SOURCES.

I passed a stagnant marsh that lay

.

Beneath a reeking scum of green,

A loathsome puddle by the way;

No sorrier pool was ever seen.

I thought: "How lost to all things pure

And clean and white those foul depths be."— Next day from out that pond obscure Two queenly lilies laughed at me.

I passed a hovel 'round whose door
The signs of penury were strewn;
I saw the grimed and littered floor,

The walls of logs from tree-trunks hewn.

I said: "The gates of life are shut
To those within that wretched pen."

But, lo! from out that lowly hut

Came one to rule the world of men.

-STRICKLAND W. GILLILAN (Success).

STICK TO IT.

Oh! prim little postage stamp, "holding your own"
In a manner so winning and gentle,

That you're "stuck on" your task-(Is that slang?) you'll own,

And yet, you're not two-cent-imental.

I have noted with pride that through thick and through thin

You cling to a thing till you do it,

And, whatever your aim, you are certain to win
Because you seem bound to stick to it.

Sometimes when I feel just like shirking a task
Or "chucking" the work I'm pursuing,
I recall your stick-to-it-ive-ness and I ask,

"Would a postage stamp do as I'm doing?" Then I turn to whatever my hands are about And with fortified purpose renew it,

And the end soon encompass, for which I set out,
If only, like you, I stick to it.

The sages declare that true genius, so-called,
Is simply the will to "keep at it."

A "won't-give-up" purpose is never forestalled,
No matter what foes may combat it.

And most of mankind's vaunted progress is made,
Oh stamp! if the world only knew it,

By noting the wisdom which you have displayed
In sticking adhesively to it.

-NIXON WATERMAN (Success).

FORWARD!

Because you may not scale the mountain peak
To comrade with the thunder-cloud or star,
Because your single arm may be too weak
To break Fate's bar,

Shall you, in sleepy indolence, recline,

Or sigh for sterner souls to lead the way,
Until the sunlight blushes into wine
At your delay?

Because you fear to try the shoreless sea,
Alone, unpiloted across the night,
Because your camp unfortified may be
For final fight,

Despair not! For, if thou but do thy best,
With present weapons against real things,
Remember Heaven, for the final test,

Will lend thee wings!

-ERNEST NEAL LYON.

THE USE.

It is hard to shout when things go wrong,
And the world seems a heartless place;
It is hard, indeed, to whistle a song,
Or go with a smiling face;

It is hard, I know, to endure, ah, me!
When we feel the javelin;

But if all things went right, there would be
No victory to win.

And so, I think, 'twere better to take

The bitter; as well as the sweet,

And bravely bear, though the heart must ache,

And sore must be the feet;

For, were life all felicity,

With never a cross for men,

Oh, where would be the victory,

Or need of Heaven, then?

—GEORGE NEWELL LOVEJOY (Success).

'TIS A LITTLE THING.

'Tis a little thing

To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lip,
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
More exquisite than when nectarian juice
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.
It is a little thing to speak a phrase
Of common comfort, which by daily use
Has almost lost its sense; yet on the ear
Of him who thought to die unrenowned, 'twill fall
Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye
With gentle tears; relax the knotted hand
To know the bonds of fellowship again;
And shed on the departing soul a sense
(More precious than the benison of friends
About the honored death-bed of the rich),
To him who else were lonely, that another
Of the great family is near and feels.

-TALFOURD.