and may end his career in prison. I say: "Alas! he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle."

In short, I think that the greater part of the miseries of mankind are caused by their giving too much for their whistles.

-Benjamin Franklin.

CHAPTER V

POEMS

THE ARROW AND THE SONG

I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air.

It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong That it can follow the flight of song.

Long, long afterward, in an oak,
I found the arrow still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

THE DANDELION

With locks of gold to-day,
To-morrow silver gray,

Then blossom bald;

Behold, O man, thy fortune told.

-Anonymous.

TO-DAY

So here hath been dawning
Another blue Day:
Think, wilt thou let it
Slip useless away?

Out of Eternity

This new Day is born;
Into Eternity,

At night, will return.

Behold it aforetime

No eye ever did:

So soon it forever

From all eyes is hid.

Here hath been dawning

Another blue Day:
Think, wilt thou let it

Slip useless away?

-Thomas Carlyle.

THE CLOUD

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;

I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken

The sweet birds every one,

When rock'd to rest on their mother's breast,

As she dances about the sun.

I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain; And laugh as I pass in thunder.

I am the daughter of earth and water,
And the nursling of the sky;

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;

I change, but I cannot die.

For after the rain, when with never a stain

The pavilion of heaven is bare,

And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,

I rise and upbuild it again.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley.

WORK

Let me but do my work from day to day,
In field or forest, at the desk or loom,
In roaring market-place or tranquil room;
Let me but find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,
"This is my work; my blessing, not my doom;
Of all who live, I am the one by whom
This work can best be done in the right way.'

Then shall I see it not too great, nor small-
To suit my spirit and to prove my powers;
Then shall I cheerful greet the laboring hours,
And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall

At eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work is best.

THE THINKER

-Henry van Dyke.

Back of the beating hammer

By which the steel is wrought,
Back of the workshop's clamor
The seeker may find the Thought;
The Thought that is ever master
Of iron and steam and steel,
That rises above disaster

And tramples it under heel!

The drudge may fret and tinker
Or labor with dusty blows,
But back of him stands the Thinker,
The clear-eyed man who Knows;

For into each plough or sabre,
Each piece and part and whole,
Must go the Brains of Labor,
Which gives the work a soul!

Back of the motors humming,
Back of the belts that sing,
Back of the hammers drumming,
Back of the cranes that swing,
There is the eye which scans them,
Watching through stress and strain,
There is the Mind which plans them—
Back of the brawn, the Brain!