Part 22 (1/2)

But I's des lookin' round, dat's me-- I's trustin' lots in what I see; It 'pears to me da's lots to do Befo' we pa.s.s dat heavenly blue.

I believes in prayin', preachin' about, But believe a lot mo' in helpin' out.

I believes in 'ligin, it's mighty sweet, But de kind dat gits in yo' hands and feet An' makes you work when dey ain't no praise, Nuthin' but a heart dat's all a-blaze.

If it rains or s.h.i.+nes, dey's des de same-- Say, bless you, honey, Suns.h.i.+ne's dey name; Dey don't fuss round 'bout how much pay But climbs up de trail, helpin' all de way.

De load is often twice der size, And smilin' is der biggest prize.

Dey never gits dis awful gout 'Cause dey's busy all de time in helpin' out.

We had an old mule on Ma.s.sa's place, As fo' looks he'd certainly lose de race; But der wa'n't a horse fo' miles around Could pull mo' load or plow mo' ground.

An' when dat donkey brayed his best, He seemed to know he'd licked de rest.

Dat bray of his was strong as wool-- It always come at de hardest pull.

We need mo' mules with brains on guard Dat knos de game of pullin' hard, An' a heart dat's tender, true and stout, Dat believes all day in helpin' out.

We's all des human, des common clay, Des needs a little help to make work play.

I'se read a lot of philosophy day an' night, An' worked around a heap wid de law of right.

I'se seen de high an' mighty come an' go, I'se seen de simple spirit come from below; An' I'se seen a lot of principle most folks miss-- I'se not a-stretchin' truth when I say dis: ”Keep a-smilin' an' a-lovin' an a-doin' all yo' can, Fo' yo' loses all yo' trouble when yo' help yo' fellow man; An' you gits on best yo'self, an' of this dey ain't no doubt, When yo' practise de art of always helpin' out.”

_William Judson Kibby._

OPENING PARADISE

We appreciate even the common things of life if we are denied them.

See the wretch, that long has tost On the th.o.r.n.y bed of Pain, At length repair his vigor lost, And breathe and walk again: The meanest flow'r'et of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common Sun, the air, and skies, To him are opening Paradise.

_Thomas Gray._

TO THE MEN WHO LOSE

When Captain Scott's ill-fated band, after reaching the South Pole, was struggling through the cold and storms back towards safety, the strength of Evans, one of the men, became exhausted. He had done his best--vainly.

Now he did not wish to imperil his companions, already sorely tried. At a halting-place, therefore, he left them and, staggering out into a blizzard, perished alone. It was a failure, yes; but was it not also magnificent success?

Here's to the men who lose!

What though their work be e'er so n.o.bly planned, And watched with zealous care, No glorious halo crowns their efforts grand, Contempt is failure's share.