense enough to know when they were beaten. Even if defeat is unmistakable, it need not be final. A battle may be lost, but the campaign won; a campaign lost, but the war won.

Life, I challenge you to try me, Doom me to unending pain; Stay my hand, becloud my vision, Break my heart and then--again.

Shatter every dream I've cherished, Fill my heart with ruthless fear; Follow every smile that cheers me With a bitter, blinding tear.

Thus I dare you; you can try me, Seek to make me cringe and moan, Still my unbound soul defies you, I'll withstand you--and, alone!

_Jean Nette._

YOUR MISSION

One of the most often-heard of sentences is "I don't know what I'm to do in the world." Yet very few people are ever for a moment out of something to do, especially if they do not insist on climbing to the top of the pole and waving the flag, but are willing to steady the pole while somebody else climbs.

If you cannot on the ocean Sail among the swiftest fleet, Rocking on the highest billows, Laughing at the storms you meet; You can stand among the sailors, Anchored yet within the bay, You can lend a hand to help them As they launch their boats away.

If you are too weak to journey Up the mountain, steep and high, You can stand within the valley While the multitudes go by; You can chant in happy measure As they slowly pass along-- Though they may forget the singer, They will not forget the song.

* * * * *

If you cannot in the harvest Garner up the richest sheaves, Many a grain, both ripe and golden, Oft the careless reaper leaves; Go and glean among the briars Growing rank against the wall, For it may be that their shadow Hides the heaviest grain of all.

If you cannot in the conflict Prove yourself a soldier true; If, where fire and smoke are thickest, There's no work for you to do; When the battle field is silent, You can go with careful tread; You can bear away the wounded, You can cover up the dead.

Do not then stand idly waiting For some greater work to do; Fortune is a lazy goddess, She will never come to you; Go and toil in any vineyard, Do not fear to do and dare. If you want a field of labor You can find it anywhere.

_Ellen M.H. Gates._

VICTORY

To fail is not a disgrace; the disgrace lies in not trying. In his old age Sir Walter Scott found that a publishing firm he was connected with was heavily in debt. He refused to take advantage of the bankruptcy law, and sat down with his pen to make good the deficit. Though he wore out his life in the struggle and did not live to see the debt entirely liquidated, he died an honored and honorable man.

I call no fight a losing fight If, fighting, I have gained some straight new strength; If, fighting, I turned ever toward the light, All unallied with forces of the night; If, beaten, quivering, I could say at length: "I did no deed that needs to be unnamed; I fought--and lost--and I am unashamed."

_Miriam Teichner._

TIMES GO BY TURNS

One of the greatest blessings in life is alteration. The ins become outs, the outs ins; the ups become downs, the downs ups; and so on--and it is better so. We must not get too highly elated at success, for life is not all success. We must not grow too downcast from failure, for life is not all failure.

The lopped tree in time may grow again, Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; The sorriest wight may find release of pain, The driest soil suck in some moistening shower; Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow; She draws her favors to the lowest ebb; Her tides have equal times to come and go; Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web; No joy so great but runneth to an end, No hap so hard but may in fine amend.

Not always fall of leaf, nor ever Spring; Not endless night, yet not eternal day; The saddest birds a season find to sing; The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. Thus, with succeeding turns God tempereth all, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall.

A chance may win that by mischance was lost; That net that holds no great takes little fish; In some things all, in all things none are crost; Few all they need, but none have all they wish. Unmingled joys here to no man befall; Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all.

_Robert Southwell._

TO-DAY

The past did not behold to-day; the future shall not. We must use it now if it is to be of any benefit to mankind.

So here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away?

Out of Eternity This new day is born; Into Eternity, At night will return.

Behold it aforetime No eye ever did; So soon it for ever From all eyes is hid.

Here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away?

_Thomas Carlyle._

UNAFRAID

I have no fear. What is in store for me Shall find me ready for it, undismayed. God grant my only cowardice may be Afraid--to be afraid!

_Everard Jack Appleton._

From "The Quiet Courage."

BORROWED FEATHERS

Many good, attractive people spoil the merits they have by trying to be something bigger or showier. It is always best to be one's self.

