The tree-top, high above the barren field,
    Rising beyond the night’s gray folds of mist,
  Rests stirless where the upper air is sealed
    To perfect silence, by the faint moon kissed. 
  But the low branches, drooping to the ground,
    Sway to and fro, as sways funereal plume,
  While from their restless depths low whispers sound: 
    “We fear, we fear the darkness and the gloom;
    Dim forms beneath us pass and reappear,
    And mournful tongues are menacing us here.”

  Then from the topmost bough falls calm reply: 
    “Hush, hush, I see the coming of the morn;
  Swiftly the silent night is passing by,
    And in her bosom rosy Dawn is borne. 
    ’Tis but your own dim shadows that ye see,
    ’Tis but your own low moans that trouble ye.”

  So Life stands, with a twilight world around;
    Faith turned serenely to the steadfast sky,
  Still answering the heart that sweeps the ground
    Sobbing in fear, and tossing restlessly—­
    “Hush, hush!  The Dawn breaks o’er the Eastern sea,
    ’Tis but thine own dim shadow troubling thee.”

Edward Rowland Sill.

From “Poems.”

PLAYING THE GAME

We all like the good sport—­the man who plays fair and courteously and with every ounce of his energy, even when the game is going against him.

  Life is a game with a glorious prize,
    If we can only play it right. 
  It is give and take, build and break,
    And often it ends in a fight;
  But he surely wins who honestly tries
    (Regardless of wealth or fame),
  He can never despair who plays it fair—­
    How are you playing the game?

  Do you wilt and whine, if you fail to win
    In the manner you think your due? 
  Do you sneer at the man in case that he can
    And does, do better than you? 
  Do you take your rebuffs with a knowing grin? 
    Do you laugh tho’ you pull up lame? 
  Does your faith hold true when the whole world’s blue? 
    How are you playing the game?

  Get into the thick of it—­wade in, boys! 
    Whatever your cherished goal;
  Brace up your will till your pulses thrill,
    And you dare—­to your very soul! 
  Do something more than make a noise;
    Let your purpose leap into flame
  As you plunge with a cry, “I shall do or die,”
    Then you will be playing the game.

Anonymous.

WHAT DARK DAYS DO

A real man does not want all his barriers leveled.  He of course welcomes easy tasks, but he welcomes hard ones also.  The difficult or unpleasant thing puts him on his mettle, throws him on his own resources.  It gives him something of

  “The stern joy which warriors feel
  In foemen worthy of their steel.”