FRIENDS OF MINE

We like to be hospitable. To what should we be more hospitable than a glad spirit or a kind impulse?

Good-morning, Brother Sunshine, Good-morning, Sister Song, I beg your humble pardon If you've waited very long.

I thought I heard you rapping, To shut you out were sin, My heart is standing open, Won't you walk right in?

Good-morning, Brother Gladness, Good-morning, Sister Smile, They told me you were coming, So I waited on a while.

I'm lonesome here without you, A weary while it's been, My heart is standing open, Won't you walk right in?

Good-morning, Brother Kindness, Good-morning, Sister Cheer, I heard you were out calling, So I waited for you here.

Some way, I keep forgetting I have to toil or spin When you are my companions, Won't you walk right in?

_James W. Foley._

From "The Voices of Song."

THE WOMAN WHO UNDERSTANDS

"Is this the little woman that made this great war?" was Lincoln's greeting to Harriet Beecher Stowe. Often a woman is responsible for events by whose crash and splendor she herself is obscured. Often too she shapes the career of husband or brother or son. A man succeeds and reaps the honors of public applause, when in truth a quiet little woman has made it all possible--has by her tact and encouragement held him to his best, has had faith in him when his own faith has languished, has cheered him with the unfailing a.s.surance, "You can, you must, you will."

_Somewhere she waits to make you win, your soul in her firm, white hands-- Somewhere the G.o.ds have made for you, the Woman Who Understands!_

As the tide went out she found him Lashed to a spar of Despair, The wreck of his Ship around him-- The wreck of his Dreams in the air; Found him and loved him and gathered The soul of him close to her heart-- The soul that had sailed an uncharted sea, The soul that had sought to win and be free-- The soul of which _she_ was part!

And there in the dusk she cried to the man, "Win your battle--you can, you can!"

Broken by Fate, unrelenting, Scarred by the lashings of Chance; Bitter his heart--unrepenting-- Hardened by Circ.u.mstance; Shadowed by Failure ever, Cursing, he would have died, But the touch of her hand, her strong warm hand, And her love of his soul, took full command, Just at the turn of the tide!

Standing beside him, filled with trust, "Win!" she whispered, "you must, you must!"

Helping and loving and guiding, Urging when that were best, Holding her fears in hiding Deep in her quiet breast; This is the woman who kept him True to his standards lost, When, tossed in the storm and stress of strife, He thought himself through with the game of life And ready to pay the cost.

Watching and guarding, whispering still, "Win you can--and you will, you will!"

This is the story of ages, This is the Woman's way; Wiser than seers or sages, Lifting us day by day; Facing all things with a courage Nothing can daunt or dim, Treading Life's path, wherever it leads-- Lined with flowers or choked with weeds, But ever with him--with him!

Guidon--comrade--golden spur-- The men who win are helped by _her_!

_Somewhere she waits, strong in belief, your soul in her firm, white hands: Thank well the G.o.ds, when she comes to you--the Woman Who Understands!_

_Everard Jack Appleton._

From "The Quiet Courage."

WANTED--A MAN

Business and the world are exacting in their demands upon us. They make no concessions to half-heartedness, incompetence, or plodding mediocrity.

But for the man who has proved his worth and can do the exceptional things with originality and sound judgment, they are eagerly watchful and have rich rewards.

You say big corporations scheme To keep a fellow down; They drive him, shame him, starve him too If he so much as frown.

G.o.d knows I hold no brief for them; Still, come with me to-day And watch those fat directors meet, For this is what they say:

"In all our force not one to take The new work that we plan!

In all the thousand men we've hired Where shall we find a man?"

The world is shabby in the way It treats a fellow too; It just endures him while he works, And kicks him when he's through.

It's ruthless, yes; let him make good, Or else it grabs its broom And grumbles: "What a clutter's here!

We can't have this. Make room!"

And out he goes. It says, "Can bread Be made from mouldy bran?

The men come swarming here in droves, But where'll I find a man?"

Yes, life is hard. But all the same It seeks the man who's best.

Its grudging makes the prizes big; The obstacle's a test.

Don't ask to find the pathway smooth, To march to fife and drum; The plum-tree will not come to you; Jack Horner, hunt the plum.

The eyes of life are yearning, sad, As humankind they scan.

She says, "Oh, there are men enough, But where'll I find a man?"

_St. Clair Adams._

IF I SHOULD DIE

A man whose word is as good as his bond is a man the world admires. It is related of Fox that a tradesman whom he long had owed money found him one day counting gold and asked for payment. Fox replied: "No; I owe this money to Sheridan. It is a debt of honor. If an accident should happen to me, he has nothing to show." The tradesman tore his note to pieces: "I change my debt into a debt of honor." Fox thanked him and handed over the money, saying that Sheridan's debt was not of so long standing and that Sheridan must wait. But most of us know men who are less scrupulous than Fox.

If I should die to-night And you should come to my cold corpse and say, Weeping and heartsick o'er my lifeless clay-- If I should die to-night, And you should come in deepest grief and woe-- And say: "Here's that ten dollars that I owe,"

I might arise in my large white cravat And say, "What's that?"

If I should die to-night And you should come to my cold corpse and kneel, Clasping my bier to show the grief you feel, I say, if I should die to-night And you should come to me, and there and then Just even hint 'bout payin' me that ten, I might arise the while, But I'd drop dead again.