Part 24

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FAITH

I believe in the world and its bigness and splendor: That most of the hearts beating round us are tender; That days are but footsteps and years are but miles That lead us to beauty and singing and smiles: That roses that blossom and toilers that plod Are filled with the glorious spirit of God.

I believe in the purpose of everything living: That taking is but the forerunner of giving; That strangers are friends that we some day may meet; And not all the bitter can equal the sweet; That creeds are but colors, and no man has said That God loves the yellow rose more than the red.

I believe in the path that to-day I am treading, That I shall come safe through the dangers I'm dreading; That even the scoffer shall turn from his ways And some day be won back to trust and to praise; That the leaf on the tree and the thing we call Man Are sharing alike in His infinite plan.

I believe that all things that are living and breathing Some richness of beauty to earth are bequeathing; That all that goes out of this world leaves behind Some duty accomplished for mortals to find; That the humblest of creatures our praise is deserving, For it, with the wisest, the Master is serving.

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Nobody hates me more than I; No enemy have I to-day That I so bravely must defy; There are no foes along my way, However bitter they may be, So powerful to injure me As I am, nor as quick to spoil The beauty of my bit of toil.

Nobody harms me more than I; No one is meaner unto me; Of all the foes that pass me by I am the worst one that I see. I am the dangerous man to fear; I am the cause of sorrow here; Of all men 'gainst my hopes inclined I am myself the most unkind.

I do more harmful things to me Than all the men who seem to hate; I am the fellow that should be More dreaded than the works of fate. I am the one that I must fight With all my will and all my might; My foes are better friends to me Than I have ever proved to be.

I am the careless foe and mean; I am the selfish rival too; My enmity to me is seen In almost everything I do. More courage it requires to beat Myself, than all the foes I meet; I am more traitorous to me Than other men could ever be.

In every struggle I have lost I am the one that was to blame; My weaknesses cannot be glossed By glib excuses. I was lame. I that would dare for fame or pelf Am far less daring with myself. I care not who my foes may be, I am my own worst enemy.

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THE THINGS THAT HAVEN'T BEEN DONE BEFORE

The things that haven't been done before, Those are the things to try; Columbus dreamed of an unknown shore At the rim of the far-flung sky, And his heart was bold and his faith was strong As he ventured in dangers new, And he paid no heed to the jeering throng Or the fears of the doubting crew.

The many will follow the beaten track With guideposts on the way, They live and have lived for ages back With a chart for every day. Someone has told them it's safe to go On the road he has traveled o'er. And all that they ever strive to know Are the things that were known before.

A few strike out, without map or chart, Where never a man has been, From the beaten paths they draw apart To see what no man has seen. There are deeds they hunger alone to do; Though battered and bruised and sore, They blaze the path for the many, who Do nothing not done before.

The things that haven't been done before, Are the tasks worth while to-day; Are you one of the flock that follows, or Are you one that shall lead the way? Are you one of the timid souls that quail At the jeers of a doubting crew, Or dare you, whether you win or fail, Strike out for a goal that's new?

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REVENGE

If I had hatred in my heart toward my fellow man, If I were pressed to do him ill, to conjure up a plan To wound him sorely and to rob his days of all their joy, I'd wish his wife would go away and take their little boy.

I'd waste no time on curses vague, nor try to take his gold, Nor seek to shatter any plan that he might dearly hold. A crueler revenge than that for him I would bespeak: I'd wish his wife and little one might leave him for a week.

I'd wish him all the loneliness that comes with loss of those Who fill his life with laughter and contentment and repose. I'd wish him empty rooms at night and mocking stairs to squeak That neither wife nor little boy will greet him for a week.

If I despised my fellow man, I'd make my hatred known By wishing him a week or two of living all alone; I'd let him know the torture that is mine to bear to-day, For Buddy and his mother now are miles and miles away.

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PROMOTION

Promotion comes to him who sticks Unto his work and never kicks, Who watches neither clock nor sun To tell him when his task is done; Who toils not by a stated chart, Defining to a jot his part, But gladly does a little more Than he's remunerated for. The man, in factory or shop, Who rises quickly to the top, Is he who gives what can't be bought: Intelligent and careful thought.

No one can say just when begins The service that promotion wins, Or when it ends; 'tis not defined By certain hours or any kind Of system that has been devised; Merit cannot be systemized. It is at work when it's at play; It serves each minute of the day; 'Tis always at its post, to see New ways of help and use to be. Merit from duty never slinks, Its cardinal virtue is--it thinks!