t. A throb of power and a
moment of perfect rest. A mighty motion that sends the warm red life
through all the intricate machinery of the body; then quiet composed rest.
The secret of the immeasurable power of this organ we call the heart lies
just here. There is enough power in a normal human heart to batter down
Bunker Hill Monument if it could be centered upon it. The secret of that
power is in the rhythm of action that combines motion with rest. We call
rhythm of color, beauty. Rhythm of sound is music. Rhythm of action is
power.

I have often stood as a boy on the streets of old Philadelphia, and
watched a gang of foreign laborers at work. As a rule they could speak
only the language of their own fatherland. There would be a gang-boss to
direct their movements. Perhaps it was a huge stone to be moved, or a
piece of structural iron, or a heavy rail to be torn up. The ends of their
crowbars were fitted under the thing to be moved. Then they waited a
moment for the gang-boss to give the word. He would say, "heave ho!"

Then all together they would sing "heave ho," and push. And a "heave ho,"
and push; a "heave ho," and a push. They made perfect music. There was
always a small crowd gathered, watching and enjoying the simple music.
Their work was easier because done rhythmically. This, of course, is the
simple philosophy that provides music for soldiers on march. The men can
walk much longer, and farther, with less fatigue if they go to the sound
of music.

The story is told of the contracts for some bridge-building in the Soudan
being carried off by American bidders. Their competitors in the bidding
specified a year's time or so, for the work. The Americans agreed to do it
in three months. They were awarded the contract, and to the others'
surprise had the work completed within the specified time.

One of the contractors who had bid for the job on the basis of a year's
time said afterwards to the successful contractor, "I wish, if you
wouldn't mind doing so, you would tell me how you ever got that work done
in so short a time with those undisciplined Soudanese natives for
workmen. I have had them on other contracts and I know I couldn't have
done it. How did you ever do it?"

And the American, whose blood was British a generation or two back, and
farther back yet Teutonic, smiled as he quietly said, "We had a band of
native musicians playing the liveliest music they knew within earshot of
every gang of laborers,