It Can Be Done Part 37

And--a seventh time?

"This is beyond all battles' soreness!"

Then his wonder cried; For Laughter, with s.h.i.+eld and steely harness, Stood up at his side!

_William Rose Benet,_

From "Merchants from Cathay."

SUBMISSION

There are times when the right thing to do is to submit. There are times when the right thing is to strive, to fight. To put forth one's best effort is itself a reward. But sometimes it brings a material reward also. The frog that after falling into the churn found that it couldn't jump out and wouldn't try, was drowned. The frog that kept leaping in brave but seemingly hopeless endeavor at last churned the milk, mounted the b.u.t.ter for a final effort, and escaped.

Submission? They have preached at that so long.

As though the head bowed down would right the wrong, As though the folded hand, the coward heart Were saintly signs of souls sublimely strong; As though the man who acts the waiting part And but submits, had little wings a-start.

But may I never reach that anguished plight Where I at last grow weary of the fight.

Submission: "Wrong of course must ever be Because it ever was. 'Tis not for me To seek a change; to strike the maiden blow.

'Tis best to bow the head and not to see; 'Tis best to dream, that we need never know The truth. To turn our eyes away from woe."

Perhaps. But ah--I pray for keener sight, And may I not grow weary of the fight.

_Miriam Teichner._

A PRAYER

Garibaldi, the Italian patriot, said to his men: "I do not promise you ease; I do not promise you comfort. I promise you hards.h.i.+p, weariness, suffering; but I promise you victory."

I do not pray for peace, Nor ask that on my path The sounds of war shall shrill no more, The way be clear of wrath.

But this I beg thee, Lord, Steel Thou my heart with might, And in the strife that men call life, Grant me the strength to fight.

I do not pray for arms, Nor s.h.i.+eld to cover me.

What though I stand with empty hand, So it be valiantly!

Spare me the coward's fear-- Questioning wrong or right: Lord, among these mine enemies, Grant me the strength to fight.

I do not pray that Thou Keep me from any wound, Though I fall low from thrust and blow, Forced fighting to the ground; But give me wit to hide My hurt from all men's sight, And for my need the while I bleed, Lord, grant me strength to fight.

I do not pray that Thou Shouldst grant me victory; Enough to know that from my foe I have no will to flee.

Beaten and bruised and banned, Flung like a broken sword, Grant me this thing for conquering-- Let me die fighting, Lord!

_Theodosia Garrison._

From "The Earth Cry."

STABILITY

Whom do we wish for our friends and allies? On whom would we wish to depend in a time of need? Those who are not the slaves of fortune, but have made the most of both her buffets and her rewards. Those who control their fears and rash impulses, and do not give way to sudden emotion. Amid confusion and disaster men like these will stand, as Jackson did at Bull Run, like a veritable stone wall.

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice And could of men distinguish, her election Hath sealed thee for herself; for thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, A man that fortune's buffets and rewards Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and bless'd are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not pa.s.sion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.

_William Shakespeare._

THE BARS OF FATE

"There ain't no such beast," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed a farmer as he gazed at the rhinoceros at a circus. His incredulity did not of course do away with the existence of the creature. But our incredulity about many of our difficulties will do away with them. They exist chiefly in our imaginations.

I stood before the bars of Fate And bowed my head disconsolate; So high they seemed, so fierce their frown.

I thought no hand could break them down.

Beyond them I could hear the songs Of valiant men who marched in throngs; And joyful women, fair and free, Looked back and waved their hands to me.

I did not cry "Too late! too late!"

Or strive to rise, or rail at Fate, Or pray to G.o.d. My coward heart, Contented, played its foolish part.

So still I sat, the tireless bee Sped o'er my head, with scorn for me, And birds who build their nests in air Beheld me, as I were not there.

From twig to twig, before my face, The spiders wove their curious lace, As they a curtain fine would see Between the hindering bars and me.

Then, sudden change! I heard the call Of wind and wave and waterfall; From heaven above and earth below A clear command--"ARISE AND GO!"

I upward sprang in all my strength, And stretched my eager hands at length To break the bars--no bars were there; My fingers fell through empty air!

_Ellen M.H. Gates._

From "To the Unborn Peoples."