Read Ebook: It Can Be Done: Poems of Inspiration by Adams St Clair Compiler Morris Joseph Compiler

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Helping and loving and guiding, Urging when that were best, Holding her fears in hiding Deep in her quiet breast; This is the woman who kept him True to his standards lost, When, tossed in the storm and stress of strife, He thought himself through with the game of life And ready to pay the cost. Watching and guarding, whispering still, "Win you can--and you will, you will!"

From "The Quiet Courage."

WANTED--A MAN

Business and the world are exacting in their demands upon us. They make no concessions to half-heartedness, incompetence, or plodding mediocrity. But for the man who has proved his worth and can do the exceptional things with originality and sound judgment, they are eagerly watchful and have rich rewards.

You say big corporations scheme To keep a fellow down; They drive him, shame him, starve him too If he so much as frown. God knows I hold no brief for them; Still, come with me to-day And watch those fat directors meet, For this is what they say:

"In all our force not one to take The new work that we plan! In all the thousand men we've hired Where shall we find a man?"

The world is shabby in the way It treats a fellow too; It just endures him while he works, And kicks him when he's through. It's ruthless, yes; let him make good, Or else it grabs its broom And grumbles: "What a clutter's here! We can't have this. Make room!"

And out he goes. It says, "Can bread Be made from mouldy bran? The men come swarming here in droves, But where'll I find a man?"

Yes, life is hard. But all the same It seeks the man who's best. Its grudging makes the prizes big; The obstacle's a test. Don't ask to find the pathway smooth, To march to fife and drum; The plum-tree will not come to you; Jack Horner, hunt the plum.

The eyes of life are yearning, sad, As humankind they scan. She says, "Oh, there are men enough, But where'll I find a man?"

IF I SHOULD DIE

A man whose word is as good as his bond is a man the world admires. It is related of Fox that a tradesman whom he long had owed money found him one day counting gold and asked for payment. Fox replied: "No; I owe this money to Sheridan. It is a debt of honor. If an accident should happen to me, he has nothing to show." The tradesman tore his note to pieces: "I change my debt into a debt of honor." Fox thanked him and handed over the money, saying that Sheridan's debt was not of so long standing and that Sheridan must wait. But most of us know men who are less scrupulous than Fox.

If I should die to-night And you should come to my cold corpse and say, Weeping and heartsick o'er my lifeless clay-- If I should die to-night, And you should come in deepest grief and woe-- And say: "Here's that ten dollars that I owe," I might arise in my large white cravat And say, "What's that?"

If I should die to-night And you should come to my cold corpse and kneel, Clasping my bier to show the grief you feel, I say, if I should die to-night And you should come to me, and there and then Just even hint 'bout payin' me that ten, I might arise the while, But I'd drop dead again.

From "Ben King's Verse."

JUST BE GLAD

Misfortunes overtake us, difficulties confront us; but these things must not induce us to give up. A Congressman who had promised Thomas B. Reed to be present at a political meeting telegraphed at the last moment: "Cannot come; washout on the line." "No need to stay away," said Reed's answering telegram; "buy another shirt."

O heart of mine, we shouldn't Worry so! What we've missed of calm we couldn't Have, you know! What we've met of stormy pain, And of sorrow's driving rain, We can better meet again, If it blow!

We have erred in that dark hour We have known, When our tears fell with the shower, All alone!-- Were not shine and shower blent As the gracious Master meant?-- Let us temper our content With His own.

For, we know, not every morrow Can be sad; So, forgetting all the sorrow We have had, Let us fold away our fears, And put by our foolish tears, And through all the coming years Just be glad.

From the Biographical Edition Of the Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley.

OPPORTUNITY

With doubt and dismay you are smitten You think there's no chance for you, son? Why, the best books haven't been written The best race hasn't been run, The best score hasn't been made yet, The best song hasn't been sung, The best tune hasn't been played yet, Cheer up, for the world is young!

No chance? Why the world is just eager For things that you ought to create Its store of true wealth is still meagre Its needs are incessant and great, It yearns for more power and beauty More laughter and love and romance, More loyalty, labor and duty, No chance--why there's nothing but chance!

For the best verse hasn't been rhymed yet, The best house hasn't been planned, The highest peak hasn't been climbed yet, The mightiest rivers aren't spanned, Don't worry and fret, faint hearted, The chances have just begun, For the Best jobs haven't been started, The Best work hasn't been done.

From "A Banjo at Armageddon."

