Part 15 (2/2)

Who Is Your Boss?

”I work for someone else,” he said; ”I have no chance to get ahead.

At night I leave the job behind; At morn I face the same old grind.

And everything I do by day Just brings to me the same old pay.

While I am here I cannot see The semblance of a chance for me.”

I asked another how he viewed The occupation he pursued.

”It's dull and dreary toil,” said he, ”And brings but small reward to me.

My boss gets all the profits fine That I believe are rightly mine.

My life's monotonously grim Because I'm forced to work for him.”

I stopped a third young man to ask His att.i.tude towards his task.

A cheerful smile lit up his face; ”I shan't be always in this place,”

He said, ”because some distant day A better job will come my way.”

”Your boss?” I asked, and answered he: ”I'm going to make him notice me.

”He pays me wages and in turn That money I am here to earn, But I don't work for him alone; Allegiance to myself I own.

I do not do my best because It gets me favors or applause-- I work for him, but I can see That actually I work for me.

”It looks like business good to me The best clerk on the staff to be.

If customers approve my style And like my manner and my smile I help the firm to get the pelf, But what is more I help myself.

From one big thought I'm never free: That every day I work for me.”

Oh, youth, thought I, you're bound to climb The ladder of success in time.

Too many self-impose the cross Of daily working for a boss, Forgetting that in failing him It is their own stars that they dim.

And when real service they refuse They are the ones who really lose.

The Truth About Envy

I like to see the flowers grow, To see the pansies in a row; I think a well-kept garden's fine, And wish that such a one were mine; But one can't have a stock of flowers Unless he digs and digs for hours.

My ground is always bleak and bare; The roses do not flourish there.

And where I once sowed poppy seeds Is now a tangled ma.s.s of weeds.'

I'm fond of flowers, but admit, For digging I don't care a bit.

I envy men whose yards are gay, But never work as hard as they; I also envy men who own More wealth than I have ever known.

I'm like a lot of men who yearn For joys that they refuse to earn.

You cannot have the joys of work And take the comfort of a s.h.i.+rk.

I find the man I envy most Is he who's longest at his post.

I could have gold and roses, too, If I would work like those who do.

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