It Can Be Done Part 22

But I's des lookin' round, dat's me-- I's trustin' lots in what I see; It 'pears to me da's lots to do Befo' we pa.s.s dat heavenly blue.

I believes in prayin', preachin' about, But believe a lot mo' in helpin' out.

I believes in 'ligin, it's mighty sweet, But de kind dat gits in yo' hands and feet An' makes you work when dey ain't no praise, Nuthin' but a heart dat's all a-blaze.

If it rains or shines, dey's des de same-- Say, bless you, honey, Sunshine's dey name; Dey don't fuss round 'bout how much pay But climbs up de trail, helpin' all de way.

De load is often twice der size, And smilin' is der biggest prize.

Dey never gits dis awful gout 'Cause dey's busy all de time in helpin' out.

We had an old mule on Ma.s.sa's place, As fo' looks he'd certainly lose de race; But der wa'n't a horse fo' miles around Could pull mo' load or plow mo' ground.

An' when dat donkey brayed his best, He seemed to know he'd licked de rest.

Dat bray of his was strong as wool-- It always come at de hardest pull.

We need mo' mules with brains on guard Dat knos de game of pullin' hard, An' a heart dat's tender, true and stout, Dat believes all day in helpin' out.

We's all des human, des common clay, Des needs a little help to make work play.

I'se read a lot of philosophy day an' night, An' worked around a heap wid de law of right.

I'se seen de high an' mighty come an' go, I'se seen de simple spirit come from below; An' I'se seen a lot of principle most folks miss-- I'se not a-stretchin' truth when I say dis: "Keep a-smilin' an' a-lovin' an a-doin' all yo' can, Fo' yo' loses all yo' trouble when yo' help yo' fellow man; An' you gits on best yo'self, an' of this dey ain't no doubt, When yo' practise de art of always helpin' out."

_William Judson Kibby._

OPENING PARADISE

We appreciate even the common things of life if we are denied them.

See the wretch, that long has tost On the th.o.r.n.y bed of Pain, At length repair his vigor lost, And breathe and walk again: The meanest flow'r'et of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common Sun, the air, and skies, To him are opening Paradise.

_Thomas Gray._

TO THE MEN WHO LOSE

When Captain Scott's ill-fated band, after reaching the South Pole, was struggling through the cold and storms back towards safety, the strength of Evans, one of the men, became exhausted. He had done his best--vainly.

Now he did not wish to imperil his companions, already sorely tried. At a halting-place, therefore, he left them and, staggering out into a blizzard, perished alone. It was a failure, yes; but was it not also magnificent success?

Here's to the men who lose!

What though their work be e'er so n.o.bly planned, And watched with zealous care, No glorious halo crowns their efforts grand, Contempt is failure's share.

Here's to the men who lose!

If triumph's easy smile our struggles greet, Courage is easy then; The king is he who, after fierce defeat, Can up and fight again.

Here's to the men who lose!

The ready plaudits of a fawning world Ring sweet in victor's ears; The vanquished's banners never are unfurled-- For them there sound no cheers.

Here's to the men who lose!

The touchstone of true worth is not success; There is a higher test-- Though fate may darkly frown, onward to press, And bravely do one's best.

Here's to the men who lose!

It is the vanquished's praises that I sing, And this is the toast I choose: "A hard-fought failure is a n.o.ble thing; Here's to the men who lose!"

_Anonymous._

IT MAY BE

Many, many are the human struggles in which we can lend no aid. But if we cannot help, at least we need not hinder.

It may be that you cannot stay To lend a friendly hand to him Who stumbles on the slippery way, Pressed by conditions hard and grim; It may be that you dare not heed His call for help, because you lack The strength to lift him, but you need Not push him back.

It may be that he has not won The right to hope for your regard; He may in folly have begun The course that he has found so hard; It may be that your fingers bleed, That Fortune turns a bitter frown Upon your efforts, but you need Not kick him down.

_S.E. Kiser._

LIFE

In life is necessarily much monotony, sameness. But our triumph may lie in putting richness and meaning into routine that apparently lacks them.

Forenoon and afternoon and night,--Forenoon, And afternoon, and night,--Forenoon, and--what!

The empty song repeats itself. No more?

Yea, that is Life: make this forenoon sublime, This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer, And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.

_Edward Rowland Sill._

From "Poems."

THE GRUMPY GUY