All That Matters Part 9

_From a painting by_ FRANK X. LEYENDECKER.]

Oh, the thing that I call living isn't gold or fame at all!

It's fellowship and sunshine, and it's roses by the wall.

It's evenings glad with music and a hearth-fire that's ablaze, And the joys which come to mortals in a thousand different ways.

It is laughter and contentment and the struggle for a goal; It is everything that's needful in the shaping of a soul.

A WARM HOUSE AND A RUDDY FIRE

A warm house and a ruddy fire, To what more can man aspire?

Eyes that shine with love aglow, Is there more for man to know?

Whether home be rich or poor, If contentment mark the door He who finds it good to live Has the best that life can give.

This the end of mortal strife!

Peace at night to sweeten life, Rest when mind and body tire, At contentment's ruddy fire.

Rooms where merry songs are sung, Happy old and glorious young; These, if perfect peace be known, Both the rich and poor must own.

A warm house and a ruddy fire, These the goals of all desire, These the dream of every man Since G.o.d spoke and life began.

THE ONE IN TEN

Nine pa.s.sed him by with a hasty look, Each bent on his eager way; One glance at him was the most they took, "Somebody stuck," said they; But it never occurred to the nine to heed A stranger's plight and a stranger's need.

The tenth man looked at the stranded car, And he promptly stopped his own.

"Let's see if I know what your troubles are,"

Said he in a cheerful tone; "Just stuck in the mire. Here's a cable stout, Hitch onto my bus and I'll pull you out."

"A thousand thanks," said the stranger then, "For the debt that I owe you; I've counted them all and you're one in ten Such a kindly deed to do."

And the tenth man smiled and he answered then, "Make sure that you'll be the one in ten."

Are you one of the nine who pa.s.s men by In this hasty life we live?

Do you refuse with a downcast eye The help which you could give?

Or are you the one in ten whose creed Is always to stop for the man in need?

TO A YOUNG MAN

The great were once as you.

They whom men magnify to-day Once groped and blundered on life's way, Were fearful of themselves, and thought By magic was men's greatness wrought.

They feared to try what they could do; Yet Fame hath crowned with her success The selfsame gifts that you possess.

The great were young as you, Dreaming the very dreams you hold, Longing yet fearing to be bold, Doubting that they themselves possessed The strength and skill for every test, Uncertain of the truths they knew, Not sure that they could stand to fate With all the courage of the great.

Then came a day when they Their first bold venture made, Scorning to cry for aid.

They dared to stand to fight alone, Took up the gauntlet life had thrown, Charged full-front to the fray, Mastered their fear of self, and then, Learned that our great men are but men.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"To A Young Man"_

_From a charcoal drawing by_ W. T. BENDA.]

Oh, youth, go forth and do!

You, too, to fame may rise; You can be strong and wise.

Stand up to life and play the man-- You can if you'll but think you can; The great were once as you.

You envy them their proud success?

'Twas won with gifts that you possess.

AFRAID OF HIS DAD

Bill Jones, who goes to school with me, Is the saddest boy I ever see.

He's just so 'fraid he runs away When all of us fellows want to play, An' says he da.s.sent stay about Coz if his father found it out He'd wallop him. An' he can't go With us to see a picture show On Sat.u.r.days, an' it's too bad, But he's afraid to ask his dad.

When he gets his report card, he Is just as scared as scared can be, An' once I saw him when he cried Becoz although he'd tried an' tried His best, the teacher didn't care An' only marked his spelling fair, An' he told me there'd be a fight When his dad saw his card that night.

It seems to me it's awful bad To be so frightened of your dad.

My Dad ain't that way--I can go An' tell him everything I know, An' ask him things, an' when he comes Back home at night he says we're chums; An' we go out an' take a walk, An' all the time he lets me talk.

I ain't scared to tell him what I've done to-day that I should not; When I get home I'm always glad To stay around an' play with Dad.

Bill Jones, he says, he wishes he Could have a father just like me, But his dad hasn't time to play, An' so he chases him away An' scolds him when he makes a noise An' licks him if he breaks his toys.

Sometimes Bill says he's got to lie Or else get whipped, an' that is why It seems to me it's awful bad To be so frightened of your dad.

SERVICE

I have no wealth of gold to give away, But I can pledge to worthy causes these: I'll give my strength, my days and hours of ease, My finest thought and courage when I may, And take some deed accomplished for my pay.

I cannot offer much in silver fees, But I can serve when richer persons play, And with my presence fill some vacancies.

There are some things beyond the gift of gold, A richer treasure's needed now and then; Some joys life needs which are not bought and sold-- The high occasion often calls for men.

Some for release from service give their pelf, But he gives most who freely gives himself.