All That Matters Part 8

LIFE

Life is a jest; Take the delight of it.

Laughter is best; Sing through the night of it.

Swiftly the tear And the hurt and the ache of it Find us down here; Life must be what we make of it.

Life is a song; Let us dance to the thrill of it.

Grief's hours are long, And cold is the chill of it.

Joy is man's need; Let us smile for the sake of it.

This be our creed: Life must be what we make of it.

Life is a soul; The virtue and vice of it.

Strife for a goal, And man's strength is the price of it.

Your life and mine, The bare bread and the cake of it, End in this line: Life must be what we make of it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"Life"_

_From a charcoal drawing by_ W. T. BENDA.]

SUCCESS

This I would claim for my success--not fame nor gold, Nor the throng's changing cheers from day to day, Not always ease and fortune's glad display, Though all of these are pleasant joys to hold; But I would like to have my story told By smiling friends with whom I've shared the way, Who, thinking of me, nod their heads and say: "His heart was warm when other hearts were cold.

"None turned to him for aid and found it not, His eyes were never blind to man's distress, Youth and old age he lived, nor once forgot The anguish and the ache of loneliness; His name was free from stain or shameful blot And in his friends.h.i.+p men found happiness."

THE LONELY OLD FELLOW

The roses are bedded for winter, the tulips are planted for spring; The robins and martins have left us; there are only the sparrows to sing.

The garden seems solemnly silent, awaiting its blankets of snow, And I feel like a lonely old fellow with nowhere to turn or to go.

All summer I've hovered about them, all summer they've nodded at me; I've wandered and waited among them the first pink of blossom to see; I've known them and loved and caressed them, and now all their splendor has fled, And the harsh winds of winter all tell me the friends of my garden are dead.

I'm a lonely old fellow, that's certain. All winter with nothing to do But sit by the window recalling the days when my skies were all blue; But my heart is not given to sorrow and never my lips shall complain, For winter shall pa.s.s and the suns.h.i.+ne shall give me my roses again.

And so for the friends that have vanished, the friends that they tell me are dead, Who have traveled the road to G.o.d's Acres and sleep where the willows are spread; They have left me a lonely old fellow to sit here and dream by the pane, But I know, like the friends of my garden, we shall all meet together again.

SOMEBODY ELSE

Somebody wants a new bonnet to wear; Somebody wants a new dress; Somebody needs a new bow for her hair, And never the wanting grows less.

Oh, this is the reason I labor each day And this is the joy of my tasks: That deep in the envelope holding my pay Is something that somebody asks.

I could go begging for water and bread And travel the highways of ease, But somebody wants a roof over his head And stockings to cover his knees.

I could go s.h.i.+rking the duties of life And laugh when necessity pleads, But rather I stand to the toil and the strife To furnish what somebody needs.

Somebody wants what I've strength to supply, And somebody's waiting for me To come home to-night with money to buy Her bread and her cake and her tea.

And as I am strong so her laughter will ring, And as I am true she will smile; It's the somebody else of the toiler or king That makes all the struggle worth while.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"Somebody Else"_

_From a charcoal drawing by_ M. L. BOWER.]

Somebody needs all the courage I own, And somebody's trust is in me; For never a man who can go it alone, Whatever his station may be.

So I stand to my task and I stand to my care, And struggle to come to success, For the ribbons to tie up somebody's hair, And my somebody's pretty new dress.

EFFORT

He brought me his report card from the teacher and he said He wasn't very proud of it and sadly bowed his head.

He was excellent in reading, but arithmetic, was fair, And I noticed there were several "unsatisfactorys" there; But one little bit of credit which was given brought me joy-- He was "excellent in effort," and I fairly hugged the boy.

"Oh, it doesn't make much difference what is written on your card,"

I told that little fellow, "if you're only trying hard.

The 'very goods' and 'excellents' are fine, I must agree, But the effort you are making means a whole lot more to me; And the thing that's most important when this card is put aside Is to know, in spite of failure, that to do your best you've tried.

"Just keep excellent in effort--all the rest will come to you.

There isn't any problem but some day you'll learn to do, And at last, when you grow older, you will come to understand That by hard and patient toiling men have risen to command And some day you will discover when a greater goal's at stake That better far than brilliance is the effort you will make."

LIVING

The miser thinks he's living when he's h.o.a.rding up his gold; The soldier calls it living when he's doing something bold; The sailor thinks it living to be tossed upon the sea, And upon this very subject no two men of us agree.

But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along, That living's made of laughter and good-fellows.h.i.+p and song.

I wouldn't call it living to be always seeking gold, To bank all the present gladness for the days when I'll be old.

I wouldn't call it living to spend all my strength for fame, And forego the many pleasures which to-day are mine to claim.

I wouldn't for the splendor of the world set out to roam, And forsake my laughing children and the peace I know at home.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"Living"_