Fisherman Philosophy A fisherman will rise at four and tiptoe softly from the doorAnd smile to see the morning sun come up with shafts of flame, And with the sweet breeze at his throat, hell sing the while he rows his boat And take the burdens of his sport as parcels of his game. Hell never sit around and whine because he gets a tangled line, Nor whimper that his lot is hard the days when bites are few; But knowing where the big ones lurk, with brain and brawn hell gladly work And count the day well spent when he comes home with one or two A fisherman may weary grow, but seldom will he let you know, Or count the troubles of his sport above the pleasure gained. Should bait be lost or leader break, such slight annoyances hell take As part of every anglers lot and easily explained. No fisherman will sit and cry and all the hardships magnify Nor tell what drudgery it is to wade in stream or bay. Hell even, safe at home at night, with smiles of rapturous delight Recount the thrilling story of the fish that got away. So lets be fishermen, I say, and count what blessings fall our way And take the disappointments and the burdens as they come. Lets look on pain and care and strife as incidents of human life, And not sit sighing oer our woes till everyone is glum. Lets reckon in the anglers way the final total of the day, The beauty seen, the friends weve met, the little joys weve claimed; And, though we come back home at night, both bruised and weary from the fight, Of goals weve tried in vain to reach we need not be ashamed. War Will Exact Toll of 46 Million Men In Battle Casualties, Experts ForecastChart Lists Man Power Available to Axis, Allies Sept 14 9142 U.S. Will Furnish 6,500,000 as Price of Peace