THE ONE WITH A SONG
Our greatest glory consists, not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.—Goldsmith.
The cloud-maker says it is going to storm,
And we’re sure to have awful weather,—
Just terribly wet or cold or warm,
Or maybe all three together!
But while his spirit is overcast
With the gloom of his dull repining,
The one with a song comes smiling past,
And, lo! the sun is shining.
A noble manhood, nobly consecrated to man, never dies.—William McKinley.
The cloud-maker tells us the world is wrong,
And is bound in an evil fetter,
But the blue-sky man comes bringing a song
Of hope that shall make it better.
And the toilers, hearing his voice, behold
The sign of a glad to-morrow,
Whose hands are heaped with the purest gold,
Of which each heart may borrow.
It is easy finding reasons why other folks should be patient.—George Eliot.
The one who thinks the world is full of good people and kindly blessings is much richer than the one who thinks to the contrary. Some men live in a world peopled with princes of the royal blood; some in a world of want and wrong-doers. Those whom we distrust are likely to distrust us. To believe a man is a man helps to make him so at heart. To think him a rascal is a start for him in the wrong direction. The world smiles at us if we smile at it; when we frown it frowns. It is the armor of war and not that of love that invites trouble. He who carries a sword is the most likely to find a cause for using it. The man who remembers it was a beautiful day yesterday is a great deal happier than he who is sure it is going to storm to-morrow.
Sympathy is two hearts tugging at one load.—Parkhurst.
Though life is made up of mere bubbles,
’Tis better than many aver,
For while we’ve a whole lot of troubles,
The most of them never occur.
In the thousand and one little everyday affairs of life the man who is disposed to take things by the smooth handles saves himself and those about him an endless amount of worry. The pessimist is an additional sorrow in a world that holds for all of us some glints of sunshine and some shreds of song. It was of one such sorry soul that I penned the lines—
What folly to tear one’s hair in sorrow, just as if grief could be assuaged by baldness.—Cicero.
He growled at morning, noon and night,
And trouble sought to borrow;
On days when all the skies were bright
He knew ’twould storm to-morrow.
A thought of joy he could not stand
And struggled to resist it;
Though sunshine dappled all the land
This sorry pessimist it.
Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every new year find you a better man.—Franklin.
Occasionally we meet a person well along in years who has not yet acquired sufficient wisdom to understand that without some of the elements of a storm in the sky we could never look upon that most marvelously beautiful spectacle—a rainbow.
Give us to go blithely about our business all this day, bring us to our resting beds weary and content and undishonored, and grant us in the end the gift of sleep.—Stevenson.
Without hunger and thirst, food and drink would be superfluous; without cold, warmth would lose its grateful charm; without weariness, rest were of no avail; without grief, gladness would lose its delight. The thoughtful, thankful soul will keep the lips from complaining and the hands from wrong-doing by always supplying them with