It Can Be Done Part 4

When Captain John Smith was made the leader of the colonists at Jamestown, Va., he discouraged the get-rich-quick seekers of gold by announcing flatly, "He who will not work shall not eat." This rule made of Jamestown the first permanent English settlement in the New World.

But work does more than lead to material success. It gives an outlet from sorrow, restrains wild desires, ripens and refines character, enables human beings to cooperate with G.o.d, and when well done, brings to life its consummate satisfaction. Every man is a Prince of Possibilities, but by work alone can he come into his Kingship.

Work!

Thank G.o.d for the might of it, The ardor, the urge, the delight of it-- Work that springs from the heart's desire, Setting the brain and the soul on fire-- Oh, what is so good as the heat of it, And what is so glad as the beat of it, And what is so kind as the stern command, Challenging brain and heart and hand?

Work!

Thank G.o.d for the pride of it, For the beautiful, conquering tide of it.

Sweeping the life in its furious flood, Thrilling the arteries, cleansing the blood, Mastering stupor and dull despair, Moving the dreamer to do and dare.

Oh, what is so good as the urge of it, And what is so glad as the surge of it, And what is so strong as the summons deep, Rousing the torpid soul from sleep?

Work!

Thank G.o.d for the pace of it, For the terrible, keen, swift race of it; Fiery steeds in full control, Nostrils a-quiver to greet the goal.

Work, the Power that drives behind, Guiding the purposes, taming the mind, Holding the runaway wishes back, Reining the will to one steady track, Speeding the energies faster, faster, Triumphing over disaster.

Oh, what is so good as the pain of it, And what is so great as the gain of it?

And what is so kind as the cruel goad, Forcing us on through the rugged road?

Work!

Thank G.o.d for the swing of it, For the clamoring, hammering ring of it, Pa.s.sion and labor daily hurled On the mighty anvils of the world.

Oh, what is so fierce as the flame of it?

And what is so huge as the aim of it?

Thundering on through dearth and doubt, Calling the plan of the Maker out.

Work, the t.i.tan; Work, the friend, Shaping the earth to a glorious end, Draining the swamps and blasting the hills, Doing whatever the Spirit wills-- Rending a continent apart, To answer the dream of the Master heart.

Thank G.o.d for a world where none may shirk-- Thank G.o.d for the splendor of work!

_Angela Morgan._

From "The Hour Has Struck."

HOW DID YOU DIE?

Grant at Ft. Donelson demanded unconditional and immediate surrender. At Appomattox he offered as lenient terms as victor ever extended to vanquished. Why the difference? The one event was at the beginning of the war, when the enemy's morale must be shaken. The other was at the end of the conflict, when a brave and n.o.ble adversary had been rendered helpless. In his quiet way Grant showed himself one of nature's gentlemen. He also taught a great lesson. No honor can be too great for the man, be he even our foe, who has steadily and uncomplainingly done his very best--and has failed.

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful?

Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven soul and fearful?

Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, Or a trouble is what you make it, And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that!

Come up with a smiling face.

It's nothing against you to fall down flat, But to lie there--that's disgrace.

The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce Be proud of your blackened eye!

It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts; It's how did you fight--and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?

If you battled the best you could, If you played your part in the world of men, Why, the Critic will call it good.

Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, And whether he's slow or spry, It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, But only how did you die?

_Edmund Vance Cooke._

From "Impertinent Poems."

A LESSON FROM HISTORY

To break the ice of an undertaking is difficult. To cross on broken ice, as Eliza did to freedom, or to row amid floating ice, as Washington did to victory, is harder still. This poem applies especially to those who are discouraged in a struggle to which they are already committed.

Everything's easy after it's done; Every battle's a "cinch" that's won; Every problem is clear that's solved-- The earth was round when it _revolved!_ But Washington stood amid grave doubt With enemy forces camped about; He could not know how he would fare Till _after_ he'd crossed the Delaware.

Though the river was full of ice He did not think about it twice, But started across in the dead of night, The enemy waiting to open the fight.

Likely feeling pretty blue, Being human, same as you, But he was brave amid despair, And Washington crossed the Delaware!

So when you're with trouble beset, And your spirits are soaking wet, When all the sky with clouds is black, Don't lie down upon your back And look at _them_. Just do the thing; Though you are choked, still try to sing.

If times are dark, believe them fair, And you will cross the Delaware!

_Joseph Morris._

RABBI BEN EZRA

(SELECTED VERSES)

To some people success is everything, and the easier it is gained the better. To Browning success is nothing unless it is won by painful effort. What Browning values is struggle. Throes, rebuffs, even failure to achieve what we wish, are to be welcomed, for the effects of vigorous endeavor inweave themselves into our characters; moreover through struggle we lift ourselves from the degradation into which the indolent fall. In the intervals of strife we may look back dispa.s.sionately upon what we have gone through, see where we erred and where we did wisely, watch the workings of universal laws, and resolve to apply hereafter what we have hitherto learned.

Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!

Be our joys three-parts pain!

Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!

For thence,--a paradox Which comforts while it mocks,-- Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.

So, still within this life, Though lifted o'er its strife, Let me discern, compare, p.r.o.nounce at last, "This rage was right i' the main, That acquiescence vain: The Future I may face now I have proved the Past."