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.