There are no beaten paths to Glory's height, There are no rules to compass greatness known; Each for himself must cleave a path alone, And press his own way forward in the fight. Smooth is the way to ease and calm delight, And soft the road Sloth chooseth for her own; But he who craves the flower of life full-blown, Must struggle up in all his armor dight! What though the burden bear him sorely down And crush to dust the mountain of his pride, Oh, then, with strong heart let him still abide; For rugged is the roadway to renown, Nor may he hope to gain the envied crown, Till he hath thrust the looming rocks aside. THE LAWYERS' WAYS I 've been list'nin' to them lawyers In the court house up the street, An' I 've come to the conclusion That I'm most completely beat. Fust one feller riz to argy, An' he boldly waded in As he dressed the tremblin' pris'ner In a coat o' deep-dyed sin. Why, he painted him all over In a hue o' blackest crime, An' he smeared his reputation With the thickest kind o' grime, Tell I found myself a-wond'rin', In a misty way and dim, How the Lord had come to fashion Sich an awful man as him. Then the other lawyer started, An' with brimmin', tearful eyes, Said his client was a martyr That was brought to sacrifice. An' he give to that same pris'ner Every blessed human grace, Tell I saw the light o' virtue Fairly shinin' from his face. Then I own 'at I was puzzled How sich things could rightly be; An' this aggervatin' question Seems to keep a-puzzlin' me. So, will some one please inform me, An' this mystery unroll-- How an angel an' a devil Can persess the self-same soul? ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAY Done are the toils and the wearisome marches, Done is the summons of bugle and drum. Softly and sweetly the sky over-arches, Shelt'ring a land where Rebellion is dumb. Dark were the days of the country's derangement, Sad were the hours when the conflict was on, But through the gloom of fraternal estrangement God sent his light, and we welcome the dawn. O'er the expanse of our mighty dominions, Sweeping away to the uttermost parts, Peace, the wide-flying, on untiring pinions, Bringeth her message of joy to our hearts. Ah, but this joy which our minds cannot measure, What did it cost for our fathers to gain! Bought at the price of the heart's dearest treasure, Born out of travail and sorrow and pain; Born in the battle where fleet Death was flying, Slaying with sabre-stroke bloody and fell; Born where the heroes and martyrs were dying, Torn by the fury of bullet and shell. Ah, but the day is past: silent the rattle, And the confusion that followed the fight. Peace to the heroes who died in the battle, Martyrs to truth and the crowning of Right!