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The Master of His Fate

From The Birmingham Age Herald, June 26, 1915.

He met each day serenely,
    Without a trace of care;
The weather seemed to suit him,
    If rainy ’twas or fair.

He ne’er was heard complaining
    That fate had used him wrong;
The hills around re-echoed
    The music of his song.

His ways were rough and ready,
    His clothes were common, too;
But he would soon be wealthy,
    As everybody knew.

And on his mighty shoulders
    Life’s burdens lightly lay;
He owned a small repair shop
    Upon a broad highway

Where motor cars disabled
    Were mended in a trice,
And, free from competition
    He charged a fancy price.

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