My name’s Defeat—­but through the bitter fight,
    To those who know, I’m something more than friend;
  For I can build beyond the wrath of might
    And drive away all yellow from the blend;
  For those who quit, I am the final blow,
    But for the brave who seek their chance to learn,
  I show the way, at last, beyond the foe,
    To where the scarlet flames of triumph burn.

Grantland Rice.

From “The Sportlight.”

LIFE

Most of us have failed or gone astray in one fashion or another, at one time or another.  But we need not become despondent at such times.  We should resolve to reap the full benefit of the discovery of our weakness, our folly.

  All in the dark we grope along,
    And if we go amiss
  We learn at least which path is wrong,
    And there is gain in this.

  We do not always win the race
    By only running right,
  We have to tread the mountain’s base
    Before we reach its height.

* * * * *

  But he who loves himself the last
    And knows the use of pain,
  Though strewn with errors all his past,
    He surely shall attain.

  Some souls there are that needs must taste
    Of wrong, ere choosing right;
  We should not call those years a waste
    Which led us to the light.

Etta Wheeler Wilcox.

From “Poems of Power.”

A TOAST TO MERRIMENT

A lady said to Whistler that there were but two painters—­himself and
Velazquez.  He replied:  “Madam, why drag in Velazquez?” So it is with
Joyousness and Gloom.  Both exist,—­but why drag in Gloom?

  Make merry!  Though the day be gray
  Forget the clouds and let’s be gay! 
    How short the days we linger here: 
    A birth, a breath, and then—­the bier! 
  Make merry, you and I, for when
  We part we may not meet again!

  What tonic is there in a frown? 
  You may go up and I go down,
    Or I go up and you—­who knows
    The way that either of us goes? 
  Make merry!  Here’s a laugh, for when
  We part we may not meet again!

  Make merry!  What of frets and fears? 
  There is no happiness in tears. 
    You tremble at the cloud and lo! 
    ’Tis gone—­and so ’tis with our woe,
  Full half of it but fancied ills. 
  Make merry!  ’Tis the gloom that kills.

  Make merry!  There is sunshine yet,
  The gloom that promised, let’s forget,
    The quip and jest are on the wing,
    Why sorrow when we ought to sing? 
  Refill the cup of joy, for then
  We part and may not meet again.

  A smile, a jest, a joke—­alas! 
  We come, we wonder, and we pass. 
    The shadow falls; so long we rest
    In graves, where is no quip or jest. 
  Good day!  Good cheer!  Good-bye!  For then
  We part and may not meet again!