From the Rock Island Argus, November 23, 1912. By Duncan M. Smith. Oh, gladness is a splendid thing For bards to write about When they are very sorely pressed And subjects have run out! Their souls may not be soaked in joy To match the gentle strain And they may have a grouch so large That it would block a train. But still they write of cheerfulness As though it were a part Of their existence and it gushed In torrents from their heart. They put aside their aching tooth, The bill they cannot pay, The rent that’s always overdue, And then they work away. Great gobs of gladness is their theme, The first that comes to hand. They tell the people they should use This one and only brand. But do they use a bit themselves— I mean outside their rime— With which to make a brighter world? I fear they haven’t time. O gladsome gladness, you’re the goods For use in daily life Far better than the grim old grouch Which leads to care and strife! And if the poet does not feel The impulse of his song You’ll find that the advice is good Enough to take along.