Chapter 9

"My men grow mutinous day by day; My men grow ghastly wan and weak." The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "Why, you shall say at break of day: 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow; Until at last the blanched mate said: "Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Adm'r'l; speak and say--" He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: "This mad sea shows his teeth to-night. He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite! Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word: What shall we do when hope is gone?" The words leapt like a leaping sword: "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights! And then a speck-- It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. He gained a world; he gave that world Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"

_Joaquin Miller._

From "Joaquin Miller's Complete Poems."

PER ASPERA

A motto has been made of the Latin phrase "per aspera ad astra," of which the translation sometimes given is "through bolts and bars to the stars."

Thank God, a man can grow! He is not bound With earthward gaze to creep along the ground: Though his beginnings be but poor and low, Thank God, a man can grow! The fire upon his altars may burn dim, The torch he lighted may in darkness fail, And nothing to rekindle it avail,-- Yet high beyond his dull horizon's rim, Arcturus and the Pleiads beckon him.

_Florence Earle Coates._

From "Poems."

TIT FOR TAT

We are quick to notice obstacles, grudges, affronts. Are we equally quick to recognize the kindly influences that speed us on our way? The truth is we are each of us a debtor to life, and as honest men we should do all we can to discharge the obligation.

"Life," you say, "'s an old curmudgeon; yes, a thing whose heart is flint; When I ask a friendly greeting, all I get's an angry glint. Let me do it every good turn that I can--my very best, Still it strikes me, trips, maligns me, and denies my least request.

"So," you say, "my patience ended, I will give it tit for tat." What a bunch of animosities is covered by your hat! All the roses life can offer bloom and beckon to your soul, But you close your eyes to roses and in thorns lie down and roll.

Life does nothing for you, sonny? What a notion you have! Say, Make a little inventory of its gifts to you to-day. You've a house or room to sleep in--did you build it with your hand? If you did, who made the hammer and who cleared for you the land?

And electric lights--you use them; did you also put them there? Beefsteak, coal, your mail, shoes, street cars--do they come like rain from air? Or do countless men, far-scattered, toil that you may have more ease?-- Stokers, hodmen, farmers, plumbers, Yankees, dagoes, Japanese?

"Oh, that's general," you tell me. You have private blessings too. Why, your mother in your childhood slaved and wrought and lived for you. Helpful hands were all around you--hopes, fond wishes in the past; Even now each day from somewhere friendly looks are on you cast.

Though you've been both crossed and harried, you've not struggled on alone; Through the discords of endeavor comes to you an answering tone. Life has done you many favors. Will you give it tit for tat? Since you've looked so much at this side, won't you have a look at that?

Don't help only those who've helped you, count the rest as strangers, foes; How long now would you have lasted had all done as you propose? Many and many a benefactor you did not nor can repay-- There's your mother. Pass the kindness on to others--that's the way.

Life it is that's given freely. Unto life make due return. Whether folks are undeserving, neither seek nor wish to learn. Hit your dernedest for your teammates every time you come to bat, And the world will be more happy that you give it tit for tat.

_St. Clair Adams._

THE KINGDOM OF MAN

The wisest men know that the greatest world is not outside them. They could, in Shakespeare's phrase, be bounded by a nut-shell and count themselves kings of infinite space.

What of the outer drear, As long as there's inner light; As long as the sun of cheer Shines ardently bright?

As long as the soul's a-wing, As long as the heart is true, What power hath trouble to bring A sorrow to you?

No bar can encage the soul, Nor capture the spirit free, As long as old earth shall roll, Or hours shall be.

Our world is the world within, Our life is the thought we take, And never an outer sin Can mar it or break.

Brood not on the rich man's land, Sigh not for miser's gold, Holding in reach of your hand The treasure untold

That lies in the Mines of Heart, That rests in the soul alone-- Bid worry and care depart, Come into your own!

_John Kendrick_

From "Songs of Cheer."

ABOU BEN ADHEM

"Forgive my enemies?" said the dying man to the priest. "I have none. I've killed them all." This old ideal of exterminating our enemies has by no means disappeared from the earth. But it is waning. "Live and let live" is a more modern slogan, which mounts in turn from mere toleration of other people to a spirit of service and universal brotherhood. Love of our fellow men--has humanity reached any height superior to this?

