er whimper at the blow.

If I had youth no chains of fear should bind me;
I'd brave the heights which older men must shun.
I'd leave the well-worn lanes of life behind me,
And seek to do what men have never done.
Rich prizes wait for those who do not waver;
The world needs men to battle for the truth.
It calls each hour for stronger hearts and braver.
This is the age for those who still have youth!

Looking Back

I might have been rich if I'd wanted the gold instead of the friendships
I've made.
I might have had fame if I'd sought for renown in the hours when I
purposely played.
Now I'm standing to-day on the far edge of life, and I'm just looking
backward to see
What I've done with the years and the days that were mine, and all that
has happened to me.

I haven't built much of a fortune to leave to those who shall carry my
name,
And nothing I've done shall entitle me now to a place on the tablets of
fame.
But I've loved the great sky and its spaces of blue; I've lived with the
birds and the trees;
I've turned from the splendor of silver and gold to share in such pleasures
as these.

I've given my time to the children who came; together we've romped and
we've played,
And I wouldn't exchange the glad hours spent with them for the money that
I might have made.
I chose to be known and be loved by the few, and was deaf to the plaudits
of men;
And I'd make the same choice should the chance come to me to live my life
over again.

I've lived with my friends and I've shared in their joys, known sorrow with
all of its tears;
I have harvested much from my acres of life, though some say I've
squandered my years.
For much that is fine has been mine to enjoy, and I think I have lived to
my best,
And I have no regret, as I'm nearing the end, for the gold that I might
have possessed.

God Made This Day for Me

Jes' the sort o' weather and jes' the sort of sky
Which seem to suit my fancy, with the white clouds driftin' by
On a sea o' smooth blue water. Oh, I ain't an egotist,
With an "I" in all my thinkin', but I'm willin' to insist
That the Lord who made us humans an' the birds in every tree
Knows my special sort o' weather an' he made this day fer me.

This is jes' my style o' weather--sunshine floodin' all the place,
An' the breezes from the eastward blowin' gently on my face;
An' the woods chock full o' singin' till you'd