Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
  And peered through darkness.  Ah, that night
  Of all dark nights!  And then a speck—­
  It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! 
  It grew to be Time’s burst of dawn. 
  He gained a world; he gave that world
  Its grandest lesson:  “On! sail on!”

Joaquin Miller.

From “Joaquin Miller’s Complete Poems.”

PER ASPERA

A motto has been made of the Latin phrase “per aspera ad astra,” of which the translation sometimes given is “through bolts and bars to the stars.”

  Thank God, a man can grow! 
  He is not bound
  With earthward gaze to creep along the ground: 
  Though his beginnings be but poor and low,
  Thank God, a man can grow! 
  The fire upon his altars may burn dim,
    The torch he lighted may in darkness fail,
    And nothing to rekindle it avail,—­
  Yet high beyond his dull horizon’s rim,
  Arcturus and the Pleiads beckon him.

Florence Earle Coates.

From “Poems.”

TIT FOR TAT

We are quick to notice obstacles, grudges, affronts.  Are we equally quick to recognize the kindly influences that speed us on our way?  The truth is we are each of us a debtor to life, and as honest men we should do all we can to discharge the obligation.

“Life,” you say, “’s an old curmudgeon; yes, a thing whose heart is
flint;
When I ask a friendly greeting, all I get’s an angry glint. 
Let me do it every good turn that I can—­my very best,
Still it strikes me, trips, maligns me, and denies my least request.

  “So,” you say, “my patience ended, I will give it tit for tat.” 

What a bunch of animosities is covered by your hat! 
All the roses life can offer bloom and beckon to your soul,
But you close your eyes to roses and in thorns lie down and roll.

  Life does nothing for you, sonny?  What a notion you have!  Say,

Make a little inventory of its gifts to you to-day. 
You’ve a house or room to sleep in—­did you build it with your hand? 
If you did, who made the hammer and who cleared for you the land?

        And electric lights—­you use them; did you also put them there? 
      Beefsteak, coal, your mail, shoes, street cars—­do they come like
                rain from air? 
      Or do countless men, far-scattered, toil that you may have more
                ease?—­
      Stokers, hodmen, farmers, plumbers, Yankees, dagoes, Japanese?

    “Oh, that’s general,” you tell me.  You have private blessings too. 
  Why, your mother in your childhood slaved and wrought and lived for you. 
  Helpful hands were all around you—­hopes, fond wishes in the past;
  Even now each day from somewhere friendly looks are on you cast.