My cheeks by tears may be polished,
And my heart is no stranger to pain;
I know what it is to be friendless,
And to learn each affliction means gain.
I may be out in life’s storm,
And misfortune around me has piled;
But kindly remember this little fact,
That I am somebody’s child.
Probably to-night you’ll be happy,
In some joys or pleasures you’ll share:
And that very same moment may find me,
Tearfully pleading in prayer.
So don’t be too harsh when you judge me,
For your judgment with God will be filed;
You would know—could you see past the surface—
That I am somebody’s child.
And so a fourth time the motto—or is it a proverb?—ad astra per aspera.
V. Leon R. Harris
Now editor of the Richmond (Indiana) Blade, contributor of short-stories to The Century Magazine, an honored citizen and the head of a respected family, Leon R. Harris was an orphan asylum’s ward. Most splendidly has he, yet in his early thirties, illustrated the old adage chosen as a heading for this chapter. His father, a roving musician, took no interest in the future poet.
