MAN OR MANIKIN

The world does not always distinguish between appearance and true merit.  Pretence often gets the plaudits, but desert is above them—­it has rewards of its own.

  No matter whence you came, from a palace or a ditch,
  You’re a man, man, man, if you square yourself to life;
  And no matter what they say, hermit-poor or Midas-rich,
  You are nothing but a husk if you sidestep strife.

  For it’s do, do, do, with a purpose all your own,
  That makes a man a man, whether born a serf or king;
  And it’s loaf, loaf, loaf, lolling on a bench or throne
  That makes a being thewed to act a limp and useless thing!

  No matter what you do, miracles or fruitless deeds,
  You’re a man, man, man, if you do them with a will;
  And no matter how you loaf, cursing wealth or mumbling creeds,
  You are nothing but a noise, and its weight is nil.

  For it’s be, be, be, champion of your heart and soul,
  That makes a man a man, whether reared in silk or rags;
  And it’s talk, talk, talk, from a tattered shirt or stole,
  That makes the image of a god a manikin that brags.

Richard Butler Glaenzer.

From “Munsey’s Magazine.”

HAVING DONE AND DOING

(ADAPTED FROM “TROILUS AND CRESSIDA”)

A member of Parliament, having succeeded notably in his maiden effort at speech-making, remained silent through the rest of his career lest he should not duplicate his triumph.  This course was stupid; in time the address which had brought him fame became a theme for disparagement and mockery.  A man cannot rest upon his laurels, else he will soon lack the laurels to rest on.  If he has true ability, he must from time to time show it, instead of asking us to recall what he did in the past.  There is a natural instinct which makes the whole world kin.  It is distrust of a mere reputation.  It is a hankering to be shown.  Unless the evidence to set us right is forthcoming, we will praise dust which is gilded over rather than gold which is dusty from disuse.

  Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
  Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
  A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: 
  Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devoured
  As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
  As done:  perseverance, dear my lord,
  Keeps honor bright:  to have done, is to hang
  Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
  In monumental mockery.  Take the instant way;
  For honor travels in a strait so narrow
  Where one but goes abreast:  keep, then, the path;
  For emulation hath a thousand sons
  That one by one pursue:  if you give way,
  Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
  Like to an entered tide they all rush by
  And leave you hindmost;
  Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first