courage it daily is crushing;
It blights a man's purpose and shortens his aim.
Despise it with all of your hatred of error;
Refuse it the lodgment it seeks in your brain;
Arm against it as a creature of terror,
And all that you dream of you some day shall gain.

_Can't_ is the word that is foe to ambition,
An enemy ambushed to shatter your will;
Its prey is forever the man with a mission
And bows but to courage and patience and skill.
Hate it, with hatred that's deep and undying,
For once it is welcomed 'twill break any man;
Whatever the goal you are seeking, keep trying
And answer this demon by saying: "I _can_."

{54}

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

_Written July 22, 1916, when the
world lost its "Poet of Childhood."_

There must be great rejoicin' on the Golden
Shore to-day,
An' the big an' little angels must be feelin'
mighty gay:
Could we look beyond the curtain now I fancy
we should see
Old Aunt Mary waitin', smilin', for the coming
that's to be,
An' Little Orphant Annie an' the whole excited
pack
Dancin' up an' down an' shoutin': "Mr. Riley's
comin' back!"

There's a heap o' real sadness in this good old
world to-day;
There are lumpy throats this morning now that
Riley's gone away;
There's a voice now stilled forever that in
sweetness only spoke
An' whispered words of courage with a faith that
never broke.
There is much of joy and laughter that we
mortals here will lack,
But the angels must be happy now that Riley's
comin' back.

The world was gettin' dreary, there was too
much sigh an' frown
In this vale o' mortal strivin', so God sent Jim
Riley down,
An' He said: "Go there an' cheer 'em in your
good old-fashioned way,
With your songs of tender sweetness, but don't
make your plans to stay,
Coz you're needed up in Heaven. I am lendin'
you to men
Just to help 'em with your music, but I'll want
you back again."

An' Riley came, an' mortals heard the music of
his voice
An' they caught his songs o' beauty an' they
started to rejoice;
An' they leaned on him in sorrow, an' they
shared with him their joys,
An' they walked with him the pathways that
they knew when they were boys.
But the heavenly angels missed him, missed his
tender, gentle knack
Of makin' people happy, an'