It Can Be Done Part 17

SELF-DEPENDENCE

One star does not ask another to adore it or amuse it; Mt. Shasta, though it towers for thousands of feet above its neighbors, does not repine that it is alone or that the adjacent peaks see much that it misses under the clouds. Nature does not trouble itself about what the rest of nature is doing. But man constantly worries about other men--what they think of him, do to him, fail to emulate in him, have or secure in comparison with him. He lacks nature's inward quietude.

Calmness and peace come by being self-contained.

Weary of myself, and sick of asking What I am, and what I ought to be, At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.

And a look of pa.s.sionate desire O'er the sea and to the stars I send: "Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me, Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

"Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters, On my heart your mighty charm renew; Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, Feel my soul becoming vast like you!"

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, Over the lit sea's unquiet way, In the rustling night-air came the answer: "Wouldst thou BE as these are? LIVE as they.

"Unaffrighted by the silence round them, Undistracted by the sights they see, These demand not that the things without them Yield them love, amus.e.m.e.nt, sympathy.

"And with joy the stars perform their shining, And the sea its long, moon-silver'd roll; For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul.

"Bounded by themselves, and unregardful In what state G.o.d's other works may be, In their own tasks all their powers pouring, These attain the mighty life you see."

O air-born voice! long since, severely clear, A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear: "Resolve to be thyself; and know that he Who finds himself, loses his misery!"

_Matthew Arnold._

A LITTLE PRAYER

We should strive to bring what happiness we can to others. More still, we should strive to bring them no unhappiness. When we come to die, it is, as George Eliot once said, not our kindness or our patience or our generosity that we shall regret, but our intolerance and our harshness.

That I may not in blindness grope, But that I may with vision clear Know when to speak a word of hope Or add a little wholesome cheer.

That tempered winds may softly blow Where little children, thinly clad, Sit dreaming, when the flame is low, Of comforts they have never had.

That through the year which lies ahead No heart shall ache, no cheek be wet, For any word that I have said Or profit I have tried to get.

_S.E. Kiser._

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT

It is said that once at a laird's house Burns was placed at a second table, and that this rankled in his breast and caused him to write his poem on equality. He insists that rank, wealth, and external distinctions are merely the stamp on the guinea; the man is the gold itself. Sn.o.bbishness he abhors; poverty he confesses to without hanging his head in the least; the pith of sense and the pride of worth he declares superior to any dignity thrust upon a person from the outside.

In a final, prophetic mood he looks forward to the time when a democracy of square dealing shall prevail, praise shall be reserved for merit, and men the world over shall be to each other as brothers. In line 8 gowd=gold; 9, hamely=homely, commonplace; 11, gie=give; 15, sae=so; 17, birkie=fellow; 20, cuif=simpleton; 25, mak=make; 27, aboon=above; 28, mauna=must not; fa'=acclaim; 36, gree=prize.

Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that?

The coward-slave, we pa.s.s him by, We dare be poor for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea stamp; The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden-gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is King o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a cuif for a' that: For a' that, and a' that.

His riband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith he mauna fa' that!

For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that.

For a' that and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man the warld o'er Shall brothers be for a' that.

_Robert Burns._

LIFE AND DEATH

Life! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part; And when, or how, or where we met I own to me a secret yet.

Life! We've been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps will cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not "Good Night"--but in some brighter clime, Bid me "Good Morning!"

_Anna Barbauld._

LIFE AND DEATH

Many a man would die for wife and children, for faith, for country. But would he live for them? That, often, is the more heroic course--and the more sensible. A rich man was hiring a driver for his carriage. He asked each applicant how close he could drive to a precipice without toppling over. "One foot," "Six inches," "Three inches," ran the replies. But an Irishman declared, "Faith, and I'd keep as far away from the place as I could." "Consider yourself employed," was the rich man's comment.

So he died for his faith. That is fine-- More than most of us do.

But stay, can you add to that line That he lived for it, too?

In death he bore witness at last As a martyr to truth.