PHILOSOPHY FOR CROAKERS

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

SOME

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.

Wear their blinders big and strong,
Dodge each happy sight;
Like to keep their faces long;
Think the day is night.

Now I've had my share of trouble;
Back been bent with ill;

Big load makes the joy seem double
When I mount the hill.

Got the toothache in their soul;
Corns upon their feelin's;
Get their share but want the whole,
Say it's crooked dealin's.
Natures steeped in indigo;

Got their joy-wires crossed;

Swear it's only weeds that grow;
Flowers always lost.

Now it's best to sing a song
'Stead o' sit and mourn;

Rose you'll find grows right along
Bigger than the thorn.

Beat the frogs the way they croak;
See with goggles blue-
Universe is cracked or broke,
'Bout to split in two.
Think the world is full of sin,

Soon go up the spout;
Badness always movin' in,

Goodness movin' out.

But I've found folks good and kind,
'Cause I thought they would be;

Most men try, at least I find,

To be what they should be.

Joseph Morris.

THE FIGHTING FAILURE

"I'm not a rabid, preachy, pollyanna optimist. Neither am I a gloomy grouch. I believe in a loving Divine Providence Who expects you to play the Game to the limit, Who wants you to hold tight to His hand, and Who compensates you for the material losses by giving you the ability to retain your sense of values, and keep your spiritual sand out of the bearings of your physical machine, if you'll trust and-Keep Sweet, Keep Cheerful, or else-Keep Still'.”—Everard Jack Appleton.

HE

E has come the way of the fighting men, and fought by the rules of the Game,

And out of Life he has gathered-What? A living,— and little fame,

Ever and ever the Goal looms near,-seeming each time worth while;

But ever it proves a mirage fair-ever the grim gods smile.

And so, with lips hard set and white, he buries the hope that is gone,

His fight is lost-and he knows it is lost-and yet he is fighting on.

Out of the smoke of the battle-line watching men win their way,

And, cheering with those who cheer success, he enters again the fray,

Licking the blood and the dust from his lips, wiping the sweat from his eyes,

He does the work he is set to do and "therein honor

lies."

Brave they were, these men he cheered, theirs is the winners' thrill;

His fight is lost-and he knows it is lost-and yet he is fighting still.

And those who won have rest and peace; and those who died have more;

But, weary and spent, he can not stop seeking the ulti

mate score;

Courage was theirs for a little time,-but what of the man who sees

That he must lose, yet will not beg mercy upon his knees?

Side by side with grim Defeat, he struggles at dusk or dawn,

His fight is lost-and he knows it is lost-and yet he is fighting on.

Praise for the warriors who succeed, and tears for the vanquished dead;

The world will hold them close to her heart, wreathing each honored head,

But there in the ranks, soul-sick, time-tried, he battles against the odds,

Sans hope, but true to his colors torn, the plaything of the gods!

Uncover when he goes by, at last! Held to his task by will

The fight is lost-and he knows it is lost-and yet he is fighting still!

From "The Quiet Courage,"

Stewart & Kidd Co., Cincinnati, Ohio.

Everard Jack Appleton.

DUTY

In a single sentence Emerson crystallizes the faith that nothing is impossible to those whose guide is duty. His words, though spoken primarily of youth, apply to the whole of human life.

S°

nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man,

When duty whispers low, Thou must,

The youth replies, I can.

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

THE CALL OF THE UNBEATEN

P. T. Barnum had shrewdness, inventiveness, hair-trigger readiness in acting or deciding, an eye for hidden possibilities, an instinct for determining beforehand what would prove popular. All these qualities helped him in his original and extraordinary career. But the quality he valued most highly was the one he called "stick-to-it-iveness." This completed the others. Without it the great showman could not have succeeded at all. Nor did he think that any man who lacks it will make much headway in life.

WE How heavy here the load will be,

E know how rough the road will be,

How

We know about the barricades that wait along the track; But we have set our soul ahead

Upon a certain goal ahead

And nothing left from hell to sky shall ever turn us back.

We know how brief all fame must be,

We know how crude the game must be,

We know how soon the cheering turns to jeering down the block;

But there's a deeper feeling here

That Fate can't scatter reeling here,

In knowing we have battled with the final ounce in stock.

We sing of no wild glory now,

Emblazoning some story now

Of mighty charges down the field beyond some guarded pit;

But humbler tasks befalling us,

Set duties that are calling us,

Where nothing left from hell to sky shall ever make

us quit.

Permission of the Author.

From "The Sportlight."

Grantland Rice.