The silver state. [volume] (Winnemucca, Nev.) 1909-1925, 1915-06-19
IN PRAISE OF Myself

And Love, like a traitor, when wrinkles
come. will silently sneak away.
I am weary of lays of Friendship, too,
of the truth that lever turns,
CT the trusting hearts and the helping
hands. and the faith that forever
burns;
For when Fate may frown, and when
Fortune flies, and your golden age
is done,
You will find at last, wherever you go,
there is left of your friends not
one.
| am weary alike of prayer, of beseech-
ing of pitiless skies,
OF the walls for help, of the shrieks
for aid, as the wretch in anguish
dies;
For the gods help those who uplift the
sword, not those who as beggars
come;
To the rich they give, from the poor
they take, to the weak are leaf and
dumb.
Whenever you hang on another's arm
the soul of your strength is past;
When you give your fate to another's
hands, the die of your doom is cast
Whenever you humble for mercy here
the day of defeat draws nigh;
Whenever you weep, whenever you
wall, you are left to droop and die.
Whenever you win a battle of life,
reap riches or gain renown,
No hand but your own on the flaming
field will place on your head the
crown.
IL the palms you wear, if the bays you
wear, if you heap and hoard your
pelf,
No finger will lift from a friendly
hand till first you have helped your.
self.
care not what men or women may
say when of outside aid they tell
For work others do can never suit you
you only can do it well.
And ! know this truth, that if win /
will, / must win by force of might;
What gift | crave, what reward ! seek,
| lose If / do not fight.
Whatever a friend may do for a friend
is only reflected light,
From the Sun of Self, of splendor the
HOuIIC. anu NlbHOtt W0ltH dii II
night.
Whenever the fang of a foeman stings.
infection never takes place,
Unless I myself have poisoned myself,
nourishing grated disgrace.
So I praise myself for the fights i
have fought, for the enemies under
foot hurled,
And | love myself, and I hug myself,
as | face a hostile world;
And ! praise myself hat / needed not
the Kisses and boots and ieers,
And with bulldog grip have chung to
my rights thro' all of the ~friendless
years.
Tho I Numbered oft and / stumbled
oft, while bleeding from thrust on
thrust,
| have faced all foes, have endured ali
blows, have risen when hurled to
dust.
Tho many my faults, and nv passions
strong, and the sins of self were to
down,
| have forged ahead, and nv brow de
serves, tho it never wear, a crown
Sc ! praise myself for the fights ]
have fought against all the hosts
of He'll,
Tho ] knew at last was a greedy,
grave, and a shroud and a funeral
bell.
| have trod the path which, I know
not why, leads on to the lonely
tomb,
And never a man or a seraph or saint
more boldly has marched to doom.
! cared not what sage or sophist might
do, what higher beings might say.
What counsel of men, what wisdom Of
God, may have shown a better way
Had they fought like me, had they bled
like me, as they crept thro' earth
to die,
! would challenge them all to take up
my lot and bear it better than T.
| have asked for aid from the sons Of
mcn-they have left me all alone;
| have prayed the gods for a loaf of
bread-they have always given a
stone.
| clenched my teeth and doubled my
fists, and / fought to hold my own.
And the mobs of men, when / helped
myself, have begged me accept a
throne.
So little | care if they say my words
are vanity, pomp or c~onceit,
For | know that Self, and Self alone,
can bring me a mess of meat.
So the little tin gods of the old-time
bards I shove in the dust on the
shelf,
And asking no leave of a living soul,
/ take off my hat to myself.
-G--