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180 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.

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.