The lower jaw should be as strong
  And changeless as a granite cliff;
  Its very look should be a thus
  And not a maybe, somehow, if;
  Should mark a soul so resolute
  It will not fear or cease or lag—­
  We need a rugged mandible,
  Provided we don’t let it wag.

  Yes, with endurance, let it too
  A tender modesty possess;
  And to its grim strength let it add
  The gracious power of gentleness. 
  Above all, let its might of deeds
  Induce no loud or vulgar brag—­
  We like to see a good, firm jaw,
  But do not wish to hear it wag.

St. Clair Adams.

THE CONQUEROR

Age is wise; it attempts nothing impossible.  Youth is wiser; it believes nothing impossible.  Age conserves more; youth accomplishes more.  Between the two is an irreconcilable difference.

  “Crabbed age and youth
  Cannot live together,”

as Shakespeare says.  And the sympathy of the world is with youth.  It is better so; for though many cherished things would be saved from sacrifice if rash immaturity were more often checked, progress would be stayed if life were dominated by sterile and repressive age.

  Room for me, graybeards, room, make room! 
  Menace me not with your eyes of gloom;
  Jostle me not from the place I seek,
  For my arms are strong and your own are weak,
  And if my plea to you be denied
  I’ll thrust your wearying forms aside. 
  Pity you?  Yes, but I cannot stay;
  I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

  Room for me, timid ones, room, make room! 
  Little I care for your fret and fume—­
  I laugh at sorrow and jeer defeat;
  To doubt and doubters I give the lie,
  And fear is stilled as I swagger by,
  And life’s a fight and I seek the fray;
  I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

  Room for me, mighty ones, room, make room! 
  I fear no power and dread no doom;
  And you who curse me and you who bless
  Alike must bow to my dauntlessness. 
  I topple the king from his golden throne,
  I smash old idols of brass and stone,
  I am not hampered by yesterday. 
  Room for the spirit of Youth; make way!

  Room for me, all of you, make me room! 
  Where the rifles clash and the cannon boom,
  Where glory beckons or love or fame
  I plunge me heedlessly in the game. 
  The old, the wary, the wise, the great,
  They cannot stay me, for I am Fate,
  The brave young master of all good play,
  I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

Berton Braley.

From “Things As They Are.”

[Illustration:  BERTON BRALEY]

IS IT RAINING, LITTLE FLOWER?

“Sweet are the uses of adversity.”  They bring us benefits not otherwise to be had.  To mope because of them is foolish.  Showers alternate with sunshine, sorrows with pleasure, pain and weariness with comfort and rest; but accept the one as necessary to the other, and you will enjoy both.