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KEEP SWEET

Even the direst catastrophes may be softened by our attitude to them. Charles II said to those who had gathered about his deathbed: "You'll pardon any little lapses, gentlemen. I've never done this thing before."

DON'T

ON'T be foolish and get sour when things don't just come your way

Don't you be a pampered baby and declare, "Now I won't play!"

Just go grinning on and bear it;

Have you heartache? Millions share it,
If you earn a crown, you'll wear it-
Keep sweet.

Don't go handing out your troubles to your busy fellow

men

If you whine around they'll try to keep from meeting you

again;

Don't declare the world's "agin” you,

Don't let pessimism win you,

Prove there's lots of good stuff in you

Keep sweet.

If your dearest hopes seem blighted and despair looms into view,

St your jaw and whisper grimly, "Though they're false, yet I'll be true."

Never let your heart grow bitter;
With your lips to Hope's transmitter,
Hear Love's songbirds bravely twitter,
"Keep sweet."

Bless your heart, this world's a good one, and will

always help a man;

late, misanthropy, and malice have no place in Nature's

plan.

Help your brother there who's sighing,
Keep his flag of courage flying;
Help him try-'twill keep you trying-
Keep sweet.

Forbes & Co., Chicago, Ill.

Strickland W. Gillilan.

MORALITY

We can't always, even when accomplishing, have the ardor of accomplishment; we can only hold to the purpose formed in more inspired hours. After a work is finished, even though it be a good work which our final judgment will approve, we are likely to be oppressed for a time by the anxieties we have passed through; the comfort of effort has left us, and we recall our dreams, our intentions, beside which our actual achievement seems small. In such moments we should remember that just after the delivery of the Gettysburg Address Lincoln believed it an utter failure. Yet the address was a masterpiece of commemorative oratory.

E cannot kindle when we will

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The fire which in the heart resides;
The spirit bloweth and is still,

In mystery our scul abides.

But tasks in hours of insight will'd
Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.

With aching hands and bleeding feet
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat
Of the long day and wish 'twere done.
Not till the hours of light return,
All we have built do we discern.

Matthew Arnold.

A HYMN TO HAPPINESS

A man who owed Artemus Ward two hundred dollars fell into such hard circumstances that Artemus offered to knock off half the debt. "I won't let you outdo me in generosity," said the man; "I'll knock off the other half." Similarly, when we resolve to live down our causes of gloom, fate comes to our aid and re moves most of them altogether.

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Through the waste and wealth of hours,
Plucking flowers

By the way.

Fragrance from the meadows blowing,
Naught of heat or hatred knowing,
Kindness seeking, kindness sowing,
Not to-morrow, but to-day.

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Gilding all the duller seemings
With the roselight of our dreamings,
Splashing clouds with sunlight's gleamings,
Here and there and all along.

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Procrastination is not only the thief of time; it is also the grave of opportunity.

IN Where the bright summit of Olympus soars,

'N an old city by the storied shores

A cryptic statue mounted towards the light-
Heel-winged, tip-toed, and poised for instant flight.

"O statue, tell your name," a traveler cried,
And solemnly the marble lips replied:
"Men call me Opportunity: I lift

My winged feet from earth to show how swift
My flight, how short my stay-

How Fate is ever waiting on the way."

"But why that tossing ringlet on your brow?"
"That men may seize me any moment: Now,
NOW is my other name: to-day my date:
O traveler, to-morrow is too late!"

Edwin Markham,

From "The Gates of Paradise, and Other Poems,"
Doubleday, Page & Co.

TO A YOUNG MAN

"Jones write a book! Impossible! I knew his father." This attitude towards distinction of any sort, whether in authorship or in the field of action, is characteristic of many of us. We think transcendent ability is entirely above and apart from the things of ordinary life. Yet genius itself has been defined as common sense in an uncommon degree. The great men are human. Shakespeare remembered this when he said, "I think the king is but a man as I am." We should take heart at the thought that since the great are like us, we may develop ourselves until we are like them.

HE great were once as you.

THE great

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.

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