SOLITUDE

Said an Irishman who had several times been kicked downstairs: "I begin to think they don't want me around here." So it is with our sorrows, our struggles. Life decrees that they belong to us individually. If we try to make others share them, we are shunned. But struggling and weary humanity is glad enough to share our joys.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth Must borrow its mirth, It has trouble enough of its own.

Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound To a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you; Grieve, and they turn and go; They want full measure Of all your pleasure, But they do not want your woe.

Be glad, and your friends are many; Be sad, and you lose them all; There are none to decline Your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by; Succeed and give, And it helps you live, But it cannot help you die.

There is room in the halls of pleasure For a long and lordly train; But one by one We must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain.

From "How Salvator Won."

UNSUBDUED

"An artist's career," said Whistler, "always begins to-morrow." So does the career of any man of courage and imagination. The Eden of such a man does not lie in yesterday. If he has done well, he forgets his achievements and dreams of the big deeds ahead. If he has been thwarted, he forgets his failures and looks forward to vast, sure successes. If fate itself opposes him, he defies it. Farragut's fleet was forcing an entrance into Mobile Bay. One of the vessels struck something, a terrific explosion followed, the vessel went down. "Torpedoes, sir." They scanned the face of the commander-in-chief. But Farragut did not hesitate. "Damn the torpedoes," said he. "Go ahead."

I have hoped, I have planned, I have striven, To the will I have added the deed; The best that was in me I've given, I have prayed, but the gods would not heed.

I have dared and reached only disaster, I have battled and broken my lance; I am bruised by a pitiless master That the weak and the timid call Chance.

I am old, I am bent, I am cheated Of all that Youth urged me to win; But name me not with the defeated, To-morrow again, I begin.

From "Poems That Have Helped Me."

WORK

"A SONG OF TRIUMPH"

When Captain John Smith was made the leader of the colonists at Jamestown, Va., he discouraged the get-rich-quick seekers of gold by announcing flatly, "He who will not work shall not eat." This rule made of Jamestown the first permanent English settlement in the New World. But work does more than lead to material success. It gives an outlet from sorrow, restrains wild desires, ripens and refines character, enables human beings to cooperate with God, and when well done, brings to life its consummate satisfaction. Every man is a Prince of Possibilities, but by work alone can he come into his Kingship.

Work! Thank God for the might of it, The ardor, the urge, the delight of it-- Work that springs from the heart's desire, Setting the brain and the soul on fire-- Oh, what is so good as the heat of it, And what is so glad as the beat of it, And what is so kind as the stern command, Challenging brain and heart and hand?

Work! Thank God for the pride of it, For the beautiful, conquering tide of it. Sweeping the life in its furious flood, Thrilling the arteries, cleansing the blood, Mastering stupor and dull despair, Moving the dreamer to do and dare. Oh, what is so good as the urge of it, And what is so glad as the surge of it, And what is so strong as the summons deep, Rousing the torpid soul from sleep?

Work! Thank God for the pace of it, For the terrible, keen, swift race of it; Fiery steeds in full control, Nostrils a-quiver to greet the goal. Work, the Power that drives behind, Guiding the purposes, taming the mind, Holding the runaway wishes back, Reining the will to one steady track, Speeding the energies faster, faster, Triumphing over disaster. Oh, what is so good as the pain of it, And what is so great as the gain of it? And what is so kind as the cruel goad, Forcing us on through the rugged road?

Work! Thank God for the swing of it, For the clamoring, hammering ring of it, Passion and labor daily hurled On the mighty anvils of the world. Oh, what is so fierce as the flame of it? And what is so huge as the aim of it? Thundering on through dearth and doubt, Calling the plan of the Maker out. Work, the Titan; Work, the friend, Shaping the earth to a glorious end, Draining the swamps and blasting the hills, Doing whatever the Spirit wills-- Rending a continent apart, To answer the dream of the Master heart. Thank God for a world where none may shirk-- Thank God for the splendor of work!

From "The Hour Has Struck."

HOW DID YOU DIE?

Grant at Ft. Donelson demanded unconditional and immediate surrender. At Appomattox he offered as lenient terms as victor ever extended to vanquished. Why the difference? The one event was at the beginning of the war, when the enemy's morale must be shaken. The other was at the end of the conflict, when a brave and noble adversary had been rendered helpless. In his quiet way Grant showed himself one of nature's gentlemen. He also taught a great lesson. No honor can be too great for the man, be he even our foe, who has steadily and uncomplainingly done his very best--and has failed.

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