There is a danger these days that a complex arising
   From dwelling too long on the trend of the times
May magnify gloom; and it isn't surprising
   That spirits should sink as clamity climbs.
Admittedly things are in much of a mess,
      But, nevertheless,
      You have to confess
That howling and growling can't lessen distress.

Tho' signs of depression are dolefully ocular,
   And all the land's in the deuce of a hole,
Let us be jovial, jaunty and jocular
   Once in a while for the sake of the soul,
While frankly admitting the lute has a rift,
       It will help to uplift
       If we try to make ther shift
And lessen, with singing, the dolorous drift.

Now, suppose death had come, as a final calamity,
   Yesterday, may be, or some day before,
We'd be viewing just now with the utmost equamity
   Woes of today that depressed us no more;
We'd be sitting aloft on the edge of a cloud,
      Clad in a shroud,
      Laughing aloud
At rth epost-banquest groans of a crapulous crowd.

But suppse we live on and survive the tricks dirty
   Fate now deals out in a manner most vile,
We shall one day look back on this year nineteen thirty,
   Viewing events with a satisfied smile,
Saying, "Well, well. It is that way with life:
      Today sunk in strife,
      All the world and his wife
Bob up beaming tomorrow ere one can say 'Knife.'"

So while recognising conditions are serious,
   One must admit it is folly to fret,
Tho' the ways of the gods may be dark and mysterious,
   We of our fate are the arbiters yet.
The art of all life is to try, and still try;
      If we laugh, if we cry,
      We can never deny
We will either be living or dead by and by.

"Den"
Herald, 4 July 1930, p4