Tag: Henry Howland

From the Rock Island Argus, September 15, 1914. By Henry Howland.

It’s easy to be boasting when all your ventures pay;
It’s easy to be cheerful when good things come your way;
It’s easy to speak proudly to every one you meet,
Except when you are feeling the bruises of defeat.

It’s easy to talk bravely when danger is not near;
It’s easy to have courage when there is naught to fear;
It’s easy to be boasting when you are safe ashore,
That you hear only music when angry billows roar.

It’s easy to cry, “Coward”—when you have not been tried—
At him who runs from danger, forgetting manly pride;
It’s easy to be telling how fearless you would be
When all is peaceful round you, as far as you can see.

From the Rock Island Argus, September 12, 1914. By Henry Howland.

Men pitied him because he was so blind.
    They wondered why he neither saw nor guessed;
His wife had woeful narrowness of mind,
    And meager were the charms that she possessed.
To petty jealousies she grimly clung,
    And there was venom on her busy tongue.

Men pitied him because he lacked the wit
    To see how shamefully he was betrayed,
Because he was content to meekly sit
    In silence while her meanness was displayed,
Because through spite and jealousy and hate
    She caused his friends to leave him to his fate.

Men pitied him because he lacked the heart
    To suffer through her tyranny no more;
But they were foolish thus to take his part,
    To think his case was one they might deplore;
Within his corner silently he sat
    And thought her something to be marveled at.

From the Rock Island Argus, September 7, 1914. By Henry Howland.

When things have all gone wrong, when they
    Whom you have deemed your friends have turned,
Because ill luck has come your way,
    And sought their pleasures, unconcerned;
When all your plans have gone amiss
    And all your hopes have taken flight,
Then you have need of her fond kiss
    Who waits to welcome you, at night.

When Fate has been inclined to cheat
    You of rewards you hoped to claim,
When, with the bruises of defeat,
    And bending under bitter blame,
You turn, at night, to them who still
    Are faithful, patient, loving, just,
You need the little one to fill
    Your heart with hope, your soul with trust.

When all goes well, when Fortune beams
    Upon you with her fairest smile;
When Luck befriends you and it seems
    That effort still is well worth while,
When smiling flatterers proceed
    To put your lingering doubts to flight,
You may forget that you have need
    Of them who wait for you at night.

The sky that is today so blue
    May cease tomorrow to be clear;
The friends who now appear so true
    May shun you when you need their cheer;
But they who nightly give you kind
    Glad greetings, faithfully will wait;
Be true to them, for you will find
    That they are needed, soon or late.

From the Rock Island Argus, August 26, 1914. By Henry Howland.

We’ve made gains at Pumpkin Center, as the census figures show;
We have twice the population that we had ten years ago;
We have outstripped Cherry Valley and left Podunk in the rear;
We are catchin’ up with Bingtown and are crowding Rensaleer;
By annexin’ all our suburbs we have made a mighty stride,
So you’ll see it ain’t no wonder we are full of civic pride.

Yes, our grafters keep on graftin’ in the same old busy way;
There’s another scandal started nearly every other day;
Can’t somehow persuade the voters that it wouldn’t be a crime
To quit votin’ the same tickets that their dads did in their time;
Got a council full of rascals; gettin’ robbed on every side,
But we’ve gained in population and are full of civic pride.

There is rubbish in our alleys and the air is full of smoke;
We’ve a waterworks department, but it’s got to be a joke;
There is graftin’ in the courthouse, likewise in city hall;
The streets are full of mudholes and get no repairs at all;
We’re in debt and gettin’ deeper so the crooks can be supplied,
But we’ve outstripped Cherry Valley and are full of civic pride.

We should have another schoolhouse—issued bonds a year ago;
It appears the grafters somehow gobbled up the money, though;
We’ve a law forbiddin’ gamblin’, but the gamblers never mind,
And the town looks like the dickens, but we’ve left Podunk behind;
We are catchin’ up with Bingtown; we’ve spread out on every side,
So you’ll see it ain’t no wonder we are full of civic pride.

From the Rock Island Argus, August 5, 1914. By Henry Howland.

The skies cannot always be clear, my dear;
The merriest eye may still have its tear;
The sorrow that lurks in your bosom today,
Like the clouds, when you’ve wept, will go floating away,
And the skies will be blue that are sullen and gray,
        My dear.

If it’s going to rain, my dear, it will rain;
The day will not brighten because you complain;
There are sorrows that every good woman must bear,
There are griefs of which every good man has a share;
It is only the fool who has never a care,
        My dear.

