We left her sleeping in her bed And tiptoed gently from her room, And when the soft "good night" was said, The parting brought no touch of gloom. She would be there when we should rise, To greet us with her lovely smile-- The sunbeams dancing in her eyes, And night seemed such a little while. Her spirit, till the break of day, Would leave this little world of ours For brighter realms wherein to play, Where fairies danced among the flowers. Sometimes we watched her as she dreamed And knew that she was free from care, And always lovelier she seemed When morning found her smiling there. "Good night, good night! sweet Marjorie!" We will be brave with you away. Some glad to-morrow there shall be, We'll come to you at break of day. _The Man Who Gets Promoted_ The ordinary fellow does an ordinary task, He's mighty fond of "good enough" and lets it go at that; But the chap who gets promoted, or the raise he doesn't ask, Has just a little something more than hair beneath his hat. The ordinary fellow lives an ordinary day, With the ordinary fellow he is anxious to be quit; But the chap who draws attention and the larger weekly pay, Has a vision for the future and is working hard for it. He tackles every problem with the will to see it through, He does a little thinking of the work that comes to hand; His eyes are always open for the more that he can do, You never find him idle, merely waiting a command. The ordinary fellow does precisely as he's told, But someone has to tell him what to do, and how, and when; But the chap who gets promoted fills the job he has to hold With just a little something more than ordinary men. _The Lesson of the Crate_ It seemed an unimportant task, Too trifling for a chief to ask, A little thing, nor could he see The need to do it thoroughly; He fancied none could ever tell Whether he did it very well Or slighted it, yet, truth to say, On him depended much that day. He was to nail a wooden crate, No chance in that for splendor great, No chance to prove his gift of skill, A thankless post was his to fill; Well nailed or not, 'twould be the same, The world would never learn his name-- And yet that wooden crate was filled With what had taken months to build. He did not see or understand Just what was passing 'neath his hand-- That as that wooden crate was nailed, A plan succeeded or it failed; That miles away men stood in wait Depending on that simple crate, For not a wheel could turn or drive Until it safely should arrive. He drove his nails, and let it go, Thinking that none would ever know Whose hand had held the hammer there Or, knowing it, would ever care; Yet in a few brief days there came The news that burned his cheeks with shame: "Broken in shipment and we stay Facing another month's delay."