It Can Be Done Part 20

ONE OF THESE DAYS

The worst fault in a hound is to run counter--to follow the trail backward, not forward. Is the fault less when men are guilty of it?

Behind us is much that we have found to be faithless, cruel, or unpleasant. Why go back to that? Why not go forward to the things we really desire?

Say! Let's forget it! Let's put it aside!

Life is so large and the world is so wide.

Days are so short and there's so much to do, What if it was false--there's plenty that's true.

Say! Let's forget it! Let's brush it away Now and forever, so what do you say?

All of the bitter words said may be praise One of these days.

Say! Let's forget it! Let's wipe off the slate, Find something better to cherish than hate.

There's so much good in the world that we've had, Let's strike a balance and cross off the bad.

Say! Let's forgive it, whatever it be, Let's not be slaves when we ought to be free.

We shall be walking in suns.h.i.+ny ways One of these days.

Say! Let's not mind it! Let's smile it away, Bring not a withered rose from yesterday; Flowers are so fresh from the wayside and wood, Sorrows are blessings but half understood.

Say! Let's not mind it, however it seems, Hope is so sweet and holds so many dreams; All of the sere fields with blossoms shall blaze One of these days.

Say! Let's not take it so sorely to heart!

Hates may be friends.h.i.+ps just drifted apart, Failure be genius not quite understood, Say! Let's get closer to somebody's side, See what his dreams are and learn how he tried, See if our scoldings won't give way to praise One of these days.

Say! Let's not wither! Let's branch out and rise Out of the byways and nearer the skies.

Let's spread some shade that's refres.h.i.+ng and deep Where some tired traveler may lie down and sleep.

Say! Let's not tarry! Let's do it right now; So much to do if we just find out how!

We may not be here to help folks or praise One of these days.

_James W. Foley._

From "The Voices of Song."

[Ill.u.s.tration: JAMES WILLIAM FOLEY]

G.o.d

We often think people shallow, think them incapable of anything serious or profound, because their work is humdrum and their speech trivial.

Such a judgment is unfair, since that part of our own life which shows itself to others is superficial likewise, though we are conscious that within us is much that it does not reveal.

I think about G.o.d.

Yet I talk of small matters.

Now isn't it odd How my idle tongue chatters!

Of quarrelsome neighbors, Fine weather and rain, Indifferent labors, Indifferent pain, Some trivial style Fas.h.i.+on s.h.i.+fts with a nod.

And yet all the while I am thinking of G.o.d.

_Gamaliel Bradford._

From "Shadow Verses."

MY TRIUMPH

The poet, looking back upon the hopes he has cherished, perceives that he has fallen far short of achieving them. The songs he has sung are less sweet than those he has dreamed of singing; the wishes he has wrought into facts are less n.o.ble than those that are yet unfulfilled.

But he looks forward to the time when all that he desires for humankind shall yet come to pa.s.s. The praise will not be his; it will belong to others. Still, he does not envy those who are destined to succeed where he failed. Rather does he rejoice that through them his hopes for the race will be realized. And he is happy that by longing for just such a triumph he shares in it--he makes it _his_ triumph.

Let the thick curtain fall; I better know than all How little I have gained, How vast the unattained.

Not by the page word-painted Let life be banned or sainted: Deeper than written scroll The colors of the soul.

Sweeter than any sung My songs that found no tongue n.o.bler than any fact My wish that failed to act.

Others shall sing the song, Others shall right the wrong,-- Finish what I begin, And all I fail of win.

What matter, I or they?

Mine or another's day, So the right word be said And life the sweeter made?

Hail to the coming singers!

Hail to the brave light-bringers!

Forward I reach and share All that they sing and dare.

The airs of heaven blow o'er me; A glory s.h.i.+nes before me Of what mankind shall be,-- Pure, generous, brave, and free.

A dream of man and woman Diviner but still human, Solving the riddle old, Shaping the Age of Gold!

The love of G.o.d and neighbor; An equal-handed labor; The richer life, where beauty Walks hand in hand with duty.

Ring, bells in unreared steeples, The joy of unborn peoples!

Sound, trumpets far off blown, Your triumph is my own.

Parcel and part of all, I keep the festival, Fore-reach the good to be, And share the victory.

I feel the earth move sunward, I join the great march onward, And take, by faith, while living, My freehold of thanksgiving.

_John Green leaf Whittier._