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The Modern Polonius

From the Newark Evening Star, April 22, 1914.

It never pays to whine, my son;
    The world has little time to hear
Complaints from those who have not won
    The prizes that are scarce and dear.
The man who haunts a gloomy nook
    Is never cheered and seldom praised;
Assume an air and try to look
    As if your pay had just been raised.

It never pays, my son, to let
    Your neighbor see your empty purse,
Nor will it help your case to fret
    When things have gone from bad to worse;
When luck deserts you, as it will,
    Conceal the fact from foe and friend
And try to look as if you still
    Had money that you wished to spend.

It never pays, my son, to show
    That fear is lurking in your breast;
When trouble weighs your spirit low
    ’Tis time to smile your merriest.
I cannot tell you how to strut
    With pride when trouble crushes you,
Or how to laugh while grieving, but
    I know it is the thing to do.

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