A rooster one morning was preening his feathers That glistened so bright in the sun; He admired the tints of the various colors As he laid them in place one by one. Now as roosters go he was a fine bird, And he should have been satisfied; But suddenly there as he marched along, Some peacock feathers he spied. They had beautiful spots and their colors were gay-- He wished that his own could be green; He dropped his tail, tried to hide it away; Was completely ashamed to be seen.

Then his foolish mind hatched up a scheme-- A peacock yet he could be; So he hopped behind a bush to undress Where the other fowls could not see. He caught his own tail between his bill, And pulled every feather out; And into the holes stuck the peacock plumes; Then proudly strutted about. The other fowls rushed to see the queer sight; And the peacocks came when they heard; They could not agree just what he was, But pronounced him a funny bird.

Then the chickens were angry that one of their kind Should try to be a peacock; And the peacocks were mad that one with their tail Should belong to a common fowl flock. So the chickens beset him most cruelly behind, And yanked his whole tail out together; The peacocks attacked him madly before, And pulled out each chicken feather. And when he stood stripped clean down to the skin, A horrible thing to the rest, He learned this sad lesson when it was too late-- As his own simple self he was best.

_Joseph Morris._

KEEP ON KEEPIN' ON

The author of these homely stanzas has caught perfectly the spirit which succeeds in the rough-and-tumble of actual life.

If the day looks kinder gloomy And your chances kinder slim, If the situation's puzzlin' And the prospect's awful grim, If perplexities keep pressin' Till hope is nearly gone, Just bristle up and grit your teeth And keep on keepin' on.

Frettin' never wins a fight And fumin' never pays; There ain't no use in broodin' In these pessimistic ways; Smile just kinder cheerfully Though hope is nearly gone, And bristle up and grit your teeth And keep on keepin' on.

There ain't no use in growlin' And grumblin' all the time, When music's ringin' everywhere And everything's a rhyme. Just keep on smilin' cheerfully If hope is nearly gone, And bristle up and grit your teeth And keep on keepin' on.

_Anonymous._

THE DISAPPOINTED

Those who have striven nobly and failed deserve sympathy. Sometimes they deserve also praise unreserved, in that they have refused to do something ignoble which would have led to what the world calls success. They have lived the idea which Macbeth merely proclaimed:

"I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none."

There are songs enough for the hero Who dwells on the heights of fame; I sing of the disappointed-- For those who have missed their aim.

I sing with a tearful cadence For one who stands in the dark, And knows that his last, best arrow Has bounded back from the mark.

I sing for the breathless runner, The eager, anxious soul, Who falls with his strength exhausted. Almost in sight of the goal;

For the hearts that break in silence, With a sorrow all unknown, For those who need companions, Yet walk their ways alone.

There are songs enough for the lovers Who share love's tender pain, I sing for the one whose passion Is given all in vain.

For those whose spirit comrades Have missed them on their way, I sing, with a heart o'erflowing, This minor strain to-day.

And I know the Solar system Must somewhere keep in space A prize for that spent runner Who barely lost the race.

For the plan would be imperfect Unless it held some sphere That paid for the toil and talent And love that are wasted here.

_Ella Wheeler Wilcox._

From "Picked Poems."

LET ME LIVE OUT MY YEARS

We speak of the comforts and ease of old age, but our noblest selves do not really desire them. We want to do more than exist. We want to be alive to the very last.

Let me live out my years in heat of blood! Let me die drunken with the dreamer's wine! Let me not see this soul-house built of mud Go toppling to the dust--a vacant shrine!

Let me go quickly like a candle light Snuffed out just at the heyday of its glow! Give me high noon--and let it then be night! Thus would I go.

And grant that when I face the grisly Thing, My song may triumph down the gray Perhaps! Let me be as a tuneswept fiddlestring That feels the Master Melody--and snaps.

_John G. Neihardt_

From "The Quest" (collected lyrics).

COLUMBUS

This poem pictures courage and high resolution. To the terrors of an unknown sea and the mutinous dismay of the sailors Columbus has but two things to oppose--his faith and his unflinching will. But these suffice, as they always do. In the last four lines of the poem is a lesson for our nation to-day. The seas upon which our ideals have launched us are perilous and uncharted. In some ways our whole voyage of democracy seems futile. Shall we turn back, or shall we, like Columbus, answer the falterers in words that leap like a leaping sword; "Sail on, sail on"?

Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores: Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said: "Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone. Brave Adm'r'l, speak; what shall I say?" "Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"