THE NEW DUCKLING There are people who, without having anything exceptional in their natures or purposes or visions, yet try to be different for the sake of being different. They are not content to be what they are; they wish to be "utterly other." Of course they are hollow, artificial, insincere; moreover they are nuisances. Their very foundations are wrong ones. Be yourself unless you're a fool; in that case, of course, try to be somebody else. "I WANT to be new," said the duckling. "O ho!" said the wise old owl, While the guinea-hen cluttered off chuckling "I should like a more elegant figure," That child of a duck went on. "I should like to grow bigger and bigger, Until I could swallow a swan. "I won't be the bond slave of habit, "I don't want to waddle like mother, Or quack like my silly old dad. I want to be utterly other, And frightfully modern and mad.” "Do you know," said the turkey, "you're quacking! There's a fox creeping up thro' the rye; And, if you're not utterly lacking, You'll make for that duck-pond. Good-bye!" But the duckling was perky as perky. "You're an Early-Victorian Sparrow! Now the curious end of this fable, So far as the rest ascertained, Though they searched from the barn to the stable, So he wasn't the bond slave of habit, And perhaps he runs round like a rabbit, From "Collected Poems," Frederick A. Stokes Co. Alfred Noyes. CAN YOU SING A SONG? Nothing lifts the spirit more than a song, especially the inward song of a worker who can sound it alike at the beginning of his task, in the heat of midday, and in the weariness and cool of the evening. AN you sing a song to greet the sun, CAN Can you cheerily tackle the work to be done, Can you sing a song when the day's half through, Can you sing a song? Can you sing a song at the close of the day, Joseph Morris. KNOW THYSELF It seems impossible that human beings could endure so much until we realize that they have endured it. The spirit of man performs miracles; it transcends the limitations of flesh and blood. It is like Uncle Remus's account of Brer Rabbit climbing a tree. "A rabbit couldn't do that," the little boy protested. "He did," Uncle Remus responded; "he was jes' bleeged to." EINED by an unseen tyrant's hand, R Spurred by an unseen tyrant's will, Aquiver at the fierce command That goads you up the danger hill, The while you cry in your despair, Fear not the goad, fear not the pace, Your Self, high-seated charioteer, Your Self that sees the shining length And anguish of your driven soul, Fighting upon the terror field Where man and Fate came breast to breast, This endless fight for failure's sake!" His sword, and thrust you through to die, It was your own Self saving you, The Self no human eye has seen, The living one who never tires, Fed by the deep eternal fires. Your flaming Self, with two-edged sword, Made in the likeness of the Lord, Angel and guardian at the gate, Master of Death and King of Fate! From "The Hour Has Struck," The John Lane Co. Angela Morgan. www There is a psychological benefit in the mere physical act of whistling. When the body makes music, the spirit falls into harmonies too and the discords that assail us cease to make themselves heard. THEN times are bad an' folks are sad WHEN An' gloomy day by day, Jest try your best at lookin' glad Don't mind how troubles bristle, Jest take a rose or thistle. An' change your tone An' whistle, whistle, whistle! A song is worth a world o' sighs. Don't mind how troubles bristle, An' change your tone An' whistle, whistle, whistle! Each day comes with a life that's new, But still beneath a bend o' blue The world rolls on to glory. Don't mind how troubles bristle, Jest take a rose or thistle. An' change your tone An' whistle, whistle, whistle! "The Atlanta Constitution." Printed in and permission from Frank L. Stanton. |