THE WORD

The Cumæan sibyl offered Tarquin the Proud nine books for what seemed an exorbitant sum. He refused. She burned three of the books, and placed the same price on the six as on the original nine. Again he refused. She burned three more books, and offered the remainder for the sum she first named. This time Tarquin accepted. The books were found to contain prophecies and invaluable directions regarding Roman policy, but alas, they were no longer complete. So it is with joy. To take it now is to get it in its entirety. To defer until some other occasion is to get less of it-at the same cost.

O-DAY, whatever may annoy,

To-D

The word for it is Joy, just simple joy: The joy of life;

The joy of children and of wife;

The joy of bright blue skies;

The joy of rain; the glad surprise

Of twinkling stars that shine at night;

The joy of winged things upon their flight;

The joy of noonday, and the tried,

True joyousness of eventide;

The joy of labor and of mirth;

The joy of air, and sea, and earth

The countless joys that ever flow from Him
Whose vast beneficence doth dim

The lustrous light of day,

And lavish gifts divine upon our way.
Whate'er there be of Sorrow

I'll put off till To-morrow,

And when To-morrow comes, why, then

'Twill be To-day, and Joy again!

Reprinted by permission of "The Atlantic Monthly."

John Kendrick Bangs.

ENVOI

Franklin K. Lane stipulated that when he died his body should be cremated and the ashes scattered from El Capitan over the beautiful Yosemite Valley. He thus symbolized what many of us feel the unity of our deeper and finer selves with the eternal life and loveliness of nature.

H seek me not within a tomb;

OH seek me not wind me in the clay!

I pierce a little wall of gloom
To mingle with the Day!

I brothered with the things that pass,
Poor giddy Joy and puckered Grief;
I go to brother with the Grass

And with the sunning Leaf.

Not Death can sheathe me in a shroud;
A joy-sword whetted keen with pain,
I join the armies of the Cloud
The Lightning and the Rain.

Oh subtle in the sap athrill,
Athletic in the glad uplift,
A portion of the Cosmic Will,
I pierce the planet-drift.

My God and I shall interknit

As rain and Ocean, breath and Air;
And oh, the luring thought of it
Is prayer!

Permission of the Author.

From "The Quest" (collected lyrics),

The Macmillan Co.

John G. Neihardt.

JAW

We all like a firm, straightforward chin providea it is not ruled by a wagging, gossiping tongue.

HIS fellow's jaw is built so frail
That you could break it like a weed;
That fellow's chin retreats until
You'd think it in a wild stampede.
Defects like these but show how soon
The purpose droops, the spirits flag-
We like a jaw that's made of steel,
Just so it's not inclined to wag.

The lower jaw should be as strong
And changeless as a granite cliff;
Its very look should be a thus
And not a maybe, somehow, if;
Should mark a soul so resolute
It will not fear or cease or lag-
We need a rugged mandible,
Provided we don't let it wag.

Yes, with endurance, let it too
A tender modesty possess;
And to its grim strength let it add
The gracious power of gentleness.
Above all, let its might of deeds
Induce no loud or vulgar brag-
We like to see a good, firm jaw,
But do not wish to hear it wag.

St. Clair Adams.

THE CONQUEROR

Age is wise; it attempts nothing impossible. Youth is wiser; it believes nothing impossible. Age conserves more; youth accomplishes more. Between the two is an irreconcilable difference

"Crabbéd age and youth
Cannot live together,"

as Shakespeare says. And the sympathy of the world is with youth. It is better so; for though many cherished things would be saved from sacrifice if rash immaturity were more often checked, progress would be stayed if life were dominated by sterile and repressive age.

R

OOM for me, graybeards, room, make room!
Menace me not with your eyes of gloom;
Jostle me not from the place I seek,

For my arms are strong and your own are weak,
And if my plea to you be denied

I'll thrust your wearying forms aside.
Pity you? Yes, but I cannot stay;

I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

Room for me, timid ones, room, make room!
Little I care for your fret and fume—
I dare whatever is mine to meet,

I laugh at sorrow and jeer defeat;
To doubt and doubters I give the lie,
And fear is stilled as I swagger by,
And life's a fight and I seek the fray;
I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

Room for me, mighty ones, room, make room!
I fear no power and dread no doom;
And you who curse me and you who bless
Alike must bow to my dauntlessness.

I topple the king from his golden throne,
I smash old idols of brass and stone,

I am not hampered by yesterday.

Room for the spirit of Youth; make way!

Room for me, all of you, make me room!
Where the rifles clash and the cannon boom,
Where glory beckons or love or fame
I plunge me heedlessly in the game.
The old, the wary, the wise, the great,
They cannot stay me, for I am Fate,
The brave young master of all good play,
I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

Berton Braley.

From "Things As They Are,"

Copyright, 1916,

George H. Doran Co., Publishers.

IS IT RAINING, LITTLE FLOWER?

"Sweet are the uses of adversity." They bring us benefits not otherwise to be had. To mope because of them is foolish. Showers alternate with sunshine, sorrows with pleasure, pain and weariness with comfort and rest; but accept the one as necessary to the other, and you will enjoy both.

Art thou weary, tender heart?

Be glad of pain;

In sorrow the sweetest things will grow

As flowers in the rain.

God watches and thou wilt have sun

When clouds their perfect work

Have done.

Anonymous,