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold:-- Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?"--The vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

_Leigh Hunt._

THIS WORLD

There is good in life and there is ill. The question is where we should put the emphasis.

This world that we're a-livin' in Is mighty hard to beat; You git a thorn with every rose, But _ain't _the roses _sweet_!

_Frank L. Stanton._

From "The Atlanta Constitution."

GRAY DAYS

By reckoning up the odds against us and ignoring the forces in our favor, we may indeed close the door of hope. But why not take matters the other way about? Why not see the situation clearly and then throw our own strong purpose in the scales? In the course of a battle an officer reported to Stonewall Jackson that he must fall back because his ammunition had been spoiled by a rainstorm. "So has the enemy's," was the instant reply. "Give them the bayonet." This resolute spirit won the battle.

Hang the gray days! The deuce-to-pay days! The feeling-blue and nothing-to-do days! The sit-by-yourself-for-there's-nothing-new days! When the cat that Care killed without excuse With your inner self's crying, "Oh, what's the use?" And you wonder whatever is going to become of you, And you feel that a cipher expresses the sum of you; And you know that you'll never, Oh, never, be clever, Spite of all your endeavor Or hard work or whatever! Oh, gee! What a mix-up you see When you look at the world where you happen to be! Where strangers are hateful and friends are a bore, And you know in your heart you will smile nevermore! Gee, kid! Clap on the lid! It is all a mistake! Give your worries the skid! There are sunny days coming Succeeding the blue And bees will be humming Making honey for you, And your heart will be singing The merriest tune While April is bringing A May and a June! Gray days? Play days! Joy-bringing pay days And heart-lifting May days! The sun will be shining in just a wee while So smile!

_Griffith Alexander._

From "The Philadelphia Evening Public Ledger."

LAUGH A LITTLE BIT

"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine"; a little laughter cures many a seeming ill.

Here's a motto, just your fit-- Laugh a little bit. When you think you're trouble hit, Laugh a little bit. Look misfortune in the face. Brave the beldam's rude grimace; Ten to one 'twill yield its place, If you have the wit and grit Just to laugh a little bit.

Keep your face with sunshine lit, Laugh a little bit. All the shadows off will flit, If you have the grit and wit Just to laugh a little bit.

Cherish this as sacred writ-- Laugh a little bit. Keep it with you, sample it, Laugh a little bit. Little ills will sure betide you, Fortune may not sit beside you, Men may mock and fame deride you, But you'll mind them not a whit If you laugh a little bit.

_Edmund Vance Cooke._

From "A Patch of Pansies."

A SONG OF LIFE

Many of us merely exist, and think that we live. What we should regain at all costs is freshness and intensity of being. This need not involve turbulent activity. It may involve quite the opposite.

Say not, "I live!" Unless the morning's trumpet brings A shock of glory to your soul, Unless the ecstasy that sings Through rushing worlds and insects' wings, Sends you upspringing to your goal, Glad of the need for toil and strife, Eager to grapple hands with Life-- Say not, "I live!"

Say not, "I live!" Unless the energy that rings Throughout this universe of fire A challenge to your spirit flings, Here in the world of men and things, Thrilling you with a huge desire To mate your purpose with the stars, To shout with Jupiter and Mars-- Say not, "I live!"

Say not, "I live!" Such were a libel on the Plan Blazing within the mind of God Ere world or star or sun began. Say rather, with your fellow man, "I grub; I burrow in the sod." Life is not life that does not flame With consciousness of whence it came-- Say not, "I live!"

_Angela Morgan._

From "The Hour Has Struck."

A POOR UNFORTUNATE

Things are never so bad but they might have been worse. An immigrant into the South paid a negro to bring him a wild turkey. The next day he complained: "You shouldn't shoot at the turkey's body, Rastus. Shoot at his head. The flesh of that turkey was simply full of shot." "Boss," said the negro, "dem shot was meant for me."

I

His hoss went dead an' his mule went lame; He lost six cows in a poker game; A harricane came on a summer's day, An' carried the house whar' he lived away; Then a airthquake come when that wuz gone, An' swallered the lan' that the house stood on! An' the tax collector, _he_ come roun' An' charged him up fer the hole in the groun'! An' the city marshal--he come in view An' said he wanted his street tax, too!

