Guessing Vs. Knowing

If I were selling nails or glass, or pills or shoes or garden sass, or

honey from the bee--whatever line of goods were mine, I'd study up that

special line and know its history.

If I a stock of rags should keep, I'd read up sundry books on sheep and

wool and how it grows.  Beneath my old bald, freckled roof, I'd store

some facts on warp and woof and other things like those.  I'd try to

know a spinning-jack from patent churn or wagon rack, a loom from

hog-tight fence; and if a man came in to buy, and asked some leading

question, I could answer with some sense.

If I were selling books, I'd know a Shakespeare from an Edgar Poe, a

Carlyle from a Pope; and I would know Fitzgerald's rhymes from Laura

Libbey's brand of crimes, or Lillian Russell's dope.

If I were selling shoes, I'd seize the fact that on gooseberry trees,

good leather doesn't grow; that shoe pegs do not grow like oats, that

cowhide doesn't come from goats--such things I'd surely know.

And if I were a grocer man.  I'd open now and then a can to see what

stuff it held; 'twere better than to writhe in woe and make reply, "I

didn't know," when some mad patron yelled.

I hate to hear a merchant say: "I think that this is splendid hay," "I

guess it's first class tea."  He ought to know how good things are, if

he would sell his silk or tar or other goods to me.  Oh, knowledge is

the stuff that wins; the man without it soon begins to get his trade in

kinks.  No matter where a fellow goes, he's valued for the things he

knows, not for the things he thinks.

                                                                                          by Walt Mason

Random Shots

I shot an arrow into the air, it fell in the distance, I knew not

where, till a neighbour said that it killed his calf, and I had to pay

him six and a half ($6.50).  I bought some poison to slay some rats,

and a neighbour swore that it killed his cats; and, rather than argue

across the fence, I paid him four dollars and fifty cents ($4.50).  One

night I set sailing a toy balloon, and hoped it would soar till it

reached the moon; but the candle fell out, on a farmer's straw, and he

said I must settle or go to law.  And that is the way with the random

shot; it never hits in the proper spot; and the joke you spring, that

you think so smart, may leave a wound in some fellow's heart.

                                                                                           by Walt Mason

The Politician

I will not say that blade is black, nor yet that white is white; for

rash assertions oft come back, and put us in a plight.  Some people

hold that black is white, and some that white is black; to me the

neutral course looks right; I take the middle track.  If I should say

that black is white, and white is black, today, some one would mix the

two tonight--tomorrow they'd be gray.  In politics I wish to thrive,

and swiftly forge ahead, so dare not say that I'm alive, nor swear that

I am dead.  You say that fishes climb the trees, that cows on wings do

fly, I can't dispute such facts as these, so patent to the eye; with

any man I will agree, no odds what he defends, if he will only vote for

me, and boom me to his friends.

From Rippling Rhymes by Walt Mason

Show Me!

I would rather see a Mason, than hear one any day,

I would rather one would walk with me than merely show the way.

The eye's a better pupil and more willing than the ear,

Fine counsel is confusing, but example's always clear.

And the best of all the Masons are the men who live their creeds,

For to see the good in action is what everybody needs.

I can soon learn how to do it if you'll let me see it done,

I can watch your hands in action, but your tongue too fast may run.

And the lectures you deliver may be wise and true,

But I'd rather get my lesson by observing what you do.

For I may misunderstand you and the high advice you give,

But there's no misunderstanding how you act and how you live.

                                                      

                                                                     by Edgar Albert Guest

I Am Habit

It is mighty hard to shake me;

In my brawny arms I take thee;

I can either make or break thee

I am habit!

Through each day I slowly mold thee;

Soon my tight’ning chains enfold thee

Then it is with ease I hold thee

Thus is habit!

I can be both good and vile;

I can e’en be worth your while,

Or cause of your bitter cry;

I am habit!

Oft I’ve proved myself a pleasure

Proved myself a priceless treasure,

Or a menace past all measure

Thus is habit!

Harmless though I sometimes seem, yet

My strange force is like a magnet;

Like a great and greedy dragnet;

I am habit!

Though you sometimes fear or doubt me;

No one yet lived without me;

I am present all about thee;

This is habit!

Choose me well when you are starting

Seldom is easy parting;

I’m devil or darling;

I am habit!

                                 

                                                                  By Robert E. Sly

Adapting Your Message to Your Audience

An old hill farming crofter trudges several miles through freezing snow to his local and very remote chapel for Sunday service. No-one else is there, aside from the clergyman.

"I'm not sure it's worth proceeding with the service - might we do better to go back to our warm homes and a hot drink?.." asks the clergyman, inviting a mutually helpful reaction from his audience of one.

"Well, I'm just a simple farmer," says the old crofter, "But when I go to feed my herd, and if only one beast turns up, I sure don't leave it hungry."

So the clergyman, feeling somewhat ashamed, delivers his service - all the bells and whistles, hymns and readings, lasting a good couple of hours - finishing proudly with the fresh observation that no matter how small the need, our duty remains. And he thanks the old farmer for the lesson he has learned.

"Was that okay?" asks the clergyman, as the two set off home.

"Well I'm just a simple farmer," says the old crofter, "But when I go to feed my herd, and if only one beast turns up, I sure don't force it to eat what I brought for the whole herd..."

From which we see the extra lesson, that while our duty remains regardless of the level of need, we have the additional responsibility to ensure that we adapt our delivery (of whatever is our stock in trade) according to the requirements of our audience.

Only a Dad

Only a dad, with a tired face,

Coming home from the daily race,

Bringing little of gold or fame,

To show how well he has played the game,

But glad in his heart that his own rejoice

To see him come, and to hear his voice.

Only a dad, with a brood of four,

One of ten million men or more.

Plodding along in the daily strife,

Bearing the whips and the scorns of life,

With never a whimper of pain or hate,

For the sake of those who at home await.

Only a dad, neither rich nor proud,

Merely one of the surging crowd

Toiling, striving from day to day,

Facing whatever may come his way,

Silent, whenever the harsh condemn,

And bearing it all for the love of them.

Only a dad, but he gives his all

To smooth the way for his children small,

Doing, with courage stern and grim,

The deeds that his father did for him.

This is the line that for him I pen,

Only a dad, but the best of men.

by Edgar Albert Guest