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Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Alfred Tennyson.


The dog that dropped his bone to snap at its reflection in the water went dinnerless. So do we often lose the substance--the joy-of our work by longing for tasks we think better fitted to our capabilities.


ET me but do my work from day to day,

In field or forest, at the desk or loom,
In roaring market-place or tranquil room;
Let me but find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,
"This is my work; my blessing, not my doom;
Of all who live, I am the one by whom
This work can best be done in the right way."

Then shall I see it not too great, nor small,
To suit my spirit and to prove my powers;
Then shall I cheerful greet the laboring hours,
And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall
At eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work is best.

Henry Van Dyke.

From "Collected Poems,"
Charles Scribner's Sons.


When a man who had been in the penitentiary applied to Henry Ford for employment, he started to tell Mr. Ford his story. "Never mind," said Mr. Ford, "I don't care about the past. Start where you stand!"-Author's note.

TART where you stand and never mind the past,


The past won't help you in beginning new,

If you have left it all behind at last

Why, that's enough, you're done with it, you're through;

This is another chapter in the book,

This is another race that you have planned,

Don't give the vanished days a backward look,
Start where you stand.

The world won't care about your old defeats
If you can start anew and win success,

The future is your time, and time is fleet

And there is much of work and strain and stress; Forget the buried woes and dead despairs, Here is a brand new trial right at hand, The future is for him who does and dares, Start where you stand.

Old failures will not halt, old triumphs aid,
To-day's the thing, to-morrow soon will be;
Get in the fight and face it unafraid,

And leave the past to ancient history;
What has been, has been; yesterday is dead

And by it you are neither blessed nor banned, Take courage, man, be brave and drive ahead, Start where you stand.

Berton Braley,

From "A Banjo at Armageddon,"
Copyright, 1917,

George H. Doran Co., Publishers.


A Cripple Creek miner remarked that he had hunted for gold for twenty-five years. He was asked how much he had found. "None," he replied, "but the prospects are good."

F you

ask him, day or night,

When the worl' warn't runnin' right, "Anything that's good in sight?”

This is allus what he'd say,
In his uncomplainin' way-
"Well, I'm hopin'.'

When the winter days waz nigh,
An' the clouds froze in the sky,
Never sot him down to sigh.
But, still singin' on his way,
He'd stop long enough to say--
"Well, I'm hopin'."

Dyin', asked of him that night
(Sperrit waitin' fer its flight),
"Brother, air yer prospec's bright?"
An' last words they heard him say,
In the ol', sweet, cheerful way-
"Well, I'm hopin'."

Frank L. Stanton,

Printed in and permission from "The Atlanta Constitution."


We should have grateful spirits, not merely for personal bene fits, but also for the right to sympathize, to understand, to help, to trust, to struggle, to aspire.

In human things-the multitude's glad voice,
The street's warm surge beneath the city light,
The rush of hurrying faces on my sight,
The million-celled emotion in the press
That would their human fellowship confess.
Thank Thee because I may my brother feed,
That Thou hast opened me unto his need,
Kept me from being callous, cold and blind,
Taught me the melody of being kind.
Thus, for my own and for my brother's sake-
Thank Thee I am awake!

HANK God I can rejoice

Thank Thee that I can trust!

That though a thousand times I feel the thrust
Of faith betrayed, I still have faith in man,
Believe him pure and good since time began-
Thy child forever, though he may forget
The perfect mould in which his soul was set.
Thank Thee that when love dies, fresh love springs up,
New wonders pour from Heaven's cup.
Young to my soul the ancient need returns,
Immortal in my heart the ardor burns;
My altar fires replenished from above-
Thank Thee that I can love!

Thank Thee that I can hear,

Finely and keenly with the inner ear,
Below the rush and clamor of a throng
The mighty music of the under-song.
And when the day has journeyed to its rest,
Lo, as I listen, from the amber west,

Where the great organ lifts its glowing spires,

There sounds the chanting of the unseen choirs.
Thank Thee for sight that shows the hidden flame
Beneath all breathing, throbbing things the same,
Thy Pulse the pattern of the thing to be

Thank Thee that I can see!

Thank Thee that I can feel!

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That though life's blade be terrible as steel,
My soul is stript and naked to the fang,
I crave the stab of beauty and the pang.
To be alive,

To think, to yearn, to strive,

To suffer torture when the goal is wrong,
To be sent back and fashioned strong
Rejoicing in the lesson that was taught

By all the good the grim experience wrought;
At last, exulting, to arrive.

Thank God I am alive!

From "The Hour Has Struck,"

The John Lane Co.

Angela Morgan.


Anything is hard to begin, whether it be taking a cold bath, writing a letter, clearing up a misunderstanding, or falling to on the day's work. Yet "a thing begun is half done." No matter how unpleasant a thing is to do, begin it and immediately it becomes less unpleasant. Form the excellent habit of making a


LOSE the day loitering, 'twill be the same story

To-morrow, and the next more dilatory,
For indecision brings its own delays,
And days are lost lamenting o'er lost days.
Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute!
What you can do, or think you can, begin it!
Only engage, and then the mind grows heated;
Begin it, and the work will be completed.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

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