Poem from The News Scimitar, September 13, 1919. By Roy K. Moulton.
Posts tagged as “The News Scimitar”
From The News Scimitar, July 22, 1919. By Roy K. Moulton.
Don't refuse to run the race of life because you are handicapped. Instead, let your handicap be as a spur in your side to urge you on to more speed and effort and thus enable you to win out.
Did you ever think of cheerfulness as a financial asset - something that is money in your pocket, and that is legal tender for food and drink, and lodging and clothes, and with which you can buy success and popularity and all the good things of life?
Well, it is.
I know an old man who has a standardized gift that he makes to every bride who invites him to her wedding. He invariably gives her a little savings bank book that he has opened for her with $50 deposited to her credit. And as he hands it to her he makes her a little speech that runs something like this.
Mr. John Robert Gregg - the man who put the extra short in shorthand - was asked to address the graduating class of the secretarial course of the Central Y. W. C. A. in New York. Wishing to give these girls some really practical and helpful advice instead of the usual flubdub platitudes that are handed to the sweet girl graduate on such occasion, Mr. Gregg asked a number of business men with whom he habitually lunches what he should say.
The one thing about poverty that the poor woman finds it harder to endure than everything else combined, is the thought that she cannot give her children the advantages that rich people can give theirs.
The other day a happy young man,
Connected with our office,
Took unto himself a wife,
And he came down to the old dump
The next day after the ceremony
To hear what people would say.
The government is making a last appeal to you for help, and it's just as much your duty to respond to it as it was to observe meatless and wheatless days, and put your new hat money into thrift stamps, and roll bandages, or do any of the other things that you did during the war, and showed Uncle Sam that he could depend on his daughters just as surely as he could upon his sons.
On a large plantation in Virginia, as far back in the ante bellum days as 1820, lived an old colored man, called by all who knew him as "Uncle Alex."