What is Good

"What is the real good?" I asked in musing mood.

Order, said the law court;

Knowledge, said the school;

Truth, said the wise man;

Pleasure, said the fool;

Love, said the maiden;

Beauty, said the page;

Freedom, said the dreamer;

Home, said the sage;

Fame, said the soldier;

Equity, the seer.

Spake my heart full sadly:

"The answer is not here."

Then within my bosom

Softly this I heard:

"Each heart holds the secret:

Kindness is the word."

    By John Boyle O'Reilly

Mail Order Clothes

I bought me a suit of the Sears-buck brand, they said it was tailored and sewed by hand; they said it was woven of finest wool, and couldn't be torn by an angry bull; they said it was fine, and would surely last, till Gabriel tooteth the final blast. It was ten cents cheaper than suits I'd bought, from local dealers, who seemed quite hot, and shed a bucket of briny tears, when I bought my clothes of the Sawbuck Rears. I wore that suit when the day was damp, and it shrunk to the size of a postage stamp; the coat split up and the vest split down and I scared the horses all over town, for the buttons popped and the seams they tore, and the stiches gave, with a sullen roar. And I gave that suit to a maiden small, who found it handy to dress her doll

                                                         by Walt Mason

The House by the Side of the Road

This poem has as its keynote friendship and sympathy for other people. It is a paradox of life that by hoarding love and happiness we lose them, and that only by giving them away can we keep them for ourselves. The more we share, the more we possess. We of course find in other people weaknesses and sins, but our best means of curing these are through a wise and sympathetic understanding.

  Let me live in a house by the side of the road,

    Where the race of men go by

  The men who are good and the men who are bad,

    As good and as bad as I.

  I would not sit in the scorner's seat,

    Or hurl the cynic's ban;

  Let me live in a house by the side of the road

    And be a friend to man.

  I see from my house by the side of the road,

    By the side of the highway of life,

  The men who press with the ardor of hope,

    The men who are faint with the strife.

  But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears

    Both parts of an infinite plan;

  Let me live in my house by the side of the road

    And be a friend to man.

  I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead

    And mountains of wearisome height;

  And the road passes on through the long afternoon

    And stretches away to the night.

  But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,

    And weep with the strangers that moan,

  Nor live in my house by the side of the road

    Like a man who dwells alone.

  Let me live in my house by the side of the road

    Where the race of men go by

  They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,

    Wise, foolish--so am I.

  Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat

    Or hurl the cynic's ban?

  Let me live in my house by the side of the road

    And be a friend to man.

                                                             by Sam Walter Foss

                                                             From "Dreams in Homespun."

The Two Glasses

           

There sat two glasses filled to the brim

On a rich man's table, rim to rim,

One was ruddy and red as blood,

And one was clear as the crystal flood.

Said the Glass of Wine to his paler brother:

"Let us tell tales of the past to each other;

I can tell of banquet and revel and mirth,

Where I was king, for I ruled in might;

For the proudest and grandest souls of earth

Fell under my touch, as though struck with blight.

From the heads of kings I have torn the crown;

From the heights of fame I have hurled men down.

I have blasted many an honored name;

I have taken virtue and given shame;

I have tempted youth with a sip, a taste,

That has made his future a barren waste.

Far greater than any king am I,

Or than any army beneath the sky.

I have made the arm of the driver fail,

And sent the train from the iron rail.

I have made good ships go down at sea.

And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me.

Fame, strength, wealth, genius before me fall;

And my might and power are over all!

Ho, ho, pale brother," said the Wine,

"Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?"

Said the Water Glass: "I cannot boast

Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host;

But I can tell of hearts that were sad,

By my crystal drops made bright and glad;

Of thirsts I have quenched and brows I have laved,

Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved.

I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the                                                                            mountain,

Slipped from the sunshine, and dripped from the fountain,

I have burst my cloud-fetters, and dropped from the sky,

And everywhere gladdened the prospect and eye;

I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain,

I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain.

I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill,

That ground out the flour, and turned at my will.

I can tell of manhood debased by you

That I have uplifted and crowned anew;

I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid,

I gladden the heart of man and maid;

I set the wine-chained captive free,

And all are better for knowing me."

These are the tales they told each other,

The Glass of Wine, and its paler brother,

As they sat together, filled to the brim,

On a rich man's table, rim to rim.

                                      by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Equipment

Figure it out for yourself, my lad,

You've all that the greatest of men have had,

Two arms, two hands, two legs, two eyes,

And a brain to use if you would be wise.

With this equipment they all began,

So start for the top and say "I can."

Look them over, the wise and great,

They take their food from a common plate

And similar knives and forks they use,

With similar laces they tie their shoes,

The world considers them brave and smart.

But you've all they had when they made their start.

You can triumph and come to skill,

You can be great if only you will,

You're well equipped for what fight you choose,

You have legs and arms and a brain to use,

And the man who has risen, great deeds to do

Began his life with no more than you.

                                                       by Edgar A. Guest

Smiles

Smiles bring out the latent energies within us, as water reveals the bright colors in the stone it flows over.

  Smile a little, smile a little,
    As you go along,
  Not alone when life is pleasant,
    But when things go wrong.
  Care delights to see you frowning,
    Loves to hear you sigh;
  Turn a smiling face upon her,
    Quick the dame will fly.

  Smile a little, smile a little,
    All along the road;
  Every life must have its burden,
    Every heart its load.
  Why sit down in gloom and darkness,
    With your grief to sup?
  As you drink Fate's bitter tonic
    Smile across the cup.

  Smile upon the troubled pilgrims
    Whom you pass and meet;
  Frowns are thorns, and smiles are blossoms
    Oft for weary feet.
  Do not make the way seem harder
    By a sullen face,
  Smile a little, smile a little,
    Brighten up the place.

  Smile upon your undone labor;
    Not for one who grieves
  O'er his task, waits wealth or glory;
    He who smiles achieves.
  Though you meet with loss and sorrow
    In the passing years,
  Smile a little, smile a little,
    Even through your tears.

                by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Invictus

Triumph in spirit over adverse conditions is the keynote of this poem of courage undismayed. It rings with the power of the individual to guide his own destiny.

  Out of the night that covers me,
    Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
  I thank whatever gods may be
    For my unconquerable soul.

  In the fell clutch of circumstance
    I have not winced nor cried aloud.
  Under the bludgeonings of chance
    My head is bloody, but unbowed.

  Beyond this place of wrath and tears
    Looms but the Horror of the shade,
  And yet the menace of the years
    Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

  It matters not how strait the gate,
    How charged with punishments the scroll,
  I am the master of my fate:
    I am the captain of my soul.

                    by William Ernest Henley