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In our youth we picture ourselves as we will be in the futurenot mere types of this or that kind of success, but above all and in all, Ideal Men. Then come the years and the struggles, and we are buffeted and baffled, and our very ideal is eclipsed. But others have done better than we. Weary and harassed, they yet embody our visions. And we, if we are worth our salt, do not envy them when we see them. Nor should we grow dispirited. Rather should we rejoice in their triumph, rejoice that our dreams were not impossibilities, take courage to strive afresh for that which we know is best.


KNEW his face the moment that he passed

Triumphant in the thoughtless, cruel throng,-
Triumphant, though the quiet, tired eyes

Showed that his soul had suffered overlong.
And though across his brow faint lines of care
Were etched, somewhat of Youth still lingered there.
I gently touched his arm-he smiled at me—
He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be!

Where I had failed, he'd won from life, Success;

Where I had stumbled, with sure feet he stood;

Alike-yet unalike-we faced the world,

And through the stress he found that life was good. And I? The bitter wormwood in the glass,

The shadowed way along which failures pass!

Yet as I saw him thus, joy came to me

He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be!

I knew him! And I knew he knew me for
The man HE might have been. Then did his soul
Thank silently the gods that gave him strength
To win, while I so sorely missed the goal?
He turned, and quickly in his own firm hand
He took my own-the gulf of Failure spanned,
And that was all-strong, self-reliant, free,
He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be!

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We did not speak. But in his sapient eyes

I saw the spirit that had urged him on,
The courage that had held him through the fight

Had once been mine, I thought, "Can it be gone?”
He felt that unasked question-felt it so

His pale lips formed the one-word answer, "No!”

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Too late to win? No! Not too late for me-
He is the Man that Still I Mean to Be!

From "The Quiet Courage,"

Stewart & Kidd Co., Cincinnati, Ohio.

Everard Jack Appleton.


Men too often act as if life were nothing more than hardships to be endured and difficulties to be overcome. They look upon what is happy or inspiring with eyes that really fail to see. As Wordsworth says of Peter Bell,

"A primrose by the river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more."

But to stop now and then and realize that the world is fresh and buoyant and happy, will do much to keep the spirit young. We should be glad that we are alive, should tell ourselves often in the words of Charles Lamb: "I am in love with this green earth.”

Permission of
Gamaliel Bradford

HE south wind is driving

His splendid cloud-horses
Through vast fields of blue.
The bare woods are singing,
The brooks in their courses
Are bubbling and springing
And dancing and leaping,
The violets peeping.
I'm glad to be living:
Aren't you?

Gamaliel Bradford.


An old lady, famous for her ability to find in other people traits that she could commend, was challenged to say a good word for the devil. After a moment's hesitation she answered, "You must at least give him credit for being industrious." Perhaps it is this superactivity of Satan that causes beings less wickedly inclined to have such scope for the exercise of their qualities. Certain it is that nobody need hang back from want of something to do, to promote, to assail, to protect, to endure, or to sympathize with.


HERE will always be something to do, my boy;
There will always be wrongs to right;

There will always be need for a manly breed

And men unafraid to fight.

There will always be honor to guard, my boy;
There will always be hills to climb,

And tasks to do, and battles new

From now till the end of time.

There will always be dangers to face, my boy;
There will always be goals to take;

Men shall be tried, when the roads divide,
And proved by the choice they make.

There will always be burdens to bear, my boy;

There will always be need to pray;

There will always be tears through the future years, As loved ones are borne away.

There will always be God to serve, my boy,

And always the Flag above;

They shall call to you until life is through
For courage and strength and love.

So these are things that I dream, my boy,
And have dreamed since your life began:
That whatever befalls, when the old world calls,
It shall find you a sturdy man.

From "The Path_to_Home,"

The Reilly & Lee Co.

Edgar A. Guest.


Thinking you would like a square meal will not in itself earn you one. Thinking you would like a strong body will not without effort on your part make you an athlete. Thinking you would like to be kind or successful will not bring you gentleness or achievement if you stop with mere thinking. The arrows of intention must have the bow of strong purpose to impel them.

HE road to hell, they assure me,

And I know my desires are noble,
But my deeds might brand me depraved.
It's the warped grain in our nature,
And St. Paul has written it true:
"The good that I would I do not;
But the evil I would not I do."

I've met few men who are monsters
When I came to know them inside;
Yet their bearing and dealings external
Are crusted with cruelty, pride,
Scorn, selfishness, envy, indifference,
Greed-why the long list pursue?
The good that they would they do not;
But the evil they would not they do.

Intentions may still leave us beast-like;
With unchangeable purpose we're men.
We must drive the nail home-and then clinch it,
Or storms shake it loose again.
In things of great import, in trifles,
We our recreant souls must subdue
Till the evil we would not we do not
And the good that we would we do.

St. Clair Adams.


Many people seem to get pleasure in seeing all the bad there is, and in making everything about them gloomy. They are like the old woman who on being asked how her health was, replied: "Thank the Lord, I'm poorly."

OME folks git a heap o' pleasure


Out o' lookin' glum;

Hoard their cares like it was treasure-
Fear they won't have some.
Wear black border on their spirit;
Hang their hopes with crape;
Future's gloomy and they fear it,
Sure there's no escape.

Now there ain't no use of whinin',

Weightin' joy with lead;
There is silver in the linin'
Somewhere on ahead.

Can't enjoy the sun to-day

It may rain to-morrow;
When a pain won't come their way,
Future pains they borrow.

If there's good news to be heard,
Ears are stuffed with cotton;
Evils dire are oft inferred;

Good is all forgotten.

When upon a peel I stand,
Slippin' like a goner,

Luck, I trust, will shake my hand
Just around the corner.

Keep a scarecrow in the yard,
Fierce old bulldog near 'em;
Chase off joy that's tryin' hard
To come in an' cheer 'em.

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