II

Did he moan an' sigh? Did he set an' cry An' cuss the harricane sweepin' by? Did he grieve that his ol' friends failed to call When the airthquake come an' swallered all? Never a word o' blame he said, With all them troubles on top his head! Not _him_.... He clumb to the top o' the hill-- Whar' standin' room wuz left him still, An', barin' his head, here's what he said: "I reckon it's time to git up an' git; But, Lord, I hain't had the measels yit!"

_Frank L. Stanton._

From "The Atlanta Constitution."

THE TRAINERS

To Franklin, seeking recognition and aid for his country at the French court, came news of an American disaster. "Howe has taken Philadelphia," his opponents taunted him. "Oh, no," he answered, "Philadelphia has taken Howe." He shrewdly foresaw that the very magnitude of what the British had done would lull them into overconfidence and inaction, and would stir the Americans to more determined effort. Above all, he himself was undisturbed; for to the strong-hearted, trials and reverses are instruments of final success.

My name is Trouble--I'm a busy bloke-- I am the test of Courage--and of Class-- I bind the coward to a bitter yoke, I drive the craven from the crowning pass; Weaklings I crush before they come to fame; But as the red star guides across the night, I train the stalwart for a better game; I drive the brave into a harder fight.

My name is Hard Luck--the wrecker of rare dreams-- I follow all who seek the open fray; I am the shadow where the far light gleams For those who seek to know the open way; Quitters I break before they reach the crest, But where the red field echoes with the drums, I build the fighter for the final test And mold the brave for any drive that comes.

My name is Sorrow--I shall come to all To block the surfeit of an endless joy; Along the Sable Road I pay my call Before the sweetness of success can cloy; And weaker souls shall weep amid the throng And fall before me, broken and dismayed; But braver hearts shall know that I belong And take me in, serene and unafraid.

My name's Defeat--but through the bitter fight, To those who know, I'm something more than friend; For I can build beyond the wrath of might And drive away all yellow from the blend; For those who quit, I am the final blow, But for the brave who seek their chance to learn, I show the way, at last, beyond the foe, To where the scarlet flames of triumph burn.

_Grantland Rice._

From "The Sportlight."

LIFE

Most of us have failed or gone astray in one fashion or another, at one time or another. But we need not become despondent at such times. We should resolve to reap the full benefit of the discovery of our weakness, our folly.

All in the dark we grope along, And if we go amiss We learn at least which path is wrong, And there is gain in this.

We do not always win the race By only running right, We have to tread the mountain's base Before we reach its height.

* * * * *

But he who loves himself the last And knows the use of pain, Though strewn with errors all his past, He surely shall attain.

Some souls there are that needs must taste Of wrong, ere choosing right; We should not call those years a waste Which led us to the light.

_Etta Wheeler Wilcox._

From "Poems of Power."

A TOAST TO MERRIMENT

A lady said to Whistler that there were but two painters--himself and Velazquez. He replied: "Madam, why drag in Velazquez?" So it is with Joyousness and Gloom. Both exist,--but why drag in Gloom?

Make merry! Though the day be gray Forget the clouds and let's be gay! How short the days we linger here: A birth, a breath, and then--the bier! Make merry, you and I, for when We part we may not meet again!

What tonic is there in a frown? You may go up and I go down, Or I go up and you--who knows The way that either of us goes? Make merry! Here's a laugh, for when We part we may not meet again!

Make merry! What of frets and fears? There is no happiness in tears. You tremble at the cloud and lo! 'Tis gone--and so 'tis with our woe, Full half of it but fancied ills. Make merry! 'Tis the gloom that kills.

Make merry! There is sunshine yet, The gloom that promised, let's forget, The quip and jest are on the wing, Why sorrow when we ought to sing? Refill the cup of joy, for then We part and may not meet again.

A smile, a jest, a joke--alas! We come, we wonder, and we pass. The shadow falls; so long we rest In graves, where is no quip or jest. Good day! Good cheer! Good-bye! For then We part and may not meet again!

_James W. Foley._

From "Friendly Rhymes."

MISTRESS FATE

"Faint heart never won fair lady," Mistress Fate herself should be courted, not with feminine finesse, but with masculine courage and aggression.

Flout her power, young man! She is merely shrewish, scolding,-- She is plastic to your molding, She is woman in her yielding to the fires desires fan. Flout her power, young man!

Fight her fair, strong man! Such a serpent love is this,-- Bitter wormwood in her kiss! When she strikes, be nerved and ready; Keep your gaze both bright and steady, Chance no rapier-play, but hotly press the quarrel she began! Fight her fair, strong man!

