Only after the dark, wet days Do we fully rejoice in the sun's bright rays.

Sweeter the crust tastes after the fast Than the sated gourmand's finest repast.

The faintest cheer sounds never amiss To the actor who once has heard a hiss.

To one who the sadness of freedom knows, Light seem the fetters love may impose.

And he who has dwelt with his heart alone, Hears all the music in friendship's tone.

So better and better I comprehend How sorrow ever would be our friend.

IF

'Twixt what thou art, and what thou wouldst be, let No "If" arise on which to lay the blame.

Man makes a mountain of that puny word, But, like a blade of gra.s.s before the scythe, It falls and withers when a human will, Stirred by creative force, sweeps toward its aim.

Thou wilt be what thou couldst be. Circ.u.mstance Is but the toy of genius. When a soul Burns with a G.o.d-like purpose to achieve, All obstacles between it and its goal Must vanish as the dew before the sun.

"If" is the motto of the dilettante And idle dreamer; 'tis the poor excuse Of mediocrity. The truly great Know not the word, or know it but to scorn, Else had Joan of Arc a peasant died, Uncrowned by glory and by men unsung.

WHICH ARE YOU?

There are two kinds of people on earth to-day; Just two kinds of people, no more, I say.

Not the sinner and saint, for it's well understood The good are half bad, and the bad are half good.

Not the rich and the poor, for to rate a man's wealth You must first know the state of his conscience and health.

Not the humble and proud, for, in life's little span, Who puts on vain airs is not counted a man.

Not the happy and sad, for the swift flying years Bring each man his laughter, and each man his tears.

No; the two kinds of people on earth I mean Are the people who lift, and the people who lean.

Wherever you go, you will find the earth's ma.s.ses Are always divided in just these two cla.s.ses.

And, oddly enough, you will find too, I ween, There's only one lifter to twenty who lean.

In which cla.s.s are you? Are you easing the load Of overtaxed lifters, who toil down the road?

Or are you a leaner, who lets others share Your portion of labour and worry and care?

THE CREED TO BE

Our thoughts are moulding unmade spheres, And, like a blessing or a curse, They thunder down the formless years, And ring throughout the universe.

We build our futures by the shape Of our desires, and not by acts.

There is no pathway of escape; No priest-made creeds can alter facts.

Salvation is not begged or bought; Too long this selfish hope sufficed; Too long man reeked with lawless thought, And leaned upon a tortured Christ.

Like shrivelled leaves, these worn-out creeds Are dropping from Religion's tree; The world begins to know its needs, And souls are crying to be free.

Free from the load of fear and grief, Man fashioned in an ignorant age; Free from the ache of unbelief He fled to in rebellious rage.

No church can bind him to the things That fed the first crude souls, evolved; For, mounting up on daring wings, He questions mysteries all unsolved.

Above the chant of priests, above The blatant voice of braying doubt, He hears the still, small voice of Love, Which sends its simple message out.

And clearer, sweeter, day by day, Its mandate echoes from the skies, "Go roll the stone of self away, And let the Christ within thee rise."

INSPIRATION

Not like a daring, bold, aggressive boy, Is inspiration, eager to pursue, But rather like a maiden, fond, yet coy, Who gives herself to him who best doth woo.

Once she may smile, or thrice, thy soul to fire, In pa.s.sing by, but when she turns her face, Thou must persist and seek her with desire, If thou wouldst win the favour of her grace.

And if, like some winged bird, she cleaves the air, And leaves thee spent and stricken on the earth, Still must thou strive to follow even there, That she may know thy valour and thy worth.

Then shall she come unveiling all her charms, Giving thee joy for pain, and smiles for tears; Then shalt thou clasp her with possessing arms, The while she murmurs music in thine ears.

But ere her kiss has faded from thy cheek, She shall flee from thee over hill and glade, So must thou seek and ever seek and seek For each new conquest of this phantom maid

THE WISH

Should some great angel say to me to-morrow, "Thou must re-tread thy pathway from the start, But G.o.d will grant, in pity, for thy sorrow, Some one dear wish, the nearest to thy heart."

This were my wish!--from my life's dim beginning LET BE WHAT HAS BEEN! wisdom planned the whole My want, my woe, my errors, and my sinning, All, all were needed lessons for my soul.