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.