"My fodder? Oh well, you see,—no room for that.
I pick as I go, and no chance to get fat.
That poison bulks large,—and the landlords, you see;—
And that Capital's heavy as heavy can be.
Some one's bound to go short, and of course that one's ME."
He kicked up one heel with a snort of disgust,
And—sudden as though by a giant hand thrust,
The top-heavy pack on his lean back revolved,
Came crashing to earth, and in fragments dissolved.
Much surprised,—the old ass, thus set free from his load,
Picked out a soft spot in the nice dusty road,
And laid him down on it and rolled in high glee,
And, as he kicked this way and that, said to me,—
"Say, Man, I have never enjoyed such a roll
Since the day I was born, a silly young foal.
Seems to me, if I'd had half the sense of an ass,
I'd have long since got rid of that troublesome mass.
But now that it's down, why—down it shall stop.
All my life's been down under, but now I'm on top."
Then he came right-side up, pranced about on his load,
And kicked it to pieces all over the road.
And what all this means, I really can't say.
It may not mean much. But—again,—why, it may.
WINNERS OR LOSERS?
Unless our Souls win back to Thee,
We shall have lost this fight.
Yes, though we win on field and sea,
Though mightier still our might may be,
We still shall lose if we win not Thee.
Help us to climb, as in Thy sight,
The Great High Way of Thy Delight.
It is the world-old strife again,—
The fight 'twixt good and ill.
Since first the curse broke out in Cain,
Each age has worn the grim red chain,
And ill fought good for sake of gain.
Help us, through all life's conflict, still
To battle upwards to Thy Will.
Are we to be like all the rest,
Or climb we loftier height?
Can we our wayward steps arrest?—
All life with nobler life invest?—
And so fulfil our Lord's behest?
Help us, through all the world's dark night,
To struggle upwards to the Light.