It Can Be Done Part 33

All in the dark we grope along, And if we go amiss We learn at least which path is wrong, And there is gain in this.

We do not always win the race By only running right, We have to tread the mountain's base Before we reach its height.

But he who loves himself the last And knows the use of pain, Though strewn with errors all his past, He surely shall attain.

Some souls there are that needs must taste Of wrong, ere choosing right; We should not call those years a waste Which led us to the light.

_Etta Wheeler Wilc.o.x._

From "Poems of Power."

A TOAST TO MERRIMENT

A lady said to Whistler that there were but two painters--himself and Velazquez. He replied: "Madam, why drag in Velazquez?" So it is with Joyousness and Gloom. Both exist,--but why drag in Gloom?

Make merry! Though the day be gray Forget the clouds and let's be gay!

How short the days we linger here: A birth, a breath, and then--the bier!

Make merry, you and I, for when We part we may not meet again!

What tonic is there in a frown?

You may go up and I go down, Or I go up and you--who knows The way that either of us goes?

Make merry! Here's a laugh, for when We part we may not meet again!

Make merry! What of frets and fears?

There is no happiness in tears.

You tremble at the cloud and lo!

'Tis gone--and so 'tis with our woe, Full half of it but fancied ills.

Make merry! 'Tis the gloom that kills.

Make merry! There is suns.h.i.+ne yet, The gloom that promised, let's forget, The quip and jest are on the wing, Why sorrow when we ought to sing?

Refill the cup of joy, for then We part and may not meet again.

A smile, a jest, a joke--alas!

We come, we wonder, and we pa.s.s.

The shadow falls; so long we rest In graves, where is no quip or jest.

Good day! Good cheer! Good-bye! For then We part and may not meet again!

_James W. Foley._

From "Friendly Rhymes."

MISTRESS FATE

"Faint heart never won fair lady," Mistress Fate herself should be courted, not with feminine finesse, but with masculine courage and aggression.

Flout her power, young man!

She is merely shrewish, scolding,-- She is plastic to your molding, She is woman in her yielding to the fires desires fan.

Flout her power, young man!

Fight her fair, strong man!

Such a serpent love is this,-- Bitter wormwood in her kiss!

When she strikes, be nerved and ready; Keep your gaze both bright and steady, Chance no rapier-play, but hotly press the quarrel she began!

Fight her fair, strong man!

Gaze her down, old man!

Now no laughter may defy her, Not a shaft of scorn come nigh her, But she waits within the shadows, in dark shadows very near.

And her silence is your fear.

Meet her world-old eyes of warning! Gaze them down with courage! _Can You gaze them down, old man?_

_William Rose Benet._

From "Merchants from Cathay."

SLEEP AND THE MONARCH

(FROM "2 HENRY IV.")

The great elemental blessings cannot be "cornered." Indeed they cannot be bought at all, but are the natural property of the man whose ways of life are such as to retain them. In this pa.s.sage a disappointed and hara.s.sed king comments on the slumber which he cannot woo to his couch, yet which his humblest subject enjoys.

How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O sleep! O gentle sleep!

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lulled with sound of sweetest melody?

O thou dull G.o.d! why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch A watch-case or a common 'larum bell?

Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the s.h.i.+p-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge, And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deafning clamor in the slippery clouds, That with the hurly death itself awakes?

Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.