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Luella Clark (Battle of Life)

The Battle of Life.

O forth to the battle of life, my boy, Go while it is called to-day; For the years go out, and the years come in, Regardless of those who may lose or win- Of those who may work or play.

To the army gone before; You may hear the sound of their falling feet, Going down to the river where the two worlds meet:

They go to return no more.

There is room for you in the ranks, my boy, And duty, too, assigned.

Step into the front with a cheerful grace- Be quick, or another may take your place, And you may be left behind.

There is work to do by the way, my boy, That you never can tread again; Work for the loftiest, lowliest men- Work for the plough, adz, spindle, and pen ; Work for the hands and the brain.

Then go to the battle of life, my boy, In the beautiful days of youth; Put on the helmet, breastplate, and shield, And the sword that the feeblest arm may wield In the cause of right and truth. 666 WAN "Wanted, a Boy."

ANTED, a boy!' Well, how glad I am To know that I was the first to see The daily paper-so early, too- Few boys are up-'tis lucky for me."

You hurry away through quiet streets, Breathlessly reaching the office door Where a boy was wanted, and lo! you find It thronged and besieged by at least a score. "Wanted, a boy!" So the place was gone; You did not get it? Well, never mind.

The world is large, and a vacant place Is somewhere in it for you to find; Perhaps by long and devious ways, With perils to face, and battles to win, Obstacles great to be overcome, Before you reach it, and enter in.

Philosophy surely wanted a boy, While Franklin worked at a printer's ease; Mechanics, when, low in the darkened mine, By an engine, Stephenson found his place; Nature, while Linnæus, crushed and tried As a cobbler, toiled out his sunless youth; Freedom, ere Washington reached her arms From childhood, up by the way of truth. "Wanted, a boy!" 't is written above Coveted places of highest renown; But the ladder of labor must ever be trod By boyish feet, ere the sign comes down.

There are humble names half hidden now On the school day-roll, 'mong many a score,