The skies cannot always be clear, my dear;
Sweets wouldn’t be sweet were no bitterness here;
There could never be joy if there never was sorrow,
The sob of today may be laughter tomorrow;
There is gladness as well as black trouble to borrow,
        My dear.

From the Rock Island Argus, August 4, 1914. By Henry Howland.

If I possessed an income, say,
    Of thirty thousand dollars yearly
And had it fixed in such a way
    That I could see it coming clearly;
If, whether I should work or not,
    The money kept on rolling to me,
I do not think a dismal thought
    Would ever stubbornly pursue me.

If such an income could be mine
    And I were young as well as wealthy,
If ladies thought my gifts divine,
    And I were handsome, too, and healthy,
If men should always speak of me
    In terms that were most eulogistic,
I don’t think I should ever be
    A fretful man or pessimistic.

If I had all the blessings which
    Lie out beyond my reach at present;
If I were handsome, young and rich
    And my surroundings were all pleasant,
I might have freedom from regret;
    The chances are, though, that I shouldn’t,
For still, no doubt, I’d long to get
    Some other something that I couldn’t.

From the Rock Island Argus, July 24, 1914. By Henry Howland.

Oh, smiling lady, your jewels flash,
    Your furs are rich and your eyes are bright,
With a lavish hand you are spending cash,
    You know no want and your heart is light;
You look so glad and you seem so free
    From the cares that worrying people know
That I wonder, seeing your ecstasy,
    Who was paying your bills a year ago.

Perhaps he lingers alone somewhere,
    Or another may bring him gladness now;
The lines that are drawn by the hand of Care
    May be deeply etched in his aching brow;
Remorse may gnaw at his lonely heart,
    Or another may hear him whisper low;
But you, made up with consummate art—
    Who was paying your bills a year ago?

You do not wail o’er the cost of things,
    Whatever your fancy craves you take;
Your hands are laden with flashing rings
    And your fingers never from toiling ache;
You give no thought to the ones who shrink
    Where a chill creeps in when the mad winds blow;
Your furs are soft and your cheeks are pink;
    Who was paying your bills a year ago?

Oh, lady fair, in another year
    You may wonder how, in your careless pride
You forgot to pause and declined to hear
    The helpless who in their sadness cried;
You may sit alone where the light is dim
    And mourn the fate that has brought you low,
As you think sometimes with a pang of him
    Who was paying your bills a year ago.

From the Rock Island Argus, July 16, 1914. By Henry Howland.

A man prefers the one who makes him laugh;
    The cares that he must carry through the day
Are forgotten or diminished more than half
    If there’s just a chance to laugh along the way!
        But woman—ah, God bless her—
            How her heart does ever leap
        With love—true love and tender—
            For the man who makes her weep!

I like the maid who gives me cause to smile,
    I love the child that gives me little care;
Men praise the ones who keep them laughing while
    They bend beneath the burdens they must bear.
        But woman—ah, God bless her!—
            Her love is true and deep
        For the child that brings her sorrow
            And the man who makes her weep.

From the Rock Island Argus, July 9, 1914. By Henry Howland.

They give the devil hoofs and horns
    Who picture him with brush or pen,
So that whoever fears or scorns
    The dread arch enemy of men
May know him for a fiend, may know
    The cunning that is in his glances,
And, therefore, meet him as a foe
    However slyly he advances.

They err who have him thus portrayed
    So that all men may know him well;
He comes without a hoof displayed
    Or anything that smacks of hell;
He comes fair-fronted, with a smile
    That quickly rids us of suspicion
And makes us think him splendid while
    He guides us downward to perdition.

From the Rock Island Argus, July 6, 1914. By Henry Howland.

Pray sometimes for the succor that the mighty among us need;
Pray for the kindness needed by the led and the ones who lead;
Pray when the day is ended and pray when the day begins
For the strength you need and the guidance and the pardoning of your sins,
But know that the Lord who watches o’er peasants and priests and kings
Blesses in fullest measure the men who are doing things.

Pray when the light is breaking for wisdom and strength and grace;
Pray when the day has ended and the stars gleam cold in space;
But the day was made for toiling; let the monk in his cloister pray;
Out in the world is duty claiming your care by day;
God in the great beginning wrought with a mighty hand,
Pausing not till His glory spread over sea and land.

They are lost who mumble prayers when the sun is high,
Turning away from duty, fearing to dare or try;
Sitting in dark seclusion, selfishly asking there
Glory in heaven as payment for the zeal that they show in prayer;
Over their heads the gleaming sword of destruction swings,
While God in His mercy listens to the men who are doing things.