Part 6 (1/2)
Some young men start life with the idea that every dollar made requires that one dollar and a half shall be spent; in order to be noticed they must make a big show, give big dinners, carriage drives, and parties, invite friends to the theaters, and have a ”swell” time; must do like Mr. ”So-and-So.” They forget in their desire to copy, that Mr.
”So-and-So,” their pattern, has already made his fortune; that he began to save before he began to spend. But no, his name appears often in the papers and they think also that theirs must. So they begin their careers. A few years pa.s.s. The young men marry; their debts begin to acc.u.mulate and to press them, their countenances are always woe-begone; where once were smiles, now are frowns, and the homes are pictures of gloom and shadows. The lesson is plain.
Debt is the greatest burden that can be put upon man; it makes him afraid to look honest men in the face. No man can be a leader in the fullest sense who is burdened by a great debt. If there is any young man who is spending more than he is making, let him ask himself the question, Is the game worth the candle?
I know another young man who believed he could be happy by spending one-third of what he made and saving the other portion. He said to me, ”some day I want to marry and I want to treat my wife better, if possible, than she was treated at home. I want to respect my fellow man, I want to be a leader, and I know I can only do so by saving a part of what I make.” It was my good pleasure, a few weeks ago, to visit the city where this young man is practising medicine. He carried me over that town in an automobile, he entertained me in his $5000 home, he showed me other property which he owned. Ah, his indeed was a happy home. Life to him was blessedly real.
A young man starts out in life with the determination to fight his way by physical force to the front ranks. Bruised, disfigured, or killed, he is forced back even beyond the lines again. A religiously inclined youth asked his pastor, ”Do you think it would be wrong for me to learn the n.o.ble art of self-defense?” ”Certainly not,” replied the pastor, ”I learned it in youth myself, and I have found it of great value in my life.” ”Indeed, sir, did you learn the Old English system or the Sullivan system” ”Neither; I learned Solomon's system!” replied the minister. ”Yes, you will find it laid down in the first verse of the fifteenth chapter of Proverbs, 'A soft answer turneth away wrath'; it is the best system of self-defense I know.”
Another young man starts life with a wrong idea regarding city and country life. Born in the country he is free, his thoughts and ambitions can feed on a pure atmosphere, but he thinks his conditions and his surroundings are circ.u.mscribed; he longs for the city, with its bigness, its turmoil, and its conflicts. He leaves the old homestead, the quiet village, the country people, and hies himself to the city. He forgets to a large extent the good boy he used to be, in the desire to keep up with the fas.h.i.+ons and to make the people forget that he was once a country boy. City life, as is often the case, breaks up his youth, destroys his morals, undermines his character, steals his reputation, and finally leaves the promising youth a wrecked man. Was the game worth the candle?
Young men, never be ashamed of the old log-cabin in the country, or the old bonnet your mother used to wear, or the jean pants your father used to toil in. I had rather be a poor country boy with limited surroundings and a pure heart than to be a city man bedecked in the latest fas.h.i.+ons and weighted down with money, having no morals, no character. I had rather have the religion and faith of my fathers than to have the highest offices. I had rather have glorious life, pure and lofty, than to have great riches. Sir Walter Scott was right when he said:
”Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife, To all the sensual world proclaim: One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.”
There are two old Dutch words which have resounded through the world, ”_Neen nimmer_,” ”No, never.” The fleets of Spain heard it, and understood it fully, when they saw the sinking Dutch s.h.i.+ps with the flags nailed to the shattered mainmast, crying, ”_Neen nimmer_,” which indicated that they would never surrender.
Will the young men who are to be the leaders, spend their hours in riotous living? No, never! Will they be false to duty? No, never! Will they s.h.i.+rk? No, never! Will they be disloyal to self, to home, to country, and to G.o.d? No, never!
Croesus was a rich man, a king. One day Croesus said to Solon, the philosopher, ”Do you not think I am a happy man?” Solon answered, ”Alas, I do not know, Croesus; that life is happy that ends well.” A few years later when Croesus had lost his wealth, his kingdom, and his health, and had been deserted by those who in his days of glory ran to do his slightest bidding, Croesus in anguish and misery exclaimed, ”Solon, Solon, thou saidst truly that life is well and happy that ends well.”
O BLACK AND UNKNOWN BARDS
JAMES WELDON JOHNSON
O black and unknown bards of long ago, How came your lips to touch the sacred fire?
How, in your darkness, did you come to know The power and beauty of the minstrel's lyre?
Who first from midst his bonds lifted his eyes?
Who first from out the still watch, lone and long, Feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise Within his dark-kept soul, burst into song?
Heart of what slave poured out such melody As ”Steal away to Jesus”? On its strains His spirit must have nightly floated free, Though still about his hands he felt his chains.
Who heard great ”Jordan roll”? Whose starward eye Saw chariot ”swing low”? And who was he That breathed that comforting, melodic sigh, ”n.o.body knows de trouble I see?”
What merely living clod, what captive thing, Could up toward G.o.d through all its darkness grope, And find within its deadened heart to sing These songs of sorrow, love, and faith, and hope?
How did it catch that subtle undertone, That note in music heard not with the ears?
How sound the elusive reed so seldom blown, Which stirs the soul or melts the heart to tears.
Not that great German master in his dream Of harmonies that thundered 'mongst the stars At the creation, ever heard a theme n.o.bler than ”Go down, Moses.” Mark its bars, How like a mighty trumpet-call they stir The blood. Such are the notes that men have sung Going to valorous deeds; such tones there were That helped make history when Time was young.
There is a wide, wide wonder in it all, That from degraded rest and servile toil The fiery spirit of the seer should call These simple children of the sun and soil.
O black slave singers, gone, forgot, unfamed, You--you alone, of all the long, long line Of those who've sung untaught, unknown, unnamed, Have stretched out upward, seeking the divine.