Ardor of sinew and spirit—­what else do we need to make our journey prosperous and happy?

  Stand straight: 
  Step firmly, throw your weight: 
  The heaven is high above your head,
  The good gray road is faithful to your tread.

  Be strong: 
  Sing to your heart a battle song: 
  Though hidden foemen lie in wait,
  Something is in you that can smile at Fate.

  Press through: 
  Nothing can harm if you are true. 
  And when the night comes, rest: 
  The earth is friendly as a mother’s breast.

Edwin Markham.

From “The Gates of Paradise, and Other Poems.”

LIFE

“What is life?” we ask.  “Just one darned thing after another,” the cynic replies.  Yes, a multiplicity of forces and interests, and each of them, even the disagreeable, may be of real help to us.  It’s good for a dog, says a shrewd philosopher, to be pestered with fleas; it keeps him from thinking too much about being a dog.

  What’s life?  A story or a song;
    A race on any track;
  A gay adventure, short or long,
    A puzzling nut to crack;
  A grinding task; a pleasant stroll;
    A climb; a slide down hill;
  A constant striving for a goal;
    A cake; a bitter pill;
  A pit where fortune flouts or stings;
    A playground full of fun;—­
  With many any of these things;
    With others all in one. 
  What’s life?  To love the things we see;
    The hills that touch the skies;
  The smiling sea; the laughing lea;
    The light in woman’s eyes;
  To work and love the work we do;
    To play a game that’s square;
  To grin a bit when feeling blue;
    With friends our joys to share;
  To smile, though games be lost or won;
    To earn our daily bread;—­
  And when at last the day is done
    To tumble into bed.

Griffith Alexander,

From “The Philadelphia Evening Public Ledger.”

HOE YOUR ROW

We must not dream of harvests and neglect the toil that produces them.

  De fiel’s ‘ll soon be hummin’
    Roun’ de country high en low;
  De harves’ is a-comin’: 
    Hoe yo’ row! 
    Hoe yo’ row!

  No time now fer de sleeper;
    It’s “Git up now, en go!”
  It’s de sower makes de reaper;
    Hoe yo’ row! 
    Hoe yo’ row!

  It’s sweet de birds is singin’
    De songs you lovin’ so;
  But de harves’ bells is ringin’;
    Hoe yo’ row! 
    Hoe yo’ row!

Frank L. Stanton.

From “The Atlanta Constitution.”

BORROWING TROUBLE

It is bad enough to cry over spilt milk.  But many of us do worse; we cry over milk that we think is going to be spilt.  In line 1 sic=such; 2, a’=all; 3, nae=no; 4, enow=enough; 5, hae=have; sturt=fret, trouble.