It Can Be Done Part 34

_William Shakespeare._

NEVER TROUBLE TROUBLE

To borrow trouble is to contract a debt that any man is better without.

If your troubles are not borrowed, they are not likely to be many or great.

I used to hear a saying That had a deal of pith; It gave a cheerful spirit To face existence with, Especially when matters Seemed doomed to go askew, 'Twas _Never trouble trouble Till trouble troubles you._

Not woes at hand, those coming Are hardest to resist; We hear them stalk like giants, We see them through a mist.

But big things in the brewing Are small things in the brew; So never trouble trouble Till trouble troubles you.

Just look at things through gla.s.ses That show the evidence; One lens of them is courage, The other common sense.

They'll make it clear, misgivings Are just a bugaboo; No more you'll trouble trouble Till trouble troubles you.

_St. Clair Adams._

CLEAR THE WAY

Humanity is always meeting obstacles. All honor to the men who do not fear obstacles, but push them aside and press on. Stephenson was explaining his idea that a locomotive steam engine could run along a track and draw cars after it. "But suppose a cow gets on the track,"

some one objected. "So much the worse," said Stephenson, "for the cow."

Men of thought! be up and stirring, Night and day; Sow the seed, withdraw the curtain, Clear the way!

Men of action, aid and cheer them, As ye may!

There's a fount about to stream, There's a light about to gleam, There's a warmth about to glow, There's a flower about to blow; There's midnight blackness changing Into gray!

Men of thought and men of action, Clear the way!

Once the welcome light has broken, Who shall say What the unimagined glories Of the day?

What the evil that shall perish In its ray?

Aid it, hopes of honest men; Aid the dawning, tongue and pen; Aid it, paper, aid it, type, Aid it, for the hour is ripe; And our earnest must not slacken Into play.

Men of thought and men of action, Clear the way!

Lo! a cloud's about to vanish From the day; And a brazen wrong to crumble Into clay!

With the Right shall many more Enter, smiling at the door; With the giant Wrong shall fall Many others great and small, That for ages long have held us For their prey.

Men of thought and men of action, Clear the way!

_Charles Mackay._

ONE FIGHT MORE

We need not expect much of the man who, when defeated, gives way either to despair or to a wild impulse for immediate revenge. But from the man who stores up his strength quietly and bides his time for a new effort, we may expect everything.

Now, think you, Life, I am defeated quite?

More than a single battle shall be mine Before I yield the sword and give the sign And turn, a crownless outcast, to the night.

Wounded, and yet unconquered in the fight, I wait in silence till the day may s.h.i.+ne Once more upon my strength, and all the line Of your defenses break before my might.

Mine be that warrior's blood who, stricken sore, Lies in his quiet chamber till he hears Afar the clash and clang of arms, and knows The cause he lived for calls for him once more; And straightway rises, whole and void of fears, And armed, turns him singing to his foes.

_Theodosia Garrison._

From "The Earth Cry."

A PSALM OF LIFE

At times this existence of ours seems to be meaningless; whether we have succeeded or whether we have failed appears to make little difference to us, and therefore effort seems scarcely worth while. But Longfellow tells us this view is all wrong. The past can take care of itself, and we need not even worry very much about the future; but if we are true to our own natures, we must be up and doing in the present. Time is short, and mastery in any field of human activity is so long a process that it forbids us to waste our moments. Yet we must learn also how to wait and endure. In short, we must not become slaves to either indifference or impatience, but must make it our business to play a man's part in life.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream!-- For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like m.u.f.fled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act,--act in the living Present!

Heart within, and G.o.d o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and s.h.i.+pwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.