How Did You Die?

DID YOU TACKLE that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
A trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that!
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there-that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye.
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;
It's how did you fight-and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could;
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?

--Edmund Vance Cooke

I Know Something Good About You

WOULDN'T THIS old world be better
If the folks we meet would say-
"I know something good about you!"
And treat us just that way?

Woudn't it be fine and dandy
If each handclasp, fond and true-
Carried with it this assurance-
"I know something good about you!"

Wouldn't life be lots more happy
If the good that's in us all
Were the only thing about us
That folks bothered to recall?

Woudn't life be lots more happy
If wer praised the good we see?
For there's sucha lot of goodness
In the worst of you and me!

Wouldn't if be nice to practice
That fine way of thinking, too?
You know someting good about me,
I know something good about you?

--Louise C. Shimon

Then Laugh

BUILD FOR YOURSELF a strong box,
Fashion each part with care;
When it's strong as your hand can make it,
Put all your troubles there;
Hide there are thought of your failures,
And each bitter cup that you quaff;
Lock all your heartaches within it,
Then sit on the lid and laugh.

Tell no one else its contents,
Never its secrets share;
When you've dropped in your care and worry
Keep them forever there;
Hide them from sight so completely
That the world will never dream half;
Fasten the strong box securely-
Then sit on the lid and laugh.

--Bertha Adams Backus

How To Be Happy

ARE YOU ALMOST DISGUSTED with life, little man?
I'll tell you a wonderful trick
That will bring you contentment, if anything can,
Do something for somebody, quick!

Are you awfully tired with play, little girl?
Wearied, discouraged, and sick-
I'll tell you the loveliest gave in the world,
Do something for somebody, quick!

Though it rains, like the rain of the flood, little man,
And the clouds are forbidding and thick,
You can make the sun shine in your soul, little man,
Do something for somebody, quick!

Though the stars are like brass overhead, little girl,
And the walks like a well-heated brick,
And our earthly affairs in a terrible whirl,
Do something for somebody, quick!

--Unknown

It Isn't The Church it's You

IF YOU WANT to have the kind of a church
Like the kind of a church you like,
You needn't slip your clothes in a grip
And start on a long, long hike.

You'll only find what you left behind,
For there's nother really new.
It's a knock at yourself when you knock your church;
It isn't the church-it's you.

When everything seems to be going wrong,
And trouble seems ever here brewing;
When prayer meeting, Young People's meeting, and all,
Seem simmering slowly-stewing,
Just take a look at yourself and say,
"What's the use of being blue?"
Are you doing your "bit" to make things "hit"?
It isn't the church-it's you.

It's really strange sometimes, don't you know,
That things go as well as they do,
When we think of the little-the very small mite-
We add to the work of the few.
We sit, and stand round, and complain of what's done,
And do very little but fuss.
Are we bearing our share of the burdens to bear?
It isn't the church-it's you.

So, if you want to have the kind of a church
Like the kind of a church you like,
Put off your guile, and put on your best smile,
and hike, my brother, just hike,
To the work in hand that has to be done-
The work of saving a few.
It isn't the church that is wrong, my boy;
It isn't the church-it's you.

--Unknown

A Bag Of Tools

ISN'T IT strange
That princes and kings,
And clowns that caper
In sawdust rings,
And common people
Like you and me
Are builders for eternity?

Each is given a bag of tools,
A shapeless mass,
A book of rules;
And each must make-
Ere life is flown-
A stumbling block
Or a steppingstone.

--R. L. Sharpe