Gaze her down, old man! Now no laughter may defy her, Not a shaft of scorn come nigh her, But she waits within the shadows, in dark shadows very near. And her silence is your fear. Meet her world-old eyes of warning! Gaze them down with courage! _Can You gaze them down, old man?_

_William Rose Benét._

From "Merchants from Cathay."

SLEEP AND THE MONARCH

(FROM "2 HENRY IV.")

The great elemental blessings cannot be "cornered." Indeed they cannot be bought at all, but are the natural property of the man whose ways of life are such as to retain them. In this passage a disappointed and harassed king comments on the slumber which he cannot woo to his couch, yet which his humblest subject enjoys.

How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lulled with sound of sweetest melody? O thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch A watch-case or a common 'larum bell? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge, And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deafning clamor in the slippery clouds, That with the hurly death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

_William Shakespeare._

NEVER TROUBLE TROUBLE

To borrow trouble is to contract a debt that any man is better without. If your troubles are not borrowed, they are not likely to be many or great.

I used to hear a saying That had a deal of pith; It gave a cheerful spirit To face existence with, Especially when matters Seemed doomed to go askew, 'Twas _Never trouble trouble Till trouble troubles you._

Not woes at hand, those coming Are hardest to resist; We hear them stalk like giants, We see them through a mist. But big things in the brewing Are small things in the brew; So never trouble trouble Till trouble troubles you.

Just look at things through glasses That show the evidence; One lens of them is courage, The other common sense. They'll make it clear, misgivings Are just a bugaboo; No more you'll trouble trouble Till trouble troubles you.

_St. Clair Adams._

CLEAR THE WAY

Humanity is always meeting obstacles. All honor to the men who do not fear obstacles, but push them aside and press on. Stephenson was explaining his idea that a locomotive steam engine could run along a track and draw cars after it. "But suppose a cow gets on the track," some one objected. "So much the worse," said Stephenson, "for the cow."

Men of thought! be up and stirring, Night and day; Sow the seed, withdraw the curtain, Clear the way! Men of action, aid and cheer them, As ye may! There's a fount about to stream, There's a light about to gleam, There's a warmth about to glow, There's a flower about to blow; There's midnight blackness changing Into gray! Men of thought and men of action, Clear the way!

Once the welcome light has broken, Who shall say What the unimagined glories Of the day? What the evil that shall perish In its ray? Aid it, hopes of honest men; Aid the dawning, tongue and pen; Aid it, paper, aid it, type, Aid it, for the hour is ripe; And our earnest must not slacken Into play. Men of thought and men of action, Clear the way!

Lo! a cloud's about to vanish From the day; And a brazen wrong to crumble Into clay! With the Right shall many more Enter, smiling at the door; With the giant Wrong shall fall Many others great and small, That for ages long have held us For their prey. Men of thought and men of action, Clear the way!

_Charles Mackay._

ONE FIGHT MORE

We need not expect much of the man who, when defeated, gives way either to despair or to a wild impulse for immediate revenge. But from the man who stores up his strength quietly and bides his time for a new effort, we may expect everything.

Now, think you, Life, I am defeated quite? More than a single battle shall be mine Before I yield the sword and give the sign And turn, a crownless outcast, to the night. Wounded, and yet unconquered in the fight, I wait in silence till the day may shine Once more upon my strength, and all the line Of your defenses break before my might.

Mine be that warrior's blood who, stricken sore, Lies in his quiet chamber till he hears Afar the clash and clang of arms, and knows The cause he lived for calls for him once more; And straightway rises, whole and void of fears, And armed, turns him singing to his foes.

_Theodosia Garrison._

From "The Earth Cry."

A PSALM OF LIFE

At times this existence of ours seems to be meaningless; whether we have succeeded or whether we have failed appears to make little difference to us, and therefore effort seems scarcely worth while. But Longfellow tells us this view is all wrong. The past can take care of itself, and we need not even worry very much about the future; but if we are true to our own natures, we must be up and doing in the present. Time is short, and mastery in any field of human activity is so long a process that it forbids us to waste our moments. Yet we must learn also how to wait and endure. In short, we must not become slaves to either indifference or impatience, but must make it our business to play a man's part in life.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream!-- For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,--act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead!