All That Matters Part 6

It's mighty hard for Mother--I am busy through the day And the tasks of every morning keep the gloomy thoughts away, And I'm not forever meeting with a slipper or a gown To remind me of our sorrow when I'm toiling in the town.

But with Mother it is different--there's no minute she is free From the sight of things which tell her of the joy which used to be.

She is brave and she is faithful, and we say we're reconciled, But your hearts are always heavy once you've lost a little child; And a man can face his sorrow in a manly sort of way, For his grief must quickly leave him when he's busy through the day; But the mother's lot is harder--she must learn to sing and smile Though she's living in the presence of her sorrow all the while.

Through the room where love once waited she must tip-toe day by day, She must see through every window where the baby used to play, And there's not a thing she touches, nor a task she finds to do, But it sets her heart to aching and begins the hurt anew.

Oh, a man can turn from sorrow, for his mind is occupied, But the mother's lot is harder--grief is always at her side.

YOUTH

If I had youth I'd bid the world to try me; I'd answer every challenge to my will.

Though mountains stood in silence to defy me, I'd try to make them subject to my skill.

I'd keep my dreams and follow where they led me; I'd glory in the hazards which abound.

I'd eat the simple fare privations fed me, And gladly make my couch upon the ground.

If I had youth I'd ask no odds of distance, Nor wish to tread the known and level ways.

I'd want to meet and master strong resistance, And in a worth-while struggle spend my days.

I'd seek the task which calls for full endeavor; I'd feel the thrill of battle in my veins.

I'd bear my burden gallantly, and never Desert the hills to walk on common plains.

If I had youth no thought of failure lurking Beyond to-morrow's dawn should fright my soul.

Let failure strike--it still should find me working With faith that I should some day reach my goal.

I'd dice with danger--aye!--and glory in it; I'd make high stakes the purpose of my throw.

I'd risk for much, and should I fail to win it, I would not even whimper at the blow.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"Youth"_

_From a drawing by_ W. T. BENDA.]

If I had youth no chains of fear should bind me; I'd brave the heights which older men must shun.

I'd leave the well-worn lanes of life behind me, And seek to do what men have never done.

Rich prizes wait for those who do not waver; The world needs men to battle for the truth.

It calls each hour for stronger hearts and braver.

This is the age for those who still have youth!

ACCOMPLISHED CARE

All things grow lovely in a little while, The brush of memory paints a canvas fair; The dead face through the ages wears a smile, And glorious becomes accomplished care.

There's nothing ugly that can live for long, There's nothing constant in the realm of pain; Right always comes to take the place of wrong, Who suffers much shall find the greater gain.

Life has a kindly way, despite its tears And all the burdens which its children bear; It crowns with beauty all the troubled years And soothes the hurts and makes their memory fair.

Be brave when days are bitter with despair, Be true when you are made to suffer wrong; Life's greatest joy is an accomplished care, There's nothing ugly that can live for long.

BULB PLANTING TIME

Last night he said the dead were dead And scoffed my faith to scorn; I found him at a tulip bed When I pa.s.sed by at morn.

"O ho!" said I, "the frost is near And mist is on the hills, And yet I find you planting here Tulips and daffodils."

"'Tis time to plant them now," he said, "If they shall bloom in Spring"; "But every bulb," said I, "seems dead, And such an ugly thing."

"The pulse of life I cannot feel, The skin is dried and brown.

Now look!" a bulb beneath my heel I crushed and trampled down.

In anger then he said to me: "You've killed a lovely thing; A scarlet blossom that would be Some morning in the Spring."

"Last night a greater sin was thine,"

To him I slowly said; "You trampled on the dead of mine And told me they are dead."

HIS OTHER CHANCE

He was down and out, and his pluck was gone, And he said to me in a gloomy way: "I've wasted my chances, one by one, And I'm just no good, as the people say.

Nothing ahead, and my dreams all dust, Though once there was something I might have been, But I wasn't game, and I broke my trust, And I wasn't straight and I wasn't clean."

"You're pretty low down," says I to him, "But n.o.body's holding you there, my friend.

Life is a stream where men sink or swim, And the drifters come to a sorry end; But there's two of you living and breathing still-- The fellow you are, and he's tough to see, And another chap, if you've got the will, The man that you still have a chance to be."

He laughed with scorn. "Is there two of me?

I thought I'd murdered the other one.

I once knew a chap that I hoped to be, And he was decent, but now he's gone."

"Well," says I, "it may seem to you That life has little of joy in store, But there's always something you still can do, And there's never a man but can try once more.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"His Other Chance"_

_From a drawing by_ W. T. BENDA.]

"There are always two to the end of time-- The fellow we are and the future man.

The Lord never meant you should cease to climb, And you can get up if you think you can.

The fellow you are is a sorry sight, But you needn't go drifting out to sea.

Get hold of yourself and travel right; There's a fellow you've still got a chance to be."