o obdurate I,
Choose thou, before that spirit die,
A piercing pain, a killing sin,
And to my dead heart run them in!

_Robert Louis Stevenson._

MAN, BIRD, AND GOD

Robert Bruce, despairing of his country's cause, was aroused to new hope
and purpose by the sight of a spider casting its lines until at last it
had one that held. In the following passage the poet, uncertain as to
his own future, yet trusts the providence which guides the birds in
their long and uncharted migrations.

I go to prove my soul!
I see my way as birds their trackless way.
I shall arrive! what time, what circuit first,
I ask not: but unless God send his hail
Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow,
In some time, his good time, I shall arrive:
He guides me and the bird. In his good time!

_Robert Browning._

HIS ALLY

The thought of this poem is that a man's best helper may be that which
gives him no direct aid at all--a sense of humor.

He fought for his soul, and the stubborn fighting
Tried hard his strength.
"One needs seven souls for this long requiting,"
He said at length.

"Six times have I come where my first hope jeered me
And laughed me to scorn;
But now I fear as I never feared me
To fall forsworn.

"God! when they fight upright and at me
I give them back
Even such blows as theirs that combat me;
But now, alack!

"They fight with the wiles of fiends escaping
And underhand.
Six times, O God, and my wounds are gaping!
I--reel to stand.

"Six battles' span! By this gasping breath
No pantomime.
Tis all that I can. I am sick unto death.
And--a seventh time?

"This is beyond all battles' soreness!"
Then his wonder cried;
For Laughter, with shield and steely harness,
Stood up at his side!

_William Rose Benet,_

From "Merchants from Cathay."

SUBMISSION

There are times when the right thing to do is to submit. There are times
when the right thing is to strive, to fight. To put forth one's best
effort is itself a reward. But sometimes it brings a material reward
also. The frog that after falling into the churn found that it couldn't
jump out and wouldn't try, was drowned. The frog that kept leaping in
brave but seemingly hopeless endeavor at last churned the milk, mounted
the butter for a final effort, and escaped.

Submission? They have preached at that so long.
As though