Stick to it, youth, Be not sudden to fly from it; This is the truth, Triumph may not far lie from it Dark is the morning Before the sun's dawning, Battered and sore of it Bear a bit more of it, Stick to it, even though blacker than ink it is, Victory's nearer, perhaps, than you think it is! _Proud Father_ There's a smile on the face of the mother to-day, The furrows of pain have been scattered away, Her eyes tell a story of wondrous delight As she looks at the baby who came through the night. It's plain she's as happy and proud as can be, But you ought to see me! The nurse wears her cap in its jauntiest style, And she says: "Oh, my dear, there's a baby worth while! She's the pink of perfection, as sweet as a rose, And I never have seen such a cute little nose." Were it proper for nurses she'd dance in her glee, But you ought to see me! Bud's eyes are ablaze with the glory of joy, And he has forgotten he'd asked for a boy. He stands by her crib and he touches her cheek And would bring all the kids on the street for a peek. Oh, the pride in his bearing is something to see, But you ought to see me! You may guess that the heart of the mother is glad, But for arrogant happiness gaze on the dad. For the marvelous strut and the swagger of pride, For the pomp of conceit and the smile satisfied, For joy that's expressed in the highest degree, Take a good look at me! _The Mortgage and the Man_ This is the tale of a mortgage and a dead man and his son, A father who left to his only child a duty that must be done. And the neighbors said as they gathered round in the neighbor's curious way: "Too bad, too bad that he left his boy so heavy a debt to pay." Day by day through the years that came, the mortgage held him fast-- Straight and true to his task he went, and he paid the debt at last; And his arm grew strong and his eye kept bright, and although he never knew, The thing that fashioned a man of him was the task he had to do. Honor and fortune crowned his brow till the day he came to die, But he said: "My boy shall never work against such odds as I. I have planned his years, I have made them safe, I have paid his journey through." And the boy looked out on a world wherein there was nothing for him to do. His hands grew soft and his eyes went dull and his cheeks turned ashy pale, For strength which isn't employed by day, with idleness grows stale. "He is not the man that his father was," the neighbors often said, "And better for him had he been left to work for his meat and bread."