roll,
The little he needs that his stomach be whole,
The vastness of vision to sate his soul,
In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much for a man to get
In nineteen hundred and now.
He may drench the earth in vicarious sweat
In nineteen hundred and now.
And his wealth may be but a lifelong itch,
While the lowliest digger within his ditch
May have gained the little to make him rich
In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much for a man to try
In nineteen hundred and now.
The sea is so deep and the hill so high
In nineteen hundred and now.
But sometimes we look at our little ball
Where the smallest is great and the greatest small
And wonder the why and the what of it all
In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much, so we work as we may
In nineteen hundred and now,
And loiter a little along the way
In nineteen hundred and now.
O, the honeybee works, but the honeybee clings
To the flowers of life and the honeybee sings!
Let us eat the sweet and forget the stings
In nineteen hundred and now!

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,
Or 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?

[Illustration]

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Impertinent Poems, by Edmund Vance Cooke

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