ses of gloom, fate
comes to our aid and removes most of them altogether.

Let us smile along together,
Be the weather
What it may.
Through the waste and wealth of hours,
Plucking flowers
By the way.
Fragrance from the meadows blowing,
Naught of heat or hatred knowing,
Kindness seeking, kindness sowing,
Not to-morrow, but to-day.

Let us sing along, beguiling
Grief to smiling
In the song.
With the promises of heaven
Let us leaven
The day long,
Gilding all the duller seemings
With the roselight of our dreamings,
Splashing clouds with sunlight's gleamings,
Here and there and all along.

Let us live along, the sorrow
Of to-morrow
Never heed.
In the pages of the present
What is pleasant
Only read.
Bells but pealing, never knelling,
Hearts with gladness ever swelling.
Tides of charity up welling
In our every dream and deed.

Let us hope along together,
Be the weather
What it may,
Where the sunlight glad is shining,
Not repining
By the way.
Seek to add our meed and measure
To the old Earth's joy and treasure,
Quaff the crystal cup of pleasure,
Not to-morrow, but to-day.

_James W. Foley_.

From "The Voices of Song."

OPPORTUNITY

Procrastination is not only the thief of time; it is also the grave of
opportunity.

In an old city by the storied shores
Where the bright summit of Olympus soars,
A cryptic statue mounted towards the light--
Heel-winged, tip-toed, and poised for instant flight.

"O statue, tell your name," a traveler cried,
And solemnly the marble lips replied:
"Men call me Opportunity: I lift
My winged feet from earth to show how swift
My flight, how short my stay--
How Fate is ever waiting on the way."

"But why that tossing ringlet on your brow?"
"That men may seize me any moment: _Now_,
NOW is my other name: to-day my date:
O traveler, to-morrow is too late!"

_Edwin Markham._

From "The Gates of Paradise, and Other Poems."

TO A YOUNG MAN

"Jones write a book! Impossible! I knew his father." This attitude
towards distinction of any sort, whether in authorship or in the field
of action, is characteristic of many of us. We think transcendent
ability is entirely above and apart from the things of ordinary life.
Yet genius itself has been defined as common sense in an uncommon
degree. The great men are human. S