Moreover as a foil or contrast it enables him to value more truly the good things he constantly enjoys, perhaps without perceiving them.

  I sorter like a gloomy day,
    Th’ kind that jest won’t smile;
  It makes a feller hump hisself
    T’ make life seem wuth while. 
  When sun’s a-shinin’ an’ th’ sky
    Is washed out bright an’ gay,
  It ain’t no job to whistle—­but
    It is—­
      When skies air gray!

  So gloomy days air good fer us,
    They make us look about
  To find our blessin’s—­make us count
    The friends who never doubt,
  Most any one kin smile and joke
    And hold blue-devils back
  When it is bright, but we must work
    T’ grin—­
      When skies air black!

  That’s why I sorter like dark days,
    That put it up to me
  To keep th’ gloom from soakin’ in
    My whole anatomy! 
  An’ if they never come along
    My soul would surely rust—­
  Th’ dark days keeps my cheerfulness
    From draggin’
      In th’ dust!

Everard Jack Appleton.

From “The Quiet Courage.”

GLADNESS

A coal miner does not need the sun’s illumination.  He carries his own light.

  The world has brought not anything
    To make me glad to-day! 
  The swallow had a broken wing,
  And after all my journeying
  There was no water in the spring—­
    My friend has said me nay. 
  But yet somehow I needs must sing
    As on a luckier day.

  Dusk fails as gray as any tear,
    There is no hope in sight! 
  But something in me seems so fair,
  That like a star I needs must wear
  A safety made of shining air
    Between me and the night. 
  Such inner weavings do I wear
    All fashioned of delight!

  I need not for these robes of mine
    The loveliness of earth,
  But happenings remote and fine
  Like threads of dreams will blow and shine
  In gossamer and crystalline,
    And I was glad from birth. 
  So even while my eyes repine,
    My heart is clothed in mirth.

Anna Hempstead Branch.

From “The Shoes That Danced, and Other Poems.”

IT WON’T STAY BLOWED

It is easier to fail than succeed.  It is easier to drift downstream than up.  But just as pent steam finds an escape somewhere, so will the man who persists break at one point or another through confining circumstance.

To the sniffing pickaninny once his good old mammy said,
“Yo’ lil’ black nose am drippin’ from de cold dat’s in yo’ head,
An’ yo’ sleeve am slick and shiny like de hillside when it snows. 
Why doan’ you pump de bellers from de inside ob yo’ nose?”
“Ain’t I been,” the child replied to her, “a-doin’ ob jes’ dat